He looks up just as he cuts the brand. He doesn't see Sam, senses only in a distant kind of way that something has taken a turn. Feels Neil close to him, Castiel humming with power, Helen near and waiting. All of these things are real and solid and he's holding onto them because they're what he has...

But then he sees those black eyes, that rage and glee, and feels the knife in his hands even as it slices into Dean's skin, and it's one last wrench of something in him reaching out to what it knows.

Everything could have gone a very different way.

But it didn't.

He reaches out, one hand fumbling for Neil's, as his other tightens on Dean's hip, the knife finally falling away with a clatter. Hanging on for life, though he's not sure how dear it is.

They're all on the edge of the blade now.