When Dean woke up he didn't remember where he was. Not all that out of the ordinary, it had happened more than once during his lifetime. Sometimes the circumstances were good. Like that time he'd woken up in bed with the triplets when he was seventeen during Mardi Gras. He didn't remember how he'd ended up there, but he'd certainly had fun time refreshing his memory, the young, giggly, busty, blonde trio more than happy to help with that. Sometimes the circumstances were far less pleasant. Waking up in the hospital, not remembering how you got there or why you're hurting so fucking much was never a fun experience.

At least he wasn't in a hospital. He could tell that much. It was just a room. A motel by the looks of it, he should know he'd spent enough time in them throughout his life. Same water stains in the corner of the ceilings all cheep crappy motel rooms seemed to have no matter where they were in the country, even the desert, figure that one out. Same tacky wallpaper themes left over from the seventies. He supposed that should have comforted him… and in a weird way it did. He still didn't remember how he'd gotten here and that worried him more than a bit.

Dean blinked slowly up at the ceiling for another few minutes before he slowly began to look around. Figuring that would tell him more about where he was than the water stains on the ceiling.

Well, one thing certainly seemed out of place, now that he was bothering to pay attention. Instead of some cheap tacky painting on the wall over his bed there was an IV bag hanging on a nail… that probably once did hold a painting instead. His eyes followed the line down from the half empty saline bag down to where it was predictably attached to his arm.

Huh… ok. So if he needed an IV in his arm, maybe he'd been hurt after all. Not enough to take him to the hospital but enough he needed an IV? Somehow that didn't seem right, but he certainly felt enough like crap it wouldn't surprise him if he'd been hurt and didn't remember it.

Dean's eyes drifted over to the bed next to his own. Two queens. Of course. But the bed was empty, even though it wasn't made. He managed to lift his head a little bit off the pillow and a quick look around told him that he was definitely alone in the room.

Sam…

A new feeling of urgency settled in his stomach thinking of his brother and it was enough to convince him to move even though his arms shook weakly as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, waiting there a moment to make sure he was going to stay upright and not immediately keel over. Then he carefully extracted the IV from his arm before pushing himself to his feet.

He wobbled for a second, unsteady, and had to use the wall to support himself but after a moment he regained his equilibrium and started making his way to the bathroom, because he had to take one major piss. Once he was done he started towards the motel door, aware that he was dressed in only his boxers but for some reason he couldn't see his duffle anywhere.

Sam had watched Dean's chest rise and fall for what felt like ages, and when he finally felt like he could leave for a few moments and Dean wouldn't die on him, he left the back of the SUV to drive them back to the motel.

Finding a half decent, still in one piece motel room wasn't difficult, but moving Dean to the room without jostling him too much wasn't. Not with Sam at half strength and running on fumes and no sleep. Not to mention, the stress of not having Dean wake and then the subsequent panic was taking its toll. When normally Sam thrived on stress, this time it felt like it had bitten a chunk out of him when he already had very little left to begin with.

He set Dean up, putting the IV on a nail that a painting of the ugliest flower vase in the world hung on. Every two hours, he changed the IV. He brought in the gatorades and left them in the kitchenette. He brought in the food as well. There was still some electricity, and Sam figured that the power plants would probably last about two-three days unmanned before they shut down. So he took advantage of that and put all the food in the fridge, letting it cool.

He watched over Dean a little more, and at one point he got up and wet a dishrag with the still halfway decent water coming in through the taps. He knew it won't last too long, but they'll handle it when it came to it. He used the wet rag to wipe Dean's face, washing away some of the grime and dirt and ash until he could see his brother again. He stripped Dean down, removing his dirty clothes and washing them with plain water in the bathtub. After he was done, he put them on the edge of the tub to dry before he washed his own the same way.

One more quick glance at Dean later, he left the room to raid the rest of the motel in just his boxers. Stupid, he knew. They were not sure that the world really was empty. If something came at him now, he was completely defenseless, but something made him not care. He went through each and every room, and found nothing good enough or useful for their current situation... other than some clothes that belonged to what looked like the corpses of young men.

Sam and Dean needed clothes.

Maybe they could raid a mall next.

Sam imagined Dean trying clothes on in the changerooms of JC Penny or going in to Levi's Jeans and putting on designer clothes. Maybe that might be the only good thing coming out of this entire fuckery.

He found cigarettes there too, and even though Sam had never smoked a day in his life, today seemed like the perfect time to start. He put the piles of clothes beside him outside the room Dean was sleeping in and sat on the floor. He lit a cigarette and took an experimental breath, sucking in too hard and feeling the smoke scrape against his throat, sending him into a coughing fit that seemed to slice his chest from the inside out.

While he coughed his lungs out, he wondered what attraction people found in this, but he decided he'll reserve his judgment for till the end of the one stick. By the fourth puff, he was feeling slightly more lightheaded and a lot more relaxed, and Sam rested his head back, smoking it till it was dying between his fingers and he threw it over to the parking lot, watching the embers die out quickly.

The door opened to his side and he looked up, seeing Dean up and about.

"I see you're back from the dead," Sam said, with more bite in his words than he intended, but even those couldn't hide the relief he felt at seeing Dean standing there. He knew that if Dean died, Sam would follow. Now, with this world, there literally was nothing left for Sam except for Dean, and being left alone would be a fate worse than hell itself, he was sure.

The second Dean opened the motel room door it all came rushing back to him and suddenly the weakness in his knees wasn’t all due to physical exhaustion. The motel and connecting diner had been spared the worst of the fallout it seemed, but only just barely. Even though Dean could tell the motel was once out in the middle of nowhere, he had stayed in enough out in the middle of nowhere motels to know, part of it was still caved in and the smell of death was everywhere. Even here, who knows how far away from the city they were, the earth was barren except for twisted charcoal stumps and most of the structure that was standing was still scorched.

Was the whole world like this? Had Lucifer and Michael’s battle truly destroyed the entire planet? Dean had driven through most of the United States and even some of Canada and Mexico while on the hunt with his father and brother, and it was hard to believe everything he had ever seen reduced to rubble and ash.

Really, it was the perfect hell, the perfect punishment. His entire life he’d tried to protect people, save them, save the world… and now it was all gone. He might as well have never bothered. Hell, it probably would have turned out better if he’d never existed at all. After all, if he didn’t exist he couldn’t say yes…

His brother’s voice from practically right next to the door startled him out of his paralysis and Dean tensed. The tone of the younger man’s voice driving a spike of fear through him even as his gut twisted in guilt and self loathing.

“Disappointed?” Dean finally asked without looking at his brother. Why shouldn’t Sam be disappointed that he was still among the living after all? Dean was…

Sam scoffed, unable to control his emotions now after the adrenalin high of earlier. The fear he had felt when he realized that Dean wasn't waking up, the sheer terror of it had left him nearly crippled, and even now when Dean was standing in front of him, Sam could feel the after effects of it. His heart still hammered in his chest, and cold sweat still prickled over his skin.

"Disappointed?" Sam repeated, disbelief colouring every word. "Yeah, maybe," he shrugged, looking out to the wreckage of the parking lot. Flies buzzed in one area, and he tried not to imagine if it was body parts they hovered over. "Because hey? If you had died, things would be so much easier then huh?" Sam said, chuckling a little. "All alone in the world, I'd have no responsibility. No one to turn to. Not another word would I say, or hear. Wouldn't that be perfect?" Sam asked, not looking at Dean, but his fear of being left alone was taking over him now, and he didn't even know where he was going with this. "I wouldn't ever touch another human being, or hell, I'll be lucky if I even go one day without seeing decaying body parts."

Sam reached to the side, grabbing the gatorade bottle he had and drinking a large gulp from it, feeling it push against the lump in his throat. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be disappointed that you're still alive. And why should I care if I had offered you food, and water, but you had refused it. Why should I care that I nearly lost you to fucking dehydration when there was everything right there? Why should I care that you chose to go delusional with loss of water, than drink something I gave you, huh?"

Sam grabbed the now empty gatorade bottle, throwing it onto the parking lot. It landed with a very clear 'squelch' sound and he ignored it. "At least you don't have to worry about me dropping dead. Then again, you'd probably be glad if I died." Sam finished his angry tirade. He had been aiming for more along the lines of being cold and distant with Dean, but instead the minute he opened his mouth everything just came tumbling out. His fears, his anger, his frustration, but mostly just his fear.

He sighed and kept looking at the sun setting over the parking lot, waiting for Dean to get mad at him, and say something scathing, or even just say something that would make Sam guilty. Dean was good at that, good at pulling out the guilt trips. Sometimes, he did it without words and with just his actions. After Sam's angry speech, he was convinced Dean was going to pull the big guns out. Hell, he might even say something like 'I'm leaving you' and Sam knew the moment those words left Dean's lips, Sam would be on his knees and begging for Dean to not leave him.

It was amazing what the end of the world can do to someone's pride.

Dean didn’t know what to say. Hell, he wasn’t sure if there was anything to say in response to such scathing sarcasm. Maybe there was. Maybe once Dean would have known what to say, how to respond, what his brother wanted to hear… but now Dean had no words and no will to even lie to the younger man as he might have in the past.

The truth was, he wished Sam would have just let him die. Dean didn’t even give a damn if he ended up in heaven, hell, or just stopped existing all together. He was tired… tired of living. Every breath he took exhausting. Every beat of his heart more trouble than it was worth. He was done… just… done…

But Sam hadn’t let him die, hadn’t let him go, almost peacefully. So… yeah… Dean was disappointed. Angry even, even though it flickered and died inside of him almost before the emotion formed. He was simply too tired to muster up the will to even be pissed at Sam for forcing him to live.

Though when Sam mentioned how Dean might be glad if his brother had died, Dean flinched involuntarily as though the younger man had slapped him. Glad that Sam was dead? Dean had sold his fucking soul because he couldn’t live knowing his brother was dead. He had gone to hell, and even as the hellhound was ripping him apart he didn’t regret making that deal. Again and again he had refused to say yes to Michael, not because of the billions that would die, but because he knew doing so he’d have to kill his own brother... He’d continued to scream no even as Lucifer tortured him…

That one moment of weakness… when he’d said yes… Dean had never hated himself more and knew all the torture he’d endured at the hands of the devil, forty years rotting in hell, he deserved every second of it for how he’d betrayed Sam.

