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Dean is dead.

Sam held on to his brother's body, bloodied and torn. The Hell hounds had ripped Dean apart. Gashes so deep, you could scoop out his insides.

No.

There was no sense of time. He looked into the green, dead eyes, feeling like he would drown in them, until he couldn't take it anymore. Sam buried his head against Dean's. His own tears were smearing the blood on both their faces now.

Nothing made any sense. He was supposed to save Dean, but there was nothing he could've done. Not a damn thing.

Surely this couldn't be it?

Dean is dead.

He must act. They couldn't stay here. What if someone wanted to come rob Dean's body? No one was allowed to touch his brother now. Only he.

Only me.

Sam gripped Dean's unresponsive arm and pulled his torso upright, head lolling back. Sam caught it gently with his other hand.

Can't hurt him anymore.

Sam couldn't think of what would happen now. He pulled his brother up higher, and gently pushed his shoulder into the crook of Dean's hips, folding him over his shoulder, gently settling him in a fireman's carry.

No one can touch you now, Dean. No one.

The slowly oozing blood started to seep into his clothes. He ignored it. He had to get Dean to safety. There had to be a spell. He would find a way to save Dean.

I'll get you home, I swear.

When he got his brother safely to Bobby's, he changed out of his blood sodden clothes. Then he methodically started to undress Dean. He ignored the gashes and the tears. This was still his brother. They were just wounds like always. He'd tended so many on Dean. So he stripped the torn body down naked, and redressed him in Dean's clean, comfy clothes. Sam chose Dean's favorite Led Zeppelin shirt.

He'd like that.

The blood had stopped flowing. He wrapped his brother in a blanket. The one he used to sleep under when they stayed the night. Bobby said nothing.

Nothing happened for a long while, as the world kept turning and Sam had not cremated his brother.

But now Bobby started to beg. Then plead.

No. No one shall touch my brother.

But Bobby threatened with the thought of Dean coming back as a vengeful spirit or worse if they didn't burn the body.

This is not a body. This is my brother!

Time went on. Now he had to admit something had to be done.

No cremation.

Bobby relented. They decided on a burial. Bobby planned it and started executing it. Meanwhile, Sam just sat there, next to his brother, never leaving his side.

Dean?

Sam couldn't believe he was gone.

His brother had always been there. There was no life without Dean. Even at Stanford, Sam had known he had a life because of his brother. Dean had let him escape. Dean had let him find his own life.

Sam's world started and ended with his brother.

Dean, tell me you're okay. Tell me I can move on.

But Dean wasn't okay. He was in Hell. And he'd done it for Sam.

So Sam could never move on. He would never stop until his brother was saved from Hell. And there was absolutely no way that he could do that.

Dean, forgive me. I failed.

He couldn't live without Dean. Once, back in the day, Sam had thought he could, but that door had closed a long time ago. He knew his brother had made it his life's work to take care of Sam and he'd kept the whole family together.

He owed Dean everything. He owed him a life. He owed Dean his life. And he was out of options.

The Hell hounds should've come for me.

Dean had been normal. Wacky, yes, but normal. Not tainted with demon blood. Not controlled by dark forces. Sam was stained and besmirched, and was the cause of all of their family's grief. He had gotten their mother killed. Sam deserved to die. It would've been better if Dean had never made that deal for him. He wasn't worth it. He was more trouble to his family than he was ever any use.

Then there was a nameless wooden cross, where he'd told Bobby he wanted Dean to be buried.

Sam was sitting on top of Dean's grave. He cried endless tears. They hadn't stopped since the Hell hounds had ripped his brother apart.

Please, God. Take me. Let me trade places. Please.

Nothing happened.

Sam opened his arms, and looked up at the sky.

Please, God. I beg of you!

God seemed silent.

Sam felt rain on his face, even though the day was clear. They were his own tears. No, they would never stop.

Dean had said once Mom'd told him that angels were looking out for him. But God was silent. And Dean had not believed in God or the Angels. Dean had thought the whole thing was funny.

Sam believed, though. Truly believed. And he was at the end of his tether. So he put his hands together and prayed.

Please, Angels who are watching over Dean. Please! He's a good man. He's the best there is. Please don't let him suffer. Save him.

He repeated it over and over.

Bobby said something, but Sam couldn't hear it. Then he was being pulled from the site. He struggled.

It would be truly over if he left Dean here. He had missed his chance to show his brother that he loved him.

Dean had shown him, all through his life, what love was. He'd given up his life and his soul for Sam. And Sam had not been able to return the favor.

Now Dean would never know how deeply he was loved, how much Sam wanted to be there with him in Hell, trade places or fight to get him out. But there was nothing he could do.

Nothing.

Please, Dean's Angels, save my brother.