Title: Vengeance
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.
Warnings: AU after "Devil's Trap"; character death
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 765
Point of view: third
Kate followed them for over five thousand miles. She tracked them for months and visited them at the hospital, close enough to touch. She traced the younger's jaw and tasted the other's lips. And the one who killed Luther—she crept close and lightly touched his neck, closed her fist around it.
But she had self-control and all the time in the world. He would pay, but it'd be later.
She watched from afar as the hunters healed. They grew even stronger than they'd been, truly a sight to behold.
The father, Luther's murderer, left. She chose to stay with the boys—all he loved in the world, from what she'd learned.
Winchester, he'd said. He had a reputation, but so did his offspring, and their star was quickly rising. Soon, they'd eclipse him.
They would do nicely for her vengeance. She needed a new mate, after all, and the elder was quite beautiful.
o0o
A year after Luther died, she made her move. She surprised him in the hotel room while Sam was out for food. He fought better than any human she'd ever seen, even better than most vampires she'd known, but in the end it made no difference.
And in the room she waited for Sam. Dean would sleep and awaken hers, but Sam—he would die and remain so.
She snapped his neck after he entered the room.
o0o
For all her observations and research, all she'd learned about the Winchesters, she still failed to understand the basic components of Dean.
He woke and knew instantly what she'd done. He woke angry and fighting, and lunged for her. She wasn't prepared, couldn't be—and it took her almost a month to finally die.
Sam had been moved to an unmarked grave, but Dean found him. It was too late for any action but a resurrection spell, and Sam wouldn't be Sam in that case. He'd be a shell or a shadow—neither would his little brother. Neither would be Sammy.
So Dean burned his body and waited till all the ashes blew away. Then he started hunting.
o0o
He had eternity. He had a mission. He had instinct, strength, and training. He had supernatural senses and reflexes.
Most of all, he had rage and pain. Either, back when he was mortal, made him more dangerous than most things could cope with. Together, now—
Soon, he'd eclipse any predator that had come before.
None of it matters, though. Sam is gone, and Dad—his time has passed, but still he walks. The Yellow-Eyed Demon, Mom and Jessica's killer, died years ago, erased from existence once and for all.
As he told Sammy, there's always more to hunt, to fight, to destroy. But where he once enjoyed it, now it's a chore.
He clings to the shadows, watching the world turn. Some things change and some don't. He still hunts and wishes vampires could suicide. Nothing hunts him, though; even the worst of the worst fear him and won't dare.
o0o
The sun is bright in the sky and he stands beneath the full blaze. Humans have long since left, taking with them most of the evils, though a few remain. The planet has healed itself and returned to nature. He finds it peaceful.
He misses Sam. He misses Dad. He longs for the mission that once defined him. He misses his music and his car, and his little brother sitting shotgun, alive.
The sun burns him, but not enough. Nothing can kill him. He has forever and it will never be enough.
The sun is bright above him and birds sing and it's been a thousand years. Kate had intended to punish his father, but Dad died when his truck flipped, before he learned what became of his sons. And Sam died too quickly to realize Dean's fate. (For that, Dean does feel some relief—neither of them knew.)
Dean alone suffered for her vengeance, and she never even knew how much.
Beneath the sun, the irony is not lost on him. Even the greatest predators nature has ever formed avoid him. He is stronger than he's ever been and alone with his regrets, and the most dangerous thing in the world.
Once, he couldn't see living past thirty, certain the hunting would kill him. He'd resigned himself to early death, made peace with it. He hadn't run from the reaper, hadn't even considered it.
And yet—here he stands, a thousand years later, dead but not, abandoned by every god there might have been. Alone. Everyone has left him, as he'd always known they would.