Where Art Thou, Dear Brother?

Dean's POV

Dean drove along the highway, thinking about how weak and worthless he was. Sam was right—he had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing, that he was doing more good than bad, but the truth was he wasn't. He screwed up. He made bad choices. He couldn't pretend that he was doing the right thing anymore.

He thought about all he had done for Sam, thinking all the way back to when they were kids, sitting alone in some crappy motel room, running out of food and money. Dean would give up his portion to his little brother, because he knew Sam needed it more than he did. Even back then, he would have rather starved himself than see Sammy go hungry.

But Sam seemed to have forgotten that. Dean had made one mistake, and now Sam had basically disowned him as a brother. Yes, Dean knew that Sam would be pissed when he realized that he had been possessed by an angel, but he thought they could get past it, like they always did. But apparently not this time. This time Sam thought that Dean had gone too far in trying to save his ass. Sam didn't trust him anymore, and he wanted to bypass the fact that they were family, that they were blood, and only work together on "strictly business", whatever the hell that meant. And since Sam was in the mood, he had decided to say the one thing that he knew would cripple Dean—that they couldn't be brothers anymore.

Honestly, Dean was pissed. Sam was an ungrateful little bitch, and that was that. After everything Dean had ever done for him, everything he had ever done for them, Sam still looked past it all and refused to continue loving him. And that hurt. It hurt a lot.

He realized suddenly that Sam had never thanked him. Hell, Sam had never thanked him for anything. No matter how much he gave up, no matter what he sacrificed for the guy, he would always find fault in him.

Maybe he was right to. He couldn't save anyone in the end anyway.

He never could.

He didn't realize it, but Dean's foot was pressing harder and harder on the gas. Everything that was going on came crashing down on him all at once. There was Metatron who needed to be stopped from taking over heaven, and there was Abaddon who needed to be stopped from taking over hell, and there was the freaking Mark of Cain that was supposed to have some terrible effect on him in the near future. Why, why did Sam choose now to hit him where it hurt most? He just wanted to get away from the pain, away from the war, away from Sam. Why did he have to be the one to fix all this? Hadn't he done enough? He was just so done with it all. Maybe he could find a way to escape, maybe even settle down and disappear from the radar.

What, like you did with Lisa? Look how well that turned out. Frowning, he pushed the thought aside.

Maybe he should go find the most remote place in the country and just live there, hunting whatever popped up, staying low profile. Just as long as Sam never came looking. If he did, he would probably just be disappointed. That's all Sam saw in him anyway. A disappointment. That's all Dad had seen in him too.

Damn, Dad. There was a man who knew how strike fear into the hearts of men. Dean tried his hardest, he did, to make the man proud, but whenever he did the anything, he would get yelled at for the tiniest detail that he had forgotten or screwed up. Dean cringed as he remembered the rage on his father's face when he came back from a particularly long hunt to find him in a boy's home. Dean had been caught shoplifting, trying to find food for him and Sam. John had been furious, and just when Dean thought he was going to get it, John had done the one thing worse than a beating—he had left him there.

The speedometer read 95, but Dean didn't notice. His father had left him. Now his brother was leaving him too. Why? What had he done to deserve this? Why had his family abandoned him?

His breath caught as a killing thought struck him. Maybe it was because he didn't save her. He didn't save Mom.

Dean's eyes welled up with tears, making it difficult to see the road ahead of him. He knew he was being ridiculous, he was only four when his Mother died, but God knew he blamed himself anyway. Maybe John and Sam did too.

He was going 120, but Dean was too upset to see. He needed to get out of here, he needed to escape. He didn't want any of it. Not Metatron, not Abbadon, not any angel or demon, not the freaking war, and sure as hell not Sam. He was leaving, and no one would ever find him again. No one, nothing would stop him.

But the semi-truck seen two seconds too late did.