Finale
Dean dashed into the barely illuminated room, his weapon halfheartedly in his hand. Whatever was
waiting for him here, couldn't be worse than the things behind him. This was a choice between
Sodom and Gomorrah and surviving wasn't even on the list anymore. No, this time they'd definitely
failed.
He'd expected at least one demon – a really nasty son of a bitch – more likely five of the monsters,
but to his surprise the room seemed to be empty.
He stopped just behind the door, wondering, blood rushing in his ears and his heavy breathing
making him feel dizzy while he scanned the round room again and again – but nothing. The room
was empty.
The walls around him were blank stone, interrupted by small portals, each bricked up long ago.
The little light came from high above, where the sunshine managed its way through a small space
Dean couldn't even see.
The lack of monsters didn't make him feel any better though, quite the contrary, hiding just the
obvious: This was a trap. The only door out of here lay in his back. Damn it.
A crashing noise behind him made him spin around.
Sam leaned against the door, his pale face covered in sweat.
"They... are... just... behind..." he managed to cough.
Dean nodded. "I know."
Sam closed his eyes and slid ungracefully to the ground. His chest heaving rapidly. The sight
made Dean twinge. Sitting in a trap was one thing - sitting in a trap with Sam was no option. They
had to get out of here, but first they had to change their status as fast food.
"Go away from the door, they are coming", he ordered, but Sam didn't even bother to open his
eyes.
"Why? Dying - down - the - hall - more graceful?" He was still out of breath. They needed more
time.
Dean again scanned every inch of the walls around them, but the result didn't change - there was
no door, no crack. Nothing.
His will faded with every ticking second. It wasn't only the obvious lack of an escape. His years of a
hunter had taught him a pretty good sense of his fate: winning, losing, hospital wing - and this time
all his senses screamed: Game over!
This room would be their grave.
Outside it remained silent, but Dean was sure that they had only seconds before their pursuers
would catch up to them. He sighed, put the weapon in his belt and sat down next to Sam. When
they had to die, they would die side by side.
"I'm sorry", he whispered.
This time Sam opened his eyes. "Why? I liked the idea, too." The look he gave him was dulled by
exhaustion and Dean felt his stomach twist.
"Yeah, but I believed in it, you know?"
Sam shook his head. "No, but it doesn't matter anymore, does it?"
"Probably", he murmured. He would have liked to tell Sam that he still had hope, that he still
wanted to protect him, that he still did wish for a different, a better life for his brother. In the last
years there had been moments when he was close to giving up – all the losses – but somehow
hope had always found a way. It was a small and shrunken hope by now, but it was still there. And
it had been hope that had brought them here.
Because his hope had found a new spark. A hint about a book, a hint about THE book, the book of
all books, in which the past and the future were written. The book that should show them how this
war could be won.
This war they had been dragged into again – Dean couldn't even say when and how this had
happened. The ending of the war was in their hands again – the saving of mankind, the salvation
of anything, the rescue of Sam and most of all the rescue of something others would call normality
and that Dean still did wish to experience only for some moments – if not him than at least for Sam.
What a dumb, illusive hope! No, he wouldn't tell Sam about this, it wouldn't change anything.
"I' m missing the times when evil could be banned by salt and spells", he said instead, just to say
anything.
Sam laughed. "Yeah, those have been the good times, almost like bedtime stories."
His breathing was a little more relaxed now and a little color had come back to his face.
Dean strained to hear something, but it was still calm outside.
"They let us wait, cause they know that there's no escape.", Sam summed up Deans thoughts.
Something in Dean's stomach tightened even harder. Dumb, illusive hope. Thanks to that they now
were trapped in this underground castle in a godforsaken dullsville in the middle of nowhere. Great
achievement, Dean Winchester! Thus you are trying to protect you brother.
Suddenly something had caught Sam's attention and he got up, with ample moaning. Seeing him
make his way through the room Dean noticed that Sam was limping and blood was leaking through
the left arm of his blue sweater.