So… yeah… probably best not to say anything.

Sam waited for a few minutes for Dean to say something, or do something. He was sure that Dean would, at the very least, tell him to fuck off. But when no response came at all, Sam felt it like a crushing blow. Dean really had nothing to say to him? Nothing at all? Like all of Sam's fears, his anger, his sadness was of no consequence? Like all that meant nothing?

Sam wondered when he'll stop waiting for his brother to answer back, because this Dean was nothing like the brother he used to be.

Sam sighed into the stretching silence, just in an attempt to break it. He got up, dusting himself off.

"Whatever," Sam said, looking into the darkening skies. He pushed all his emotions down, taking a page from Dean's book and figuring that he was only just annoying Dean now. After all, Dean had always called him 'emo' or 'girlie'. And Sam was tired, both emotionally and physically, but not tired enough to give up yet. He won't give up on them yet. He just had to... he'll just take care of everything, give Dean some down time and if Dean would just cooperate things would go so much smoother. "I'll go change your IV bag. You go ahead and rest some more. And please eat something," Sam said, just short of begging him.

He'll do everything. He'll find them food and shelter. He'll make sure Dean was taken care of, that he was rested and healthy. He'll do everything if he had to, but he needed Dean to do some things too. Like he couldn't force feed him. He couldn't force water down his throat. He couldn't make Dean stop looking at him like he was a monster. If Dean would just... would just stop treating Sam like the plague itself...

Sam headed towards the room, switching on the light because he wanted to take advantage of electricity while they had it. He figured they had a max of two-three days before the power stations shut down. He went to the bed Dean was sleeping in, and changed the nearly empty IV bag with a newer one.

Sam knew he had done some horrible things, and he may be beyond forgiveness, but if that was the case then Dean should just come out and say it. Just tell him that 'no, I will never forgive you, and I never want to see you again' and be done with it. This whole yo-yo thing Dean was doing, by acting like he was glad to see Sam alive when they first woke up in this world, and then moving on to look like he hated every moment they spent together... it was fucking with Sam's head, and it was making him feel like there was a giant hole in his chest that just got deeper everytime Dean looked like he'd rather die than be here with Sam.

Sam felt tears gather in his eyes, and he blinked them back rapidly. This wasn't the first time he had felt like this. The entire time the whole 'say yes to Lucifer' thing was happening, Sam had been on Dean's watch-list. Like it hadn't mattered that his intentions were good when he had killed Lilith. All that mattered was that Dean had been right. Just like now. It hadn't mattered that he had said yes to save Dean, all that mattered was that it had gone horribly wrong and Dean had been tortured at Lucifer's hands. Sam knew what Lucifer had done. He had shown him every bloody detail. He had let him feel the way Dean's skin ripped under his fingernails and how smooth the inside of Dean's body was. He knew all of it, and he saw it again everytime he closed his eyes. So he hadn't closed his eyes since he woke up here.

Dean was punishing him, Sam knew, but what Dean seemed very happy to forget was that the entire time he had been possessed by Lucifer, he had been screaming too, and he had been clawing at his eyes trying not to see, trying not to feel, but he had felt everything. Sam was being punished the entire time Dean was being tortured. But hey? Dean's pain was so much more poignant because it was his flesh that fell to the ground and his blood that flowed. All Sam's punishment consisted of was seeing the one person he loved get hurt at his hands. So what if Sam was trying to be a good brother for once? Apparently, Dean had him on roll-call and wasn't going to even give him a chance.

"Lie down so I can fit the IV and adjust the drip," Sam said quietly, not looking up, having exhausted his emotional reserves.

Dean didn’t look at Sam as his brother got up and headed back into the room. He was glad when the younger man decided to drop the ‘discussion’ though, such as it was. He knew he had upset Sam with his silence, Dean wasn’t a complete idiot. But he knew he would have upset the younger man a hell of a lot more if he actually told his brother what he really thought about… everything…

When Sam mentioned the IV bag, Dean sighed softly to himself. Really, what was the fucking point? If they really were the only two people left on the fucking planet, just what the hell were they supposed to do? Rebuild the fucking race? Only if one of them spontaneously sprouted a vagina… What was the point…? Yeah, he had a feeling Sam wouldn’t want to hear that either. Or the fact that if the entire world was the wasteland they’d seen so far pretty soon they wouldn’t be able to find food or water anyway.

All they really had to look forward to in the next several weeks or months was starvation. Watching each other die slowly… Not to mention every time he looked at his brother, the man he had died and gone to hell for, all he saw was the devil who had tortured to within an inch of his life over and over. He felt broken, shattered, physically, mentally, emotionally… he had died a long time ago. His body just didn’t seem to know when to lie the fuck down.

And Sam wondered why he didn’t want to pretend to be bright and cheery about all of this? To pretend this was just another day in their fucked up lives like any other day. To pretend they hadn’t ended the fucking world…

So it was kind of funny, in a very not funny way, when Dean finally turned back to the room, shutting the motel door behind him, locking out the rest of the world… such as it was… that he looked at Sam and for the first time all he saw was his brother. The younger man looking more exhausted than Dean could ever remember seeing him, looking so… fragile… like the slightest breeze could knock him over. How could he look at Sam one second, and see only Lucifer riding in his brother’s body doing unimaginable things to him, and the next all Dean saw was the boy he’d protected and loved all his life? The one person he would do anything for?

Probably because he was fucking insane. Even if he hadn’t been before he was surely certifiably nuts now, too bad there were no shrinks around anymore to lock him in a straight jacket and throw away the key. But then again, he’d always been good at ignoring what was wrong with him in favor of looking after Sam. Was now any different?

“You need to sleep.” Dean finally said as he approached the young man fiddling with the IV bag hanging from the wall.

As Dean approached Sam, he got to work on fitting the IV line into Dean's arm, making sure there was no air in the thin tubing. When Dean spoke, Sam went still for a moment before resuming his movements, adjusting the drip so that it wasn't too fast but not too slow either. According to his calculations, this bag should last about two to three hours.

"I'm fine," Sam said quietly, not looking at Dean because it hurt too much to see the way Dean looked back at him, like he was seeing a monster and not his brother. Sam was quickly growing tired of defending himself, and there really was not much more left to say. Dean knew why he had said yes. He also knew that Sam had been cheated. Sam knew Dean got tortured by his own hands. Sam couldn't really blame Dean for not forgiving him... Sam couldn't forgive himself so it was sort of a moot point.

After he was done setting the IV line, he gripped Dean's forearm for a brief moment, squeezing it before letting go. That was as far as he would let himself come to seeking comfort from Dean. What he really wanted to do was hold Dean close and just feel like his little brother again, even for a short moment. The too short touch would have to be enough for now, and Sam quickly let go, moving away.

"I raided the convenience store, or what's left of it, across the street while you were out," Sam spoke, heading towards the attached kitchenette. "Think you can handle a luncheon meat sandwich? Or do you want something lighter?" He asked, opening the fridge and peering into it. It had too much food stuffed in there, more than they had ever had in their fridge before, and Sam would have laughed if he had the energy to. It was sort of ironic that the end of the world had put all that food in the fridge for them. But he knew they had only a few days before the fridge had no power and the food started to go horribly, horribly bad.

They could eat now, so it was best to make good use of it as long as they could. "We have frozen pizzas too, and soups, and... yeah" Sam sighed, letting it trail off.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed while Sam inserted the IV needle back into his arm. He stared down at the tube and needle protruding from his forearm, wondering briefly where the hell his brother had gotten it in the first place. Though when Sam finally answered him, Dean’s gaze turned back to his brother with a frown.

Fine… He was fine? Yeah… right… and Dean was just peachy himself.

Dean continued to stare at the younger man, but Sam didn’t look back at him. He couldn’t really blame his brother for that. Though Dean was a bit surprised how Sam’s touch lingered on his arm for a moment when Sam was done with the IV before the younger man got up and went over to their poor excuse of a kitchen.

Food… Sam really thought he wanted to eat? Now? Why the fuck was Sam trying so hard to pretend everything was alright. Fine… bullshit… he wasn’t fine. Dean wasn’t fine. Neither of them were ‘fine’ and they never would be again.

“You’re fine…” Dean repeated flatly, using the same tone as his brother just to show Sam how idiotic he sounded right now.

“You want to know something, Sam? I’m not fine.” Dean continued, completely ignoring his brother’s idiotic question about food. “I am really not fine.”

Sam knew that he was less than convincing about his 'I'm fine' bit, but frankly he had thought that Dean wouldn't care. And then again, it wasn't like Sam was keeling over with exhaustion, or seeing double, or throwing up or anything. He was just tired, and it was the sort of tiredness that felt bone deep, like he could rest but it would do nothing for him.

Rest didn't even sound appealing, forget about him stopping for long enough to actually be resting. He can't stop now. The world had ended, but he had never felt urgency the way he was feeling it now. Like there was something still left to save and Sam was running out of time.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that right now, Dean was his primary reason for worry, and Sam wasn't getting any calmer with Dean dropping into comas or shaking when he reached for something or the way he was swaying just so slightly even as he talked to Sam.

Yes, Dean wasn't fine, and Sam knew it.

"I know," Sam said quietly, pulling his head out of the fridge and closing the door. He stood there for a moment, with his eyes still on the fridge door before he could gather the courage to look at Dean and see all the ways he was failing him. "And I'm trying, Dean, I really am... I-I... I don't know what to do... what do you want me to do?"

Sam stopped for a moment, surprised by the way his throat was closing up on him again. Damn but the end of the world had turned him into a sissy. He swallowed past it and tried to work past his frustration. "What am I supposed to do?" Sam whispered, dropping his eyes again, this time looking at the dirty carpet. What was Sam supposed to do? What did Dean want him to do? Sam's guilt was eating him on the inside and nothing he did will be enough for what Dean went through... so Dean's wish was his command at the moment. Hell, if Dean asked for Sam's heart, he'll pick up a knife and get to work.

I know… Dean could see how much uttering those words hurt his brother. But Dean just didn’t have the strength to pretend anymore, not even for Sam, that he was ‘fine’. That he would ever be fine… because Dean knew in his heart he never would be. Not after… this… not after everything…

Then his brother went on to ask the impossible question, and Dean couldn’t the small humorless huff of laughter that escaped him. How could Sam really believe it would be that easy? As though it were up to Sam to ‘fix’ him, like his brother could simply superglue him together like some broken ceramic knickknack.

