He didn't know how it happened. How the hell did that happen?

The rain hit the windows like it was mocking him, like the damn sky knew he was drowning, like the storm inside of him had somehow clawed its way out of his chest and was now putting on a goddamn show.

Sam was dead.

The thought alone made him want to just floor the gas and drive the Impala off the next goddamn cliff. It was a long, desolate drive back home, and he was alone, utterly and completely.

He hadn't changed clothes since it happened, his brother's ghost clinging to the leather of his jacket, a faint, metallic scent that was now a sick, twisted reminder. His boots were still caked in a deep, dried crimson, heavy on his feet, like lead weights pulling him down. He felt hollow, like his heart echoed in the empty space inside him, like there was too much fucking room where it used to be.

For the first time in too many damn years, he felt truly helpless, broken, useless. Sam had died in his arms, and there was absolutely jack shit he could do about it. He'd burnt every bridge with demons, angels wouldn't lift a finger for him, and he... he was just human, too damn human for his liking. Too human, with too many goddamn feelings.

Somehow, by some fucking miracle, he made it back home, his muscles aching, his heart a shattered mess, broken into a million razor-sharp pieces. His little brother, the one he'd sworn to protect since he was four, was gone, and Dean felt like it was his goddamn fault.

He hadn't answered texts or calls over the last few days, so it was only obvious his girlfriend was worried sick when he finally walked through the door of their apartment.

She'd said something, but he barely registered, his mind a chaotic mess, his heart pounding like a broken drum, his arms heavy as lead, his legs weak as a newborn colt.

But when he looked at her, he felt like that scared kid from Lawrence again, the little boy who held his baby brother close as he watched everything he knew and loved burn to the goddamn ground.

"He's gone," he said, his voice breaking.

He couldn't finish, a deep, guttural sob ripped through his throat, cutting his words off, and he just clung to her like a goddamn lifeline, like she was the only thing keeping him from ending it all. Because, in that moment, she was.

He sank to the floor, curling into himself, trying to make himself smaller, unable to stand on those legs that ached to run back to his brother, to rewrite the past, to save him, to fucking protect him.

But all of that was gone now, replaced by a darkness that threatened to swallow him whole and spit out his broken bones.

"I didn't... I couldn't save him, I couldn't... my baby brother," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I... he's not... he's never coming back." His voice was a broken whisper, a final, despairing admission of defeat.