Chapter Text
The alarm clock suddenly goes off as the pointer gets to eight. Dean groaned as the annoying ringing penetrated his dreams, and for just a moment he wished that the empty came for the clock too. He thrusted his hand out, missing the blasted copper button on top of the oval shape. A second later the room is silent again as he slowly forces himself to turn and stretch.
Mornings are the worst parts of his day. Those fucking mornings when the ringing pulls him away from his dreams, away from those blurry blue eyes and those lips saying the speech he could recite in his sleep by now. The same nightmare chases his dreams every single night. But he can’t think about that, won’t!
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes just in the moment a huge ball of fur jumped on his bed. He groaned, then hugged Miracle tight to his chest, burying his face into the slightly smelly fur.
“Hey buddy, good morning!” he let out, his voice low and rough from sleep. Dean rocked the already struggling dog, glad for the sliver of contact.
He could admit to himself that he’s lonely. He isn’t alone, he still has Sam, but Sam also has Eileen so it’s not the same. So Dean is lonely, desperately missing the time when a hand would land on his left shoulder, the time he could force another person to watch movies with him, missed the family he somehow created through sheer luck. Freedom isn’t what he imagined. Sure, Chuck isn’t narrating his actions for some kind of convoluted plot point anymore, but Dean finds himself wishing for it anyway. And it’s happening more and more. At least, if Chuck was still using him to further his book along, he would still have Cas. But instead it’s just this. Endless days, minutes he slowly counts off until nighttime, breakfast and the bunker and some minor hunts that seem like child's play to him. No, this isn’t the freedom Dean fought so hard for.
But, like every other human being on Earth, he has no choice but to just get on. There isn’t another bargain, or a deal he can make to get Cas back. The empty is unreachable, he tried, and Jack isn’t answering either. He tried that too, prayed excessively in the days after they defeated Chuck and the young god vanished with a promise that he’s gonna be hands free.
So Dean took his grief, his love, and buried it six feet deep. He took those words he said minutes too late, took all of the memories and all the talks and hopes, and smashed them so deep into his soul that he was almost numb, let it take care of those. Let it live with the knowledge that the person, the only person honestly, who saw and loved him, and which, in turn, was the only person who Dean could see and love in return, is gone. Swallowed by black sticky goo, saving him for the last time.
Dean glanced at the clock again and slowly stood up. There on the chair was the only memory he couldn’t bear to part with. The dried blood, a mocking of a handprint on his jacket. He turned away with a huge lump in his throat, fished his dead-man's robe out of the closet and made his way towards the kitchen. He smelled the bacon from the hallway, the toaster making that grading sound at the exact same moment he walked through the door.
“It’s hot!” Sam warned just a second too late. Dean was already juggling the toast from hand to hand, blowing at it in the process. And that was the script to their every morning. Breakfast, shower, teeth brushing, cleaning and washing clothes, then cleaning the guns and then research. Every day, every week the same routine. And every fucking day there was nothing, nothing weird, nothing out of the ordinary. Dean was sick of it. By now he should’ve known peace never lasts because that morning, as he opened his computer and expected the same fruitless labor as weeks now, there it was.
“Nothing weird here.” Sam said, not looking away from the screen of his own laptop. “You got anything?”
Dean caught his brother’s eyes, then looked back down to the screen, eyes flying past the text written there. Another moment of silence passed and Sam called out his name again.
“I got something!”
The impala came to a sudden stop before a white picket fence. Dean grinned at the sight before him, opening the door of the car and rushing to get out. He didn't wait for Sam. It was like a dream coming true, people moving from stand to stand, some already sitting at the tables thrown out on the square, laughing with their partners and kids. And above all of it, on a banner stretching from one stand to the other, were the words: Welcome to the 43. pie fest.
I wish you could see this, Cas. Dean thought to himself. Something he thought was long buried, stirred in his chest. His heart twisted with envy as he watched couples walking hand in hand, eyes watered as he glimpsed something brown in the corner of his eye. But Dean didn’t turn, knew it wasn’t him.
“Are you crying?” Sam scoffed at his brother, hands twisted in the pockets of his jacket.
If only you knew, Sammy.
What Dean said was, “No?” and then, without power to stop his head from turning in the direction of the brown coat, even though he knew he was setting himself up for disappointment, continued: “I’m gonna get some fucking pie.”
