imagine if spn had ended the way it normally does.
“Sam!” Dean yells, voice hoarse with impending tears. He got there too late. His brother is on the floor, writhing in unspeakable agony, veins blazing beneath the skin of his arms. He drops beside him, cradles him close, rocks him, curses every angel, every demon, and ever creature in between.
“De,” Sam manages to gasp out, his eyes try to focus on Dean but he can’t keep them trained on any one thing for too long. He cries out in anguish, curling in on himself. But he keeps talking. “De. De, I did it. I did it, man.”
“No,” Dean rasps, his whole body trembles with grief. How many times is he going to have to do this? Watch his brother, his little brother, die? “That’s not a good thing, Sammy. It’s not a good thing!”
“It is,” Sam replies, his voice is soft and weak, as if it’s taking too much energy to breathe right now, and it probably is. “It’s a great thing, De. I’ve finally did it. I’ve made you proud of me.I didn’t let you down. Me, all me.”
“No!” Dean yells. “I’ve always been proud of you, Sammy! How can you think I wasn’t!” But for the second time tonight, Dean is too late. Sam’s lifeless body hands limp in his arms and outside the angels are falling. “I’ve always been proud of you,” Dean whispers, letting the tears fall on Sam’s pale, yet blotchy skin. “You bitch, how could you think I wasn’t?”
the light at the end of the tunnel that sam was taking dean to was a world without sam (◕‿◕✿)
THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL
“The great American novel has not only already been written, it has already been rejected.” - W. Somerset Maugham
nobody cares that you’re broken
Holy water cannot help you now