Crickets

It's nice out tonight. There's no chill, no wind, and definitely none of that depressing weather that seems to be making an appearance much more often in their lives.

Yes, this is what we need, Dean thinks to himself, walking back to the motel.

Chirp, chirp, chirp

Even the crickets contribute to the scenery of the calm night.
He just feels at peace right now.

It rings ironic in his mind how the weather has been matching Sam's mood lately. Alright, you caught him, he's been keeping a sharper eye on Sam, but damnit. That's still his brother, and given the recent events between the two of them- he's worried. That much he'll admit.

If you care so much then why the fuck don't you show it? His mind chimes back at him, replaying the past few weeks.
Dean had been impatient, angry, and definitely the opposite of understanding towards his little brother. What could he say? He was agitated. He was hurt. He needed some goddamn space. After everything with Sam and the penny, he needed some time to think things through. Hence why he's out right now.

A sudden burst of anger slaps Dean.
I don't owe Sam shit. What kind of person just leaves their brother to rot?

He tries to push that thought away. The guilt is killing him. Maybe everything is too confusing to be dealt with right now. Sure he's worried. No matter how angry you get, it's still hard to ignore the signs that something is very wrong with Sammy. The withdrawal, the lack of focus, the empty glazed over eyes.
Fortunately though, just like the weather, he's seeming a little better today. Maybe that counts for something.

Dean considers sitting on a nearby bench and just taking in the peacefulness of the night. Maybe listening to some music. It could certainly do his some good, perhaps calm his mind. He doesn't think he can face Sam again right now, so maybe he just won't. But something stops him.

He's forgotten his headphones.

Sighing, he jogs up to the motel they're staying at. He'll just get his headphones and leave, hopefully dodging Sam's guilty eyes on the way out.

He turns the knob, and when the room comes into view his world stops.

Because there's Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed with his .45 to his temple and his finger twitching on the trigger.
Dean's mouth drops open as he immediately begins to tremble. What the fuck is going on?
"Sam-"
"Get out of here, Dean," he interrupts. He continues staring at the floor, eyes heavy with grief and resolve.

Dean is trying to think of something, anything, to say. Coming up with nothing, he settles for stepping forward.

He stops when he sees Sam finger start to pull back on trigger.
"Just leave. Don't come near me. Please. Fuck."
Dean's heart skips a beat and he freezes in his tracks as he watches his baby brother wrapped up in utter turmoil and desperation.

"Okay Sammy, I won't move. Please listen to me Sam, you don't have to do thi-"

"It's bullshit. This is all that's left for me." Sam's empty gaze meets Dean's for the first time today. He looks into the terrified eyes of his big brother, his everything, one last time and whispers,
"I should've done this a long time ago."

Dean is shouting now.

Sam gives a small, and hopeless smile.
He closes his eyes.

"SAM!" Dean screams.

And he pulls the trigger.

A shot rings out and Dean doesn't register it. There's immediately blood splattered on the wallpaper behind them, and Sam's body slumps back onto the mattress as blood pours from his head.

The only thing Dean can hear is ringing and what sounds like someone shouting in the distance. It doesn't take anyone special to know that that someone is him.

"Sammy?" Dean whispers, his voice breaking.

He runs over and drops to his knees with a loud thud.

"Nononono, Sam hey, Sammy- Sam I," Dean is leaning over his body blubbering incoherently. "Sammy please, please, oh my g-SAM stop playing, stop playing wake up."

His head is torn apart.

I can see his fucking brains on the wall

and the sheets

Sammy oh god, fuck what have you- how can there be so much blood

What were you thinking?

How could I not see how bad this had gotten for him?!

Dean is crying as he slaps him on the face, trying to believe maybe if he tries hard enough Sam will wake up. But he's met only with a faint rattling noise and the cold reality of red pooling on the bed sheets and on his hands and oh god- coming from a hole in Sammy's head.

He cries even harder, unable to contain himself, as he notices the rattle of Sam's body still struggling to breathe. His little brother is dying, unable to think or feel at all anymore all because he didn't do his job right.

Sobs fight their way out of Dean's throat as he pulls Sammy up to his chest, cradling him. Putting his hands over the bleeding wound, as if it could stop the fact that Sam is dying in his arms once again.

This time by his own hand.

This time all because of him.

All because he'd let his little brother down.

"I'm sorry Sammy, I'm so sorry, so sorry..." Dean whimpers out. Lost in shock, he keeps repeating himself. His fists are tight in Sam's moppy hair as he struggles to ground himself and pull Sam closer.

All that's left is the chirp of crickets coming from outside and the loud, heart wrenching sobs echoing from the motel room.

It's nice out tonight. There's no chill, no wind, and definitely none of that depressing weather that seems to be making an appearance much more often in their lives.

But there's also no Sam.
And Dean would choose him any day.