"You are wounded!", he exclaimed and asked himself why he hadn't noticed it already.
"It's not fatal", came Sam's reply obviously with his thoughts a mile away. He was staring at the
wall opposite of him, laying his head to the right side and then to the left.
"What is it?", asked Dean. But his brother kept silent and repeated his strange behavior. When he
did it the third time without saying anything Dean lost his patience. He rose and walked over to
Sam, but couldn't see anything interesting at all. The wall was made of light sandstone interrupted
by narrow bricked up portals with seats. And most important: it looked very solid, so no way
through here.
"Do you see this too?", asked Sam suddenly and Dean sighed inwardly. Even in their last hours he
had to be outplayed by his little brother. So he remained silent, Sam reached out his arm for
explanation and pointed to one of the portals.
"There. I believe I see light. Something is behind it."
Dean's eyes followed Sam's fingers, but it took him some time and adjusting until he could see a
meager glitter in the wall. And it didn't came from above.
Sam got close to the wall and pushed the stones until one of them gave way. They heard a dry
creak and suddenly the wall began to move.
"That's just like a bad movie", Dean called when the portal opened up as if by magic to give way to
a spiral stair downwards.
"As long as it helps us out of here the movie is not too bad for me".
They looked at the stairs and a glimmer coming from it's end in the deep.
Dean peeked back to the door, he still couldn't hear anything.
"I don't think they gave up", came Sam's comment to his glance and Dean had to concede a point
to him.
He gave a shrug and took the lead downstairs.
The room that should have become their grave already had been a couple of floors underground,
but the spiral stair still went farther down.
"Wow, I think we just took the way right to hell", Dean murmured when they hadn't reached the end
after what felt like an eternity.
"Don't say that!", Sam had fallen short of him due to his injured leg and moaned with every step.
"Are you alright?" Dean finally asked.
"Why? Do you wanna carry me?"
Finally Dean saw the end of the stairs. He got the gun from his belt and took the last step. To their
left was a passage way where the source of the light that had illuminated their descend seemed to
be. There was nobody to be seen and no sounds either.
A moaning behind him let him know that Sam also had made it down. Just when he took the last
step they could hear a creaking above. The door had closed again.
Dean sighed, "that was sure to happen", then he turned to his left and entered the corridor.
"Are you certain we should just go in there?" he could hear Sam say.
He turned around and gave him a "Any better ideas we could go with?"-look. It seemed to work,
cause Sam answered with a shrug and didn't protest anymore as Dean continued through the
corridor with the gut ready to shoot. The light got brighter with every step, it was unnaturally brilliant
and Dean got an uneasy feeling. The fact that they hadn't any alternatives was the only thing that
kept him going. The setting reminded him uncomfortably of the cheesy movies where the dead
loved ones turn to the eternal light. That he had seen real ghosts do this didn't make it any easier.
Eventually the passage way ended in another round room that to Dean looked fatally like the one
he had just left with Sam. But this one wasn't empty.
He couldn't suppress a whistle and Sam behind him blurted out an "Oh my god" but due to other
reasons, as he ended the sentence with "the book!"
"Welcome, Sam and Dean Winchester!" The voice of the speaker was breathtaking and very
enjoyable to Dean. The woman was tall with a white gown to the floor and the dark waves in which
her hair fell over her shoulders made her look like a Greek goddess. Dean at least had always
imagined that Greek goddesses would look like this. A smile adorned her harmonious face.
"The book", Sam repeated and got the attention of his brother. There really was a book on a
wooden desk behind the woman. It looked ancient and even Dean sensed that it wasn't just any
dusty antique.
"We found it, Dean. We really found it!" Sam suddenly noticed that the woman and Dean were
staring at him irritated.
"This is it, isn't it?", he asked insecure, "It's THE book of books, the Original-Bible?"
The woman nodded, but her look was still doubtful. "The book, the Torah and a lot more sacred
writings. Even those stories that are older than writing. The voices of their tellers are bound to this
book. All that ever happened is in this book and also many things that shall be. I am its guardian."
