Written by: KariGorsuch

I walked until my legs gave out.

The back of Bobby's junkyard was basically empty, the night air thick with humidity, but I barely noticed.

My body folded in on itself, my back hitting the side of an old Firebird as I slid to the ground.

I pressed my forehead against my knees, squeezing my eyes shut. But the second I did, the images came rushing back.

Sam, collapsing.

Sam, his breath hitching one last time.

Sam, limp in my arms.

A choked sob broke from my throat before I could stop it. I clamped a hand over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut. I needed to pull it together. Needed to breathe. But I couldn't.

Because Sam was gone.

Dean was gone. Out there. Doing God knows what.

I should be looking for him. But I couldn't move. Should be dragging his stubborn ass back before he did something we couldn't come back from. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the fabric of my jeans so tight my knuckles ached.

You say yes, and in the blink of an eye, he's back.

Azazel's voice slithered through my mind, dripping with poisoned honey.

No more fear. No more losing the ones you love.

My breath hitched, and I shoved the memory away before it could wrap its claws around me.

I forced my breath to even out, but it felt like I was inhaling glass, every breath sharp and painful. The night pressed down on me with the weight of everything I'd lost.

Everything I still had to lose.

Because Dean was gone.

I shot to my feet so fast my legs nearly gave out beneath me.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head, like somehow saying it out loud could change reality.

Dean was stubborn. He was reckless. And it when it came to Sam- there was nothing he wouldn't do.

I cursed under my breath, shoving off the Firebird and stumbling forward. I'd been so caught up in my own grief, drowning in it, that I hadn't even thought of what Dean might do.

I made it halfway across the yard when the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine cut through the night like a gunshot.

The Impala came to a stop, the engine idling low, rumbling like a caged animal. My stomach twisted, dread curling up my spine as the driver's side door creaked open.

Dean stepped out, his movements tense, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a fight.

I swallowed hard, taking a step forward. "Dean?" My voice barely carried over the hum of the engine.

He didn't answer right away. Just shut the door with a little too much force, his jaw clenched tight. His hands twitched at his sides, and in the dim light of the porch lamp, I saw it—the weight pressing down on him, suffocating him.

I took another step, my breath hitching. "Dean," I tried again, softer this time, but the lump in my throat made it barely more than a whisper.

Still, he didn't speak.

The air between us stretched tight, thick with something unspoken, something heavy. His eyes flickered—just for a second—but it was enough. Enough for me to see the truth before he could even open his mouth.

I shook my head, taking a sharp breath as my stomach dropped. "No." The word came out broken, barely holding together. "Tell me you didn't make my deal."

His gaze finally met mine, and what I saw there shattered me.

Resignation.

Acceptance.

Like he'd already made peace with it.

"Dean," I choked out, stepping closer, grabbing the front of his jacket with shaking hands. "Why?" My voice broke, a sob tearing its way through. "Why would you do this?"

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "Because I had to."

"No, you didn't." I shoved at him, but he didn't move. My fingers curled into his jacket, gripping tight, like I could somehow shake sense into him. "You didn't have to do this! You didn't have to—" My breath stuttered, my vision blurring.

Dean sighed, lifting a hand like he might try to comfort me, but he hesitated, letting it fall back to his side. "Yeah," he murmured. "I did."

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I let out a broken, shuddering breath. "You should've let me do it."

Dean flinched. Just barely, but I felt it under my hands, the way his body went rigid at my words. His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a tight line.

"That's not an option," he said, voice rough, firm. "Not for you."

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking my head as more tears slipped free. "But it was for you? That's your logic? You get to throw yourself away, but I don't?" My grip tightened in his jacket, knuckles aching. "You don't get to decide that for me, Dean. You don't get to—" My voice broke, my breath hitching violently.

Dean swallowed hard, his expression unreadable. "Bri—"

I shoved him again, harder this time. "No! You don't get to do this! You don't get to act like your life is worth less than mine! How is trading your life for Sam's better?!"

Dean's jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled sharply. "Because it's my job," he ground out. "It's my job to take care of him. To take care of you."

I shook my head, my chest caving in with another broken breath. "No, Dean. It's not your job to throw yourself away for us." My voice cracked, raw and aching. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you even understand what you've done?"

