When the war is over…
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural.
a/n: WARNING– It's a deathfic. It just happened.
If you're going to read this, put your headphones on and play" Cold Desert" King of Leon. Just trust me on this.
lb.
It's cold in the desert.
There was a bright light streaming all around him. Yellow gold. Beautiful.
It was dawn.
Even with his eyes closed he knew that much. Could feel the newness and hope even as his blood flowed on its last journey over skin to disappear in the course sand beneath him.
It was cold here but he didn't feel it. He was past physical pain and discomfort but he wasn't scared.
Philosophical maybe but not cynical or angry or even sad.
His heart soared.
His tears were joyous.
The war was over.
The warmth of the new sun seeped over his prone form, caressing touch that comforted his soul and mind.
He was finished with the blood and pain and death that had made the journey so hard but he wouldn't forget those things had made him who he was, had shaped him. It would be wrong, somehow dishonorable not to remember that.
He opened his eyes to take in the still form of his brother beside him, eyes open looking back at him. Unseeing but still knowing. Always by his side, his strength and his light.
He struggled to move, to place a hand on his brother's arm where it belonged. Where he could feel the comfort of still warm skin and know they had soared to heights they never thought possible.
They had always been stronger together.
Brothers in arms.
Blood brothers.
He smiled as he slipped away.
"We're going home Dean."
The End.