"Sammy! C'mon, man, not now." Dean mustered the last ounce of strength left in his body (shredded and bloody, damn those hellhounds) and shook his little brother. Not so little anymore, he thought. "Sammy!" he yelled hoarsely, his throat tightening, eyes filling with hot tears that threatened to crack his stoic exterior at any moment. There was no response from the massive form next to him. Dean pushed himself up enough to pull his brother onto his lap. He cradled his head in his arms and the tears began to slip out. "God, no, not now," he whispered. "Not today. Please."
Sam coughed. Suddenly, without warning. Dean hurriedly wiped the tears from his nose. "Sammy, you there? You hear me?"
Sam's eyes blinked open. He coughed again. This time there was blood. Dean winced. "Dude, they got you pretty bad."
Sam nodded. "Feel like hell," he croaked.
Dean snorted. "No, you don't."
Sam's laughter turned to violent coughing. More blood. He was having difficulty breathing.
Dean tried to wipe away the blood. It was all he could do. Goddammit, Cas, I need you. Sammy's gonna die. Please.
Nothing.
"Cas!" A prayer? A question? A plea. "C'mon!" Dean cried, looking around frantically. "Where are you, man?"
Sam chuckled at his worry. "It's ok," he said. "I'm ok. And Cas is ok, wherever the hell he is." Then, quietly," And you're ok. Jerk."
Dean smiled and laughed through his tears. "Bitch." There was silence. A few minutes later he felt Sam go limp.
And then Dean cried.
His tears were for his little brother. The little boy who was sick of "sghapettio's." The kid who wanted more than anything to be normal. The future lawyer, husband, father, grandfather – maybe even uncle.
They were for Mary, who'd wanted more than anything for her children not to be raised hunters. They were for John, who'd done just that. They were for Bobby, who'd raised him and Sam as best he could. They were for Ellen and Jo, who'd sacrificed everything when they had nothing left to give. They were for Lisa and Ben, who didn't remember. They were for Jimmy, who'd just wanted to be devout. They were for Kevin Tran, advanced placement. They were for Benny, the monster who wasn't. They were for Charlie, the little sister he'd never wanted but needed all the same. They were the tears he'd held inside for far too long. They were for everyone he'd ever known and loved. Everyone whose lives he thought he'd fucked up. They were for his family.
And his tears were for Castiel, the angel of the Lord. The one who'd dragged his ass out of hell and believed in him when he didn't believe in himself. The one who'd made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he couldn't save everyone. The one who'd given everything for him and Sam. His best friend. Hell, maybe even his soulmate. It didn't really matter anymore. Right now Cas was the one Dean needed the most, more than anything, and he wasn't there.
And so Dean cried.
It was an hour before the tears stopped coming. God knows he could've cried for hours more – had he still been breathing.
A flutter of wings. Castiel surveyed the sight before him: Sam, the upper half of his body still resting on his big brother's lap, their bodies almost unrecognizable. The Impala, her hood smashed in and window-shield shattered, motor still running, "Ramble On" breaking the somber silence. Dean propped up against his baby in one last attempt to keep his little brother safe.
Cas leaned down and cupped Dean's battered face in his hand. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. Then his eyes widened. "Excuse me, Mary, I didn't mean–"
But he stopped, realizing Dean would have told him to "shut up, it's just an expression. Now get your angel mojo on and patch us up."
Back to normal. Just this one last time, Cas thought. He did the same for Sam, and then stood up, half-expecting Sam to thank him and Dean to – well, say thank you in his own way.
But he didn't.
Cas sat down on the crumpled hood of the Impala and bowed his head. He didn't speak, or fix Dean's baby, or cry. He simply reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat and pulled out the angel blade he kept there. He took a last glance at his boys and sighed. His boys. His friends. His family. He knew they were gone for good. With the gates of heaven closed and no one left to pull them out of hell, if that's where they were, what was the point? He had no purpose anymore. There was nothing left for him. His family was gone, and, within a matter of seconds, so was he.