A few minutes later, filled with disappointment which not even the six different flavours of pie in the box Dean was carrying were going to fix, Dean made his way towards Sam, sitting a good distance away from the crowd. And he could already tell that Sam was in one of his moods, just by looking at the frown and the wrinkles on his forehead. He cursed under his breath. This whole thing about burying Cas and the confession and the love would go so much smoother if it weren’t for Sam. Sam, who reminded him of all that he lost almost every other day. Dean almost collided with another man, and that would honestly be the cherry on top of this horrible fucking day. Why did he even think this was a good idea? All it did was remind him of what he doesn’t have, what he could’ve had, and what he wanted to have. And he just knew he would have to play the unbothered one for the next few hours while Sam moped. Like he was the one who lost everything, and not Dean. Even though he wanted to claw his heart out, or curl and cry for a week or just scream and smash those pies into one of the laughing families he passed on his way here, he would hold it in for Sam. His brother is, like it or not, the only part of his family he still got left.
“Hey,” Dean grunted, sitting down and making sure his face is carefully masked with cheerfulness and happiness. He was the fucking happiest man on earth. He saw Sam glanced at the box in his lap, lips thinning into a tight line. Dean forced himself to open his mouth. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine!” Sam mumbled, shifting and pulling his arm out of the way so Dean could lean back.
“Cmon, I know that face.” Dean tried. “That’s sad Sam’s face.”
“I’m not sad Sam!”
Dean raised an eyebrow at his younger brother and just waited. That was how it worked. Dean buried his own feelings under the burden of Sam’s.
“I just…” Sam trailed off, like he wasn’t sure how to express his thoughts. “I’m thinking about Cas, ya know.”
Dean had to pinch himself to stop the rugged hiccup that almost broke out of him. Of course Dean wasn’t the only one wishing that Cas, their best friend, would be here too. Sometimes he needed to remember that he wasn’t the only one who lost him. Sam lost his best friend too. But it wasn’t the same and Dean knew it. Now, now that it was too late, and so pointless, he could admit it to himself. Sam lost his best friend. Dean lost the love of his life.
Sam continued, not even realizing where Dean’s mind had gone. “And Jack. if they could be here…”
They should be here. Dean thought to himself. But that won’t help Sam, it certainly didn’t help him. “Yeah, I think about ‘em too. That pain’s not gonna go away.” The last sentence was said through an exhale, and Dean had to force himself to believe what he’s planning on saying next. He had to force the words out of his mouth because he knew they were a fucking lie, one of the biggest he ever said, but he just wanted Sam to stop fucking bringing him up every week. Dean needed to forget and just …. just forget.
“But, if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing. So quit being fucking depressed and dig in.” Dean said motioning to the pies. And Sam did.
He grabbed a plate, the one with the most amount of whipped cream and smashed it into Dean's face, laughing.
And Dean was fucking glad, because Sam was laughing and the cream on his face at least distracted his brother away from his teary and dead eyes.
The next day both of the brothers were in full FBI regalia. Suits pressed neatly, wrinkles smoothed out, and FBI badges already waiting in the front pockets. Sam didn’t know, but Dean didn’t have only one FBI badge. Crammed into that pocket was another badge with another picture of a man with striking blue eyes and black hair. Dean knew it was crazy, but well… He didn’t have the angel’s coat like he had that time after the Leviathans business, so this will have to do. It worked till now, bringing Dean at least a small ounce of relief every time he reached into that hidden pocket and brushed the two badges. At least he never took out the wrong one.
The brothers stopped before a white painted house, the picture of a happy family. If only that yellow tape wasn’t plastered between the doorframe, leading into a cold and dead interior.
Sam introduced them both to the police officer who came to greet them and Dean felt the familiar pang of assurance as he flashed his own badge at the woman, then put it back in its place, his fingertips stroking Cas’s badge still hidden in his inner pocket.
“One of the bodies..” Sam started but Dean cut him off with his own question.
“Blood was drained right?”
The police officer nodded. “Throat torn out, the whole ordeal. Some kind of cannibal crap. The kids were taken, but they left the mom. Here…” she reached into her bag and pulled out a wrinkled paper, thrusting it in Dean’s already waiting hand. A drawing of a skeleton mask the killers were apparently wearing. Dean recognized the mask, straining for his brain to remember from where.
The brothers worked it out eventually.
The picture Dean was recalling was from their father’s journal. John worked a similar case when he was researching kidnappings, children taken, the adults left with their tongues cut out.
