Here is the alternative ending I promised to you guys. Let me know what you think.

I used the licentia poetica to make the Colt effective against archangels, because otherwise this ending wouldn't make any sense. The first paragraphs are pretty dark, but I promise it's a happy ending.

Thank you all for reading, commenting, following and faving!

"There. Second-floor window. We go in there." the Leader points at a dirty, cracked windowpane of Jackson County Sanitarium. Risa gives him a dubious look, then glances at Cas. It takes all of his willpower not to avert his eyes.

"You sure about this?"

"They'll never see us coming," Cas's heart sinks at the thought of how easy lying comes for Dean, "Trust me. Now, weapons check. We're on the move in five."

The fallen angel closes his eyes, leaning back against an abandoned car. The first rays of rising sun have warmed up the maroon bodywork just like they are warming up Cas's face. He has already checked his weapons and is waiting for Dean to give a signal to charge.

Five minutes. That's all they have left.

They all stand up slowly, still shielded by a low bush and an upturned van. Dean casts a quick, frightened glance at his lover, but Cas has already made up his mind. They have agreed that is has to be him, that the rest of the squad would follow no other.

There is something horrifying in the way the rest of the hunters still can't believe that their leader would do such a thing. Of course they don't trust him anymore; they have no illusions about his regard for life or his methods. They have no doubt that Dean wouldn't hesitate to send them right into a trap if it brought him closer to accomplishing his goal, but they hope that madness hasn't blinded him so much that he would sacrifice the only one he really cares about.

That's why they search his face for any hints of doubt of regret, any warning sign, but there is none. Dean breathes slowly and easily, his look is calm and focused, his face is inscrutable and as cold as stone.

Cas tries to look reassuring when he places his hand on Dean's left shoulder, but there is something soulful in the way his touch lingers for a second longer than it should.

"All right, let's do this," he nods slightly, trying to catch Dean's gaze, "I'll meet you upstairs."

The leader's brows knot for a moment.

"I'm not ..." he protests, but something he sees in Cas's eyes makes him understand. A slightest possible twitch runs down his jaw and neck, "Yeah. Let's go. Meet you there."

-x-X-x-

Dean was the only hunter that came back from the mission. He never told the story of what happened in Kansas; he did not say a word to his comrades.

Nobody really dared to ask. All they did was to watch him in silence as he carried two corpses wrapped in dirty, tattered tarpaulin out of his Rover to the Camp's parade ground and prepare funeral pyres.

After Sam's and Cas's ashes were buried in shallow graves just outside the Camp, Dean disappeared, having taken only his AK-47, a machete and trunk full of ammo clips with him. He came back three days later, exhausted and wounded.

Nobody ever saw him break even a smallest smile or shed a single tear after that day.

-x-X-x-

A wave of intensive, chaotic Croat attacks lasted until the end of 2014, but due to the lack of demonic activity and new outbreaks in distant spots it was relatively easy to demarcate high-risk areas and contain existing infection hot zones.

Winchester and Bobby spent the following months trying to assess the danger, training hew hunters and restoring the network of psychics, hunters and helpers schooled in herbs, magic and lore.

Dean abandoned Camp Chitaqua and went back to his life on the road in the early spring of 2016, after Bobby Singer gave in to pneumonia he had contracted during a particularly harsh winter.

He never restored the Impala. Her rusty corpse was left in the Camp to be forgotten along with three simple wooden tombstones.

Chuck Shurley left an account of the events from the day he met Dean until the day Lucifer died in a hand-written diary. He kept it locked away along with the amulet Cas had given him. If confronted about it, he always answered that people would be free to do whatever they see fit with it after his death, but he didn't want to see a single word of his scripture published or copied as long as he lived. He joined one of many humanitarian aid groups that were spontaneously mounted to help the survivors and never wrote a single word again.

On the 19th of January, 2017, the last case of IAS, or "idiopathic aggressiveness syndrome" in North America was registered, followed by a couple of sparse cases in Middle East and Central Asia. By the end of 2017, complete eradication of IAS was announced by WHO.

In 2018 the state of emergency in the U.S.A was countermanded; the gathering ban was lifted and negotiations with Canada and Russia over the restoration of former country borders began. President Palin, who held the office of continuously for nearly 6 years, relinquished her power and the Temporary Governing Council was disbanded. On November the 6th, first presidential election after the crisis was held.

A slow, tedious march toward normality started.

In 2020 schools reopened, welcoming the first generation of kids born after the crisis. They were not what schools used to be, but at least those who survived could rest assured that the knowledge of generations that preceded them won't be lost.

Yet, the world still struggled with the aftermath. Communication, trade and traveling were stymied. The restoration of industry was slowed down due to the lack of skilled engineers and scientists. Health care suffered the same shortage. Hospitals, which had been either looted and demolished or turned into disease research centers governed by the Army struggled to go back on tracks.

That's why when Dean learned that this prickling, pulsating pain in his left side was in fact stage III pancreatic cancer, he didn't put up much of a fight.

-x-X-x-

Dean wakes up in a motel room. He lays on the bed for a while, staring at a campy ceiling lamp, trying to anchor himself to reality and stop this wild dizziness that is making his vision blur.

