Dean sort of remembers the same speech when he was cowering in his bedroom, his own shadow taunting him. Chipping away at him. Smothering him. Cas stood there; Cas heard everything. Cas understood all his worst fears, now, thanks to that thing. It hadn't been passive, the way it screamed for family and friends that first night.

"I know what you're afraid of, Dean-o. You're scared of being alone. Well heads up: You are alone. You know exactly what's waiting for you when you get back. So what are you trying to do, huh? Prolong the inevitable? It's pointless staying here - you've already alienated yourself.

You have no friends. Face it; your own brother is here, and you don't trust him. After everything you've done for him, all the messes you've cleaned up - and he doesn't even appreciate it. So what's the point? You're pathetic."

The Shadow is dirty laundry. It's all your baggage, it's what you worry about. Whether or not it's true doesn't matter, it's only there to break you.

And, looking at Phil as the poor guy heaves himself upright, fingers fumbling over his neck as he forces out the words Kill it, Dean understands the sentiment. He appreciates it more than what he himself did, especially considering the circumstances, because as much as his own tried to destroy him with psychological warfare, Philip's had done the same with the physical.

Tying his shirt around Phil's leg in a tight knot, blood - sorry, occupational hazard - slicking his hands, Dean nods sharply at Phil's request and pulls the Desert Eagle out of the back of his jeans. Exchanging glances with Castiel and standing, Dean aims-

-And promptly empties an entire clip into the Shadow's chest.