muahahaahahah- Oh-kay, so obviously this has 09x23 spoilers! So PLEASE don't read if you haven't seen that episode yet.

But basically, here's a short one-shot with the events of 09x23. I'm planning on making it a multi-chapter fic, but need some feedback and reviews or I might not continue it. SO please follow/review if you want to read more! FINALLY it's summer, so I'll actually have time to write.

Enjoy!

Strangely enough, Dean had barely felt the blade. Of course, he knew what had happened. He saw Metatron, saw the knife through his gut. But whether because of the Mark, or just pure shock, he didn't feel a thing at first. It took Sam forcing him to his feet, holding his head with a desperate grip, shaking him, pleading with him, for the dull fire to spread.

And as the darkness spread over his vision, he felt at peace.

It's better this way, he had said to Sam. The Mark, it's making me into something I don't wanna be. He hoped Sam could understand. Make the choice he himself had been too weak to make. No deals, no bringing him back.

And as his speech began to slur, he spoke one last time. S'my. I- I'm proud. I'm proud… of us. Dean knew his brother would find the real meaning.

"I'm proud of you"

A dull roar rushed up to meet the eldest Winchester, and he met it with open arms. At first, he thought it strange that there was no reaper, then dismissed the thought. After all, pretty much everything was in tatters – Heaven, even the veil was messed up. Dean supposed that's where he would end up, too.

If the Mark didn't give him a one-way ticket to Hell.

He thought for a moment that he could hear a vague murmur, like a faint voice, but it faded as quickly as it had come. And he was back in a black space, the veil, he thought, except it seemed… different.

Thicker, somehow, like instead of an empty space it was syrupy tar. Tacky, clammy against his skin- did he even have skin? Do souls have skin? Heavy. Dean felt himself suspended almost, although he knew that wasn't the right word. Held, maybe. Held with a forceful grasp, almost painful.

And that's when he felt the tugging, the slow but steady motion pulling him down, down, down, until his head was spinning again, if he had one exactly.

Then pins and needles, like a limb had fallen asleep and was just now waking up. Almost painful, hands and arms unable to move. He could hear a voice, and recognized it as the voice from before. And smooth voice, with a slight British accent.

"Listen to me Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now is not death, it's life. A new kind of life."

He struggled to string his thoughts together, find something other than fury and rage and want for the blade. Struggled to bring his mind back from wherever it had been.

"Open your eyes, Dean"

He became vaguely aware of the familiar shape of the knife in his hands.

"See what I see. Feel what I feel"

How could he feel, when he wasn't even there, not truly? After all, he was dead. Wasn't he?

"Let's go take a howl at that moon"

And he feels everything, has complete control, can almost feel the universe. Could feel the lines connecting this and that.

And he opens his eyes.

just pm me or review if you think I should write more!