"Wow", Dean murmured, "what a huge responsibility for a single person."
The guardian was unfazed. "I was born for this. It is my destiny."
At the last word Dean's face contorted. He had heard enough about destiny, especially his own,
and he thought that destiny was made up to burden people with duties no one else wanted to do.
"I think you can put that away now." The guardian pointed to the gun in Dean's hand. Not until then
did he notice that he was still holding it uplifted.
"I won't harm you. And even if I did, you couldn't stop me with this thing."
Dean brought the gun down but didn't actually put it away. You couldn't be careful enough.
"We have to read something in the book", Sam declared. "Could we please have a look at it?"
The guardian ignored his question. "You were told that you could find a clue in this book about how
this war can be won?"
"Yes", Sam agreed hastily, "so can we read it?"
She shook her head and Dean again felt a tightening in his stomach.
"No! Because you won't be the ones to find the weapon and end this war."
"What do you mean?", asked Sam.
"It means that there is another destiny awaiting you."
Dean sighed, this word again!
"Okay", he interrupted, "we are sorry, but it was a hard day: What does this mean exactly? Will you
help us or not?"
The guardian looked over her shoulder at the book, when she turned back to the brothers her eyes
were dark and sad.
"I will help you, but not like you think. You can't find the weapon in the book because this story was
written after your death and..."
"Wait a minute. You mean "will be written"!", remarked Dean, to whom this detail suddenly was
most important.
The guardian remained silent, but her eyes stayed on Dean. She didn't look as if she wanted to
correct what she had said. But that would mean...
"No", he shook his head, "no this is absolutely..."
"They have been directly behind you."
The floor under Dean's feet seemed to blur.
"No, this..."
"The door wasn't even locked."
"Maybe, but..."
"Why should they have spared y.."
"SAM! Would you please say something!"
Sam had gone pale. He opened his mouth, but there came no clever opposition like Dean had
hoped, in the contrary.
"She is right", he said after a while. "I mean, I don't understand, but she is right."
Dean's stomach contracted and he felt sick.
"Okay, maybe", he lifted his hand so that nobody interrupted him. He had to take a breath. His
mind was a turmoil. He was pacing around.
"Maybe it was this way. Maybe this version makes more sense than the wall suddenly opening to a
spiral stair. But we are here. Aren't we? And we are real, we are no ghosts." He stopped pacing
and turned to the guardian. "We are not dead!"
She smiled sadly.
"That is because I want to help you. I have stopped your story and gave you some time. I can't
prevent your death, but I can give you a choice."
Dean suddenly felt a flash of anger, "A choice? To Die?" All this sounded more and more like she
was playing false and he hated to be cheated. "How that? Dead or … really dead?"
"Dean!", Sam was shaking his head, "You paused the book? But I thought..?" He seemed to be
willing to understand the guardian and Dean was asking himself where after all this years Sam still
could find this belief in the good.
"The guardians have the power to change the book, but only for once and you aren't allowed to
watch over the book anymore."
Sam nodded, "Okay, and why us? What is your plan?"
"I am tired of watching over the book. All this violence, all the pain, the destinies, that can't be
changed. I don't want to see it anymore with the knowledge to have to guard it when I rather would
shred the book." Her hands curled into fists and some ugly frown lines showed on her forehead.
"But before I leave I want to use my abilities to change something."
Her fit of rage reconciled Dean a little. Suddenly she seemed a lot more human.
"Okay, but why us? Why not world peace or free beer for all?"
She smiled again but without joy. "You can't change the world into a better place with only a couple
of sentences. You would need to alter countless stories and prophecies. Nobody can achieve this.
To write something good in one place could cause something bad to happen somewhere else. I
don't want to be responsible for that."
Dean nodded. Finally a Samaritan with farsightedness. But he didn't like his newly formed
sympathy for the woman. He wanted her words to be idle talk. However he had seen many liars in
his life and knew the guardian not to be one of them. The gun in his hand became heavy and he
put it in his belt.
