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Sam wakes up, and it's Tuesday again.
And he tries. God, he tries to get Dean out of town. He tries to leave. He tries to run.
Dean dies anyway. Sam wakes up. That fucking song is still playing.
In the diner, Sam says just the right words to get Dean to leave the table for a minute. He needs to breathe, but there's no time. He has to remember every detail, or else- Something happens that shouldn't, that never happens. Someone else slides into the booth, right into Dean's spot, and the Trickster leans over the table.
"What did you do?" Sam demands.
"Hey, you asked," says the Trickster, arrogance covering irritation. "Just take us back to Tuesday when it all started." His imitation of Sam is as whiny and pathetic as he can make it, and he dares Sam to correct him with a smirk.
"Wednesday," Sam says weakly.
"No take-backsies." The Trickster waves a hand dismissively. "Besides, isn't this better? I can always send you back to a world without Dean rather than one where you just have to watch him die-"
"No!"
"That's what I thought." He looks behind Sam. "Spilled milkshake. You forgot to warn him about that one." Before Sam can turn around, he hears Dean slip, the sickening crack of his head against tile, and-
He wakes up.