Guys, I'm warning you now that if you are desperate for a happy ending, don't read this. I have a tendency to kill off characters. Whoops? Anyway, I'm really proud of this story, and want to thank everyone who has stuck with me this whole time. I am still going to write the fem!Dean and Cas chapter, but it might be a while. And so, without further adieu, I give to you, the epilogue.

Ali

I felt his lips, strong against mine. I had my hands wrapped around the back of his neck, my fingers playing with his hair. I could feel his hands on my back, gripping me tight. They traveled lower, and one squeezed my butt. "Sam," I breathed. "Aren't you a little fiesty today?" I leaned in closer, pushing him against the door of the impala. Just then, I lost my balance, and fell on top of him. I felt my legs slide off the seat, but Sam wrapped his arms around me, and I started to kiss him again.

Then the door opened behind me, and Dean poked his head in. "Hey!" He yelled. "What did I tell you two? No sex in my car, you could ruin the interior." I blushed a little.

"Dean, we weren't-" I tried to explain.

"No, no, I get it," Dean cut me off. "You two children have these urges. They are completely natural and-" I slapped him. He rolled his eyes, closed the door, then got in the driver's seat. Since the hospital, Sam had taken to sitting in the back with me, so he could hold me. I think it was his way of telling me that if I ever tried to kill myself or run away again, he wouldn't allow it.

It had been a few weeks since that night. My stitches have been long since removed, and my scars were starting to turn into little pale pink lines. It was January, so I wore a lot of sweaters and other things with long sleeves, and I think Sam was grateful. He would always look away from my scars, because I think it made him feel guilty. He still blames himself, even though I've told him time and time again, it wasn't his fault.

I rested my head on Sam's chest, feeling the little bumps in the road as we drove. I was tired, but car trips had a way of doing that. I curled up against him, and he wrapped his arms around me, the way he always did. Tightly, as if he were afraid I would leave him if he didn't hold on. Right before I fell asleep, I heard him whisper in my ear.

"I love you."

When I opened my eyes, it was dark outside. The impala was parked somewhere, and Dean was gone. I could still feel Sam's arms around me, but I could hear his even breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. I started to move his arms so I could sit up, but he muttered a 'no', then pulled me tighter.

"I thought you were asleep," I said as he opened his eyes.

"So did I," He said, yawning. "Where are we?"

"I was trying to check, but I can't see out the window from this angle," I complained. He sighed, then loosened his grip. I smiled, kissed his cheek, then sat up. I opened the door to see a motel, which, as always, looked crappy. I was getting out of the impala when Dean appeared, holding room keys.

"Oh good, you two are up." He handed a key to Sam, then one to me, keeping the last one for himself. We headed to the rooms, and when we reached them, I went in one, the Winchesters in another.

Since I had just slept for a few hours in the car, I wasn't especially tired. I pulled out my laptop and was planning on catching up on that soap opera on Netflix. I was about to hit play when something felt off. I closed the laptop, getting up slowly. I reached into my bag, puling out a gun. I turned around to see Castiel standing about five feet from me.

"Cas?" I asked. "Why are you in my room?"

"Ali, we need to talk." He motioned for me to follow him, but I didn't move.

"About what?" I demanded. I hated it when people just strolled into my motel rooms. For all they knew, I could have been in my underwear.

"You're dying," Cas stated, bluntly.

"What?"

"Well, maybe not yet, but you will be. You'll be dead by your next birthday."

"What are you talking about?" I fumed.

"I was looking into your father, seeing if his children have ever resisted him before, as you did."

"And?"

"And, some of them have. But they have all died, like clockwork, on their next birthday after confronting him."

"So I'm cursed?" I asked.

"Yes, I guess you could put it that way." I sat down, trying to believe what he was saying.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Completely, one-hundred percent sure?"

"I am."

"Is there anything we can do about it?" I tried. Cas just shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but it looks like you're going to die."

"Do Sam and Dean know?" I asked.

"No. not yet, I was heading over there next-"

"Don't," I cut him off. "Please don't. I'll tell them, okay?"

"I won't tell them," Cas assured me. "I think I'll be going now." And with that, he was gone.

I sat down on my bed, putting my head in my hands. Did I really have less than a year? Was I really going to die? And then I thought about Sam. I couldn't leave him, I couldn't do that to him. Not again.

I felt a tear slide down my cheek, soon followed by another. I didn't want to die, not now. I was happy. I was in love, I was helping people, and I was happy. A few weeks ago, I would have been fine, I would have embraced death with open arms. But now? It wasn't fair.

