a man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river but then he's still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he's still left with his hands.
“—Y’can’t save me, Sammy. We know that. I know that.”
He gives a little scoff, scuffing his right shoe across the ground before he meets Sam’s gaze. It was hard to say this, but it was for his brother’s own good. After a while— after Dean was gone, he’d have to take care of himself.
“Oughta give up.”
❝No, we don’t know that. There has to be something we can do, we just have to keep looking.❞
Sam can tell Dean is scared - terrified, even - and so is he, but that’s just more incentive to keep up the search. It’s actually hurtful that Dean could think Sam would just give up on him, that he’d let his big brother be devoured by hellhounds and tortured for eternity.
❝Shut up, Dean. We’re not giving up. I’m not giving up. Not until I get you out of this.❞