Didn’t Sam understand that some things just couldn’t be fixed? That all the ‘superglue’ in the world wasn’t going to fucking matter when nothing was left but ground dust…

“Sammy…” Dean said his brother’s name softly, trying to get the younger man to look at him instead of the floor because he needed Sam to look at him when he said this. He needed Sam to see the truth of it in his eyes. The words were on the tip of his tongue… There’s nothing you can do… but he couldn’t say them. He couldn’t break his brother like that. Dean couldn’t break Sam like Lucifer had broken him…

“I’ll take a pizza.” He said instead, forcing a faint smile to his lips he didn’t feel.

When Dean said his name softly like that, with no reprimand or sarcasm or anger in it, Sam was unable to resist looking at Dean. His eyes met Dean's, the green of Dean's murky with sickness and exhaustion and so much hidden pain, but for once they were not dark with anger or repulsion upon looking at Sam, and so Sam drank the sight in.

He waited for Dean to speak, to say what was on his mind because Sam could read it as clear as day. There was nothing Sam could do, but Sam just didn't want to hear the words. For once, the reality of the situation was not translating into hate for Sam in Dean's eyes, instead it was like stating a fact. I'm too broken, Sammy, Dean was saying with his eyes. You can't fix me. Not this time.

But at the same time, it was like Dean didn't blame him for failing to fix him.

Sam nodded when Dean asked for a pizza, a faint, fake smile on his lips that was like air to a suffocating Sam. He reached into the freezer section of the fridge, pulling out a meat pizza with everything on it and unwrapping it. He worked quietly, not knowing what to say next. What was he supposed to say anyway? Dean was on the bed, an IV running into his arm because he had pretty much gone comatose from dehydration. The world had ended, and Sam and Dean were both working on fumes, whether physically or emotionally. Dean was struggling with what Lucifer did to him, while Sam was struggling with the fact that he let Lucifer do it.

He switched the oven on, letting it heat while he cut the plastic wrapping covering the pizza. He tried not to think about a time when them making frozen pizza for dinner had been normal. He could almost pretend, right now, that the world outside was not a wasteland of ash and blood and guts. He had Dean, and they were holed up in a motel room not unlike any other day, and they were cooking dinner for themselves.

The normalcy of it could have made Sam laugh, but it only made his throat back up.

He stuck the pizza into the oven and switched the timer on, and then went to sit on his bed, leaning against the headboard with his eyes closed but not asleep. Just closing his eyes though made him feel better, easing the throbbing headache he'd had since he'd woken up.

In his ears, Dean's words rang, telling him how he was not okay, and then the way Dean had looked at him, telling him so much more than words ever could.

But what could Sam do? How could he help Dean at all?

The pizza would take about half an hour, and Sam waited for it in silence.

When Sam turned to start fixing them the pizza like Dean had asked, the older man could see the utter relief in his brother’s eyes. Like Dean had just given the younger man a stay of execution or something. He watched his brother go through the meaningless task like it was the most important thing in the world, and didn’t know what to feel.

Finally Dean merely laid back down on the bed he’d woken up in and stared up at the ceiling. Trying to find that place he’d been in when he’d woken, where he’d forgotten if only for a few moments that the world was over.

He listened to Sam puttering around the room the sounds familiar and almost comforting. It wasn’t long before he could smell the crappy frozen pizza cooking in the poor excuse for a kitchen. Pizza that Dean knew from experience would taste mostly like the cardboard it had been wrapped in, though he and Sam had never been too picky about that. Finally he heard his brother lay down in the bed next to his own… one motel room, two queen beds, side by side, just him and Sam, always had been always would be.

For a few moments, Dean could almost make himself believe that.

They were silent while the pizza cooked, and when the oven's alarm went off, Sam got up again, heading to the oven to take the sizzling hot pizza out. He cut it neatly in half, just barely making it uneven so that Dean wouldn't notice he had a larger piece, and put it on paper plates. Grabbing a bottle of juice in hand, he brought the pizza and it to Dean.

"I would have given you beer, but you're already dehydrated and alcohol would worsen that," Sam explained as he handed the bottle of mix fruit juice to Dean. He put the plate on Dean's lap with care. "Just tell me if you need anything."

And Sam sat down on his own bed with his own plate, staring at the hot pizza quickly going cool. Right now, he was finding it hard to believe that there was no one outside that closed door. That the world was over and somehow only Dean and him had survived... it terrified him, so he didn't think about it and reached for that pizza, taking a tentative bite. It didn't taste all that great, but it was food and right now, Sam was beyond complaining. Soon enough, pizzas tasting like cardboard will become a memory, like most of the things they were used to already had.

So, what now? Sam wanted to ask, but Dean was tired, weak, and this was no time for it. If anything, it might spark a bout of depression in Dean and Sam wanted to avoid that. He figured, it was better if he worked out the answer for himself.

To survive, they'll need a house. Someplace Sam can fix up to be self sufficient. He didn't have much knowledge of electronics and mechanics, but he was sure Dean did. With both of them together, they could work out some sort of a solar energy generator or something... or raid a store that sold those and figure out how to hook it up to the house.

Sam sighed. Maybe he was thinking too much about this... about trying to gather the tatters of their life and weave it into a cloth again. But if Dean was ready to give up, then Sam didn't think he could attempt anything like that without Dean's help. Regardless, it was too soon for them to worry about that. As Sam used to like to think, sometimes things just fall into place.

"We need to go get more clothes," Sam said softly after a few quiet moments. He wanted to explain himself, about how the only clothes they had were the ones off their back, torn and damaged, spotted with blood in places that even after washing Sam hadn't been able to get rid of. And how even though they might be the only ones left now, they still needed clothing and the basic necessities, but Sam couldn't say anything more. He tried, but his explanations felt weak and pointless, so he took another bite of his pizza instead.

Dean startled a bit when the oven’s alarm went off and cursed softly under his breath. He wondered if he was always going to be this jumpy from now on. The slightest unexpected noise, a shadow out of the corner of his eye, hell, even a certain tone in his brother’s voice making his heart beat faster in panic.

Probably.

But right now, frankly, that was one of the least of his worries in a long list of fucked-up-ness that seemed to go on forever. So Dean just sighed heavily and pushed himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard of the bed. Waiting for Sam to bring over the food he hadn’t wanted in the first place but he would eat anyway, for Sam.

Always for Sam. Some things never changed.

Dean just gave a slight shrug when Sam explained why he couldn’t have a beer. It didn’t really matter. Alcohol only numbed, anyway, and Dean already felt about as numb as he could possibly get without being comatose or dead.

The juice was too sweet and the pizza tasted like cardboard, just as he’d figured, but Dean didn’t complain. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. It was easy enough. Though he ate without any enthusiasm even though Dean couldn’t remember when the last time was he’d had any food. Well before Lucifer had forced him to say yes and Michael had turned him into his Muppet.

Dean was done before he’d gotten even halfway through the pizza but he continued eating anyway, simply because he didn’t think he could stand the looks Sam would give him if he didn’t finish. When his brother mentioned they’d need to get new clothes, Dean shrugged a little.

“Ok.” He wasn’t sure what else Sam wanted him to say. When Dean was done with the pizza, feeling way too full and bloated, he set aside the paper plate and laid down again. Staring up at the ceiling once more.

Dean's quiet response was what Sam should have expected, but hadn't. He was still learning, and Dean being quiet was something he was not used to. What he was used to was saying something inane and having Dean go off. Technically, Sam can't expect Dean to stay the same as he was, but he couldn't quiet that part of himself that waited for Dean's cynicism and his brashness and his 'fuck em' attitude.

He probably should learn to stop expecting Dean to answer the way he expected him to. This was what he had done, and now he had to live with it.

There was nothing to say to Dean's response, so Sam finished off his food and picked up the dirty dishes from in front of Dean. He threw the paper plates away as well as the pizza box, feeling foolish as he did so but he couldn't stop himself. Just because the world had gone to hell didn't mean that Sam had to stop acting human.

"Get some rest," Sam said as he came back into the room, heading to Dean's side to adjust the blanket. "Get some sleep too, it'll help you recover faster," Sam suggested while he played with the edge of Dean's blanket. Sure, the rest will help Dean recover physically, but what about the emotional wounds? What could Sam do about them?

Nothing. As Dean's eyes had answered when Sam had asked him earlier.

"I'm right outside the door," Sam explained, "if you call, I'll hear. So just... just call me if you need anything, alright?" Sam asked softly.

Dean didn’t look at Sam when his brother got up and started moving around the room. Though it was kind of interesting, even though he wasn’t looking at Sam, he still knew exactly what the younger man was doing. He still knew exactly where his brother was, how close or how far away as Sam gathered up their trash and threw it away. It was only when his brother was kneeling right next to his bed did Dean turn his head slightly to fix his tired eyes on the younger man. Wondering what his brother wanted from him now.

When Sam told him to ‘sleep’ again, Dean resisted the urge to sigh. How many fucking times did he have to tell Sam that he didn’t want to sleep before it got through the younger man’s thick skill? Sleeping wouldn’t solve a god damned thing. Sleeping would only bring dreams… nightmares… of things he’d much rather forget even though he knew he never would.

But Dean didn’t say anything. He knew it would be a waste of breath, after all, how many times had he already told Sam? Besides, he was too tired to argue. Exhausted mentally as well as physically, but that still didn’t mean he wanted to sleep.

Dean didn’t speak until Sam mentioned that he’d be right outside. What the fuck? What reason did his brother have for wanting to go out there? It wasn’t like there was anything out there. Not anymore. What the hell did Sam have to do?

“Where are you going?” Dean asked. Yes, he didn’t mean so much where as why, but maybe a part of him didn’t really want to know why. After all, how many times had Sam… Lucifer… disappeared to do god knows what when he’d spent all those weeks pretending to be his brother…

Sam could see all the questions in Dean's eyes, and frankly he didn't know how to answer them. Why was Sam going outside? There was nothing outside anymore except death and decay and blood and gore. But something inside Sam kept screaming at him that Dean didn't want him this close, and Sam was terrified that his own need for Dean will have him clinging more than Dean could handle. The only way he could stop himself from just grabbing Dean and holding on was to remove himself from the situation.

