Dean doesn't dare to blink. He's afraid that as soon as he closes his eyes, the stars will all go out, simultaneously, and he's afraid to see that again.

Eventually, he closes them, acknowledging that if they do disappear, everything is shot to hell anyway, so what does it matter? He opens them again, and the stars are still there, tiny little beacons of life that he's always taken for granted.

He won't be doing that, anymore.

He just lies there, for a while (five minutes? An hour? Time is so unimportant now) before he hauls himself to his feet. As it turns out, he was lying in a little pseudo-woods beside a sewer masquerading as a ravine, and it takes less than five minutes to be stumbling along the main road.

His dazed mind kicks into action after a block or two of honking cars and dazzling city lights. He needs to do three things, he decides (it's ridiculous that something like this has become almost routine for him) and locates a dented, graffitied newspaper box along the way. It informs him that it has been nearly three months since he first arrived in the shadowy forest and that the road he is standing along is at least within the vicinity of Nashville, Tennessee, if not in the city itself.

Another block down, past the greens of sporadic trees, the blues of neon signs, the reds of the traffic lights, and the oranges of the taillights of cars that fly by, he finds a payphone. He digs in his pocket, noting a lack of anything, and drops the phone back down and keeps walking.

The city is much busier than the dusty stretch where he woke up last time, and there is not a convenience store to ransack. Instead, he ducks into a library and practically begs to use the phone.

"Please, I have to call my brother," and he can't tell whether this is a normally thing for the librarian or if he just looks that pathetic because she hands over the phone and then walks away while he calls. He's grateful for this—he can be a little less careful with his words.

"Hello?" Sam answers, and Dean's voice cracks as he answers.

"Hey, Sam, it's me."

There is a sound that makes Dean pretty sure that Sam dropped the phone, and then he's back on the line. "Dean?" Sam sounds incredulous, and he can't blame him.

"The one and only," he smirks, even if he doesn't really mean it.

"Where are you?" Sam demands, not wasting time on doubtfulness and the like. If something was impersonating Dean, it wouldn't be the first time, but it also wouldn't be the first time it really was his brother. And Sam was a bit too desperate to question it too much.

"Uh," and Dean casts around looking for a sign. Metal lettering on the wall above the door catches his eye. "Uh, Nashville Central Library."

"I'm, like, twenty minutes out of town," Sam tells him. "On my way. What happened?"

"Uh, explain later," he says, since the librarian is coming back around.

"Okay."

"Bye." He hangs up. "Thanks," he turns to the woman who he'd spoken to before. "Is there a computer I can use?"

She points, and he walks over and pulls open Google. He types everything he can remember into the search box, and it doesn't take long for him to pull up the poem.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

He reads through it, once, twice, remembering the cold and the blood and the lack of hope and the lack of light.

Then he closes the window and walks out of the library, standing out in the parking lot until he can see the lights of the Impala coming up the drive.

The End

A/N: Wow. This is over. Thank you for such an amazing reaction to the last chapter! Thank you to Izrafel, DeanCasLover22, sonofafluffymuffin, Arisprite, TripleLLL, Starseed123, hlytxaccountant, Apocalyxtic98, EarennielEchelon and musiclovesbest for reviewing. To everyone who expressed misgivings about the ending, I'm really sorry, but I'm afraid I couldn't make everything happy and rainbows. I wanted to, but this story did not lend itself to that.

The poem that is routinely quoted throughout is a real poem, The Tyger by William Blake. Aside from some punctuation and capitalization changes, the recitations here are the original. It, like Supernatural, does not belong to me.

I once again must apologize for the ending, but as you've probably noted, this story was supposed to end after the first chapter, with Dean and Cas trapped indefinitely. I wasn't sure how to end it entirely cheerfully, and didn't want to try. But I am open to writing a sequel. If you want to see one, let me know in a review or PM or answer the poll on my profile.

Thank you, everyone, for your readership, subscriptions, and reviews. I honestly didn't expect this and I'm so grateful to everything. I'd love to hear your feedback on the whole story and on the epilogue, so please review, and thank you so much for all the support.