Title: where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Wordsworth.

Warnings: future!fic

Pairings: none stated

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 490

Point of view: third

When the great battle, the final battle of the war, started, Dean had still not chosen a side. He knew Samuel Winchester, the Demon King, Lucifer reborn, was not Sammy, the kid brother he read stories to and taught to play baseball. He wasn't even sure if that man still existed.

But Samuel Winchester wore Sammy's face, and Dean could not raise a hand against him.

So Sam had him stashed at the far edge of the killing ground, Asmodi's forces as his guard, and went to war with Heaven.

Dean sat on the dirt, head cradled in his hands. He had failed horribly, let down Dad and Mom and the whole fucking world. Everything that Sam did—because Dean wasn't strong enough. He couldn't kill Sam, even though Sam was no longer his brother, and the world, everyone Dean ever knew, paid the price.

Asmodi roared and Dean looked up. A cloud of fire and feathers whirled around Dean and the demons guarding him. Before more than a few moments had passed, the demons were on the ground, sightless eyes staring.

Dean gaped as two angels landed. One slumped over and the other helped him kneel; he breathed heavily and Dean heard him gasp, "Kill me, brother."

Closing his eyes, Dean tried not to listen as the second angel asked, "Is that truly your wish?"

"Yes. I am too weak to be of any aid. My final order to you: keep the human safe."

Dean turned back just in time to see the injured angel be lowered completely to the dirt, eyes closed and face peaceful. The remaining angel stood and towered above him. "Hello again, Dean," he said. "Come with me now." He held out a hand.

The battle was winding down. Dean knew Sam had won. "Will you kill me?" he asked. "Because I won't kill Sam."

"I am to keep you safe, Dean Winchester," the angel said. "My orders are from my brother Michael. You alone can stop your brother. You still could." The angel crouched in front of him, silver eyes glinting in the sunlight. "I will keep you alive so that the option is still open." He again held out his hand. "Come, Dean."

Dean took his hand and the angel straightened, pulling him close, tucking him tight against the powerful chest.

"We've met before?" Dean asked.

"Yes," the angel rumbled, stretching his wings. "Twice. The first time, you stood proud and would have come with me. The second time, you had just made up your mind when the choice was taken from both of us."

The angel wrapped one arm around Dean. "Stay still," he commanded. "We have far to go, and we must be gone before your brother catches on."

"You're Azrael," he whispered.

The Angel of Death said nothing, launching into the clear, cloudless sky. Dean looked down and, though he saw Sam, he knew his brother was not there.