#whump sam

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The horror of watching his brother (his big brother, bold, invulnerable, his protector) is enough to rip the guts out of him. Watching, helpless, again and again and again is...

The nightmares will never fade (they never do, even in the Cage he remembers this; the first time Asia plays after Dean does die - forever, speared on a stupid, pointless piece of jutting metal he throws up).

It's worse somehow that deaths are somehow silly. Spiteful. His brother is a hero, a warrior. He deserves more than bad tacos and drunk drivers and untrained dogs.

After that first time, when he thought...Fuck. When he thought it was real. After that, he forces himself to examine the body each time. To look for marks, hex bags, mocking notes. It's a race, between him and whichever force is doing this to them (to Dean). He never knows when he'll be snapped back to the motel, unslept and unrested and still running hot on the adrenaline of feeling his brother's pulse-slow-blood-on-his-hands-eyes-dim and that song playing and Dean looking him.

Sometimes he wonders if it's not about Dean. For Dean it's done and over. He can feel his mind shattering under it.

The weight of loss and grief and helplessness. It's enough to drive him to drink. He understands John for the first time.

He would tear the world apart.

It makes the death sentence hanging over Dean even more dreadful, now he knows what it will feel like what that loss will be like. It churns everything inside him.