Dean Winchester had so much experience with death that it had never crossed his mind that this would be the way he died; in a hospital bed at the age of eighty, surrounded by his friends and family, instead of being killed by some unnatural creature or another.

Well, it wasn't so much "friends and family" as it was Sam. Which was fine. Sam was the only family Dean had ever wanted anyway. And even if they weren't inseparable the way they had been as young hunters, Sam had still made the trip out from California the instant he'd heard that Dean had had a heart attack. Now he sat by Dean's bedside, the only constant presence in the midst of the revolving door of hunting acquaintances and friends that kept coming in and out, paying their last respects (as much as Sam refused to admit that's what it was).

And there were many of them. Charlie, now a veritable encyclopedia of hunting lore who everyone learned to depend on for accurate information. Garth, who somehow was still hunting full time, having lasted longer than anyone either Winchester had ever met. Chrissy, who had taken over many of his duties as the years went on. As well as so many others who had only known Dean as home base, the organizer for the vast network of hunters across the country. He'd become almost what Bobby had been in the last few decades, while Sam had taken it upon himself to resurrect the Men (and Women) of Letters, although he'd agreed to let Dean keep the bunker in Lebanon as a training ground for young hunters, many of whom had spent time there training with the now-legendary Dean Winchester. Not that hunting was what it used to be; after the closing of Heaven and Hell it had gone back to the average werewolf, vampire, wendigo cases again.

In fact everyone, young trainees and old friends alike, had come, except for one person, who Dean never spoke about, even to Sam. Whose name Dean still invoked in prayers every night. After everything they'd been through, Castiel had returned to Heaven to put right everything that had gone wrong. He had known full well that he would never be able to return, but felt he had to, and Dean had agreed, no matter how painful. It had been an impossible decision, over forty years ago now. The only reminder Dean had of him was one perfect, snow-white feather, found in the back of the Impala and kept safe from prying eyes, since most young hunters these days didn't believe in angels.

Dean coughed weakly and Sam looked up, sudden fear in his eyes. "You all right?" he asked warily.

"Do I look all right?" Dean asked. He was torn. He wanted Sam to be prepared for this, but at the same time he never wanted his little brother to have to see him like this. To have to live through this again. "I'm dying, Sammy. I knew that when I got here."

"That's all those burgers catching up to you," Sam said with a knowing look, trying to keep his voice light.

Dean laughed, "Yeah, maybe. Hey, who would have seen this coming, though? You and me, here in our seventies?"

"I'm in my seventies," Sam said. "You're eighty." He sighed. "But you're right. I'd say we beat the odds. A peaceful death isn't something that happens for people like us. At least, I never expected it to happen."

Dean thought for a minute, then said, "Sam? When it's time, give me a hunter's funeral."

"Don't talk like that, Dean! You'll pull through this. I mean," and here Sam's voice broke a little, "we've gotten through every other damn thing the universe could throw at us."

Inwardly, Dean knew he wouldn't, that this was it. He could feel himself weakening, and besides he was tired. Tired of losing friends, tired of fighting. He thought about arguing to try to pull Sam into reality, but then thought better of it. He didn't want their last conversation to be an argument. "Just promise me, Sam."

Sam watched his brother's body shake with coughs, wishing there was something he could do, before saying, "OK, Dean. I promise. If it'll make you feel better."

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said. "Hey, don't let this get to you too much. You of all people know we'll see each other again." That was the only reason he felt he was keeping himself together.

"But what if we don't?" Sam asked. Dean knew he was still worried about his demon blood, that it might keep him out of Heaven. If they made it to Heaven anyway; not a certainty considering some of the things they'd been forced to do over the years. As long as they were together, that was all that mattered.

"We will," Dean said as forcefully as he could, not allowing himself to think of another possibility. "I'll say hi to Ellen and Jo and Bobby for you."

"Thanks," Sam said, as the nurse came in and told him that visiting hours were over.

"See you on the other side, Sammy," Dean said. For some reason, as he and Sam hugged, Dean felt sure that they'd never see each other in this life again, and held on a little longer than usual.

"You sure you'll be OK?" Sam asked, sounding worried.

"Yeah, don't worry about me," Dean said.

"OK," Sam said as he left. "Just don't give up, all right?"

Dean sighed, "You bet, Sam. And take care of yourself. Until I see you again." His tone left no room for argument.

"I will," Sam said, leaving without saying goodbye. They'd never actually said goodbye in all their years of danger and death. They certainly weren't going to start now, especially when it wasn't really goodbye. Still, Dean was a little choked up himself as he lay back, watching Sam go. It's not forever, he kept thinking to himself, I will see him again.