Dean staggered back, the Blade he'd just pulled from Cain's back dripping with blood.
The demon had collapsed face down onto the hay-covered floor, his his right arm outstretched as if to grasp the missing part Dean had truncated.
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The elder Winchester's body trembled with the residue of the adrenaline rush that had given him the physical strength to defeat the demon. It was only sheer cussedness still keeping him on his feet.
As his body tottered, an anguished sob came from the depths of his soul. When would it all end?
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Maybe he should have let Cain kill him.
That way there would be no need to fight any more, no need to be strong. He was so tired. He'd been through so much.
How could he, a mere human, be expected to bear all the burdens that were laid on his shoulders.
Other hunters passed their lives worrying about the best way to take out your common garden-variety of monsters, while the Winchesters got stuck with the impossible tasks; stopping the Apocalypse, facing-off immortal demons and fighting the far superior forces of Creation. Burdens that were completely out of his and Sam's capacity to deal.
:
:
When he felt able to walk without stumbling, he turned his back to corpse and made his way towards the exit. He fervently hoped he'd killed the bastard but he was too shaken to care. The Blade had killed Abaddon, another Knight of Hell, so he had to believe Cain was dead too.
Now that the immediate danger was over, Cain's words came flowing back. He'd taunted Dean with the idea that the elder Winchester was destined to act out the Father of Murder's life in reverse.
Cain had killed his brother Abel, then Colette, then the other Knights of Hell, and according to his logic, Dean would firstly kill Crowley, then Castiel then his brother Sam.
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Dean wondered if Cain had ever looked into the Winchesters' past history. If he had, he'd know that Dean would never kill his baby brother, no matter what the cost. He'd turn the Blade on himself first.
As for Crowley and Castiel, even there Cain had got it wrong.
Crowley and Castiel's death wouldn't cause him more than a moment of regret, only Sam held any importance for Dean, always had, always would.
:
If he was forced to judge the two supernatural beings, he'd probably feel worse for Crowley's death than for Castiel's.
The angel, for all his on-going child-like naivety, was a mass-murderer who had slaughtered countess of his own angelic brethren and massacred a crop of innocent humans. He was a true son of heaven, at the appearance a guardian of humanity, but ready to kill to defend his homeland.
Crowley on the other hand was a demon, he'd never pretended to be otherwise.
Dealing for souls and and possessing humans was part of his nature, but truthfully, Crowley had been more of an ally to the Winchesters than Castiel. At least the demon hadn't laid a hand on Sammy like the angel had.
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He sighed, pushed open the barn door and searched out his brother.
Sam came towards him, an expression of absolute relief on his face. The brothers had no need for words, the glance they exchanged was enough to explain everything. Dean had emerged from the prizefight triumphant and unhurt, that was all Sam needed to know, while the only thing Dean wanted was his little brother.
He pointedly ignored the other two onlookers, collapsing thankfully into Sam's arms. His brother's familiar scent invaded his nostrils, welcoming him home, for that's what his baby brother was.
He sank into the embrace, his hands fisting his sibling's jacket, his chick-flick rule a forgotten memory. He wanted to be held by Sam, comforted by the one person he would never willingly give up, neither in this life nor the next.
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The Winchesters made their way to the Impala, one holding up the other.
Sam helped him into the car and took the wheel. She roared into life and lurched forward, leaving everything else at their backs.
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The End