So this is something that came to my head and I made it a game between me and my friend. I would send him a paragraph and then he would add on to the story. Then he would send it back and I would add on. That happened until we got this. I hope you guys enjoy... Or just cry from sadness. Either or.
He was alone. This was not loneliness from one person leaving. No. This was everyone that you knew since birth, people that you loved, all of a sudden vanishing. This was not just loneliness. This was hell. With only strangers out there left to surround yourself with, he wished he would have died with them.
He stared at the emptiness that's been left by them, and felt dizzy. Legs failing him, he clutched a table for support, not taking his eyes off the spot from which his family disappeared. He walked over and looked for a sign, any sign that could show him the way, but there was nothing. Nothing. Not even a drop of blood, or a scuff mark from Dean's boots, nothing.
What would he do now? There was no more Dad to go to find a new lead. There was no Bobby Singer to talk about how he felt, not that he felt anything anyway. He was as hollow as the demons they hunted. There was no one and that was the only thing that mattered. He didn't care that he had the chance to start a new life and find love. He could settle down and have a family. None of that mattered now. He would give it all up just to have them all with him again.
He started walking unsteadily towards the door, looking around the corners to see if there were any Demons or Leviathans left, but he saw nothing, only the debris from broken drywall and stains of blood on the floor. The halls echoed menacingly with his footsteps. Not even the test subjects could be seen. He could only imagine what contingency plans Dick had held for them. He looked forward towards the exit, looking for even one, despised connection to his past, Meg. But even then, he knew without even leaving the accursed site that she was not there.
With Desperate steps, He made it outside. To the only familiar thing left. The Impala. It had been his home since he was four and it would stay that way, probably for the rest of time. As he climbed in, he couldn't help but think of Dean, yelling at him to not get dirt on the floor or not to touch the window with his greasy hands. So many memories that would not leave him be, left him weeping on the steering wheel. Unable to move. Unable to think. Only Grieve.