As it was, being this close to Dean was bringing back memories when he used to climb into his big brother's bed after a nightmare and he'd be welcomed into warm arms. This was turning into the worst nightmare Sam had ever had, and he just wanted comfort from his big brother even if it would solve nothing. If anything, right now Sam was the source of all of Dean's pain and so the best thing he could do was not crowd him.

"I'm just outside the door," Sam repeated. "I'm not going anywhere... I'm just..." Sam looked down at the blanket under his fingertips. "You look like you need space," Sam explained, licking his dry lips. "And I can't... I can't leave you alone so I'm just gonna put a door between us. Give you room to breathe, yeah?"

Dean stared at his brother for a long time, as though this was some kind of a joke and he was still waiting for the punch line. Space… Sam was going outside, to sit surrounded by nothing but death and destruction, rotting corpses, and all the other charred remains of humanity, because Sam thought he needed space? It had to be a joke… But apparently Sam was completely serious.

“Sam… don’t be an idiot.” Dean finally replied with a heavy sigh.

How could Sam think that just by leaving him alone in a motel room that would make anything better? Like it would make the memories go away. Like it would stop the nightmares. Like it would change anything.

At least if Sam was in here with him he wouldn’t have to… worry about the younger man. Where Sam was… what he was doing…

Sam's immediate reaction to Dean's words was confusion, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he got. He got up, letting go of Dean's blanket to go sit on his own bed, wondering what Dean meant.

Was Sam being an idiot because he thought that Dean wanted him gone? Or was he being an idiot for thinking that leaving for a few minutes was going to help in any way at all?

Regardless, he knew that Dean meant for him to not leave, but whether that was because Dean wanted him around or if he just didn't want Sam out of his sight was unknown to Sam.

"Fine. Whatever," Sam said finally. What was he supposed to say anyway? He lay down on the bed and rolled to the side. Maybe he'll get some sleep. He'd like to be able to switch off his brain for a little while. Even though he didn't expect anything to be better in the morning, he just might be better able to think things through.

Hopefully.

Sam looked confused. And hurt. But mostly confused.

Again, Dean found himself without words to offer comfort, or even explanation. Again, he didn’t even try. It was kind of surprising, what had once come so easily to him, naturally even, now wouldn’t come at all.

But the only thing that will comfort his brother right now would be a lie. Maybe one day he would be able to give Sam what he wanted, to lie to his brother again, to convince the younger man he would be ‘fine’ again. Now… he couldn’t.

At least Sam got his message and didn’t leave. The younger man even laid down in the bed opposite Dean’s. Maybe Sam would actually get some rest. His brother needed it, even if he denied he did. Hopefully one of them would benefit from it.

Dean didn’t sleep however.

He watched the changing of the light on the ceiling. Afternoon fading into night, then the light returning as the sun rose with morning. It was a little surprising. That night and day still existed in a world where everything else was destroyed. Perhaps it was the only thing that still existed… besides them.

Finally Dean moved to pull the IV needle out of his arm, the bad was long empty anyway, and pushed himself up from the bed. Staring at the wall was offering no answers and if nothing else IV’s made him have to piss like a race horse. Maybe he would see if the shower still worked too. Like everything else, hot showers would soon be only a memory.

Sam tried to sleep. He really, really did. Oblivion sounded great, and it wasn't like he wasn't exhausted. Everything ached. Every muscle, every joint, every molecule of him ached. And when he went past the physical aches, he got to the emotional ones, and he'd really rather not deal with them at all.

So he spent the entire night, curled up on his side away from Dean, wishing for nothing more than to go to Dean and just hold him because there was literally no one else left but them and Sam needed Dean. Sam needed his brother so bad it was like he had a black hole inside him threatening to consume him, and all he needed was just a touch from his brother...

But he knew better than to ask that of him, and really, didn't all pains fade away with time? Maybe his need to touch Dean will fade as well, now that he couldn't substitute Dean's touch with another.

Sam kept his eyes closed, remembering how Dean would always tell him to keep his eyes closed and think of something nice and warm when he couldn't sleep. He missed those days... days when Dean would know immediately something wasn't right with Sam. The days when Sam all but had to call out Dean's name and he would have his big brother there with him... standing by him, holding him, making everything alright again. And he felt horrible for missing that brother when Dean was right here, just a few feet to the left of him... but fuck, he couldn't help it.

Sleep. Sleep, Sam. Just go to sleep.

He couldn't. He lay there with his eyes closed for what felt like eternities. His mind wandered, sure. He went from remembering the summers gone past, with Dean's laughter as he chased him and a broken down swing hanging from a thick tree branch in the backyard. He thought of the dried up pools in cheap motels that Dean and Sam spent hours playing in. He thought of Dad. He thought of Mom. He thought of Jessica, and the too little time he spent with her. He thought of warm summers with musky books in the library, and cold winters with Jessica's warm hand in his. He thought of inane things like the length of Jessica's eyebrows and the bow of her lips and the shine in her hair. He tried to remember her laughter, and found that he couldn't. He tried to remember Dean's laughter... and found that he couldn't.

Strangely enough, he missed Dad the most. Right now, he would have done anything to have their father's rock solid presence next to them. Even though Sam and him had always fought, he felt too much like a child right now in the face of what little was left in the world.

Fuck it. He wanted the entire world back. Everything. Kids playing parks. Malls buzzing with people. Bad soaps on TV. Too greasy latenight pizzas.

Everything. He wanted everything.

Sam's eyes snapped open when Dean got up, heading to the bathroom. He stayed still, waiting for the sound of the door closing before he got up himself. Not a minute of sleep, and he didn't feel any more rested, but he had nothing to complain about. Not anymore. He'll do with what he had, and he didn't have much left at all so making do was all that was possible.

He pulled on his clothes from yesterday, halfway clean but torn in spots and tough from the way they had dried. He didn't give a fuck. He fingered a long tear in the side of his jeans, exposing his thigh to the world. Normally, this would have him embarrassed... but who was out there to see? No one.

He headed out of the door, not bothering to leave a note because he wasn't going anywhere. He sat down on the step where the parking lot started and stared at the sky as it got brighter and brighter. It was clear now, but he could see clouds on the horizon and he wondered if it would rain. Then he decided that he didn't care. They had nowhere to go... nowhere to be. On the other side of the parking lot, he saw a body decomposing, it looking bloated from all the gas, skin looking like it was melting and falling off as flies feasted on it.

Sam took a deep breath but couldn't smell it. The wind was blowing in the other direction, taking the smell away from them. Sam decided to be grateful for just that, because he had to find things to be grateful for, or he was going to go mad.

Dean stood underneath the hot water, his head bowed, and watching at is slowly swirled down the drain. The spray hit him on the back of the neck and shoulders. It dripped down over his back, and the sensation was almost foreign to him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a shower. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like. He was more used to feeling thicker liquid dripping down his flesh, maybe not as hot, but still warm, and sticky rather than wet. Blood…

He was surprised there was no red in the water that swirled down the drain. There was a lot of grayish brown at first, as ash and dirt was rinsed off his body, but after a while the water became clear. And yet, he didn’t feel clean afterwards. Not even after he finally moved to wash his hair and body with the little sample soaps that were available in every motel room he’d ever stayed in. He felt like a stranger inside of his own skin…

Dean wasn’t sure how long he stayed in the shower, but it was far longer than he normally would have. The water remained hot throughout however, much to his surprise. But then again, when there was no one else to use it…

At that thought Dean finally turned off the spray and got out. Grabbing one of the scratchy thread bare towels from the rack and drying off. As he did so, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused.

He didn’t recognize his own face. Sure the features were similar, but he’d never seen himself quite this thin. His cheeks were almost sunken in, his features gaunt. Dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep only making his skin look even paler in the harsh fluorescent light. Then there was the scars… though Michael had obviously repaired the worst of the damage Lucifer had done to him, there was still evidence everywhere of the devil’s torture. Long lines of scars where Lucifer had haphazardly thrown his body back together after tearing it apart, so he wouldn’t die, but not bothering to heal it perfectly.

So he would never forget…

In an unexpected flash of rage, Dean put his fist through the mirror, shattering the image of himself. Shards of glass falling into the sink like glittering diamonds mixed with small round rubies. He barely felt the pain as the glass cut into his knuckles as he pulled it back, looking at his now bloody fist. Finally, the blood he kept expecting to see. It was almost… comforting…

Sam had just started to feel a little better, calming down with his face turned towards the sun, with the cool wind blowing away from him and keeping the smell of death from him. For a whole minute, Sam felt himself relaxing, his muscles letting go after being tense so long. He felt some cramping begin in his back and neck region, no doubt to all the tension he had been feeling and not actually doing anything about it. Now though, as they started to relax, the ache manifested itself and Sam rolled his head, trying to work out the kinks...

And he heard something crash. In the room. Their room.

Muscles snapping back into tense mode, Sam jumped up, running into the room, wondering what had happened. The few seconds it took him to get to the bathroom had him go through a million scenarios, all of which ended with Sam being too late and Dean being dead.

Dean was not. Thank god. But he was bleeding.

Not because he fell, or because something attacked him, but because he punched the mirror.

All that previous calmness left Sam. He felt a flash of pure, unadulterated rage that scared him, but it left quickly. His hammering heart slowed down as his resignation from earlier settled back in. He knew the sight of blood on Dean's skin. He had seen it on there for months and months before Dean said yes. There was nothing to be grateful for. Clearly, now Dean was on a self-destructive streak, and Sam could protect Dean from a million monsters and anything that came at them, but he couldn't protect him from himself.

Sam was quiet for several moments as he watched the blood drip from Dean's knuckles, the pieces of the mirror still stuck in his skin. He thought of how hard he was trying to take care of Dean, and how much Dean didn't care.

"I'll be right back," Sam said softly, leaving the room to go to the remains of the convenience store across the road. He ignored the rotting corpse of the shop owner, sprawled in the middle of the room and baking in the stifling heat of the store. He found a pair of forceps there, some peroxide, an antiseptic cream, and he had already snagged some bandages from his trek to the clinic yesterday.

It was scary how little fear he was feeling right now. Like he had gone into automatic mode.

Did it even matter that Dean had done this to himself, right after giving Sam such a scare just one day earlier? Did it really matter at all? Because Sam was going to end up losing Dean either way, it was just a matter of when. He hoped Dean knew that the moment he died, Sam was going to follow. He was not going to bring it up, because Dean would see it as nothing more than emotional blackmail, but the truth was the truth and if Dean was too blind to see it, then he was not going to bring it up either.

