At the end of everything, there's not a white picket fence or a magic reset button. There's no riding off into the sunset with an angel in the passenger's seat, no swell of music and no salvation.
There is a moment of painful clarity: this is the end. He doesn't even know how he knows this; maybe it's a gift from God, one of his prayers answered at last. There will be no Heaven, and no Hell. There will be no coming back. This is true oblivion within his reach at last. Dean sighs.
He's curled on his side, face swimming in a shallow pool of still-warm blood that may or may not be his. His ribs ache. There's a blurry shape in front of him; he blinks it into focus and sees two points of bright blue. Cas.
Cas is on the ground with him, face streaked with blood and eyes red-rimmed and pained. Dean reaches out a hand and Cas takes it, clasping it tight and pulling Dean in with a pained-sounding grunt. That small movement is agony, but Dean doesn't have the energy to cry out. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and feels the dizzy horror of still not getting enough air.
"Cas..." he gasps. "Sam?"
"Gone," Cas clips out between gritted teeth. Dean closes his eyes and tries again to get his breath. Gone. Sam. Sammy. Gone.
Once upon a time that word would have been Dean's salvation, pushed him to his feet and compelled him to keep on living.
But there's that knowledge in his head that he can't explain but also doesn't doubt, telling him Sam is really gone this time. There's nowhere to bring him back from, no one left to bring back. And Dean is joining him soon, if his struggling breath is any indication.
He presses his forehead to Cas' shoulder and breathes, breathes, tries to breathe, shaky with sharp pains and not deep enough. There are fingers in his hair, an arm around his shoulders, hand clasped in the fabric of his shirt, fabric bunching against his back. He forces his eyes open, finds Cas' and tries for a smile. The bloody side of his face is numb, won't cooperate.
'I'm goin' too, Cas," he rasps. The arm tightens. "You comin'?"
"Don't I always go where you go, Dean?"
His gravel-glass voice sounds thin. Tired. Dean laughs and chokes on it. Tastes more blood.
"Yeah," he says. "I guess you do."
He relaxes against Cas' side. His own heartbeat runs through his ears, sounding all wrong. Too fast and light. They don't say anything else, but Cas' hand is warm still clasped in his. He's so tired. Everything feels muted now, distant. His breath is still short but it hurts less now. Even the pain in his ribs is leaving.
He smiles. It's over. He's done. No more fighting, no more tears. Just peace.
Dean closes his eyes. He rests.