She must have fought hard. It's a butcher's work, this mess, and you know the Stynes are surgeons. Meticulous, when they have their way.
You remember holding her in your arms like this, ribs cracked and arm broken. You remember being able to read it in her breath, the flutter of her pulse against your chest. You'd held her gently, so as not to hurt her. You are not a gentle person.
You are gentle, but your needs are not.
You told her to give them the book. Dean said, Give them everything.
At your back, you can hear Dean brushing brass and silicon from the rim of the sink. Your phone dings particularly, deep in your pocket--an email, with an attachment. You know it's her. Cas would call, and Dean will probably never speak to you again. It has to be her.
Her arm drops from her chest when you think about checking that, and with it your stomach. Again.
She saved the world, you know. Giving nothing (except for all her blood). She'd cracked the code to rescue Dean, and her tablet to save the rest of them.
She's the only one who still remembered to do that last part.
Dean does run the tub. You imagine the rings that don't quite wash away--one to mark that first arterial flood, and another to mark the moment you found her.
Don't look back, you think. Take her body outside and don't look back.
You can't even say her name. You hear it in Dean's voice.
You have one thing left to do: Take her body outside and don't look back.
You imagine the roar of the tub masking Dean's departure out the bathroom window. Classic--too classic, for anyone but Dean.
This thing, it's called foresight. You should stop him while you have the chance.
You should take her body outside and not look back.
Dean would never leave her. He might leave you, but never her. Not like this.
Dean cannot fit through that window.
Do not look back.
If Dean leaves, he will not bother with windows. He will not need to.
The water stops. The toilet runs. Dean crushes glass and aluminum underfoot. He's coming.
He may still join you, if you don't look back.
But this thing, it's called myth. And myth is a mode you've abandoned. This is not about myth, and it will not be the thing that saves you. So look back. Look back, don't look back--either way, she is gone, and your brother will leave you, too. You know the weight of a body in your arms better than any other story.
How many can you carry?