Silent night,
"Sam? Sammy?!" Dean's pained calls echoed in the warehouse as the oldest Winchester tried and failed to move. His ribs hurt terribly and the pool of blood leaking out from his leg rendered walking out of the equation. His brother lay a few feet away, unresponsive.
Dean's breath was ragged as he gathered his strength and channeled it to his arms, setting his palms firmly against the ground and he began to drag himself over towards the body on the floor in front of him. The process was slow and excruciating but within a few minutes he was able to get himself alongside.
Holy night,
Sam Winchester's chest was rising and falling but not nearly enough to get him the air he needed. Dean punched his shoulder as hard as he could as if he could wake the man up but his eye remained closed. There was a nasty gash on the crown of his head and if the older Winchester could've will it out of existence he would've. The blood oozing from his skull was black, Sam's lip was split and bleeding, Dean reached over and wiped the small ruby bead away. "Hey Sammy wake up, it's time to go. We're gonna…. Go back to the motel and… and we're gonna stitch you up okay?" his words were wheezed out. Sam Winchester did not move.
Dean struggled to shift positions on the ground to get a better look at his surroundings. There were several bodies on the ground, none of them identifiable, so badly were they burned. A ways away however his eyes caught a familiar face.
All is calm,
Castiel's wingspan was truly a sight to behold. Dean had only seen them once before, with the knife protruding from his chest and the angel's face still his wings unfurled, burned into the ground. If you touch the Winchesters I'll kill you. He had taken down several before they finally got to him. "Cas," the hunter said, reaching his trembling fingers out to curl around the air. He was too weak to move any further. "I'm so sorry." He told him but Castiel did not hear.
Castiel would never hear him again. He wasn't in heaven; he wasn't going to reappear like he did so many other times. Cas was with the brothers he had killed, he was with Gabriel. Castiel was finally and irrevocably dead. A faint breeze from the drafty warehouse stirred the angel's trench coat.
All is bright,
Dean lost track of how long he laid there, trying to keep his chest rising and falling as he felt his fingertips grow cold. It was snowing, fat flakes dropped to the ground outside the sheltered area where it would seem they made their final stand. Sam was still breathing and for this he was grateful. All attempts to move anything other than his head were futile. "Hey Sammy," Dean said to the ceiling, blinking lazily. "Guess what day it is."
Silence met him, deafening silence.
"It's Christmas day. Can you imagine how shitty this is gonna be? I bought you… something you'd actually use this year. Gotcha a laptop with a fancy case and everything. Castiel helped pick it out-," his voice is cut off by him nearly choking on his blood from his broken nose. He spits once before deciding not to continue his train of thought. Tears were threatening to spill over and he blinked them back heroically. He wouldn't cry, not when Sammy was here with him. He needed to stay strong for all them, Cas too.
Round yon virgin mother and child,
He lost track of time, prodding his brother occasionally in a vain attempt he'd open his eyes. The wound had stopped bleeding and he was still breathing. That was good, maybe luck would pull through for them one last time. They could walk away, that was all he wanted for Christmas this year, the chance to celebrate with Sam one last time. Dean's leg was stuck to the ground from all the blood drying, his pantleg was crunchy and when he tried to look at the damage he noticed how pale his skin was. He knew he was going to die in this warehouse. His brother wasn't waking up, Castiel was dead and he was patiently waiting it out.
He wondered where he'd be headed. Cas had vowed heaven but Cas wasn't around to fight their case anymore. He wondered if he could break in. "Sammy," his voice was a mere bubble of air on his lips. "Sammy we might see mom tonight." The thought filled him with a little bit of warmth no matter how bleak the circumstances.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sam had stopped breathing. It had snuck up on him and Dean had watched, counting each breath until they came to a close. Five hundred breaths in total. The older Winchester prodded him. "C'mon Sam this isn't the time to fuck around, I'm having kind of an off day." Sam didn't say anything in return, his face had gone white and the gash on his head stood out even starker in contrast.
He was waiting for his brother to sit up and laugh at him, to tell him he really had him there for a second. Dean was waiting for Sam to tell him that he couldn't die now, not when he was only thirty years old, he had stuff to do. "Sam!" Dean wanted to sound angry but it only came out broken. "Sam get the fuck up." His last bit of energy was spent smacking his younger brother in the face, he regretted it instantly because it turned his head so he couldn't see him anymore and he couldn't quite find the strength to turn it back.
Dean felt like maybe he was the only man left on this earth, in a way it was true. Everything he had ever cared about was dead on this cold cement floor, his world was gone and he was the sole survivor. Well, survivor was strong language seeing as his own lids were growing heavy with the effort it took to keep them open. He lay his head back and turned to look over at Sam's turned face, reaching to take his hand and let a smile creep onto his lips.
"Just you and me eh?" he asked the still air.
Sleep in heavenly peace,
He wasn't aware when he had slipped over into limbo. He wasn't asleep and he wasn't awake, he was waiting for the infinite black on the horizon to consume him. He saw it lurking, Dean was curious why he saw no reaper. Maybe this meant he wasn't really dying, that this was just some weird side effect from his wound. Had the knife been poisoned?
No, the universal truth came crashing down around his ears. It was something everyone knew when their time came he guessed, the way he was barely grasping at the threads, raising his chest to get air was becoming too tiring. Dean was simply biding his time, he thought about all the cases they had gone through and why it had to be now, today of all the days. It was Christmas morning…. It was a Thursday as well. The cruel irony struck him and he wanted to share it with Castiel, who he knew would only furrow his brow and comment on Dean's poor taste in comedy and how it would've been hardly appropriate.
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Clearing his throat, the void was gaining on him and he simply didn't have the energy to fight it off any longer. He was tired, he had been for a long time. He had fought valiantly however and he was proud of this.
Squeezing the long since cold hand of his brother Dean Winchester smiled at the ceiling as the snow fell on Christmas day. "Good-night Sammy." And he exhaled for the very last time.