"Okay", he murmured, "and how's the big plan? It's not like we haven't been rescued from death
before. So don't expect us to be too grateful."
"Dean, please!" Sam warned and Dean lifted his hands apologetically.
"I just say.."
"You are right", she nodded and went to the book. Absorbed in thought her hand caressed the
binding. "But as I already told you, your death isn't negotiable. You are dead. I am offering to
rescue your souls."
"What?" Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, who looked equally confused.
"If you want to send us to heaven, we.."
"... don't want to go there. No, I know!", the guardian interrupted. "I can send your souls to a place
where they can be healed and where neither angel nor demon can bring them back. They will
forget, forget everything and return to the world. What I am offering is a new life, a second chance,
a real second chance."
Dean opened his mouth and closed it again. There were too many questions in his head. He hoped
Sammy would understand those words and this time he wasn't disappointed.
"A rebirth?", Sam asked.
The guardian swayed her head."Something close, yes. But without the karma that could chase you
from your former life. Your souls won't have any memories, as if your old life has never happened."
"How shall this work?"
"Have you ever heard about the White Women? Not the ghosts of deceived wives", she added to
Sam's doubtful stare, "The White Women, the sisters of Death?"
Dean and Sam shook heads simultaneously.
"There are souls that only have been on earth shortly, that didn't experience neither love nor
sorrow; neither good nor evil had any influence on them. Those are the souls of unborn children or
of those who lived only moments. You couldn't send them to heaven or hell so they go to the White
Women. They clean the souls in the River of Oblivion to wash away the last remnants of memories
before they are send back on earth."
Dean snorted. "Heartwarming. And how is this concerning us?" He could sense Sam roll his eyes,
but it didn't matter to him.
"Normally the White Women clean the souls of small children. But in principle they can clean any
soul and from time to time they are assigned an older soul."
"How?" asked Sam.
The guardian shrugged. "With god's help. If he decides that a soul has earned a second life
because maybe something went utterly wrong."
Dean had doubts about this explanation and felt that Sam had too.
"Anyway", the guardian continued, "I can send your souls to the White Women, if you want. Your
souls would find peace, real peace. The alternatives are heaven or hell, life in memories or eternal
torture. It is your decision."
Dean looked at Sam and could see the other's thoughts take shape. Peace. Peace and normality.
That sounded nice. Too nice.
"How do we know that you are not lying?", he asked. "How shall we be sure you are not lulling us
with your promises while we are needed upstairs? How do we know that we really died up there?"
She didn't answer.
"I want to see it!", he needn't explain what he meant.
She nodded. The book was as high as her arm and thick as two hands. Although the guardian
opened it in the last third it looked as easy as if she had opened the brochure for an amusement
park. She pointed to the right page and stepped back.
Dean exchanged a glance with Sam who intimated to have the first look.
The letters were written in black ink and looked oddly old-fashioned and rolling. Nonetheless
Dean's eyes hastily scanned the text. But after a few sentences they stopped until he could only
make out single words anymore.
A crashing noise behind him made him spin around. Sam leaned against the door, his pale face
covered in sweat.
"They... are... just... behind..." he managed to cough.
Dean nodded. "I know."
Sam closed his eyes and slid ungracefully to the ground when suddenly he was flung away from
the bursting door. Dean screamed... knife...launching into...and beating … screaming …
crushed... Sam... brutal violence...in pain... contorted... Sam... bloody... flew away... ripped... again
and again... whimpering... Sam... no sound anymore... Sam... …..."Sam!"...
"Dean?"
Only now did he realize that he had spoken the last word aloud.
"Dean! Are you okay?"
Dean wanted to slam the book shut, but it was too heavy. His hands were trembling.
Sam had stepped beside him, obviously to read in the book, too, but Dean covered the writing with
his hand.
"No", he said almost inaudibly.
Sam was staring at him, the protest in his eyes not to be missed.
