Chapter One

The earth is shaking for a moment, and then everything is back to normal, except for the absolute silence that lasts for a couple of seconds. The only thing Dean can hear is his heartbeat, incredibly loud and fast, pumping blood into his veins as he takes the last steps into the chapel in the darkness.

"Sammy!" He can hear himself shout as soon as he's inside, his voice resonating from the stone walls. He curses under his breath when there's nothing other than pitch-black darkness and fumbles out his flashlight from his back pocket.

Nothing.

"Sammy! You there?" He holds his breath, listening closely while his eyes are following the flashlight, but there's still nothing and he briefly wonders if Sam is already waiting outside. However he can then see the shadow of two figures, one sitting in a chair and on the ground, unmoving.

With a start, he bolts to them, his whole body trembling as he notices it's Sam who's lying on the floor, his hair spread out like a halo and his skin pale in the dim light.

"Sam..." he whispers, arching downwards to his little brother, grabbing his shoulders. He is cold, incredibly so, and his eyes stay closed, even when Dean pulls his lifeless body towards his own, sitting down on the ground. One of his hands is tightly holding onto Sam's shirt, while his other hand is frantically searching for a pulse and when he can't find any, it moves on to Sam's too long hair, stroking it.

An almost inaudible cough behind him makes him jolt upright. He flicks his flashlight in the general direction of the sound and finds Crowley, still bound tightly to his chair, looking towards him, his eyes almost squeezed shut. Dean lowers his flashlight a bit and the King of Hell scowls at him, then the corners of his mouth rise upwards to a kind of lopsided, weak smile.

"Is it over?" He whispers, his voice rough.

"Only one way to find out." From inside one of his many pockets, Dean pulls out a flask, which he opens with his mouth, one hand still pressing Sam to himself tightly. Gently, he puts his little brother's head on the cold floor and with a swift movement he's on his feet again.

"What..." is the only thing Crowley can choke out before Dean pours an entire flask full of holy water over his head. He impatientlywaits for the demon to scream, for it to burn Crowley's skin, but the man is only sitting in front of him, the water dripping from his skin, with a wide-eyed expression on his face.

"There you have it," Dean hisses through gritted teeth and his gaze shifts back to Sammy.

"What's up with the moose?" Crowley asks, his voice shaking a bit. He seems like a caricature of himself now, panicked, sunken back in his chair, his hair wet and his eyes bloodshot, but Dean couldn't care less. Instead, he crouches back to the floor, continuing to cradle his baby brother's body.

"He closed the gates of Hell," he whispers, and clutches Sam closer. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly.

He doesn't think about what happened to Sam. He thinks about Sammy's limp body in his arms, how his ass is getting cold, how Crowley is probably making faces at him – he concentrates on Sam's distinctive smell, mixed with sweat and blood, but he doesn't really think of him. Instead, he tries to wipe his mind blank of every thought, because if he ignores it long enough, maybe the numb, empty feeling will stay and won't make space for the pain that is about to set in soon. He can live with the numbness, yes, he can totally do that. Which is why he concentrates on Crowley's heavy breathing instead.

But he can only hold back the pain for so long, and when Sam's head gets heavy in his arms, when his whole body cools off even more, two things happen at once: the realization, that he just lost his baby brother again hits him full force and his cheeks get hot and wet from tears. This time, he isn't even denying it. He doesn't hold back the tears or the sobbing when he hears Crowley hum in surprise and he doesn't stop when his fingers and Sam's hair get wet.

"You idiot," he mumbles, hugging him tightly, wincing at the sight of Sam's head dangling awkwardly to his side. Dean briefly wonders if it's the last time he has to see his brother die, and even though one small part wants it to be the last time, another, much bigger part of him is already thinking about loopholes, anything that could bring him back.

Back from where, exactly?

His mind tries to remember anything useful and he hopes with all his heart that Sam hasn't landed in Hell again, but he could ask Cas as well, just to be sure. In all those years of constantly losing his brother, the most important thing is for him to be sure he's okay, wherever he is now. A small voice is telling him he might not yet have realized the full extent of what had happened, but Dean ignores that voice.

Cas.

He bites his lip hard, until he can taste blood.

He completely forgot about Cas.

"Cas!" he yells and hears his voice resonating again and again. Instinctively, he turns his head, waiting for the familiar rustle of feathers, but nothing.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters under his breath and then, somewhat louder, "Come on, Cas. It can't be too late. I need you here, Cas. I need you."

