"No," Sam breathes, brow furrowed, trying to even imagine a situation like that; he'd never do that. One hand drops from Dean's wrist, and he shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't--" He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't. He swallows hard and wonders if this is it. If this is how he turns into a monster, how he turns into some ugly thing dad would have to warn Dean about... and then Dean would hunt him down. Hunt him as something inhuman. Suddenly the image of his throat being torn open makes sense. "I'd never do that. There's gotta be a mistake, Dean. I'd never..."

You're wrong, that's not me, I wouldn't do that.

It had to be Dean's head playing tricks on him.

He's not in his best state of mind. That's all. His vision swims, finding the energy to shove him back hard to dredge up. He just pushes against Dean's chest, hoping Dean will find some sort of resolve to talk this through. He doesn't want to hurt him. He doesn't want this to go down like this, because the last thing Dean needs is killing his brother... right? Dean still gives a shit about that, or he wouldn't have distanced himself.

He curls a fist in Dean's shirt, stunned and afraid. At himself. At Dean. At all of this happening right now. It's too much; haven't they lost enough? Haven't they dealt with enough?

"Dean, please... I just wanna help."

Can't be true. It's all overwhelming, and he can barely even think straight, and he's so fucking tired, and he has no idea how to fix this.