He rushed back, barely having been gone five minutes.

He made Dean sit down on one bed while he sat down on the other, and he reached for Dean's hand, starting to meticulously pull out every shard of glass as gently as he could.

"Why?" Sam asked, voice hoarse. He wasn't expecting an answer. Most likely, the flash of a brother he saw yesterday who had smiled at him was gone. He was probably in the doghouse again, and he wondered when he'll be let out.

Dean heard the bathroom door open, but he didn’t turn to look. It wasn’t like he didn’t know who it was. Who else would it be? So what was the point of looking? Then again, maybe he didn’t look because he just didn’t want to see the expression on Sam’s face when his brother saw him. When Sam realized what he’d done… not like it wasn’t obvious.

The shattered mirror, the broken glass around him and imbedded in his hand, the blood… yeah, pretty damn obvious. Maybe he didn’t want to see that hurt puppy expression in the younger man’s eyes every time Sam looked at him. Maybe he didn’t want to see the disappointment or anger Sam might be feeling over what he’d done. Or maybe… he was afraid of seeing something else in his brother’s eyes. Maybe he was afraid of seeing that spark of enjoyment that Lucifer got whenever the devil saw his blood, tasted it, bathed in it…

Sam didn’t say anything for a long time and Dean didn’t look up from his bleeding hand. Watching the ruby red drops as they slid down his fingers, following the lines of his palm, dripping amongst the glittering shards of glass in the sink. He felt almost mesmerized by them… then Sam finally spoke, and Dean gave the barest of nods in reply though he still didn’t look up. At least, not until he heard his brother’s footsteps walking away and the door of the motel room opening and closing.

Finally Dean turned away from the broken mirror and the bloody sink and finished drying himself off with the threadbare towel. Dropping it uncaringly on the floor, Dean picked up his torn and stained clothes, adding a few more fresh blood stains to them as he pulled them on, though he didn’t really care. By the time he was dressed, Sam had returned, and Dean sighed heavily but didn’t fight as his brother pulled him out of the bathroom and sat him down on the bed.

He still didn’t look up at Sam’s face, instead watching as his brother went about carefully pulling the shards of glass still imbedded in his hand with a pair of tweezers. At his brother’s soft question, the younger man’s voice almost breaking, Dean pulled his hand out of Sam’s grasp and took the tweezers from him. He began yanking out the glass shards with a lot less care than Sam had, not really caring if they cut him more while he was pulling them out. Sam was taking too damned long…

“I don’t know.” Dean finally answered, reaching for the peroxide next and pouring it over his bloody hand without much care. Not like anyone would give a damn if he ruined the damned carpet.

Sam didn't want to say it or think it, but Dean was starting to get on his nerves. Sam understood that Dean was in pain, physically and emotionally. He also knew that he blamed Sam for it, and rightfully so. He was also very, very aware that hurts like the ones his brother had suffered didn't go puff.

But that didn't mean an irrational part of him didn't get angry everytime his attempts to help Dean were met with... with this.

Dean pulled his hands away from Sam, taking the forceps as well and then pretty much ripping the glass out of his skin. Sam flinched everytime he saw the skin tear, because the sight of blood flowing down Dean's skin was not an unfamiliar one, and it brought back too many memories of Dean's screams and his own.

'I don't know', Dean said, and Sam looked away, jaw clenched. He breathed deeply, trying to keep the words in, trying very, very hard to not fuel his anger or bait Dean. He breathed deeply again, curled his fingers into a fist, then released it. He focused on the threadbare carpet, on the yellowing walls, on the silence of the room broken by their breathing and the sloshing of peroxide on the floor.

Sam stood up, his knees cracking as he did and went to the other side of the room, leaning against the wall as he watched his brother patch himself up from a self-inflicted injury.

Sam stared at the blood staining Dean's hand... dark red lines marring pale skin, and something inside him screamed. It was a strange feeling, to be standing here and watching the blood on Dean's skin, but being in his own body. It was like he was shifting between that trapped feeling when he was stuck in his own mind, watching the blood drip with his own eyes and then again, not his eyes... but then suddenly he was here again, with his hands as his own and his eyes as his own, but watching the same damn thing.

It shouldn't be as confusing as it was. It terrified Sam in it's simple complexity.

Dean was punishing Sam... or punishing himself. But why would he punish himself? It made no sense. So he had to be punishing Sam. Had to be. Or he was trying to kill himself, but wasn't aware of it yet. Sam knew there was equal chance of Dean wanting both.

Sam's hands started shaking as he realized this, and to cover it up he stuffed them into his jeans pockets.

Sam couldn't have Dean on suicide watch when Sam himself wasn't all that stable. And his anger was making it even harder for Sam to contemplate doing it. Because right now, Sam was not just angry, he was boiling in rage he had know idea where it had come from. He went into the kitchen, grabbed a knife and went back to Dean, putting it next to him within reach of his hands.

"Do it right. Either slit your wrists and be done with it, or if it's me you want to hurt, then come on! I'm not even gonna fucking fight it. Just stab me and get it over with," Sam snarled, but he didn't know where the words were coming from. It was like he was talking without control of his tongue and the feeling shouldn't be as familiar as it was. His words were vicious, and he waited to feel remorse, but all he felt was relief. If Dean killed himself, then Sam would follow, no doubt about it. If Dean killed him... well, then... it was the end of the story for Sam anyway.

Sam knew now that he could say sorry a million times, put himself on the line and try and take care of his brother, but if Dean wasn't willing to let him even try, then there was no point. Sam knew that Dean had given up, and he had given up on Sam. It hurt, and Sam had been here before. Before the apocalypse, with Ruby and the demon blood, Dean had stopped trusting him then too, but at least he had still been there. It had hurt, oh god it had hurt so much, but Dean had still been there. He'd still had Sam's back, Sam had still been able to trust Dean even if it wasn't the same way around...

Now though, Dean wasn't just not trusting him, it was like he didn't want Sam around at all. And worse, even though Dean couldn't trust Sam, Sam still trusted and loved... god, he loved Dean still, but if he couldn't even leave Dean for five minutes without Dean hurting himself then what was the point? The world had ended, they might as well end Sam and Dean's story too.

Dean didn’t look up from his task when his brother got up from the bed. Instead he reached for the gauze that Sam had left and started wrapping up his abused hand, watching as the blood soaked into the clean white material. He’d probably have to change the bandage again in a couple of hours, but the bleeding shouldn’t last that long. It wouldn’t even need stitches, though there would be pain every time he flexed his hand for a while.

When Sam finally came back over to him, Dean’s head snapped up and he looked at the younger man for the first time towering over him. Dean’s eyes growing a little wide with surprise at the display of anger bordering on rage in his brother’s voice and eyes, and flinching a little in spite of himself in fear. Just like he had outside the car the first time Sam had grabbed and ordered him...

Only now Sam was ordering him to kill himself... or kill Sam... and for a few moments Dean could only stare at the younger man with wide eyes, unmoving. Shocked barely covered it. Then Dean slowly turned his eyes away from his brother to stare at the knife that Sam had slapped down on the end table by the bed. It was a poor excuse of a blade really, dull as hell, and Dean found himself missing his own meticulously cared for knives. His guns. The Impala. His father. The world... Sam... even though the younger man was standing right in front of him. Telling him to kill himself...

Maybe Dean was missing himself a little too. Missing who he was, and knowing there was little to no chance he’d ever be that man again. When all he needed was his gun, his car, and his brother next to him and fuck the rest of the world... Well, he sure had fucked the rest of the world, hadn’t he?

“Fine.” Dean finally replied, barely more than a breath. He thought he would feel more... relief... when he slowly reached for the knife and took it in his hand. Relief that it would be finally over and he would go back to where he belonged... hell... but Dean even though he wasn’t sure what he was feeling right now, it definitely wasn’t relief.

“Get out.”

He didn’t want Sam to watch him kill himself.

Any other day, Sam would have felt fear, surprise, shock, at Dean's words and actions. The determination in Dean's eyes would have hurt Sam, would have destroyed him, but now it only fueled his rage. He didn't know where it was coming from, but for the first time since he had woken up in this shell of the world he used to know, he was feeling in control of his own damn life.

"No," Sam said, voice clipped and authoritative. "You wanna kill yourself so damn bad, you do it in front of me. And then you get to fucking watch me follow you."

Sam sat down across from Dean, elbows on his knees and eyes on his brother. "So, choose. How are we going today? Slit wrists? Cut throat? Or are we going the dramatic route? Stabbing ourselves in the heart? It might end things a little too quickly maybe," Sam made a show of thinking. "Hmmm... I'll go for the slit wrists. We can say our last words then, make it all painful and shit. Hell, we can even have that evil dreaded chick flick moment!" Sam grinned, which was more of a baring of his teeth than a smile.

Sam had no idea why he was so angry, and inside he was screaming to stop, to go and hold his brother and make sure he didn't hurt himself... but something in him screamed louder. It asked for relief, asked for rest, and it asked for end. He wondered when he had gone mad, and if this is what going mad felt like.

Mostly, he just wanted to sleep.

Dean looked up at his brother’s angry expression and his own eyes narrowed slightly. A flicker of anger pushing through the resignation he felt.

No? So Sam wanted to watch him kill himself? Wanted to watch him bleed? Wanted to watch him die? What the fuck?

Then follow him… of course, that bastard… What the fuck was Sam playing at? Telling him he should kill himself, practically ordering him to, and then trying to guilt him into not doing it? Did Sam think he wouldn’t do it? Maybe at one time, Dean wouldn’t have. Dean had sold his soul to bring his brother back from the dead, after all, setting this whole fucking mess into motion. He had gone to hell to save his brother’s life, because he couldn’t live with the knowledge that Sam was dead.

But that was a long time ago…

And as he listened to the younger man’s angry words, Sam practically snarling at him, his face twisted in hate as he gazed at him, that sadistic smile… Understanding dawned and Dean couldn’t help the small huff of laughter that escaped him. Though it sounded more like a sob, even to his own ears. Hanging his head, unable to look at his brother anymore as he shook his head at his own stupidity.

He was such a fucking idiot… falling for the same trick twice.