“Well, if this is the same nest and if the pattern holds, then they'll target Canton next.” Sam said, looking over Dean’s shoulder at the open page in the diary.
“Vampires.” Dean nods. Seems like they got work to do.
That same night Dean and Sam were sitting around in the Impala, parked on a sidewalk amidst a nice suburban neighbourhood. Dean repeatedly brushed the steering wheel with his thumb, wishing he was bundled up in his bed in the bunker, preparing to greet the man who haunted his every dream, waiting to hear that confession in his broken tones again. Instead he was here, shivering in the cold air, cleaning up his father’s messes up again. Another thing Dean was sick of. He didn’t think about his father often, but when he did he couldn’t stop comparing himself to him. And how he came on top every single fucking time. His father really was a shit hunter, on top of being the winner of the worst father on earth title, and to top it all of a crap human being.
If he were to go back in time he would probably smack himself on the head for looking up to such a man and trying so hard to diminish his own feelings. Things that took years, and a fiery readhead, to overcome.
Sam lightly tapped his shoulder, pointing at the black van that just parked in front of the replica of the previous murder scene. Two men in skeleton masks stepped out of the vehicle, each carrying a large blade and made their way up to the suburban home.
Dean caught Sam’s gaze and nodded.
A few Hunter signals later, and Dean was behind one of the men, the handle of his machete secure in his grip as he swung. The head rolled off the body as the other man swirled around, gaping at the bloodied weapon as Dean yanked the mask of its face. Dean got just a second to gauge the creatures face, noting the lengthening of his fags as the man hissed.
For just a second Dean imagined being alone, imagined just letting the Vampire kill him. His heart sped up at the thought, and it wasn’t like Dean didn’t know of his death wish. Oh no, he fought with it constantly, on almost every fight. The truth was, he just didn’t see the point anymore. If he died then maybe he could sink to his knees and pray and beg and plead for Jack to send him into the empty after Cas. Even if he slept alongside his angel, even if not one of them woke and tried to get them out, surely that reality would be better than living out the rest of his life in heaven without him.
But Dean didn’t have long to ponder about the need to join the endless blackness. A loud boom reverberated through the silent night as Sam aimed his gun and shot the other remaining Vampire right between the eyes. Dean closed his eyes, trying to bury the fucking despair of missing another change to join Cas.
He had to think about Sam. His little brother. He had to.
The night wasn’t over yet. Dean heaved as he lifted the bound vampire on his shoulders, struggling to dislodge its legs from the trunk of his car. He stumbled a few steps forward, then let the unconscious body fall against a tree trunk. He pulled the man into a sitting position and struck the left side of its face.
“Hey there, sleepy.”
The Vampire opened its eyes and looked around groggily. “What’d you hit me with?”
“Oh it speaks.” Dean mocked just as Sam spoke over him. “It was a bullet… soaked in a dead man’s blood.”
“So let’s talk kids. Those two that you grabbed a night ago...Where are they?” The vampire laughed at the question and Dean’s blood boiled. Somewhere behind him came another mocking laugh, one he knew like he knew his own.
“Yeah, you really should tell him.” Sam gritted out through laughter.
The vampire just watched the brothers, asking if they’re going to let him go. Dean already saw its blood running down his neck and he rocked on his heels in anticipation. This part of hunting he loved, saving innocent children. But he also thought of Benny. How is it that something of the same species could be so vastly different in morals? But he guessed that’s true for humans too. It wasn’t only monsters that were capable of monstrous things.
“Oh, no, no, no. No.” Dean laughed, flashing the still bloodied machete in the air. “This isn't a you-walk-out- of-here kind of a situation.
But see, if you tell us quickly, you get this.”
Then he looked over his shoulder at his brother already holding out a smaller switchblade.
“But if you take your time, you get, uh... you get that.” Dean said, pointing to the knife in Sam’s hand.
The vampire rolled his eyes and Dean got the urge to stab him right there and then. The flash of those kids shivering somewhere on a cold, concrete floor stopped him, and he slowly leaned towards the
vampire and spoke with a quiet, threatening tone.
“If those kids are dead, he's gonna use a spoon.”
“They… They're not dead. They're with the nest. We… “ the vampire hurried to explain, gulping, “…take a harvest. Every few years, grab a couple kids, raise them up, feed them right, juice them. We don't do fast food.”