"No!", Dean said, louder this time and – as he hoped – decided.
Sam's left eyebrow went up on his forehead, but he stepped back and shrugged.
"If you think so", he murmured.
"So Dean, are you convinced now?", the guardian interrupted his line of thought.
He didn't know. He remembered the feeling he had had upstairs in the room. His instinct had told
him clearly that he and Sam would die in there. Anyway. Could he simply rely on some text that
could come from God knows where? Could he embrace peace in good conscience when he was
needed in the battle? He didn't deceive himself. He was a soldier – although he sometimes wished
for another life, he was a soldier and couldn't be used as anything else. Soldiers died in battle and
not because of a pen on paper.
- And you are still fighting for what, Dean?
Yes, for what?
For Hope. Hope for Sam. But if this text was true there was no hope for Sam.
For people.
- The people that you love?
The people that I love? God, there is nobody left.
He had lost them all. Only Sam remained. And Sam was with him in this pointless fight. This fight
for the people. People that didn't even thank them. Who they didn't know.
- Why do you believe you are the only one who can fight?
Good question. I am a soldier, there is nothing else I could do.
- Did you ever have another choice?
No, not really.
He didn't choose this life, it had been chained to him in a time he hadn't even been born.
But the guardian had talked of a second life, a real second chance. Finally he seemed to have a
choice. A choice for him; and for Sammy.
"Dean? Dean?"
As he looked up it was as if he was awakening from a dream.
"Are you okay?", Sam appeared to be troubled in earnest.
Dean understood that he must have looked pretty stupid the last minutes, just staring daft. He ran
both hands over his face to fully come back to reality.
"Yeah, sure", he managed to say.
"So?", Sam asked, "what do you think about this?"
"Telling you the truth, I have no idea." He looked to the guardian. "How can we be sure that the
second life will be different?"
She just shrugged. "You can't. There will always be evil on this world. But maybe this time you get
the choice how to meet it."
"And the war that is raging right now? How will it end?", Sam asked.
"That hasn't been decided, yet."
Dean sighed. That didn't make the decision easier. He stared at the blank stone floor as if he could
find the answer there.
"I know you probably don't agree, but I..."
Sam was talking so low he could barely hear him. Dean looked up and noticed his pale face.
"What?", Dean asked.
Sam took a deep breath and spoke fast, as if he wanted to get over with it soon. " I want to try it.
The second life. I want it."
Dean didn't know what to reply. He was surprised. He still twisted his mind but Sam seemed to be
oddly relaxed. Normally his younger brother was the objection raiser of the family. Right now Dean
would like to read Sam's mind.
"What lets you be so sure that it isn't a trap?" he finally asked.
"Nothing", Sam admitted. "But does that make a difference?",he interrupted Dean's protest, "I
mean, really, we've been as good as dead up there, no matter when they would have caught us. I
am wounded, I wouldn't have been a great help. No matter what is written in this book you don't
need to have a lot of fantasy to know what would have happened. And afterward? I don't want to
go to hell, even if I would deserve it. And heaven- eternal life in our memories? Truthfully: I don't
know if I can handle this. Not even the best memories can cover what we have lost. I don't want to
see them again... mom, dad, Jess or … I .. how we lost them, the fault, that is on us, I don't know
if... no. And who knows if not some angel or anybody else is going to bring us back..."
"... and we could save lives", Dean remarked as he reached the same point of thoughts.
"Are you sure?", Sam asked and his gaze seemed to pierce Dean.
"What do you mean?"
"How much can your soul still bear, Dean? How often can you go back to fight until you have lost
so much of your humanity that you will slaughter anything that looks even faintly a monster? Do
you really believe that we can save more lives than we destroy? I am not so sure anymore..."
Dean wanted to disagree. He almost did. Sam shouldn't judge others by his own standards. After
all the younger was the one with the demon blood-problem.
But that would have been unfair.
He knew that Sam was right.
