Chapter Text
"No, Dean. I wouldn't."
Dean felt like the floor had just disappeared beneath his feet, and he was left plummeting into a dark pit. He registered Sam getting up, saying something, leaving, but Dean couldn't hear him, couldn't react.
Sam didn't care.
Dean had sacrificed everything, everyone, for Sam. Sam had always been his reason. Saving Sam had always been the only thing that mattered, or at least the thing that mattered most. Save Sam from death, save Sam from Hell, save Sam from himself. In that church, Sam had asked Dean how to stop the trials, how to live. So Dean did his best to keep Sam alive, just like always.
And Sam didn't care if Dean lived or died.
Dean couldn't bring himself to be angry, though.
He deserved that. He deserved that and so much worse.
It was like he told Sam. He would burn in hell for the things he'd done.
Dean reached for his glass, but when he brought it to his lips, it was empty. Damn.
There was nothing left for Dean. Sure, there was Cas, but he probably hated Dean now for kicking him out of the bunker. Dean couldn't blame him.
Dean set down his empty glass and leaned on the counter. His gaze fell on his gun where he'd left it on the kitchen table.
No, not yet.
Dean ran his thumb over the Mark on his arm. What would be the point of getting the sign of the Father of Murder engraved on his skin if he didn't use it?
He would kill Abaddon first. That needed to be his focus, his mission. After that...
Dean's eyes slid back to his gun.
Then we'll see.