And he does need Cas. Not only for asking him where his brother is now. What he needs the most now, is a friend. He needs Cas' hand on his shoulder, his gentle blue eyes staring intensely into his own, he needs the angel to tell him that there are good things in life, even though it might not seem like that at the moment.

But even if Castiel could hear him, he doesn't come. And with dawning horror, it hits Dean that Cas may never come to him again. That he completed his own trials. That he might be locked in heaven, or worse, dead. Like Sammy.

"Troubles with your boyfriend?" Crowley asks, his voice low. The ex-demon sounds like a shadow of his former self, though – his voice unsteady, unsure. When Dean turns his head around to meet his eyes, he is surprised at the look of horror on Crowley's face, the way he digs his hands into the armrests of the chair, helpless and still in shock, so that he bites back any comment and just scowls at him.

Before either of them can say anything, Dean's phone rings.

–-

Something is wrong and Kevin knows it the minute he lays his eyes on the bottom half of the tablet. He skims it for anything useful – skimming might not be the right word though, because Kevin can hardly concentrate on the individual words, his vision blurring and his head pounding violently. He feels blood running down his nose, dripping on the tablet, but he pays no further attention to it, his eyes still fixed on the foreign words.

Something is missing and he knows it. He had listened to Naomi telling Dean and Castiel that what they were going to do was dangerous, that the angel should stop as long as he still could and somehow he thinks he is the only one who instantly believed her. But even if she was right, there's nothing on the tablets as far as he can see. Nothing stating the great danger they are in now.

The ground shakes once, then twice and Kevin isn't sure if it is his imagination – because the tablet is shaking in his hands, making it almost unbearably hard to concentrate on it. He thinks he might puke on the tablet any moment now, so he grits his teeth, never looking up, never lifting his gaze from the writing, even though all he can smell and taste is blood.

If I make it through this, he thinks grimly, I'll buy a ticket to Comic Con. No, even better, I'll make Sam and Dean buy me one.

Then he remembers Naomi telling Dean that Sam is most probably dead and he frowns at the prospect of having to deal with Dean after all of this is over.

He is almost finished with deciphering the tablet and still there's nothing useful, nothing that would explain Naomi's fear, but then his fingers brush over something at one side of the tablet and so he rotates it around. There, almost illegibly small, someone had carved runes into the tablet. They look a bit different from the ones Metatron had used, but still Kevin can decipher them and one hand grasps his phone while he curses loudly.

–

"Dean, please don't tell me Sam's finished the trials," is the first thing Kevin says, his voice shrill.

"He has," Dean mutters. Now, that his vision adjusted to the dark, he can make out Crowley, leaning over to him, listening intensely.

"Oh fuck, fuck! What about Castiel, then?" Kevin sounds breathlessly and Dean imagines him probably raiding the bookshelves. Something inside of him tells him that he should be afraid of what Kevin is going to say next, but truth is, he couldn't care less. His free hand lies on Sam's head, caressing him, stroking his hair like he used to do when they were younger and John had left them behind again.

"He doesn't answer anymore," he tells Kevin after a few seconds of staring at Sam.

"This is the end, then. Fuck. It's over. We just ended the world, at least I think we did."

Again?

Dean sighs, because for him, the world just ended anyways.

"There's a note on one of the sides of the angel tablet," Kevin goes on, when Dean stays silent for too long. "I'm pretty sure it's not Metatron who wrote it, it looks a bit different and it kinda looks like someone has written it in a hurry-"

"What does it say?" Dean barks, his voice louder than he intended it to be.

"I can't translate everything but essentially it says that the balance of the world is destroyed if Heaven and Hell are both closed. And that one should never, ever attempt to do so."

"Sam is dead," Dean blurts out at a loss of what else to say and something inside of him tells him that this pretty much says everything. His baby brother died for nothing, then. They ended the world again. Only this time, Dean is sure he has to fix it on his own.

He can hear Kevin breathe on the other end of the line, accompanied by the rustle of paper.

"Come to the bunker, Dean. We need to work out what to do next."

–

Cas tastes blood when he wakes up. His throat is dry and when he opens his eyes, his vision is blurred for a few moments until he can see the dark grey, almost black sky above him. Confused, he sits up, wincing at how every single muscle in Jimmy Novak's body hurts. He lifts an arm to scratch his head, but he can feel blood at the nape of his neck. With a mix of fascination and horror, he stares at his hand, stained with dark red substance.

