Disclaimer - I don't own him, even though sometimes it feels like I do. No copyright infringement intended. Respect to Kripke and Jensen. Written for all the grieving fangirls (and fanboys) out there. Dean is NOT gone. His mission not over yet.

He found himself alone in a dark room. No, not a room, more like a cavern. Not even a cavern. A large, empty, barren space with no walls, no ceiling, no floor. Not even air. Barefoot, in blood-soaked boot cut blue jeans and a grey t-shirt – the color of his clothes almost no longer recognizable underneath the thick, scarlet-brown liquid that covered them. Save for one spot on his t-shirt where a cheap bronze amulet hung on a leather cord.

He shivered. Covered in sweat, his short hair clung to his forehead. Looking around, his eyes tried to adjust to the light... or... lack of it. He tried to move and found he couldn't. A lone figure was in the room with him. Or possibly hundreds. They wavered in and out of view in front of him, just out of sight. He focused his concentration on the single figure. Easier to focus that way.

A woman.

Or possibly a young boy. Young man? Her (his?) hair... blonde, brunette, red, grey? A voluptuous body or a slender one? He vaguely recalled appreciating such women. All women. He approached her. No – she was approaching him. In this room that wasn't a room, with light that had no light, he couldn't tell who moved toward whom. Until she stood in front of him. Shorter than his own height, taller, the same. Again, he tried to concentrate. To focus only on her. The more he did, the warmer the room grew until his shivering ceased. He looked into her eyes. Hazel-brown... no, gray-green... no, blue. The color distinct, yet indistinguishable. Looking at him through framed lenses. No, none. Not that it mattered. Her eyes were kind. Caring.

She reached a hand up and brushed the dampened hair on his forehead. The light didn't allow him to tell the color of her skin. Was she fair? Dark? Tanned? He only knew her touch was soft. Gentle. A mother's touch. A sister's. A friend. He leaned into her hand. Closed his eyes.

"Is this Heaven?"

"No. The opposite."

He looked at her and saw her frowning. If the light had allowed, he would have seen the tear-streaks covering her face. He couldn't see them. He saw only her.

"Am I...?"

"No. Not yet."

"But, how? Where?"

Her fingers touched his lips. Stopped his questions.

"The next few months in this place will feel like an eternity. In fact, it won't even be that long. Only a few minutes will have passed. I'm here to ease your pain during that time. Stop your suffering. Stay inside your mind, and I'll be with you. I will always be with you. I won't let you feel..." She paused. Her hand moved to his shoulder. His side. He cringed for a moment when she did and then his pain ceased as a look of pain covered her own face.

Not wanting him to see it, she smiled for him. Her hand touched his face.

"Close your eyes. Rest. Peace is with you."

He did as she asked. His eyes closed, he never saw the blood which began to stain her own clothes. Her jeans, her t-shirt... covered in crimson. The tears in her eyes. He didn't hear her silent whisper, "I won't abandon you." He only felt her warm, comforting light surrounding him. And, finally, he rested.