So I saw an idea on Tumblr where the whole Supernatural thing is just a figment of Dean's imagination. I just decided to add a bit more to the idea. Don't know who exactly came up with it, but shout out to you whoever you are.

WARNING: angst!Dean

That night, November 2nd, 1983, was worse than Dean could have imagined. And he had a very vivid imagination.

The click of computer keys filled the room. His fingers, tapping furiously at each key, like every letter had done him a disservice. His hands ached with the onset of carpal tunnel, but he ignored it. He had to finish this.

He ignored the knock on the door.

He ignored the sound of keys jingling as they were fit into a lock.

He ignored the sound of the door swinging gently open behind him, letting fresh air into the musty motel room.

He didn't want to live in this world. He wanted to live in the one he made. The one with his brother. The one where he was whole.

He only turned when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. But he wasn't done. He just needed more time. He hadn't finished the ending yet.

"Dean." He felt a tap on his shoulder as his saving angel tried to bring him back to this hated world. He collapsed back in his chair, sighing, and rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

"Dean." The voice insisted more urgently.

He shook his head, hunching over the desk as he dug his knuckles in his eyes.

"It's time." The voice. The voice that wouldn't go away.

He knew what fake Dean would say. "Please no chick flick moments." Or maybe he would give his signature angsty glare.

But he wasn't that Dean. He was this Dean. And he wasn't strong, or brave. He wasn't even a good cook. And he definitely hadn't taken good care of his brother. If he had, he wouldn't be doing this right now.

"C'mon, Dean. We should go." Cas jingled the car keys. Dean reluctantly stood up, then looked down at his clothes. He was wearing the same outfit from 3 days ago.

"Just let me get cleaned up." He said in a gruff voice. He knew he was stalling. Cas probably did too. But he nodded with a small smile. "Sure, Dean."

He shuffled to the bathroom with a clean red flannel shirt and worn blue jeans in hand. He turned on the shower to full heat. The steam clouded the mirror, and he wiped it off carelessly. He stared at the face looking back at him in the mirror. It was haggard and tired, like it hadn't seen a razor or pillow for a week. Which seemed accurate. He sighed, letting the mirror fog up again as he got into the hot shower.

He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later looking nothing like the man that had walked in. But he still felt the same.

Cas quickly stood, bumping the desk in his haste. He looked a bit guilty, and Dean saw that he had been looking at the laptop. He clenched his fist as he realized what Cas had been reading.

Cas looked confused, trying to read Dean with that signature tilt of his head. They both decided to ignore what just happened.

The car ride to the cemetery was long and quiet. Finally, Cas broke the silence.

"It's really good, Dean. The story, I mean."

"Yeah." Dean nodded.

Cas didn't seem content with his response. He waited for Dean to say more, then continued.

"I think the ending should be happy."

"I don't-", Dean started, then seemingly changed his mind.

"You don't what, Dean? You can talk to me." Cas repeated the same mantra that Dean had heard countless times.

Dean glared at him a little for the patronizing tone. "I can't think about the ending right now." He pointedly stared out the window at the passing scenery, cutting off any other attempts at conversation.

He wasn't being fair, and he knew it. Cas was trying to help. But he wasn't in the mood today.

The cemetery came into view down the street. It was actually a nice day outside, and Dean couldn't help but be grateful for that. No grey trees, with their dead, twiggy hands stretching into the sky. No rain, no snow, but there were a few clouds. The sun was still out, the air was brisk, and the leaves were just starting to turn. He was grateful, but that didn't mean he thought it was fair. The world shouldn't be going on like nothing was happening.

He and Cas had agreed, a few months back, to do this, but he didn't think either one of them would follow through with it. It just seemed like one of those promises he made just because he could, but never really kept.

But they were here. Unbelievably. And Dean knew he couldn't back out now.

There was only one other person here, a young woman, probably mid 20s, with dark red hair and a black peacoat.

Other than that, it was peaceful. The trees made a red and gold dome around the tombstones, garnering them with November's fall leaves. He would have thought it was eerily quiet, but that wasn't him. He wasn't that Dean, and he didn't want to start acting like it.

"Can you give me a minute." Dean said. Not asked, said.

"Sure. I'll be in the car when you're ready."

Dean nodded, and waited until Castiel disappeared from sight. He turned to the small grave in front of him, with the wilting flowers in the vase. He took them out and replaced them with a bundle of fake flowers. These ones wouldn't die.

Sam Johnson, 1980-1983, Loved son and brother.

This fic is gonna be pretty sad, just so you know. But it will pick up in action, don't worry. I have something planned *cackles evilly*