I'm sorry.

I am so, so sorry.

Also, I suggest listening to Carry On Wayward Son Lullaby with Vocals while you read this.


Dean could feel rivulets of liquid running down his face, stinging the gashes on it, though he wasn't sure whether it was tears or blood. Or both.

He groaned as he took another shaky breath, the pain in his chest intensifying. His green eyes, cloudy with pain and fear, glanced down to see a mass of bloody, mangled meat and bone where a smooth torso should be. The hunter tore his eyes away and searched for his brother.

"S'mmy?" he managed to slur, blood dribbling out of his mouth. His fuzzy eyes focused on a huddled mass a few feet in front of him.

"D'n?"

The small, vulnerable voice broke his heart. Even after everything they'd been through, Sammy was still there, beneath everything he'd ever done that had made him into something that wasn't Dean's baby brother anymore. But there he was again. The little boy who Dean had comforted and taken care of. Fed and nursed while he was sick and looked after and protected.

Dean dragged his body closed to Sam's, trying to ignore the blood all over his brother's tall body and the way his limbs bent in all the wrong ways.

Dean reached out, stifling a cry of pain as his fractured arm stretched out to touch Sammy's shoulder.

"'M hre, S'mmy," he said weakly. He knew he was going to die. He could feel the life draining out of his body, the pain ebbing and a dark numbness replacing it. There was no one to save him this time. No way out.

But death didn't scare him anymore. It held no surprises for him. It would almost be a relief to let go, to not have to worry anymore. He had no regrets for his own life. He had hunted things. Saved people. Done some good, at least.

But he wished that Sammy could have finished at Stanford. Became a lawyer. Married Jessica and had a whole brood of little brats. He wished that his brother could have lived an ordinary life.

"D'n?" Sammy said again, his wide eyes finding Dean's as he gasped for air, choking on blood.

"Yeah?"

"'M scared….don't wanna….go to hell…" His brother slurred, his breathing slowing.

"You won't…" Dean soothed, eyes feeling unbearably heavy. He just wanted to sleep. "'L see you… in h'vn?" He asked, somehow finding the strength to crack a small grin. Sammy smiled at him. God, he hadn't seen that in too long. Maybe he would again.

Dean let his eyes slide shut. There was silence for a long moment before he found the right thing to say.

"B-b..bitch."

"Jerk…"

Dean and Sam both smiled as they died, and their souls left their battered bodies with the smiles still on their faces.

Dean and Sam took one last look behind them at Earth. Then they turned as one and limped after the reaper into the warm light that enveloped them.

It smelled like John's leather jacket.

Like Mary's perfume.

It smelled like home.