There was a way out of this. There was a way around it-around the plans that heaven had for them, around the archangels, around whatever it was God had in store for them. There was another way, and he would find it if it killed him.

It took years for Dean to realize that it already had.

They were small things at first. Demons attacking with a speed and ferocity he hadn't seen since the night Jake Talley opened the Gate. Then it was demons wiping out entire towns overnight. And then the Croatoan virus hit. Dean would have loved to be fighting for something as simple as a city now. It's funny how the end of the world can change your perception of what constitutes a big deal.

He'd grown up thinking he was invincible. First it was that his father would never let any harm come to him. Then it was that he was strong enough not to let real danger touch him. Then it was that he'd already gone through the worst thing that could happen; he'd held his brother's lifeless body in his arms and brought him back. Then he went through decades of torture in Hell, and if that didn't break him-not completely-if that hadn't done it, nothing could.

But that was only true if Sam was okay.

He'd lost his brother before, but this? This was something he couldn't come back from. He'd beaten distance for Sam, beaten addiction with him, even beaten death to have his brother back at his side. But letting Lucifer in had been Sam's decision, and that was a bond not even Dean could break.

But he could break that body. It wouldn't be easy, not with Michael refusing him, but he would find a way. The Colt still existed, even though he had no idea where it was. He could track it down. And he could track down Lucifer, the wolf hidden in his brother's skin, and he would take them both down.

It would be the end for all of them, really. Cas might not be the angel he had been, but he was involved enough in this that he would need to see it through to the end. And Risa-she would be there by his side where Sam once stood, the right-hand man he'd thought he'd lost. As for Dean himself, well. He'd faced death countless times before. Sometimes he beat it, others he didn't. It didn't matter which this was as long as he got the job done.

He was dead already. The man he used to be was long gone, worn down by the constant loss and years of hardships even he hadn't imagined, challenges that hit him harder than anything had before. He'd thought losing his family was as bad as losing the world; now that he knew what it felt like not to have either, Dean knew how wrong he had been. This life he had now-it wasn't worth saving. The only thing he had now was hope for whoever was left, hope that they could gain back the things he had given up on years ago.

He was a dead man walking, still talking, still planning, but not really alive anymore. He was driven forward by a single goal he would never admit he doubted but which he knew might not be possible. This wasn't the first plan he had hatched on borrowed time, but he knew it would be the last. All or nothing, now or never.

It took five years to find the Colt. Five years of searching, five years of almost giving up, five years of crying desperately for help from the empty heavens, five years of knowing that everything had gone wrong in a way he should have been able to stop. A way he had been able to stop, if he had only said that one word they all asked for.

Looking back now, Dean couldn't even remember why he'd held out. He hadn't wanted to lose himself, he supposed. Hadn't wanted Sam to lose him, even though they hadn't spoken in weeks that turned into months that turned into years. He probably hadn't wanted to lose Sam; Michael would have been too busy with his own brother to worry about Dean's.

But he'd lost Sam anyway. And then he lost Bobby. And then he lost everything else.

He'd thought letting go of the Impala would be harder than it was, but he hardly felt a thing. It was just one more vestige of his old life to say goodbye to, along with his father's old leather jacket, the one that had taken him through fight after fight before getting shredded protecting his flesh from a Croat that got too close.

The first time Cas tried drugs, he told Dean that now he understood why humans took them. He felt like his old self for the first time in months. Then he understood why humans couldn't stop. Even once the feeling of heaven's power stopped coming to him, Cas kept swallowing pills. The world hurt less under their effects. It was a weak, pitiful thing to hold onto, but he had to. He didn't tell Dean that that was when he was sure he was a mortal.

Watching Cas fall was hard on Dean. One more friend he couldn't save, one more man he owed his life to, one more man whose life he'd ruined with his stubbornness. But that was the fate of the angels in this world: They either left, or they fell.

Dean didn't know which fate he wanted Michael to have had.

When Cas told him that his powers were gone, that was when Dean knew for sure that it was over, that he'd missed his chance. He gave it one last shot anyway, but the only response his shouts got was the screaming of nearby Croats coming in for the hunt. He took them out with cold precision before heading back to the others. At the very least, secrets were easier to keep these days. No one even bothered asking where he'd been.

These days, all they asked him was what they were going to do about food, how long he thought they'd have to hold out, whether or not he had any leads on the Colt. For a long time, he didn't have the answers they wanted.

But now he had the Colt in his hands and a location to take it to. His finger circled the building marked on the map while the others got ready-he'd had his things packed for weeks-and thought about how long he'd waited for this. How long he'd searched. What he'd given up to bring this whole mess to its conclusion.

A part of him knew that the person he used to be would have been horrified to see him send Cas and Risa off to be a distraction while he faced Lucifer, but the person he used to be hadn't had the world ripped out of his hands. Maybe Dean would have felt some guilt if he had just been lying to them, sending them off to their deaths without any idea of what was coming.

But they knew. They all knew. And they would all do whatever it took to stop Lucifer. It didn't matter who walked away as long as the Devil wasn't one of them.

The crack of gunfire sounded through the cool air as Dean walked through the gates, stepping into the courtyard where Lucifer waited for him. "Welcome, Dean," he said, and Dean closed his eyes and tried not to remember that this was the first time he had heard his brother's voice in five years. He opened his eyes again and raised the Colt, its weight still familiar in his hand.

This was it. This was the big plan, the final gambit, the last trick he had up his sleeve-and he could not do it. He could not look his brother in the eye but it's not him, that's not him in that body anymore, those aren't his eyes knowing Sam was staring down the barrel of a gun it's not Sammy anymore and pull the trigger. They stood facing each other, the Devil in that stupid white suit Sam would have hated, Dean with the Colt still aimed at his brother's face.

There was no fear in Lucifer's eyes. Not even a modicum of concern. He knew just as well as Dean did-better-that he couldn't do it. And so they watched together as Dean's arm lowered, as the Colt slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud.

Five years of calculating down the drain. Five years of tarnished hopes and dozens of lives. Cas and Risa had given up their lives for this plan. And now, Dean knew, he had too.

He stared straight into Lucifer's eyes, looked death in the face for the last time. Dean might not have been able to finish it himself, but this fight ended here. He had nothing left, no more aces in the hole, no more contingencies, nothing. They both knew that.

Still neither moved, so Dean spat out the words-"Just do it already"-and Christ, that was the most vulnerable he'd sounded in years.

Before he knew what was happening, he had his back on the ground and a foot at his throat, and his head turned almost against his will, looking up at Lucifer, trying to find one last trace of Sam in there before it all went dark.

But there was nothing.

Nothing but black.