In the end, Dean Winchester just left. He waited until nightfall- it would be easier for everyone that way. Like ripping off a bandage.
Pausing in his brother's room, he watched as the blankets rose and fell. Then he slipped away - keys to the Impala in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other. His silhouette was seen for a split second against dark sky. He was gone.
Then it was the road. He didn't know where he was going, just away. For once, he drove silently, no music and no words. Just him and the starry sky, and the highway.
Hardly any other cars passed. On occasion, a red Toyota or a black sedan would flash in the corner of his vision, but he didn't give them a second glance. The silence was loud in the way that only silence could be.
He tried not to think.
Slowing as he approached an exit, Dean turned. The car caught a flash of light, then melded into the lamp-lit street. A loud sound was heard as the car door opened, then closed – in the house across the street, a thirteen-year-old girl peeked outwards, seeing a tall man in a leather jacket run his fingers through his hair.
He looked sad, hopeless.
The girl turned away.
Dean turned away, too. The ground was still damp from the shower earlier that morning, and his footsteps sounded wetly on the pavement. The darkness swallowed him up as he left the yellow light and paced towards a side-road. Nobody would find him here, nobody would stop him.
I'm sorry, Sammy.
The man dropped to a slouch against the narrow brick walls. He raised his beer, tried to savor every last drop. Taking a shaky breath, he shrugged out of his thick leather jacket. He took off his necklace, too, placing it carefully within the folds. Unsteadily sliding a piece of paper from his jeans pocket, he lay it down on top of the pile. He tossed his phone there, too.
He took a last swig out of the bottle.
Dean closed his eyes.
He knew it was going to hurt, hurt even worse than his time in Hell. He thought he would be crushed, he thought he would be washed away in a sea of Michael. He was ready.
In the end, Dean Winchester said yes. He didn't even tell Cas, but Sam found his jacket and a note by the GPS in his phone. He left in a narrow alleyway just off the road. A girl had seen him walking with a beer in his hand and an empty look on his face. She said she hadn't seen him come back.
Sam knew why, in some strange, sad way.
After he said it, Dean just closed his eyes and waited for obliteration. When he felt the first tendrils of Grace reaching for him, he didn't pull away.
It was cold, was his first thought. And somehow pleasant. Pleasant to be washed away in a sea of white light, to forget. He felt himself caving, folding in on himself until he was just a speck in the ocean of Michael.
And he didn't care.
He tried to remember, I'm Dean. He knew there was something he was missing, something important.
I'm Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester. Dean…
He caved a bit further. He saw things, memories that were not his, battles and Grace and swords clashing, and white light everywhere.
White light.
I'm, I'm Dean. I-
I'm Michael.
Michael-Dean-Winchester-light-white-light
The light was everywhere. He vaguely remembered emotions, thoughts, having control. Emotions were tricky. This- this was much better. Dean-Michael curled into a small ball.
Did he even have a body anymore? He couldn't tell.
Something I used to have. I used to have a brother, too.
His name was Sam
Lucifer.
Dean closed his not-eyes. He felt warm, safe in the white light.
I'm Michael.
The angel could feel the instant Dean Winchester left, curling in on his own consciousness until he blinked out.
He flexed his own wings, then blinked Dean's eyes as they flashed white.
Then he was gone.