I sighed, then clicked off the lamp. I was suddenly a whole lot more tired than I had been ten minutes ago. As I settled into bed, I tried to think about how I would tell Sam. Would I tell Sam? I would have to. But not right away. He was so happy right now, so at peace. Knowing him, if I told him, he'd spend the next ten months searching for a cure that doesn't exist. He'd be miserable. I decided I would wait to tell him, give him a few more months, so that he could be blissfully ignorant. I would wait up until the last week, and then I would break it to him, slowly and gently.

But I had to tell someone. Somebody other than Cas and I had to know. I couldn't keep a secret like this inside, or I might die of stress. Someone else. But who? I wanted to tell someone who'd understand. Anyone like that would be dead, I thought to myself. Unless someone brought them back. I slapped my self for not realizing it. Dean had been damned to hell. He had a year. I needed to talk to Dean. So as I drifted off, I decided that in the morning, I would have myself a little chat with Dean Winchester.

I woke to Sam pulling the blankets off my bed. I groaned, curling up to cover my legs and feet. "Wake up, sleeping beauty." He said, laughing. I groaned again, ten threw a pillow at him.

"Go away," I slurred.

"You'll have to try harder than that."

"Then join me," I said, wiggling my eyebrows. "Come warm me up." He smiled, and climbed into the bed with me. And we stayed like that for goodness knows how long, and I tried so hard not to think about last night. I wanted that moment to last forever, curled up in Sam's arms, running my fingers thrugh his unnaturally soft hair, feeling his warm breath send shivers down my spine.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean came in, looking pissed. He appeared as if he were about to lose it when he saw Sam and I laying in bed. "Sam, what the hell are you doing? I set you to wake up Ali over an hour ago! We were supposed to be driving for the past hour."

"We got a little distracted?" Sam tried. Dean rolled is eyes.

"I swear Sammy, you two are gonna be the death of me." Dean chuckled.

I got up out of bed, then shooed them out the door. "Out! I need to get changed." Sam tried to say something, but I shut the door. "I'll meet you two in the impala, just give me five minutes." They left, and of course I was lying when I said five minutes. Ten minutes later, I heard a knock on the door.

"Ali, we gotta go, what's taking so damn long?" It was Dean. I remembered my decision from the night before, then opened the door.

"Dean, I need to talk to you," I said.

"Um, okay?" He said, stepping into the room.

"So, Cas visited me last night, and told me some interesting news," I started. "He told me I was dying."

"What?" Dean looked confused.

"Apparently, my dad has attatchment issues, and whenever one of his kids won't go with him, he throws a tantrum. He cursed me, and now I have until my birthday."

"Wait," Dean sat down. "You're telling me you have ten months to live?" I nodded. "Does Sam know?"

"No, I uh- I don't want him to know. I just want him to be happy, you know?"

"In a sad way, yes, I know exactly what you mean." Dean looked down at his shoes, probaby remembering his stay in hell.

"I just needed to tell someone," I said, picking up my bag and heading for the door. "Please don't tell him, okay?" I begged.

"Your secret's safe with me." And it was, for about a month. One blissful month. And then, something happened. This is how the story went, according to Dean.

It was the night before Valentine's Day, Sam had asked Dean for ideas for the next day. He was so excited, Dean described him as "A puppy that just discovered the joys of peanutbutter." Sam wanted to do something special, but he couldn't decide what.

Dean didn't mean to say it, but it just came out. "She's dying, Sammy."

"What?" Sam had asked, utterly baffled. "Who's dying?"

"Ali's dying. It's her dad, he cursed her. She's got until her birthday."

"Wait, what? Ali's dying? Since when?"

"Since about a month ago." Dean said that Sam looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"She told you that?" He had asked, quietly.

"She wanted you to be happy," Dean tried.

"I need to go talk to Ali," He said, rushing out of the room.

I had been typing, stretched out on my bed, updating my diary and thinking about what to do with Sam the next day when the door swung open, startling me. I looked up to see a seriously pissed off Sam. He stormed over to where I was sitting, then when I thought for sure that he was going to hit me or something, he hugged me. He held me tight, and we stayed like that for three whole minutes.

"Sam?" I asked, trying to loosen his hold. "What's up?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" He breathed into my hair. "How could you not tell me you were dying?" I felt my heart stop for a second, then it pumped into overdrive.

"Sam, how did you find out?" I asked, looking away. I had tried so hard to hide the truth.

"Dean," was all he said. So then I explained all that I knew, while Sam held me. He didn't say a word, just stared into my eyes.

"What are we gonna do?" I said, trying to keep tears from forming in my eyes. I wanted to stay strong, I wanted to show Sam that he didn't need to be sad, if I wasn't sad.

"I don't know," Sam said, stroking my hair.