His face twisted, something pained flashing in his eyes. "Yeah, Bri," he said, voice quieter now, rough around the edges. "I do."

I let out another breathless laugh, shaking my head again, like I could shake away the horrible, crushing weight settling on my ribs. "Then why?" My voice broke. "Why did you do it?"

Dean looked away, his jaw working. "Because I couldn't live in a world where Sam was gone." His throat bobbed, his voice hoarse. "I couldn't do it. I wouldn't."

A sob clawed its way up my throat, burning, and I wrapped my arms around myself, as if that could hold me together. "And I'm just supposed to live in a world where you've given your life for Sams? I'm supposed to live with that guilt?! What about Eve? What's she supposed to do?! Move on?!"

Dean flinched like I'd hit him, his whole body going stiff. His breath came out sharp, unsteady. "Bri—"

"No!" I cut him off, my voice shaking, thick with grief and fury. "You don't get to do this! You don't get to decide that your life is worth less than ours! Do you even know what you've done to me? To Eve?" My breath hitched, the weight of it all crushing down on me. "She loves you, Dean! And you just—you just left her."

His face twisted with something I couldn't name—guilt, regret, maybe even fear—but he didn't say a damn thing. He just stood there, staring at me like he couldn't bear to look and yet couldn't look away.

I swiped at my tears, my hands shaking. "You think Sam would be okay with this? That Eve will just accept it? That I will?" I let out a ragged breath, swallowing down the sob clawing at my throat. "God, Dean. I should have just said yes to Azazel."

Dean's eyes snapped to mine, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. He stepped forward like he might say something, but the words caught in his throat. I saw him fight it—fight the urge to grab me, to try to stop me from saying what I was about to say.

"You don't mean that." His voice was hoarse, like he was trying to convince himself more than me. "Bri, please."

But I couldn't stop now. The words poured out of me like poison, each one heavier than the last.

"I do," I whispered, my voice breaking under the weight of it. "I should have. Then Sam would be here- and Eve wouldn't lose you. He would be okay- if I wasn't-."

"No," he rasped, his voice low, raw. "Don't you ever say that. Don't even think it, Bri." He stepped closer, his chest rising and falling with every breath, each one more labored than the last. "Sam would never be okay with you thinking like that. He wouldn't want you to—" His voice faltered for a second, like the weight of the words he was saying was too much to carry.

"Fuck you, Dean! You don't know-" I shouted, choking on the words, unable to finish them. I couldn't even look at him anymore.

Dean flinched like I'd slapped him, his face tightening with a mixture of pain and frustration. But he didn't step back. He didn't retreat. He kept coming closer, his movements slow but deliberate, like he was trying to anchor me to something, even if I couldn't see it right now.

"Bri," he said quietly, his voice hoarse, almost pleading. "I know you're hurting. I know you think you're carrying all this—" He gestured vaguely, his hand trembling like he couldn't quite grasp the right words. "But this? This isn't yours to carry alone."

I shook my head, the bile rising in my throat, the anger and hurt crashing through me like a tidal wave. "You don't get it! You think you can just—fix everything, Dean? You think you can just take on the weight of the world and that everything will be okay?" My voice cracked, the words coming out harsh and jagged. "You think I'm just going to sit here and let you—let you destroy yourself like this?!"

I took a step back, the ache in my chest expanding until I couldn't breathe. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs, like it was trying to escape, trying to outrun the suffocating grief that was choking me.

The door slammed open, the sound so jarring it made me jump. Bobby's heavy boots thudded down the steps before he was even halfway through the doorframe, his face twisted with anger. He didn't waste any time. "You stupid ass!" He stormed up to Dean, grabbing him by the collar with a force that made Dean stumble back. "What did you do?!"

Dean's expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders was all too clear. "Bobby..."

Bobby yanked him closer, his voice a low growl. "What did you do, Dean? You made a deal, for Sam, didn't you? How long did they give ya?"

Dean's eyes flickered, and I could see the pain behind them, the regret, the desperation. But he didn't back down. "One year."

Bobby's face twisted with fury. "Damn it, Dean." He shoved Dean's chest hard, like he was trying to push the answer right out of him. "You're gonna throw your life away for a year? What the hell were you thinking?"

