A/N: This is the first story I've written for Supernatural. I hope it's okay!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural (unfortunately)
The end begins with fire. It's poetic, really. This story opened with fire, and so shall it close. A great fire, roaring over hills and valleys, until the world is choking in ash. Grasses wither, and flowers die. The streams and the lakes and the oceans turn grey. Humanity prays for divine intervention. Little do they know it's divine intervention that's making this happen in the first place.
Hunters know, of course. They know the truth about the freak earthquakes, tsunamis, and storms that are ravening their homes. Some pray as well-futile as they know it will be. Others hole up in their houses and wait for the inevitable. A few fight, although they know they cannot win.
Sam and Dean fight. It's all they've ever known how to do, really. All they've ever done. And the end doesn't surprise them, really. They fought and they lived and they died and they sacrificed so much, and yet deep down both brothers knew one day there would be a battle they simply could not win.
Still, that doesn't mean they will not try.
They live day to day, fight to fight, as hell and heaven and purgatory break loose on earth. Sam and Dean claw for some shred of hope, some victory, and yet for all of their "as long as we're together," and "we'll kick it in the ass," a day comes when the Winchesters are forced to admit that they cannot stop the end. They are simply delaying it.
The day that the Winchesters give up hope may have been the day humanity lost its chance at survival. It's sometime in late fall- not that the seasons mean much anymore, it's always just fire, followed by storm, followed by more fire - when Sam and Dean find Castiel sprawled in the ruins of a town, eyes closed, body broken, wings scorched onto the pavement. They give him a hunter's burial of course, and as the light from the flames flicker and die around the last shreds of their friend, something dies in the brothers' eyes as well.
After that, there is no stopping the Winchesters- they hunt down demons, and angels, and monsters alike, a whirlwind of vengeful blades and bullets. And yet, for every one the boys defeat, there are a thousand more just waiting to strike. They know this. But they don't care. Not anymore.
Of course, one day it all ends. The Winchesters are out- out of bullets, out of strength, out of hope. Sam tosses his last cartridge up in the air. "I've got one left. You want it?"
Dean shakes his head. He twirls a long blade between two fingers. "You take it. I'm good with this."
There's a moment of silence, and the boys know that, as soon as they open the door, the end will devour them.
"Dean?" Sam looks at his big brother, a last-ditch attempt to give and gain comfort as his eyes rake the elder's face.
Dean can barely look his brother in the eye as he chokes out one last lie. But this time, it's the one they both need to hear. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy."
There's a desperate movement as the brothers embrace. Sam inhales-smelling leather, beer, and the impala one last time- and for a brief moment, he feels almost safe for the first time in so, so long. Dean squeezes his brother tighter, trying to take comfort in the steady, albeit fast, heartbeat in the taller man.
They wish they could hold on forever. But forever requires time, time that they don't have. So Sam and Dean pull away from each other, lock eyes, and nod. Dean opens the door, then the two stand back-to-back, fighting, and supporting each other until the very end.
If the end began with fire, it is only fair to say it ended with the same. Only this time, fire came in a hail of guns and metal clashing against claws and wings. And fire came as flames flickered one last time in the Winchesters' eyes, as they stood, then knelt, then fell together, one last time.
Liked it? Hated it? Couldn't care less? Let me know! Constructive criticism is always welcome.