"Hey, you alright?"

Cas turns his head, hissing as he feels sharp pain flashing through his body. A young woman, clad in no more than a short skirt and something Cas is pretty sure is called tank top, is standing in front of him. Cas frowns at her unusual choice of clothing and then thinks about her question for a moment.

"I'm bleeding," he says, because he is not alright. Not at all.

"You must've hit your head," the woman says, and she fumbles out a pack of tissues from her bag and hands him one. Before Cas can thank her, she goes on.

"Can I do anything for you?"

Again, Cas has to think about it for a moment. He still isn't sure of where he is, and why he is where he is. He isn't even sure of his last memory, something that normally comes to his mind easily. He swallows, frowning at the odd burning sensation in his throat as he does so.

"Could I borrow your phone?" he asks her after some consideration. Dean will know what to do, he hopes.

When he tries to remember Dean's number, his hand wanders along his throat, startled when his fingers brush over a deep cut.

Oh.

Everything falls into place now.

He presses the green button, suddenly feeling the urge to speak to Dean even more.

–

"You," Dean says, turning around to Crowley, "come with me."

With a stern expression, he unties the ex-demon's hands, and yanks him up. Crowley is swaying slightly, clutching onto Dean's hand.

"Why would I?" he asks with a pained expression, as the hunter urges him forward, passing Sam's body.

"In case you haven't noticed, Hell is closed. You're human. So it's either that, or...," he stops for a second, turning around to Sam, his glance lingering on him. "Or you'll probably die."

"Not that you would care."

"You could still be of use."

Crowley rolls his eyes at him, but he doesn't comment it. It wouldn't change the fact that at the moment, the Winchester boy is in a better position than he is.

When they step out of the church, Dean's expression changes slightly at the sight of the Impala, standing there exactly like before, black and gorgeous, reflecting the light of the stars.

He opens the door to the back seats and motions Crowley to get in. From the inside, the other man can see him rubbing his hands over his face a couple of times, obviously unsure of what to do. There are still trails of tears on Dean's face, mixed with dirt and blood; there is always blood somewhere on the Winchesters. With a fast motion, Dean locks the car and runs back to the church, leaving Crowley behind.

Dean is at Sam's side again seconds after that, staring sadly at his brother. Sam's eyes are closed but he doesn't look at all like he's sleeping, with his pale skin and dark shadows under his eyes. Only now he realizes how bad Sam looks. He is thin, his hair is greasy and he probably hasn't shaved in days. His fingernails are dirty and brittle and when he takes Sam's hand in his, he notices his brother must have started biting them down again, like he always does when he is in stress.

Did, he corrects himself.

Sam is heavy and carrying him is awkward, given that his brother is about five hundred feet tall, making Dean look like a dwarf carrying a giant. He pauses every few steps, feeling sweaty and exhausted after no time. His feet seem to grow tired and heavy, with every step it is getting more difficult to lift them from the ground.

His phone rings when he steps out of the church and he takes it as an excuse to set Sam down on the ground again, his brother looking even paler next to the grass.

"Dean," is the first thing he hears when he flips open his phone and his heart skips a beat.

"Cas. How..."

He stops, not knowing what to say. How is it you are alive? How did you manage to call from heaven? How are you?

"I completed the trials, Dean. Heaven is closed." His voice sounds unsure, shaking a bit.

"How is Sam?" he asks after Dean doesn't answer.

"Sam... he's dead."

There's a choking sound on the other line and Dean briefly wonders if Cas is fighting back tears. Tears he himself can't really let out right now, because he has to think, has to save the world again for God's sake.

"Where are you, Cas? What happened?" he asks and something tells him he doesn't want to know.

"The last trial," Cas starts, his voice rough, "was my grace. Metatron stole my grace. That's why I'm here. I'm human, Dean. At least... I think I am. I woke up next to a gas station."

Human. Something inside of Dean cringes.

"Where are you exactly? I'll come get you."

There is a short silence in which he can hear Cas quietly talking to someone and Dean slowly sinks on the ground, next to his dead brother and glances over to his car where Crowley is waiting for him. He slowly shakes his head, brushing over Sam's hair and trying not to wonder where Sam is now, if he made it to Heaven or Hell or wherever else there is. Instead, he numbly listens to Cas telling him where to go, hears himself promising his friend to be there as soon as possible and hangs up. His phone in his hand, he lifts his head, looking at the night sky.

"We fucked up, Sammy. We fucked up."