Dean shifted uneasily, like the anger was starting to suffocate him. "Bobby, I—"

But Bobby wasn't done. His voice rose, thick with disbelief and frustration. "What the hell did you think this would solve, huh? You think you can fix things by selling your soul? You think you can make up for it by dying for him?!"

Dean didn't flinch. "I got nothing to lose now, Bobby. Nothing. That's why I'm going after this yellow-eyed son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill him myself."

"Are you out of your mind?" Bobby growled. "You're already making a deal with the devil, now you're gonna go after a goddamn demon like this?!"

Dean's voice was a little softer, almost exhausted. "What else am I supposed to do? At least this way, maybe something good can come out of it. My life can mean something."

Bobby stepped back, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?" His voice cracked with frustration. "What, it didn't mean something before? Have you got that low of an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head?"

Dean's eyes dropped for a moment, and I could see the weight of his choices pressing down on him. "I couldn't let him die, Bobby. I couldn't. He's my brother." His voice broke slightly on the last word, and for a second, he looked like he might crumble under the pressure.

Bobby's face softened a fraction, but the anger never fully left. "How do you think your brother's gonna feel when he knows you're going to hell?" Bobby shot back, voice quieter, but still hard. "How's Eve gonna feel when you tell her the time you've got?!"

Dean's jaw tightened, and his shoulders stiffened again, his eyes hardening. "You can't tell them," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it was firm. "You take a shot at me, whatever you gotta do, but please... don't tell them. Either of you."

I felt my chest tighten at his words, my heart aching as I saw the vulnerability Dean was trying to hide beneath his tough exterior.

Bobby looked like he wanted to throttle him all over again, but this time, something else flickered in his eyes—sadness, maybe even pity. "You really think he won't figure it out on his own, huh? You think he won't see it in your eyes? He's gonna be heartbroken, Dean. He's gonna hate himself for not being able to save you."

"I don't care," Dean muttered, his voice heavy with resignation. "He doesn't need to carry this burden. I'm doing what I have to do, Bobby. And he's not gonna suffer for it."

Bobby stood there for a moment, eyes locked on Dean, his expression conflicted. "And Bri's just supposed to live with the fact that you just signed your own death warrant for your brother? For her?"

Dean flinched at Bobby's words, his jaw tightening as if the weight of them hit harder than anything he'd faced. His eyes darted briefly to me, but he quickly looked away, his gaze hardening, as if he couldn't bear to meet my eyes right now.

"Bobby, I—" Dean started, but the words caught in his throat. He was fighting, struggling to hold onto some semblance of control, but it was slipping.

Bobby didn't give him the chance to finish. His voice grew sharper, more pointed. "You really think this is just about Sam? About you? This is about the girls, too!"

Dean's face went pale at Bobby's words, like they hit deeper than he could ever let on. He clenched his fists, his body tense and rigid, but he said nothing.

Bobby took a step forward, his eyes hardening. "You think Bri's just gonna forget about you? That she won't carry this around for the rest of her life? She's already lost Sam. You really want to take the chance that she loses you too? You think that's okay?"

I could feel the tears welling up again, the raw grief scraping against my throat, but I didn't make a sound. It felt like I was drowning, and every breath was a struggle. Bobby was right, and Dean knew it. I knew it.

Dean's gaze flickered to me, briefly, but he quickly turned away. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke again, like the words were too heavy to carry. "I didn't want any of this. I didn't want to drag anyone else into it. But this is the only way I could think to fix it. To make sure Sam gets to live."

He hesitated, clearly avoiding looking at me. "You... you and Eve, you'll be fine. You'll move on. I need you to move on."

I felt something snap inside me. My chest burned, the pressure rising until it felt like I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Don't you dare say that." My voice was shaky, raw, but I wasn't about to back down. "She's not going to move on. Not from this- you're going to break her- and I'm going to have to pick up the pieces."

Dean flinched at my words, his expression twisting with an emotion I couldn't quite place—regret, maybe shame, but mostly a deep, unbearable pain. He looked like he was trying to apologize without actually saying it, and it only made the ache inside me grow worse. "And," I continued, "You want me to do this, with your brother at my side? That's low, Dean. Real fuckin' low."

Dean's eyes flashed with something sharp, like my words had cut deeper than he expected. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. He looked like he was struggling to find something—anything—to make sense of it all, but there was nothing. There was just the heavy weight of his decision, hanging in the air between us.