"I don't want to die," I said. "I don't want to leave you here." Who was i kidding, I didn't have a choice. I was royally screwed, and I was going to die.

"Then don't," He laughed a bittersweet laugh. "When death comes knocking, tell him to screw off."

"If only it was that easy," I tried for a smile, but couldn't manage it.

And then came the silence. It was a nice, soft silence. But I couldn't stop thinking about my impending death, and soon enough, I was crying. Quiet sobs escaped my mouth, but Sam just rubbed my back and whispered it was going to be okay, over, and over, and over. That night, I cried myself to sleep in his arms, as he rocked me back and forth.

I woke up the next morning, still pressed against Sam. I breathed in the scent of his shirt. It smelled like sweat and soap. I nuzzled my face against his chest, wishing I could feel as peaceful as he looked. Even though we had been dating for a month, I still felt weak at the knees when he hugged me, and when he kissed me, I felt like I was melting into a puddle of warmth.

I looked over to the clock hanging on the wall to see that it was already eleven. Even though I didn't want to wake Sam, we needed to be getting up. I pressed my lips to his, tangling my fingers in his hair. "Wakey wakey," I breathed.

"Five more minutes?" He asked, groggily. I kissed him again.

"It's already eleven, come on," I said, attempting to pull him out of bed.

"Why do we have to get up?" Sam asked. "Why can't we just stay here?" I tried to think of a decent reason, but I couldn't.

"Fine then, don't get up, I guess I'll just get breakfast by myself, on Valentines Day, all alone." I pouted. "And I even had this new skirt I was going to wear. What a shame. That's $30 I'll never get back. That is, unless I had someone worth dressing up for." I elbowed Sam lightly.

"Ugh, fine, I'll get up." He sat up and stretched. His hair was everywhere, and I laughed.

"I thought only girls got bed head?"

"Shut up," he said, shoving me a little bit. I laughed, but then my smile melted. Oh, how I wished I could just bottle this moment, keep it tucked away forever, living it over and over again. Sam noticed my change in demeanor and pushed my hair away from my face. "Hey, you okay?"

I tried to brighten up, so I flashed Sam a fake smile. "Of course! I'm just tired is all." I could tell Sam didn't believe me, but he didn't say anything else. Instead, he got up and stretched. He was still in the clothes he had been wearing the night before. I looked down and realized I hadn't changed either. "I'm gonna get changed," I said. "I'll meet you in the hall in ten minutes, okay?"

Sam nodded, kissed my forehead, then walked out the door. I turned toward my bag and selected a red miniskirt and a white sweater. I pulled them on, then my favorite pair of hiking boots. I checked my reflection, then brushed my hair and put on mascara and lip gloss. I didn't usually even wear makeup, but today I wanted to look especially nice. It was Valentine's Day, after all.

When I opened the door, I saw Sam leaning against the wall, checking his phone. He looked up when he heard the door open, and he took in a breath when he saw me. "You look amazing," He smiled.

I blushed. "Thanks," I said, grabbing his hand. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"You know, I was just thinking about that," He smiled. "I've got a big day planned."

I raised an eyebrow. "So if you've got it all planned out, am I allowed to know the schedule?"

"Nope!" He laughed, and I rolled my eyes. And so for the remainder of the day, I followed Sam around, and it was one of the best days of my life. It didn't matter what we were doing, we could have been sitting on a street corner, it wouldn't have mattered. It was just so nice to spend a day with the guy I loved, doing normal things.

As the daylight faded into night, I wished for more hours in a day. But as the stars twinkled, I felt my energy start to die. By the time we got back to the motel, I was practically sleep-walking. Sam and I were about to part ways when I grabbed his arm and decided I didn't want to let go. "Stay with me?" I pleaded. He kissed the top of my head.

"Of course." That night, I slept like a baby. My dreams were the kind that don't stay long enough for you to really remember them, but they leave a pleasant feeling, and you wake up completely rested and content. I hadn't slept like that in ages.

The days passed. We continued to hunt, and everything felt normal. Mostly. Sam always stayed with me through the night, now. Often times, I would cry myself to sleep. I tried to stay positive, I tried to live happily, but when you know you're going to die, it's a little difficult. For a while, I didn't even really believe I was dying. I felt comepletely normal.

That is, until about three weeks before my birthday. One morning, I got up feeling normal. But then, without any warning, I started coughing. Not little, tiny coughs, but hacking, weezing coughs that make your throat burn. After about five minutes of non-stop coighing, I started spitting up blood. By then, Sam had woken up. He had been getting me a glass of water when the blood came, he looked horrified. It stopped after a little bit, but for the next week, I got progressively weaker. I could feel my strength leaving. I couldn't hunt, I couldn't do much of anything except sit in bed and write. The worst part of it all was Sam. He would look as if he were in pain everytime I saw him, and it killed me a little bit.