“Yeah. Alright.” Sam said, stepping shoulder to shoulder with Dean. “Where are they?”
The dust flew up in swirling tendrils under the Impala’s wheels, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon, as Dean parked it in front of an old wooden barn. He cut the ignition and just looked at it. Dean couldn’t help but reminisce about another barn which felt like a lifetime ago now. It was just so similar. The impala parked in front of it in the dead of night, that strange anticipation sitting at the bottom of his stomach, like he knew something life-changing will happen again. Just like it did the time Cas walked in his life. But hope wasn’t for him, he had learned that the hard way, figured that his luck finally ran out. Cas was gone. This time there was no one to get him back to Dean, no one pulling at the strings of his story.
This is it. Dean thought to himself as he opened the door and stept into the blackness. Wouldn’t it be such irony if his life ended in a similar barn that it began? He smiled to himself, popping the trunk open, sentimentality and age, two words Dean would have never thought to describe himself with. But here it was. He was just so tired, tired of living this life, tired of being alone, tired of wishing. Tired of looking back at all those memories and praying to get a second chance. Nostalgia also stopped him from wishing he could just erase his angel from his conciseness. Dean buried the feelings, but he could never force himself to forget the man himself. Once his mind forgot the low timbre of Cas’s voice and his mind lost the picture of his tilted head? Dean will lose his mind and probably kill himself.
Maybe I can do it tonight. He thought, staring at the iron clasp that held the two wooden doors shut and locked. No dreams, no Cas. His mind supplied the thought itself and if it was the first time Dean would be surprised. But it wasn’t. He saw it now, his suicide tendencies every time the angel died previously. When he admitted his feeling in that minute after Cas was swallowed by the emptiness, head clutched in his hands, sobs wrecking his body, he saw the truth of it. It was Cas’s death that pushed him in the direction of reapers. Maybe not consciously, but there it was. He was prepared to die for Sam, yes. That was still true. But Cas, Cas made him want to keep going. Made him look forward to the day he would see him again. And now that he knew that day will never come again… well, suicide, or just not trying to get out of a hunt alive? That was becoming an option more and more as time passed.
And this night it seemed just… right.
“This the place?” Sam’s question shook him out of his musings.
“Dark, creepy, something out of Wes Craven's erotic fantasy? Yeah. It's 100% the place.”
Sam nodded in answer, leaning into the trunk and searching for a weapon, then shook his head when he saw Dean picking up a box and pulling out a shuriken. After a minor fight about how throwing stars are not the weapon for this case, Dean relented and picked up his previous weapon again. With that the two brothers made their way towards the barn.
The night suddenly seemed cold around Dean, the feeling of … something rising in his gut. Dean couldn’t help but look around, exhaling his breath in a long drag as he opened the latch and pushed the doors open. The hairs on his arm suddenly stood up, goosebumps traveling up his arms and Dean got this distinct feeling that someone, or something was watching him. Sam caught his attention, pointing to the back of the barn, and Dean finally heard it.
He had to strain his ears to pick up the sound, but there was low and quiet sniffing coming from the closed door. Dean lowered himself into a small crunch, his knees popping with the movement as he tried to move forward without making too much noise. Shooting Sam one last look, he slowly pushed the door open, and there, pressed against the wall farthest from the door, were the two boys, bundled together, trying to keep the crying to a minimum. Dean took one hesitant step forward, then stopped and put his hands up when one of the boys looked up at him. His machete tumbled to the floor somewhere behind him but all Dean could do was focus on the two scared boys. By now, he had a lot of experience dealing with scared children. Claire suddenly popped into his mind. Then Jack. Dean didn’t really know why his mind was suddenly bringing forth all those memories, but seeing the boy's wide eyes he couldn't help but think of his own children. Well not his own, but he was kind of a dad to Jack wasn’t he? Jack certainly saw Cas as a father figure and wouldn't make that Dean one too? Dean shook his head. He had to remind himself constantly that it wasn’t like that between him and Cas. Something in his heart twisted and he forced his mind to focus on the situation at hand.
“Hey, boys. Okay. Come on.” Dean said, crouching beside the covering pair and checking them quickly for any injuries. He offered his hand to the older boy, pulling him up. “Stay behind us. We're gonna keep you safe. Come on.”
