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May 8, 2007 Sam Winchester was stabbed in the back quite literally. He bled out, collapsing against his older brother in a broken heap. With his last breath, confusion clouding his eyes, he asked for answers. For help. For release. “Dean?”
“Sammy! No!” Dean clutched at the only family he had going limp and empty in his arms. Rocking on his knees, dry sobs wrenched from his bones. He stayed there, holding on to his brother’s body for a long while until Bobby dragged him in out of the rain.
For two days Dean sat vigil at the lifeless shell of his little brother stretched out on a cot. Dean tried to tell himself Sammy was just resting. He did not speak. He only shifted to wipe tears from his eyes. Bobby stopped in to bring him food and water he would not touch. He did not want to live in a world without Sam. A life knowing he should have been there to save him. Knowing if he had just arrived moments earlier, he could have. He should have. Done something.
Into the third day Dean allowed himself a drink of water and let an idea fester in his heart. Dark tendrils seeping out from the gaping wound inside him, tempting and alluring with promise.
“Dean.” Bobby began. “We should really burn --”
“Not yet.” Dean spoke. “Not fucking yet.” He stormed past the older man, climbed into the Impala and took off. Heart pounding with adrenaline and hope for the first time in a long while.
At the crossroads he found her. The siren singing promise and lies in his ear. I can bring him back she promised. And all you owe me in deposit is your soul. Kiss me, seal the deal, and I will allow you one more year with him. Dean’s lips were violent and bitter but he did not hesitate.
After a flash like static electricity shook through his body, she was gone. Dean was left standing alone with his lips burning and hope restored in his heart. He drove back to the small home and rushed inside, letting the screen door slam behind him.
“Dean?” he heard from the back room. And his tears lost all their bitter flavor.
“I’m here Sammy. I’m here.”