He had been too tired, for too long. The countless battles, that would never end. The blood didn't
bother him anymore. The screams of his prey touched him only barely. And what would he become
when he finally couldn't understand their pain anymore? When he lost all sympathy?
Who was even able to distinguish between good and evil anymore? Everybody was wearing suits
these days, was lying so-and-so and using force to achieve their wishes.
"Have you come to a conclusion?", the guardian asked.
Sam looked at Dean. "Please!", he whispered.
Dean hesitated.
"What will happen?", he asked, "what do we need to do?"
"Nothing. I will write your names on the page in the book where all souls for the White Women are
listed and than you can exit this world. From here you go in the light."
Dean thought of what he had read. That Sam would be spared from death already should be
enough to risk this. And Sam really deserved a second life. But Sam wouldn't go without him.
"So?", the guardian asked again and he knew he couldn't wait any longer.
He agreed. He couldn't turn his back on his brother. "Yes, we are accepting your offer."
The guardian stepped to the book, skimmed through it and took the quill.
Fascinated Dean observed as she moved the quill expertly up and down. So, this was it. Their end.
They had been fighting monsters for years, constantly risked their lives, to at the end be written to
afterlife by a woman who looked like a Greek goddess.
"Dean?"
He looked to Sam and only now did he realize that they had to take leave of each other. They
would forget, forget everything.
They would never meet again.
"Dean, I ..."
Exactly.
"Sammy, don't say anything. I know. Me too."
9 Years later
"Please!" Two huge green eyes were looking at him expectantly. His heart took a little leap. How
should he deny this plea?
"There is nothing!" He tried to sound as gruff as possible. But obviously without effect.
"Please! I am sure that there is something there!"
He sighed. "I promised dad that we'd go to bed in time and that all would go well. You know what
will happen if we are still awake when he comes home."
He could see the green eyes cloud and his little brother hung his head.
"But I am afraid and won't be able to sleep if you don't check it", he murmured quietly. "And I don't
think Mrs. Parker is so bad..."
Hearing this name was enough to make the older one shiver. Mrs. Parker, their babysitter, who
reeked of garlic and forced him to do his math homework. Sure, his brother liked her, the younger
was the one who got all the chocolate. Now that he finally had persuaded their parents to let them
stay at home alone he wouldn't surrender this freedom again.
But there they were again – those puppy dog eyes.
"Please!"
When the senior not responded immediately the boy continued. "It will just take five minutes and it
is only half past nine. Mom always insists on a walk after the opera, so they won't be back before
eleven!"
He had to admit that the little one had quite some brains for a five-year-old, and even more
negotiating skills. So he decided that they would be in bed faster if he conceded.
"Okay, don't move. I'll be back in two minutes."
He went out of the room and down the stairs to the hallway. He found a flashlight in the wardrobe,
which was placed there in case of power blackouts and hadn't been used for at least three years.
He shook it and turned it on. The light was faint, but it would be enough.
He went back upstairs. For a moment he considered scaring his brother, but decided against it.
Otherwise he was in danger of having to read a bedtime story. He definitely didn't want this.
"Okay, let's get this over with. Come here!"
The kid climbed out of bed and took the hand of his big brother. The small hand cramped hard
around his. He really seemed to be scared. Now the senior was sorry that he had hesitated for so
long. In unison they knelt down and looked under the bed. The flashlight showed only some Lego
bricks and lumps of dust, besides this the space was empty.
"See, there are no monsters under your bed!"
He looked to his little brother who only now cautiously opened his eyes and a moment later
beamed relieved
"Are you going to sleep now?"
The kid nodded and crawled back under the covers.
"Thank you. That was very brave of you!", he said and the senior had to smile.
"I'd do anything for you!" And he meant what he said.
He sat on the bed and brushed aside a strand of rampant hair from the younger ones forehead. It
only took minutes until his little brother was asleep; the monster hunt had exhausted him.
But now he had a peaceful expression on his face. It was the knowledge that his older brother
would protect him.
Always.