Sam just watches, frozen against the wall, knowing Dean's not going to be much for attacking with that pumping into his system, and the sight's enough to make his eyes burn hot and achingly. He has to go, though. He's caused enough problems here, did enough to ruin any chance of helping his brother personally. He swallows hard, his stomach ice, his throat clenched painfully.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice cracking, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't know where he should bother going. He can't go back to his room, can't flee to the bar or a library for this. Even if he wanted to -- he looks at the coagulating blood on his palm, horrified at what had just happened (it was a nightmare, this is a fucking nightmare) before he blindly runs. He doesn't know where he's going. Doesn't really care.

His brother's a monster, and it's his fault. He chokes on words but inevitably disappears around the corner, and as the halls grow darker and darker he's just gone.