“I was wondering when you’d show up again.” Dean finally whispered softly, a little surprised at the lack of pain in his voice. Just more resignation. Well, if Lucifer was going to give him the chance to take himself out this time, he wasn’t going to waste it.

Dean hefted the knife in his hand, considering his options. Slit wrists would probably be the least painful, but would take too long as Sam… Dean couldn’t help but laugh again… had said. No, he wanted it over quick. So Dean turned the knife on himself and pressed it against his own chest. He’d had to stab enough evil things in the heart over the years to know how to do it, how to slip the blade between his ribs and puncture the heart. It would hurt like a motherfucker but it would be over rather quickly.

Dean's soft words simultaneously filled Sam with despair and anger. He watched as Dean lifted the knife to his chest and in a fit of fear, Sam grabbed the knife from Dean's hands, pretty much ripping it away and he threw it hard at the far wall. The knife sliced through the air with a whipping sound and then embedded itself in the cheap plaster, wooden handle sticking out awkwardly.

Sam stood there for a few moments, wondering what he could even say. Then he started to laugh.

"So now I'm Lucifer?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he laughed. "Giving up and telling you to just fucking end everything makes me the devil. Not giving up but watching you flinch everytime I come close makes me a monster." Sam reached up threading his fingers through his matted dirty hair.

Sam leaned forward, making sure he had Dean's attention. "But see, Dean, Lucifer would never ask you to kill yourself. He'd do it himself. He'll want to feel your blood on his fingers. He'll want the taste of it, the smell of it. He'll want to hear the sc-screams," Sam's throat closed up unexpectedly at the onslaught of memories that will haunt him forever. "I know, Dean, I was there. The entire time, I was fucking there. I watched, heard, felt... I-I still can..."

Sam rubbed his face, surprised to find his hand come away wet. He hadn't even realized he had started crying. He swallowed and looked to the side. "So... so if you think I-I'm him... fuck, man, I don't know what hurts more... that me being me is as bad as the devil... or that you can't tell me apart from that monster anymore."

Sam stood up, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes to try and keep calm. He hated feeling this way, like his emotions were out of control. He wondered if it was because of the stress of everything, or if something had broken while he was possessed by Lucifer... but he was getting really tired of it.

Somehow Dean wasn’t at all surprised when the knife was suddenly torn out of his hands. He should have known it would never be that easy. Instead of feeling angry or cheated Dean only felt more of the same resignation as he looked up at his brother angry and ranting away at him. Christ… he had started thinking of the thing standing in front of him as Sam again, and now he couldn’t seem to stop.

But ‘Sam’ was wrong about one thing. Lucifer wouldn’t kill him himself. Why should he? Where was the fun in that? Dean was his favorite plaything, he’d told him so many times. Make him bleed? Sure. Make him scream? Definitely. But kill him? No.

Dean looked away when the tears started falling from the young man’s eyes… it was a good act, he’d give him that. Dean didn’t know anything anymore.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, once again not knowing what to say, and finally Dean stood up and headed for the door that would take him back out into the barren wasteland of a world he’d helped create. He stopped with his hand on the door handle, though he didn’t look back at Sam.

“I was there too. In case you forgot.” Dean finally said, sighing heavily.

“You want to know the real reason I put my fist through the mirror, Sam? I couldn’t stand to look at my own reflection. I don’t even recognize myself anymore, how the fuck am I supposed to recognize you?”

With that, Dean opened the door and walked out. He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew that right now he needed that ‘space’ that Sam had offered him before.

Sam listened quietly, not looking at Dean as he left. The silence that surrounded him after the door closed behind Dean was deafening in it's intensity. He imagined he could hear his heart beating, his blood flowing through his veins, the slight rasp of his breath and the creak of his joints with every tiny movement.

He realized now that he had never been as alone as right now. Not even when he was trapped in his own mind with Lucifer at the controls. Not when Dean had died a million times on those Tuesdays and then again on Wednesday. Not when Dean had been dragged to hell and for four months Sam had been a shell of a person.

None of those times had felt as bad and as wrong as this, because as horrible as they had been, Sam had known one thing that he had thought to be infallible. That Dean loved him. And that Dean and him would always be inseparable.

Now he didn't have Dean, and Dean didn't seem to want Sam nearby at all. Hell, he had just confessed to not even recognizing Sam. Sam's eyes fell on the knife sticking out from the wall. How easy would it be to pick it up and walk out of the door? How easy would it be to add one more body to the billions littering the earth's surface? And Dean... Dean would probably breathe easy when... if he came back to the room and found Sam gone.

He could even die the easy way. He had grabbed pain pills from his earlier excursion to the clinic, and if he downed all the hundred pills in one go, he was sure he would reach lethal levels of overdose. And Ibuprofen would make him sleep too... nice way to die...

Dean would never find him again. Sam was sure his corpse would rot to a near unrecognizable state before Dean could find it... not that he would even look for him...

Sam stood up, heading to the knife and feeling the smooth handle, but not pulling it out.

Really. He had all the reasons in the world to just end it. To not hear Dean tell him how little Sam mattered to him now, and to not see the way he was a monster in his brother's eyes... the brother he loved so damn much and for whom he'd sell his soul a million times if it meant that Dean would be happy...

Sam leaned forward, forehead resting against the wall and tears falling down his cheeks. There was no one else to witness his breakdown, and the relief from letting go was immense. He gritted his teeth and couldn't stop the long whine that came out of him, lump so large in his throat that breathing was difficult. He let himself cry, hoping that at the end of it, he'll feel better. Maybe he'll even find a reason to live once he was over his depression. Maybe things wouldn't look so bad once he had let all the pain out.

Maybe he'll realize that he had misunderstood Dean's words, or that he had imagined the way Dean looked at him.

Sam sank to the ground, arms curled over his head like he wanted to hide his breakdown from a world that didn't exist anymore. He kept waiting for the wave of depression to leave, for him to get up and push everything down and do what he needed to do...

Only he didn't know what he was supposed to do. There was nothing left to do. There were no more hunts, no more demons, no more people. There were no more schools and no more jobs. There were no more houses with white picket fences and no more pies baking in ovens. There was nothing left.

And Sam... Sam had one task. Just one. To take care of Dean. But Sam didn't think he was up to it. Oh, he'd carry Dean on his back to all the corners of the back and then some, but he couldn't stand one second of seeing Dean look at him like he didn't recognize him... like he hated him.

The urge to run away was strong... but the need to stay close to Dean was just as powerful. Sam ended up walking out of the room with the knife in his hand, drying his eyes on his sleeve. He intended to walk away, give Dean his much needed reprieve. If Dean killed himself... well, it's not like Sam would last all that long by himself either...

But he couldn't do it. He ended up circling the motel and finding a dried pool in the back. He sat down on the edge, dangling his feet into where the water used to be once upon a time. The knife was next to him, his fingers running on the sharp edge of the blade as he continued to contemplate his own death. He knew he probably won't do it. Not yet. His need to be close to Dean was too strong... and he felt a little like a moth circling a light... wanting to be closer, but getting burned everytime he got too close...

Dean walked with his head down. Not really paying much attention to where he was going, just knowing that he was walking away from the motel… away from Sam. Wasn’t that ironic? Hadn’t it always been Sam who’d walked away before?

He remembered when Sam had run away when he was just a kid, leaving Dean frantically searching for him but unable to find his brother. When dad had got back from the hunt and found Sam gone it was one of the few times their father had hit him in anger. He remembered when Sam had left for Stanford. Listening to the argument between his father and brother, unforgivable words said on both sides, and Dad telling Sam never to come back. Sam didn’t. He walked out the door and never came back. Dean remembered when his brother had made him leave him on the side of the road, the younger man insisting on looking for their father rather than taking care of the hunt where people were dying. And of course he remembered when Sam had gone to Ruby again, trusting a demon over him. Dean remembered repeating his father’s exact words to Sam… and Sam leaving, seeking revenge for his death even once Dean was back, alive.

Now Dean was the one running away, every step he took taking him further and further away from his brother. Wasn’t it just yesterday Dean hadn’t been able to bear the thought of Sam being out of his line of sight? Now he couldn’t stand to look at his brother…

Why? It was like he was on a runaway pendulum swinging back and forth wildly and he just couldn’t get his bearing. One minute he’d be looking at Sam, and all he saw was the brother he’d loved all his life, the brother he would, and had, died for. The next minute he’d only see Lucifer, the thing that had tortured him for months trying to make him say yes, trying to force him to agree to kill his brother… and god help him, he had said yes…

But it was more than that.

As Dean walked he absently kicked at various debris in his path. A rock. A dented coke can. A half charred license plate. Some kind of bone… He wasn’t sure how long he’d walked, but the effort was beginning to take a toll on his still weakened body. Eventually he had to concede that if he didn’t rest he was just going to fall flat on his face, and with a sigh Dean perched himself on the hood of the twisted remains of a car in the middle of the road. When Dean glanced back the way he’d come, he almost couldn’t see the motel through the shimmering heat waves rising off the barren landscape. A desert… even though Dean was pretty damned sure they were nowhere near Arizona.

Dean sighed again and looked away from the almost mirage, though there was nothing else really to look at. Just more death as far as he could see. Twisted and smashed cars, burned scarred land, charcoal stubs of trees, and bodies… plenty of dead bodies rotting in the hot sun.

It was all his fault. Everything. Everything he could see. He had brought Sam back, after all. He’d sold his soul to bring his brother back to life, and setting fucking Armageddon in motion. Was he regretting that decision now? Maybe a part of him was and the guilt he felt at that was… indescribable. Maybe, just maybe, one day Dean could get over the guilt of killing every living thing on the planet. But he wasn’t sure he could ever get over the guilt of wishing his brother really had died back there in Cold Oak. Talk about a vicious circle. If he hadn’t saved Sam, the rest of world might be alive now. Instead he had saved his brother and destroyed everything else.

Wasn’t the fact that Sam was alive enough? If that demon bitch at the crossroads had told him that saving Sam would end the world, what would Dean have done? Would he have still sold his soul? Yes… god help him, yes he would have. Another layer of guilt on top of everything…

But why couldn’t he take even the smallest measure of comfort that Sam was alive too? It could have been worse. Dean could have woken up alone, or he could have woken up next to his brother’s body, dead, like everyone else. Why couldn’t he at least be grateful that he still had his brother? Because half the time he looked at Sam, he didn’t see his brother. A vicious circle…

Dean closed his eyes against the tears burning in his eyes though they escaped and ran down his cheeks anyway. He didn’t deserve tears. He didn’t deserve comfort. He didn’t deserve to be alive. He didn’t deserve the peace of death either…

So what was left? What?