"That's not..." His voice cracked, and he rubbed a hand over his face, clearly trying to gather himself, but it only made him seem more lost. "I never wanted any of this to fall on you, Bri. Never wanted to hurt you." His words were strained, each one like it took everything he had to push them out.

I didn't let up. I couldn't. "But you did. You hurt me, Dean. You hurt us. You think you're the only one suffering, but you're not. You don't get to take the easy way out, make these decisions for everyone else, and pretend it's gonna be okay."

His jaw clenched, and I could see the wheels turning in his head, the regret mixing with the desperation. "I didn't want to leave you," he muttered, almost to himself. "I didn't want to put you through this, but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't lose Sam, Bri. I couldn't lose him."

"You're losing yourself in the process!" I snapped back, my chest tight with the force of the words. "You don't think I see that? You don't think I see how you're throwing yourself away? How you're leaving us behind like it doesn't matter?"

Dean's eyes finally met mine, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of the man I used to know—someone who didn't believe in giving up, who wouldn't back down from a fight. But it was dim, buried beneath the weight of everything he'd decided. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought I could fix it. I thought I could save everyone, but... maybe I'm not meant to be saved."

"Don't you dare," I spat, my voice breaking as I took a step toward him. "Don't you dare talk like that. You're not alone in this, Dean. You can be saved. We can fix this, all of it, together. But you have to stop running. You have to stop making these choices like they don't have consequences."

Dean was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his shoulders slumped like he couldn't carry it anymore. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was Bobby who cut him off, his voice full of frustration.

"You listen to her, Dean. You both need to stop thinking you can just throw yourselves away for the people you love. It's not noble. It's selfish. You're leaving them with nothing but your ghosts, and that's a hell of a thing to leave behind."

"I'm going to find a way to stop this deal, Dean. I've got a year- I'll figure something out."

"You can't. If you break it...if you even mess with the deal- the whole thing is off." Dean's voice trailed off, the fear in his eyes flickering, quickly replaced by that stubborn, defensive mask he always wore. "You'll be the one who suffers. Do you really want to watch Sam die, again? Because you will. You mess with the deal- Sam dies, instantly. The demons will come for you, and they won't stop until the Goddess has you under her control. Eve will be as good as dead."

I felt the weight of Dean's words settle in the pit of my stomach like a rock, cold and heavy. His eyes were wide, pleading with me to understand the gravity of what he was saying, but all I could see was his fear—fear that this was beyond saving. Fear that no matter how hard we fought, we were all doomed.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "I can't just let it go. I won't. Sam doesn't deserve to lose you, and neither does Eve. None of us do." My voice cracked with the force of the words I was saying, the weight of everything pressing down on me like I couldn't breathe.

Dean's expression hardened again, but there was something in his eyes now—something raw, something vulnerable that he tried desperately to hide. "You're not hearing me, Bri," he said quietly. "If you try, if you even think about messing with this deal... Sam's gone. Eve's gone. Hell, maybe even you'll be next."

Bobby stepped forward, his frustration mounting. "Stop this, Dean. Don't you get it? You can't just give up, can't just hand yourself over like that. You're not some martyr. You think the world's gonna be better off without you in it? Look around you. You've got people who care about you, who are willing to fight for you. You've got Bri right here, fighting for you."

I took a step closer to Dean, ignoring the tightness in my chest that threatened to choke me. "Pull your head out of your ass with Eve, and she'll be fighting for you too."

Dean's jaw tightened at my words, the weight of them hitting him harder than I expected. His eyes flickered to me for just a second, pain flashing across his face before he masked it again with that familiar, stubborn mask. "I told her not to fight me on this."

Bobby's eyes narrowed at Dean, his voice low and dangerous. "And you think she's just going to listen? You're out of your mind, Dean. Eve loves you, and you're going to drag her through this mess too? You think telling her to back off is gonna make her forget about you? Hell, no. She's got just as much a right to be pissed off as Bri does."

Dean's face tightened even further, and he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the words I'd thrown at him. But there was something else in his eyes—something like regret, mixed with fear. Fear of what we would do if we didn't let him carry this weight alone. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first.

"If she really loves me," he finally muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "Then she'll let me go."