A.N. So, that finale. Jesus Christ, that finale. I thought I had lost my passion for the show, I thought I knew what was coming so it was going to be no big deal, I thought I had a handle on things. Nope, NOPE. As soon as they started playing that score (you know the one) I turned into a puddle of fangirl love and just cried. I, honestly, have been pretty disappointed in SPN lately and I have to say, for this finale, well done. Not sure how I feel about the outcome, but it was a hell of a ride. Spoilers for S9 finale, you have been warned. Not beta-ed so all mistakes are my own. Thank you SO much to all who read, I know I am a less frequent flier in these fanfiction airs, but I still love and respect you all so much and wish my muse was a bit more cooperative so that I could come out and play more often. God bless all of you.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

This is it.

He can feel it as the blood comes rushing to meet his fingers, the appendages so desperate to stop the flow.

He thought for sure this would have a different outcome, too hopped up on First Blade power to even fathom there was something that could stop his blood lust for death. But Metatron...that dick...he had tricks up his sleeve. Pint sized douche bag was packing a can of whoop ass and Dean, he was caught off guard. Rookie mistake, stupid mistake and turns out, suicidal mistake. He would laugh at the irony if he didn't think his insides would come pouring out with the noise.

No, can't have that. Not yet, not before. Sam.

Sammy. His brother had come after him, even after...even after everything his brother still cared. He told him as much with the blunt. " I lied."

They never had the best timing.

Shouldn't have to see this, not him, not like this, but he can't help it. Turns out he is only human after all, the dull ache of his broken body and thud of battered heart was proof that weakness was still intact.

He'd been so foolish, so reckless, so goddamn sure.

Results don't lie Dean Winchester, you fucked up.

There are so many things he needs to say, so many slates that need to be wiped clean, so many affections and apologies and affirmations he needs to give before...


It's happening.

He tells Sam to stop, needing to find the strength to get something to him, some goodbye before he can't anymore.

I love you, I'm sorry, you are going to be okay, what words could possible convey all that they have meant to each other?

"I'm proud of us." He wheezes, clasping a hand to his baby brothers face.

Sam tries to offer him a smile, the effect dampened by his eyes filling with tears.

There was so much he wanted to say, so much he thought they might be able to fix, so much that went wrong.

At least he wouldn't be around to poison his brother anymore.

The last thing he feels is something that feels suspiciously like a hug and a panicked cry of his name.

He's so smug about it. So damn cocky as he tells Castiel something that rips his heart asunder. Like he has just won an elaborate game of chess, and not just snuffed out one of the brightest lights the world had ever known.

The bastard.

Anger, sharp and strong fills his being, quickly being quashed by an overwhelming grief. He can taste the salt from his unshed tears.

He knows it's true. A lie would hurt less.

He only hopes that there was some redemption for the worn hunter, that he was allowed to die what he was always meant to be, what he had always been.

A hero.

He's done this a million times before, dropped his older brother into bed after a night at the bar or a tough fight.

But never quite like this.

He usually grumbled into his pillow, swiped at some imaginary foe or whimpered at least.

This was quiet, this was still, this was...final.

He turns from his brother because he can't stand to see him a second longer, not like this, not...dead.

The cheap whiskey burns like gasoline on the way down his gut and Sam only thinks about it for a second before he resolves settles in his bones.

Like there was any other answer.

Maybe if all the lies he had been telling himself and Dean these last couple of months had been true, but they weren't.

Love still blazed hotter than any of the other shit he tried to shovel over it.

He would do what it took to save his brother, because the same had been done for him over and over and over.

Because they were family and that meant something no matter how much things had gotten twisted.

Because he was his brother.

Because Dean deserved it.

But mostly because without Dean, his life was just empty.

So he takes a swig from the bottle, spares a glance to the broken glass by his feet and steels himself to make a deal with a devil.

For Dean.