Faster than I knew possible, it was November 21st, my last day. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I swore to myself I would stay strong, for Sam. I had tried. I had spent the entire day in his arms. I could barely move anymore, and so I just lay there, wrapped up in him. I didn't want to, but at some point I fell asleep. My dreams were muted and monochromatic. And finally, there were no dreams, just darkness.

Sam

Her funeral was on a Saturday. The sun was blocked by clouds, but the weather was strangely warm for November. I laughed a little to myself. Ali loved days like this. Days where the sun was there, but you couldn't see it. The sky was white, and the dead tree branches looked black against it.

Ali's funeral was really just Dean, Cas, and I. We were going to cremate her, but before we did, I walked up to her body, wishing it wasn't wrapped up. I wanted to see her face one last time, just once more. I placed a single sunflower over her body. She had loved them, their sunny yellow, their long stems. Once we were driving, and we passed a field of them, and she made Dean pull over so she could run around in them. I felt a tear slide down my cheek, but I brushed it away.

After the funeral, we walked back to the impala. Ali had asked me to go through her laptop, said something about wanting someone to delete her history. I had laughed then, but now, as I opened it up, I had no intention of deleting anything. As I exited out of the open tabs, my breath caught in my throat when I saw her wallpaper. It was a picture of me and her, laughing. Dean had taken it this summer. She had convinced us to stop for ice cream, saying that it always tasted better when it was 100 degrees out. The cone in her hand was melting down her arm, but she hadn't cared.

I noticed a folder titled 'autobiography'. I laughed, remembering how she never called it her diary, it was an autobiography for when she became a famous hunter. I clicked on it, curious as to what she had been writing for the past year. Not once did she ever let Dean or me read it. The folder was filled with documents named by the day they were written. I opened the first one and started to read.

November 8th, 2010
Today, two morons broke into my house, tied me to a chair, and saved my life. I've always wanted to do more in life than sit around and channel-surf for hours on end. They tell me I'm some kind of monster, but they say I can be saved.

Her autobiography, the story of her life, was about being a hunter. I read every entry, laughing at her jokes and smiling sadly at the entries where she talked about things I remembered vividly. When I reached the end of the list, there was one document that wasn't titled with a date, but instead one word. Sam. I opened it up to see a letter of some sort. I started to read.

Dear Sam,
If you're reading this, I'm dead. Don't worry though, I've accepted it by now. But I want you to promise me you and Dean wont sell your souls or anything. Do not, I repeat do NOT sell you souls or try and resurrect me. I know you two have a history of making stupid decisions when dealing with dead people.

Now that that's out of the way, I'll start. There are so many things I want to tell you, but I don't have much time. I've got three days left, and with every moment I can feel the life being drained from me. It's not fun, I can tell you that. But as awful as this may be, I can see the pain on your face. I can tell you're not alright, even though you keep telling me you are. Don't you know you shouldn't lie to people who are dying?

I want you to forget me. I want you to live as if you'd never met me. I want you to save more people and keep living life, and I don't want to hold you back. I want you to be happy.

Do you remember that day in the hospital? Right after suicide attempt #2? Do you remember how you said you couldn't do it without me? You thought I was sleeping, but I heard you. I heard every word. And I want you to know that you can, and you did for years before you met me. I want you to go back to that.

I'm so sorry for all of this. I'm sorry that I left you again, even though I promised I never would. I'm sorry that I can't be there, I'm sorry that I took away nine months of happiness. I'm so sorry for what I put you through.

But I also want to thank you. You saved my life, you made me somebody I was proud of, and you gave me someone to love. Never, not once did I regret coming with you. You gave me life, and I tried to do what I could in return. My debt to you will never be repaid.

I want you to know that I love you, more than you could ever imagine. So promise me two things- Be happy, and stay the same plaied-wearing, ridiculously long-haired, gigantic, amazing man I fell in love with, or I will haunt your ass and slap you senseless. (Well, I doubt that I could actually do that, so just keep your promise, okay?) Speaking of slapping, can you slap Dean and/or Castiel until they admit that they are so, without a doubt, in love with eachother? I mean, for crying out loud!

Oh, and don't bother with trying to delete my history. Just smash my laptop to smithereens. (You're allowed to email anything you want from it to yourself though, as long as it isn't anything I would never in a million years want you to have. I trust your judgement.)

I love you, forever and always.
-Ali

As I finished the letter, I realized I was crying. "I promise," I whispered.