Dean stopped in his tracks when he glimpsed the four masked vampires blocking the barn’s door. His jaw clenched. Sam yelled for the kids to run and Dean had just enough time to watch their retreating back. He could find them later, making sure they’re alright, but now he exhaled, glad that at least they managed to get them out of the barn.
The vampires jumped at them almost at the same time. Coordinated, deadly. Sam and Dean were like a well oiled machine too, years of hunting making their moves perfectly in sync. Sam yelled out for Dean, throwing the machete he must have picked up in the last few minutes, and Dean caught it with ease, spinning around the vampire tackling him. He kicked out, hitting the vampire in the back leg, then swinging with the whole weight of his body, aiming for the vampire that creeped up his back. Sounds of blades clacking together ricocheted through the barn. Dean turned again, slamming his shoulder into a body, then jumped, swinging his machete.
The blade wooshed through the air accompanied with the bland sound of a head hitting the ground. The body of the decapitated vampire hit the floor, toppling into the puddle of blood just as Dean turned, yelling out for Sam. Another headless body was laying behind the younger Winchester, who struggled against another vampire holding him down. Dean watched, something in his gut sinking as the vampire delivered a heavy blow against Sam’s temple. The still kneeling vampire turned as Dean took a steep forward. Something hard clashed with his back and Dean fell to his knees, his eyes still on his unconscious brother. The two vampires jumped on him, restraining his arms just as another figure walked through the front door. Dean’s jaw dropped. He knew her.
“Well, I know you.” Dean laughed. Of course. This is all it came to. Another instance of his father and the shit he brought into Dean's and Sam's life coming to haunt him. “Jenny.”
Dean still remembered that first vampire hunt they did with their father. He also remembered the young woman who got turned into a vampire. Jenny, who now hissed in his face, opening her mouth wide, her fangs glistening with saliva in the faint yellow light emanating from the ceiling light. Dean blinked as a red line bloomed across her neck, her eyes widening with surprise, expression frozen on her face as her head rolled off her shoulders.
Sam was standing behind her, fingers flexing on the still raised weapon, blood dripping to the floor. Dean sprung into action, tearing his hand out of the vampire's grip and swung. The force with which his hand collided with the man’s face, sent shockwaves up his arm as he ducked the hit swinging for him. He crunched, tackling the other vampire and spinning him away from Sam, who was already in the middle of the jump, taking care of the first man. Dean was pushed back, skidding across the barn, gripping the supporting wood with one arm and heaving himself up. He charged, gaze focused on the nearing monster.
“Sam!” He yelled just as his brother decapitated another vampire, then sprinted towards his own target. Dean caught the man around the middle, but the momentum was lost. The man was powerful, smashing him back into the beam he used earlier to get himself on his feet.
Something snapped into his spine and Dean felt himself gasp as tremors engulfed his lower body. He let his head drop back, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill between eyelashes. Sam was behind the leering vampire in a second, just enough time for Dean to realize he really wasn’t walking out of this barn tonight. Sam smiled at him, the body of the dead man falling to the floor between their legs, then turned around and cleaned the machete with the corner of a dead man’s shirt.
“Let's go find those kids, get them outta here.” Sam said at last, not noticing Dean’s sagging from.
Dean chuckled. Something clicked in his mind and he couldn't help but feel giddy.
Holy shit, this is it. Any other person in this position would be scared, hell!, if the roles were reversed, Sam would probably hang on to dear life. But Dean, for him this felt like … it felt like falling into a deserved sleep at the end of a very demanding day. It felt like what a child would feel, opening a christmas present and seeing the thing he wished for all year, lying unceremoniously in the box. Dean would never admit this to anyone, ever, but he felt like his body was finally catching up with his heart and soul. He was dying. He’s getting his chance to follow Cas, his fucking lifeline.
“Sam…” he whispered, “I don't... Mm.” Speaking was becoming harder and harder as some kind of daze chilled his brain. Dean felt like he was floating, felt like something was watching in encouragement, wind whispering in his ears to just let it go. He shivered again, focusing on speaking, “I don't think I'm going anywhere.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“There's something in my…” the room around Dean spun, ringing replacing the illusion of whispering words in his ears. “Something in my back….It feels like it's right through me.”
He managed to breathe, one breath in, one out. He owed Sam a goodbye. And maybe his brother could actually manage to keep him alive. That thought brought a feeling of horror. He didn’t want to live anymore. Didn’t want to go through his life in this fucking cycle he was somehow jailed in, didn’t want to wake up just to crave the oblivion of his nightmare’s again. Didn’t want to be forced to go on without him.
