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You had never wanted things to end like they were ending right now. But, on the other hand, he really did bring it upon himself.
“I’m sorry,” he puts a hand on your shoulder. “I wish there was a way out of this, I do. But – I’ve got nothing.”
You hear your high school teacher’s voice in your head as he talks about Brutus’ betrayal, and you absently wonder: if your father still had his tongue, would he describe his own situation in the same way?
Would Dad talk about how right he was? How selfish you were being?
Would he force you to listen once again about how your precious little Sammy was going to bring down the sun and moon and stars?
“Please, Dean,” he rubs a hand through his hair – a nervous gesture you recognize. “I know this is hard for you.”
You had never wanted things to end like they were ending right now: Dad roped to a chair with you elbow deep in his blood and just salivating for more.
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End.