Sam… Sam was left… and he was hurting. That was Dean’s fault too. Dean wasn’t trying to hurt Sam. He wasn’t trying to punish the younger man. God no. It wasn’t Sam’s fault. What had happened… sure, Sam had said yes to Lucifer, Sam had killed Lilith, but it had been Dean who’d broken the first seal, the first lock, that had let the devil out of his cage in the first place. Because he’d been too weak… everything traced back to Dean’s failures. Dean didn’t blame Sam, and it certainly wasn’t his brother’s fault he was so fucked up right now.

Why couldn’t he stop hurting his brother then? Because Sam wanted him to be someone he wasn’t anymore. Someone Dean couldn’t even pretend to be. When Dean tried to remember who he once was, what the ‘old’ Dean would do, what the ‘old’ Dean would say, he couldn’t. He felt like he was going mad. Hell, going? More like been there and done that.

Dean rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his hair and pulling hard. Trying to remember…

Well, the old Dean wouldn’t have been sitting out here in the middle of nowhere. He would have been back at the motel with Sam. He would be taking charge. He would be taking care of his brother, because Sam was all that really mattered to him. Ok… so maybe Dean hadn’t quite forgotten the old Dean, even though it seemed like a distant memory. It was more like… he was afraid, to try to be that man again. After all, look what had happened? Every time he tried to take care of Sam, he failed. Every time he tried to save his brother, he failed. Now the entire world was gone, and all he had left was Sam. His brother was all he had left to lose…

A fly buzzed annoyingly past his ear, and Dean raised his hand to swat it away, but froze in mid motion. His eyes focusing on the erratic flight path of the insect before it left him alone to join a few of its ‘pals’ buzzing around a corpse.

Flies… how the fuck had he missed them? Because there was nothing special about flies buzzing around a corpse, that’s why, but right now Dean was looking at them like they were the most miraculous creatures on the planet. Because they were alive. The whole world had been wiped out in Armageddon except for him, Sam, and a few flies? No, that didn’t make any fucking sense. The possible implications of that had Dean jumping up off the hood of the car and running back towards the hotel, uncaring that he almost tripped and fell more than once in his haste or due to weakness. He ran back to the motel room and threw open the door.

“Sam!” Only his brother wasn’t there. Panic began to fill him as he ran back out of the room, looking around wildly for his brother. “SAM!”

Sam sat on the edge of the pool long enough that he could feel his rage and depression slowly lift. As his anger left him, he calmed down and tried to be logical about things again. It was no news that Dean was hurting, and that he was probably in a depressive state himself. Sam was also aware that he, himself, was not doing all that greatly either... his constant mood swings were one big indicator. He switched between anger and sadness, between hope and devastation, and between love and hatred. One moment he would be glad that he at least had Dean, no matter how much Dean hated him, and the next he would hate the fact that his brother wouldn't look at him like Sam matter anything to him anymore, and Sam would blame Dean for it in his fucked up mind. Eventually, that blame shifted to himself, and that's when he felt suicidal.

Fuck... he had never felt suicidal before. He had briefly entertained the thought when he had found out about him being one of Azazel's children and how he was part of a grand plan... but Dean's constant presence and unfailing faith in him and kept the darkness from spreading.

Right now... well, he didn't have all that much to depend on, and he was very sure that it was only worry about Dean that had kept him from taking the knife to his own throat.

Sam sighed, putting his head in his hands and shielding his face from the sunlight.

He was just so tired... so fucking tired, and he didn't even know how much longer before they got a chance to relax. It wasn't anytime in the foreseeable future, that's for sure.

In the time Sam had to think to himself, he decided that he had been a right ass to his brother earlier... and without excuse too. He sighed, pulling his feet up out of the pool and standing up, dusting his jeans more out of habit than anything else, and that was when he heard the motel room door slam open and then Dean's yell.

He sighed again, picking up the knife and looping it through his belt buckle before he started walking towards the front of the motel, heading to their room. He found Dean outside the room, looking panicky and Sam frowned.

"Hey," Sam said, walking towards him slowly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry about uh... about earlier. I didn't mean to blow up on you like that..." Sam chuckled a little awkwardly, ashamed. "I guess I'm just on my period?" Sam tried, referencing back to all the jokes Dean used to make about him PMSing everytime Sam got bitchy.

“SAM!” Dean screamed his brother’s name again, his heart beating so hard and fast against his chest it felt bruised. The younger man’s words coming back to haunt him now.

You get to fucking watch me follow you…

Maybe he hadn’t believed Sam before. Maybe he’d thought it was an angry bluff his brother was trying to call him on. Maybe his fucked up head had only seen it as another trick by Lucifer. Stupid… so fucking stupid… What if Sam had done it? What if his brother had really done it, after Dean had simply walked away from him?

The terror Dean should have felt first hearing those words was definitely there now. Too late? Oh fuck, what if he was too late? One more time too late…

Then Dean heard the sound of footsteps behind him and he turned, his knees almost giving out beneath him from relief. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Just like when he’d first saw his brother standing up, alive, breathing, fucking alive, when Dean had returned from the crossroads. The bitter taste of sulfur still in his mouth, but that didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered except that Sam was alive.

And he was making stupid jokes…

Just like that, all Dean could do was close the distance between them and hug the younger man tightly to him. Holding his brother almost bruising tight, practically trembling from fear and relief.

When Sam saw the way Dean had been panicking, he had a split second to wonder why. Old habits die hard, and his first thought was to wonder who was threatening his brother, or what was the danger. Then he saw the relief in Dean's eyes and knew that he had been worried for Sam, and even that wasn't any better. Really, when was he going to stop hurting his brother?

Dean marched towards him and Sam was expecting a punch. He'd been punched by Dean before, one some more memorable occasions than others, and one thing he knew for sure was that when Dean didn't pull his punches, they really goddamn hurt. He braced himself for Dean's fist, but instead found himself pressed against Dean with bruising force.

Sam hugged back entirely on reflex. He couldn't not, when he had been needing comfort from his brother from the moment he had woken up in this godforsaken world... even though he was surprised by the gesture. So far, Dean's kept him at arm's length. This close and no more, and Sam had been dying for just one touch, just one hint that Dean didn't hate him... but now... god, Sam could just collapse into tears just from the relief he felt.

He hugged back just as tightly, arms around Dean's back, hands pressing into the groove of Dean's spine to press their chests together. Sam could feel the bumps of Dean's spine, could feel the way Dean's heart thudded in his chest against Sam's, and he realized that Dean had lost too much weight.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked softly, fingers twisting in the material of Dean's shirt, not wanting to let go yet. Who knew when he'll have his brother this close again? Already Sam was feeling better, having Dean this close. Dean had once said that Sam was his weakness, and that Dean was Sam's... that had never been so true. Today, with the way he had been feeling earlier, if Dean hadn't been here then Sam would have taken his life. He knew he was not one for suicide and shit, but he had never felt such an all consuming despair as he had today, and only his brother's presence had kept him around.

When Sam hugged him back Dean didn’t realize how much he’d needed it until he felt his brother’s arms around him. There was no deception in this. It was Sam. Just Sam. Once more Dean felt tears burning in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut tightly. Burying his face against the warmth of his brother’s neck, as though that would hide them. Or maybe just wanting, needing, to be closer. To feel his brother warm and alive... and just Sam...

Then Sam asked him what was wrong and Dean wanted to laugh. What was wrong? Just about everything. But right now this felt right. Right now, this was the most right thing on the whole fucking planet. Yeah, he could feel embarrassed about going all emo on Sam later. Right now he didn’t give a flying fuck. Who was there to see them anyway? Dean wasn’t sure he would have cared even if they did have an audience other than flies.

Remembering the flies, Dean reluctantly pulled back from the younger man, though not far and looked around. For a moment he felt fear that maybe he’d imagined the whole fucking thing. That his eyes and his fucked up head were just playing tricks on him. Making him see what he wanted to see... though if that was the case surely even his fucked up head could give him a better hallucination than flies buzzing around a corpse.

Good thing there were plenty of corpses... he supposed... because he saw them again, buzzing merrily around the rotting flesh of what hardly looked like a man at this point.

“Look.” He said simply, pointing at the corpse, and when Sam did Dean could see only confusion on the younger man’s face. Well, maybe confusion and a bit of worry, like he thought Dean really had snapped or something. Hell, maybe he had, but Dean was pretty sure he wasn’t seeing things. Dean rolled his eyes.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one, Sammy. The flies. They’re alive.” Dean said, waiting patiently for the implications to sink in.

Sam almost didn't want to let Dean go, but it wasn't like he was going to hold onto him when Dean pushed away, so he contented himself with keeping one hand on Dean's waist, not caring that it was a fairly intimate touch. As Dean pointed at a corpse, asking him to 'look', Sam got confused. The corpse? Was nothing special. Even more so now. Before the world ended, a corpse in the middle of the parking lot would have made news, but now it was a miracle if they found one place that wasn't littered with rotting bodies.

Dean rolled his eyes before explaining himself... or whatever passed for explaining in Dean's terms.

"Yeah, the flies," Sam said, sighing and not wanting to be the pessimist between the two of them but unable to help himself. "They're like cockroaches."

Sam knew he wasn't making much sense so he let go of Dean to run his fingers through his greasy hair. "If there was ever a nuclear war, the cockroaches were predicted to be the only survivors," Sam explained. "Only that it wasn't correct. Cockroaches wouldn't be the only survivors, but other insects too. I think I remember beetles being one of the best survivors..." Sam said before he sighed. "I'm not saying that there's no hope... there might be people somewhere who weren't caught in the damage. And I'm sure there are animals still... in the forests maybe, in the mountains, and the oceans... ya know?"

Sam leaned back against a column holding the upper floors. "We can look for survivors...? If you want," Sam said. He was willing to try, because having a purpose will do them both good... but at the same time, he wasn't sure if he wanted to embark on a possible wild goose chase and only come across disappointment. It was Dean's call. Sam will do whatever Dean wanted.

Dean had expected some change in the younger man’s expression once Sam understood. Well, there was one, but he hadn’t expected his brother to just look… bored. Like it didn’t even matter, because according to Sam, it didn’t. As his brother went on to explain it to him, like he was a fucking idiot or a three year old.