He props himself up on the elbows when the sensation finally stops; a quick look around is enough to let him get familiar with the surroundings. There is not much to see. A bed covered in ugly, pink-and-teal floral bedsheets, a pseudo-rustic table, a divider made of flower-shaped sheets of cheap plywood, a small kitchenette and a window that lets in no sunlight at all. There is no door in sight.

Huh. So that's his resting place.

With a heavy sigh he straightens his arms and is ready to lie down again, but out of the corner of his eyes he notices the drapes move. He stands up and approaches the window cautiously. With a shaky hands he touches the heavy, teal velvet, pulling the drapes apart ever so slowly and gently.

Next second a bony hand yanks his wrist and pulls him out through the window, turning him around in the process; another clasps around his mouth. Dean can sense that the person who overpowered him is shorter and smaller than him, but the shock prevents him from putting up any resistance.

"You're OK," that someone speaks right into ear. The voice is familiar, but Dean can't quite put his finger on it, "Just calm down. Low profile. Ninja mode. Deal?"

After nodding in agreement, he is released and nudged to turn around. He breathes a weak snort at the sight, because he's never thought he could be taken so easily by someone so inexperienced and skinny.

"Ash?"

"No, Pikachu. Of course I'm Ash," the man shakes his head in disapproval, but breaks a smile right after that, "Man, you took your time. Let's move. The path won't be open for eternity."

He turns around and sets off in a determined, brisk pace. Dean follows him for a couple of seconds, but an unnerving thought makes him straggle. Memories and ideas start to crystallize in his dazed mind, making him more and more uneasy. He finally stops.

"Ash, I... that fire. It was my fault. I should have never..."

"Are you kidding me?" Ash spins around and opens his arms, "That's the best thing that ever happened to me. Heaven is superfly. I mean our Heaven," he adds, rolling his eyes, "The one built by angels sucks balls. Anyway, we're cool, all right? One hundred percent kosher. Come on, Dopey," he chivvies Dean along, "the others are waiting!"

-x-X-x-

Dean recognizes Harvelle's Roadhouse from afar, but before he can protest Ash herds him through one of many veils and doors they have passed on their way; the next second Winchester stands right at the roadhouse door. It opens, seemingly by itself.

The worst thing is the smell. The stuffy interior is imbued with tobacco, dust and old, spilled beer like every other pub or bar, but Dean recognizes scents of incense, ginger, seer's sage and goofer dust - no other place in the world smelled like that. An avalanche of memories comes crushing down on him. The dark, smoky, warm air reminds him of home, safety, of the time when he was still young and full of hope; of the people he let down, the people he watched die, the people he never stopped mourning.

He is so overwhelmed that he barely recognizes the first person that approaches him, reaches out and pulls him inside. When he finally does, the world comes to a standstill.

It's Sammy.

Dean tries to find words, but there are none. All he can do is stand there, an arm's length away, and do his best to keep himself from breaking down. He wants to cry, to laugh, to punch that face he has seen jeering him, to hug his little brother, apologize, scream and beat life out of him for letting him down, for leaving him alone, for everything.

"Sam..." he finally rasps, "how is... are you OK?"

The younger brother bows his head, uneasy and guilty.

"Dean, I really thought I could do it. I don't know what I was thinking, I..."

"I wasn't there," Dean cuts him off grimly, matter-of-factly; he sucks in a sharp breath and the moment he tries to say more he realizes that his throat is so knotted that all he can do is to utter a stifled, whimpering whisper, "Sammy, I wasn't there for you. Man, I'm so sorry..."

As is a spell was lifted, Dean suddenly feels it, he feels it all. Pain, joy, guilt, relief, love. He throws his arm around Sam and the moment he hugs this familiar, lanky form he knows that even though it still hurts, one day, after a long, rugged, exhausting road everything will be all right.

With tears in his eyes he lets himself be welcome, hugged and patted by Bobby, Ellen and Jo. He hears Ash explaining that he is still looking for the 'Winchester old folks', but the fact that they aren't there does not bother Dean too much. He wouldn't be ready to meet them anyway. Instead, he searches the dark, hazy interior for someone else, and every second his heart becomes heavier.

It surges up in a crazy flutter when he finally spots a pair of legs in tattered jeans and draggled worker's boots heedlessly rested on a table. He couldn't move even if he wanted. Vertigo keeps him pinned into place. Helpless and terrified, he watches Cas stand up and approach him with a sad smile.

The fallen angel skims a corner of Dean's eye and his temple; he cards his shaky fingers through Dean's hair, watching him with a mixture of curiosity, sorrow, compassion and affection. The man vaguely realizes that he probably looks different, that these last six years of earthly life left him even more wrecked than Cas remembered.

There is a soft undertone of longing in the angel's voice when he says:

"You're late."

Dean cocks his head in bafflement, but a moment later his doubts are crushed, he is engulfed by a wave of warmth and peace. Cas's hand slides up his chest, shoulder and neck to rest on the back of his head and pull him close, so close that Dean feels Cas's breath on his skin. Cas's voice is gravelly and rough, but overflows with joy and love. His words are simple, but Dean knows that they convey so much more.

"We had an appointment."

There are many meanings flickering in this one sentence, some of them Dean does not understand, some of them he might never understand, but he feels that it doesn't matter. All that matters is that he knows this one thing - that he has been forgiven. He has been saved.

Yeah, that's right. Apart from shamelessly stealing lines from "The End" I totally did reference LOTR here, because Aragorn and Legolas are such a cute couple too.