Cas… Dean's brain echoed. Cas, Cas, Cas…
Sam was suddenly before him, making the vertigo in his head worse. Dean’s body jostled as Sam reached around him and poked at Dean’s back. He could keep the groan contained. Dean's eyes focused just enough to gauge the whiteness of Sam’s face. His brother was looking down at his own hand and, Dean following the gaze, saw the red liquid.
“Alright. Um…” Sam blanched, looking around the barn for something, anything that could help. “Hold on. Okay. Uh, I got you…”
Sam was still speaking, but all Dean could think was no, no, no, no.. don’t make me live, please don’t make me live anymore. But he owed Sam goodbye.
“Don't... Don't... Don't move me.” Dean stuttered out, “Don't move me.
It feels like this thing's holding me together right now.”
Dean swallowed, noticing Sam’s watery eyes. Oh Sammy.
“Just give me...Just give me a minute.” to properly say goodbye was left unsaid but Dean didn’t need to speak it out loud for Sam to understand. Judging by the frantic expression on his brother’s face, he understood. Sam didn’t rush, didn’t sob or break apart. He just clenched Dean’s hands in his, closing his eyes and breathed.
“You get those boys and you get them someplace safe, alright?” Dean whispered at last, voice shaking with the effort to speak.
Sam nodded, letting the tears flow down his cheeks as he squinted at Dean. “We should… we should get them somewhere….”
Dean shook his head.
“No…” Sam croaked out. Dean tried, he really did. He tried to lift his hand, tried to set it on Sam's shoulder. It fell almost lifelessly back to his side.
“You knew it …. it was always gonna end like… like this for me.
It … it was supposed to end like this, … right?” Dean was cold all over. He felt like he was floating in a frozen lake, unable to reach the surface, unable to find a sliver of warmth. His teeth clattered together as he tried to make a coherent sentence. “It's… okay.”
“I will find a way, okay? I-I will find another way.”
“No. No, no, no, no.” Dean was repeating the words over and over again, not even sure if he was saying it out loud or not. He could barely keep his eyes open. He felt so tired and … cold. It seemed like the perfect temperature to fall asleep to. Dean always preferred his bedroom cold. But there was something nudging against his consciousness. He felt the need to tell Sam… He must tell him…
“Cas…” his mouth didn’t work properly anymore, the letters dragged out into the quiet of the barn. He was fading, actually feeling himself slipping. Dean gathered his strength, fought for the last time, just a few minutes. He needed to tell Sammy.
“I’m so p-proud of y-you.” Dean managed to grit out, pulling another rugged breath into his lungs. “You n-never took any of d-dad's c-crap.”
Sam clenched his jaw, trying to keep the sobs contained in his chest, his tears still flowing freely. Dean’s vision was blurry too, but he didn’t know if he was crying or just passing away.
“You… s-stronger than m-me.”
“No, no, Dean… cmon…” Dean felt the faint warmth of Sam’s palm gripping his cheeks. He smiled.
“It's always been you... and me.”
“Then don't leave me. Don't leave me.” Sam was shaking against Dean, the sobs he tried so hard to bury finally forced free. “I can't do this alone.”
“it’s not anymore…” Dean exhaled into the empty space between Sam’s sobs.
“What?” Sam looked at him through teary eyelashes.
“Cas…” Dean whispered it like a secret, like longing wrapped up in grief. Whispered it with love. Sam’s eyes widened. “Im g-going to C-cas. M-my C-cas.”
Sam nodded, screwing his eyes shut. Dean could speak anymore, didn't question why his brother didn't even seem surprised. Was he really so transparent this whole time? But he still listened to Sam talk. Listened with closed eyes as his brother talked, saying his own goodbye with his forehead leaned against Deans.
“It’s okay Dean.” Sam hiccuped. “It’s okay. You’ll always be with me.”
Dean felt him laying a hand on his chest. Smiled.
“Dean…it's okay. “ Sam said, squeezing Dean’s hands for the last time.
You can go to him now.”
The last sentence before something pulled at Dean’s core was: “Say hello to Cas for me, okay? You can let it go now.” And Dean did. He let go of the invisible threat he had on life, feeling his chest rise up with one last breath, exhaled into the space between his shivering body and Sam, and the world went black as he was yanked into a swirling mist of whiteness.