Cockroaches… yeah, he’d heard that before. He’d paid attention sometimes in school. But this wasn’t the aftermath of fucking nuclear war. It was god damn Armageddon! Big fucking difference. And it wasn’t like they were all that far from ground zero either.

So far all they’d seen was dust and death. No other sign of life, except themselves and those fucking flies. And it didn’t even matter to Sam. Even when his brother said there might be some people left, or other animals, he could tell Sam was just humoring him. Especially when his brother, in an almost resigned tone, said they could look for survivors if he wanted to.

Sam didn’t. Sam didn’t think there was anything out there. Sam didn’t think there was anyone out there. Sam thought it was a waste of time for them to even look. Much better to just stay here, among the fly ridden corpses, until they became one of them…

Yeah, it had been a small hope, barely enough for Dean to recognize it as such. But once it was gone Dean felt even more empty than before, if that was even possible.

Dean shook his head and turned away from his brother.

“Forget it.” He said softly before heading back into the motel room.

Sam could have smacked himself. Dean had looked so excited for a moment, the spark back in his eyes for a brief second, but of course Sam had to dash it down. As Dean went back into the motel room, Sam let himself smack his head against the pillar he was leaning against earlier repeatedly until the dull pain helped him get his thoughts back in order.

"Dean... come on, man!" Sam said, following his brother into the room. "I'm not saying that there aren't any people left! I really think we should go look. But I was just..." Sam sat down on his bed. "I know... I know we can't stay here, and we're going to have to leave soon anyway... so I was thinking... maybe we could go and look for people too? Head down south, away from the damage and maybe it didn't hit the other countries so bad?"

Sam held his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. "I'm trying really hard, Dean, but you gotta throw me a bone here. You can't get upset about everything I say, because all that's going to do is make me stop talking, and then you'll get upset about me not talking, and really... I can't talk and not talk at the same time."

Sam knew he was making little sense, but in his head it had sounded perfectly logical. He just hoped he didn't sound too much like an idiot.

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed… nearly the same spot he’d tried to kill himself not long ago… and sighed heavily. What the hell was he… were they… supposed to do now? Big fucking question. One that Dean wasn’t sure he really wanted to think about, not now at least, but at the same time he couldn’t help thinking about it.

What was the point? He kept coming back to that one thought. What was the fucking point of going on if there was nothing left? Even if they managed to live in this wasteland by themselves for years, in the end it was all going to end the same. One of them was going to die first, and then really, what would be left for the other? So why delay the inevitable? It was only going to make things harder…

Then Sam came in.

Dean sighed again as he looked over at his ranting brother. No? Sam hadn’t said that? It sure as hell sounded like that’s what Sam had been trying to convince him of. That everything other than a few bugs or other animals on this planet was all that was left. His brother basically calling Dean a fucking idiot for even thinking that there might be people left somewhere in the world. Right on the heels of Sam telling him he should just get it over with and kill himself.

Now he was getting upset over every ‘little’ thing that Sam said?

Dean stared at the younger man for a long time before answering.

“I want to go to South Dakota.” He said simply, giving no further explanation, knowing none would be needed. Sure, there was about a billion to one chance that Bobby might still be alive but Dean needed to know for sure. Even if neither one of them could really handle another heartbreak right now… even if all they found was the older man’s corpse, he still wanted to go there. Out of all the billions of people who’d died Bobby deserved a proper burial at least. He was not going to let the older man just rot out in the open like everyone else.

Sam didn't know why he bothered. He had been hoping to get through to Dean, to try and make peace, but instead he could see how Dean took those words wrongly as well... or even worse, completely disregarded them.

South Dakota? Sure. Why not? Sam was beyond arguing anything. Hell, he should probably just go along with everything Dean said. He should, in fact, act exactly how Dean wanted him to. He should be infinitely supportive, never argue back, never respond in any way less than ideal. Fuck... he should be everything he wasn't.

That's what it came down to, didn't it? Dean didn't want Sam around anymore. Sure, Dean panicked when Sam was near the pool, probably thinking him gone, but it was probably more the fear of being left alone than fearing that Sam wasn't there.

It was tiring, Sam decided, to hold on tightly to someone but have them fight the entire time. He loved Dean so damn much, but it turns out he can never do anything right by his big brother anymore. He was starting to feel exactly like he felt with Dad when he was a teenager. No matter what he did, he was wrong, he messed up, he wasn't good enough.

Sam was never good enough. For anyone.

Sam didn't answer Dean in words, instead nodding his assent. He went to the kitchenette, picking out the non-perishables for their trip. He was going to have to handle everything, clearly. He was already planning on stripping the beds, packing away the blankets and pillows. He was sure they'll be spending a lot of time in the car.

He'll also have to get a first aid kit ready, because Dean wasn't into the whole self-preservation thing too much. He'll also have to get bottles of water. He didn't want Dean getting dehydrated again.

He should make a list. Check things off as he did, because right now he was too agitated and too upset to actually be able to keep track of everything they needed. The happiness he had felt when Dean had hugged him... the feeling of being wanted, of being needed, was gone. Now he was feeling like he was failing every test Dean was throwing at him, and that he was constantly sub-par... and funny enough, Sam had never ever felt that way with Dean before. Even when he screwed up, he had never felt unloved or unwanted before.

That fucking kicked puppy look that Sam kept getting was really starting to get on his fucking nerves. Like Dean was the fucking problem here.

Sam was the one forcing him to talk about shit that Dean didn’t want to talk about to begin with, and then his brother gets upset because he doesn’t like what he hears. If Sam didn’t like the possible answers Dean would give, then he shouldn’t ask the fucking questions to begin with!

Sam was the one who decided to get all pissed with him and tell him he should fucking kill himself. Then his brother gets upset when Dean decides it’s actually not such a bad idea.

Sam was the one who told him he was an idiot for thinking people might be alive just because Dean saw a few fucking flies. That there was no point in looking for anyone because no one was alive, and then Sam says that Dean shouldn’t get upset by that. He should just let it roll off his back like water or something.

Now Sam is getting all emo and pissed off at him again because Dean didn’t want to just run off randomly, with no real direction in mind, but rather go look for someone they both cared about. Family. Suddenly Dean was the bad guy, and Sam was the poor abused puppy, just because Dean wanted to go look for Bobby.

But, according to Sam, Dean shouldn’t get upset by that. He shouldn’t get upset by anything Sam said or did. Guess he shouldn’t be upset by the end of the fucking world that Dean caused. Guess he shouldn’t be upset about being tortured for months either by his ‘brother’. He should just be happy as a fucking clam about everything.

Dean stood up suddenly. Real anger blazing in his eyes for the first time. He definitely wasn’t feeling numb right now. Right now he was pissed.

“Fuck you, Sam. You know what? Do whatever the fuck you want.” With that, Dean stormed out of the motel room, heading back outside. Feeling a little like he was walking in circles, but at least this time he had a purpose. It didn’t take long to find what he needed. A truck that looked like it had been shielding from the worst damage by the wall it was parked by.

Dean broke open the window with a rock and unlocked the door, immediately setting to work hotwiring the truck. It didn’t take long, and soon the truck’s engine came to life and Dean dusted off the driver’s seat of glass before he got inside. If Sam wanted to find him, he knew where he would be.

As it turned out, Sam had to do absolutely nothing, not even utter a word, for Dean to rage at him. After being told to fuck off while Sam held a can of beans in his head, readying the supplies, Dean stormed off. Sam stood there for a moment, fingers tight around the can and feeling the pressure build. Sam thought Dean was gone like he had left earlier, that he'll be back... until he heard the sound of glass breaking and a car door opening.

Realization hit him like a brick at the back of his head, and he dropped the can where he stood before running out.

"DEAN!" He called out before he could think, but Dean was already driving away. "DEAN! STOP!" Sam shouted, watching the truck disappear into the shimmer of heat. "DEAAANNNN!!!!!!"

He left you.

Sam stood there, breathing harsh, still staring at the road Dean had disappeared on.

He doesn't love you anymore. Doesn't even like you.

Sam leaned against a nearby pillar, still staring at the road and feeling his thoughts slow down and shift. They grew random, fleeting, and he was unable to keep track of them. He thought of all the things Dean and him used to do, all the times Dean had been there for him, how Dean had loved him so much that he had sold his soul for him... and now, fuck... Dean didn't love him at all.

And who's fault was that? Really? Not Dean's... no. It was entirely Sam's fault. Sam wasn't the good brother. Sam was the brother who screwed up, who had panic attacks, who drank demon blood, who said yes to devils, who couldn't help himself feeling down sometimes, who couldn't control his anger lately...

Sam was the one who had screwed everything up.

Now where did that leave him?

A thought occurred to Sam then, and it sent him into abrupt peals of laughter. The laughter was panic edged, self deprecating, because now he really was not good enough. Not even when he was the last man on earth. Wasn't that what women said? Not even if you were the last man on earth? Dean got to put it into practice.

'I can't stand you, Sam, not even when you're the last person alive.'

Sam stood there, and kept waiting... no, expecting, Dean to return. Dean wouldn't leave him... he wouldn't. He'll... he'll come back.

Only he didn't. And Sam knew that Dean was headed to South Dakota, with no supplies, that he should go after him... but what would that achieve? The most Sam could do was give him the supplies, and then leave. Eventually, Dean will run out, and he won't actually go and scavenge for them because he was on a suicide kick...

Really, what would it achieve other than force his brother into Sam's company for another several minutes while Sam gave him food he won't use anyway.

Was there any point in chasing Dean to South Dakota, when Dean's actions had pretty much yelled out to Sam that he wasn't wanted?

As the sun started setting, Sam returned to the room, softly closing the door behind him. He looked around, and saw the piles of cans he had been taking out, the bottles of water on the ground, and the rumpled bed that Dean had slept in. The empty IV still hung above it, and Sam missed Dean so much it was like a vise around his heart.

"What am I supposed to do, Dean?" Sam asked the empty bed softly. "What do you want me to do?" He whispered before he went to his own bed and crawled under the covers, even though it was stifling in the room. He pulled the covers over his head and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep and get away from everything for a little while... but it was too quiet without the sound of breaths from the other bed, and Sam found himself wide awake the entire night for the fourth night in a row.