Potential
Dean was dead. He knew he was dead. If an angel blade couldn't take care of him, nothing could, really.
But being dead wasn't as simple as it used to be - he hadn't immediately landed on that long road up in Heaven, or down in the Pit on a rack. Hell, he wasn't even a ghost, helplessly watching Sammy or Cas. No, it was just a blank, combined with the sound of Crowley yammering on about truth and lies, or something. Which was all kinds of suck. He didn't want his afterlife narrated by the ex-junkie King of Hell.
Except there was another voice, saying his name, and it was familiar, and it raised loathing and fear in him in equal parts. It drown out Crowley's voice, without raising in volume a single decibel.
Hello, kiddo.
The yellow eyes were floating there, and that condescendingly calm smile spread beneath them.
Dean tried to speak, to yell, to howl out the name. All that came was a whimper, and the flash across his vision of his past, of how much he had lost because of this demon.
Azazel.
Look at you, my boy. All grown up and achieving the things you set out to do. Couldn't be more proud, kiddo.
He wanted to protest, deny, throw the words back in that smug face. The evil that had haunted his childhood kept talking.
Sure, Sam was the clear choice. He was meant for big things. Still, can't deny that you were my little trick, a surprise I kept back, just in case. The underdog, as it were. And just see how far you've come.
What the hell was he rambling about? Sam had always been meant to break the last seal, to have Lucifer wear him to the final fight.
That's true, Dean. He was the chosen one. Except your parents, that stock was too good to waste. You didn't think Sammy was the first to get a taste of my blood, did you?
No. It was a lie. It couldn't be true.
With Sam, there was the deal, just lying in wait for me to fulfill. You, though- As simple as sneaking in to the house. Your mama was so determined to forget that old life of hers, she didn't set up a single ward or protection. Not one thing to keep me out while you were half-asleep in your crib, only a room over from Mary and John. And what you've done with that potential is… inspired.
That didn't mean anything.
Best torturer in Hell, Alistair's favorite, and even an angel claiming your soul didn't stop the viscousness you always chained down inside. Purgatory wasn't another punishment to you, my boy, it was paradise. Kill or be killed. And then trusting that old crossroad's devil, letting yourself get played into taking on the very Mark of Cain, to picking up the Blade and becoming what you always had the potential to be, has been exhilarating to watch. You hid so long from who you became in Hell, even you started to believe the lie. We see clearer, though, don't we, kiddo?
He couldn't let Azazel get to him. No matter how much it sounded like the truth, he had to force it away, ignore the words.
Go on, Dean. Listen to the deal-making bastard who's claimed your kingdom. It's time to wake up and face the first day of your new life. And it's going to be glorious to watch, kiddo. Just glorious.
And when Dean's eyes shot open, he knew, exactly as he had recognized his death, that the familiar green was gone. In its place?
Only black.
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a/n Have some season finale feels.