"C'mon," Dean said, getting to his feet. "It's time we got outta here."
He held his hand out to the young boy, who took it, smiling. Dean looked up to his mother.
"So how do I get out of here? How do I wake up?"
Mary was beaming at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "You have to get back to the surface."
"Then what?"
"I think you know," she said.
Dean thought for a moment. Then he grinned. "The Impala."
Mary nodded, still smiling broadly.
"I'm guessing it's not gonna be easy, getting up there?" He gestured upwards, his other hand tightening protectively over the small fingers held in his.
"No." Mary rose to her feet. "But if there's one thing I know, it's that nothing out there is any match for my son."
Dean grinned and turned for the door. He paused. Mary hadn't moved. Turning back to her, he said, "You're not coming with us, are you?"
Still smiling, still crying, Mary shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dean. I can't."
Dean stared at her, taking in every detail. "Will I see you again?" His voice was steadier than he thought it had any right to be.
Mary blinked away tears and chuckled. "Stranger things have happened, Dean, you of all people know that. But whether you see me or not, I'll always be here. And I will always, always love you, Dean Winchester."
Dean strode forwards and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in her shoulder.
"I love you, Mom," he mumbled, eyes screwed shut as he hugged her fiercely. "Every day of my life, I'm proud to be your son."
Mary rubbed his shoulders. "Just as I'm proud to be your mother. I love you, Dean. Take care of my little angel, won't you?"
Dean nodded against her shoulder. He held her tight for another long moment. Then, with a deep breath, he let her go. She put a hand to his cheek one last time, wiping away his tears. Then she pulled him close and kissed his forehead.
"Give Sam my love."
"I will."
"Goodbye, Dean."
"Bye, Mom. I'll miss you."
Not trusting himself to stay any longer lest he lose the resolve to leave, Dean kissed her briefly on the cheek and turned to go. He reached out for the boy's hand, and together they crossed the threshold out of the Panic Room.
It was difficult maneuvering through the debris of Bobby's house, but Dean didn't let go of the small hand held tightly in his own for a second. He was on high alert, waiting for whatever obstacle was waiting for him.
They made it out of the house without incident, and emerged with relief into the wide sweeping clearing that surrounded it, guarded stoically by the gently swaying pines. It was still dark, but the air smelled clear and fresh, and the first tentative light of dawn was just visible through the trees. Following his instinct, Dean headed for the sun, pulling the child through the trees behind him, keeping a firm grip on the little hand.
He needed to find the road. There had to be one. Twigs snapped and leaves shook as he ran by, but he ignored them. He kept moving, slowing only to help the young boy over fallen logs and wide streams.
Dean could feel something stalking them, following them just out of sight. He knew what it was.
It was waiting for them when they broke through the last line of trees, standing as confidently as ever between them and the road behind it. Dean took a step in front of the child, shielding him with his body.
"Honestly, Dean, I was betting you wouldn't make it this far. I gotta say – I'm impressed."
Dean scowled at the demon, staring directly into the deep, black eyes. "Move." His voice was low and deadly serious.
The demon laughed. "Sure, yeah, I'll get out of your way just because you tell me to. 'Cause that's gonna happen."
"Last chance," Dean warned.
"No, Dean, I was your last chance. I was your last chance at having a life of your own, of being in control, of finally fighting for the winning side." The demon's voice had lost its joviality. His words were biting, cutting through the air like blades. "I gave you the life you've always wanted, and you let your dear brother burn it away."
"You're right," Dean said casually. "Which is why I know you're not real. You're dead. Sam killed you. He burned you right outta me. You ain't got no power anymore, you black-eyed little bitch."
The demon faltered for less than a second. When he spoke, his voice dripped with venom.
"You think so, do you, Dean? You think I'm done playing with you?" He laughed. It sounded alien, inhuman. "If you make it back, what do you think is gonna happen? You think you'll just magically be over everything you did last year? You think just because you had a heart-to-heart with mommy dearest, you'll be fixed?" The mocking tone turned deadly once more. "You say I have no power, but boy, you are wrong. I will be waiting for you, every time you close your eyes. I'll make you fear the dark like you never have before. All those things we did together? All that fun we had? Those memories are never gonna fade, Dean. I'll make sure of that. I will kill you from the inside. I will burn away your very heart. We'll see who's powerless when you're alone in the dark."
Dean clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. He felt the tiny hand in his squeeze reassuringly, and he squeezed back.
"You can try, demon," he spat. "But you forget, I've been doing this all my life. I'll deal."
The demon laughed derisively. "Sure, Dean, you'll muddle through. Because you think this is gonna be like every other time you screwed up and hurt someone. Don't you realise everything we've done? You think all those demons - that Michelle - will just hand up the knives and decide to be good little born-again demons? You think the Veil's gonna fix itself? You think all those souls we stole will just fly back to their meat suits? No, Dean. What you've started, you can't stop it."
"Well, I'll try!" Dean growled. He searched his peripherals, looking for a weapon. There was nothing but dried leaves and twigs. If it came to a fight, it would be fists against fists.
"Once you've seen the world through black eyes, Dean, you never forget it. You can't beat me. You wanna know why, Winchester? Because I've already beaten you."
With a roar of rage, Dean threw himself forward, hands outstretched, reaching for the demon's ugly smirk. Whooping in triumph, the demon lunged for Dean and they met in mid-air with a thud. Leaves leapt to the air as they crashed to the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand as fists flew and twigs snapped beneath them.
"That's it, Dean!" the demon roared savagely. "See if you can beat me! See if your precious humanity can beat a power older than ghosts and guns! See if you can beat hate!"
Dean lashed out viscously and felt blood splatter across his fist. The demon grunted in pain and Dean took advantage of his opponent's daze and pinned him to the leaf-strewn ground, straddling him. He rained down punch after punch on his demon's face. Blood erupted from the smooth skin, matting the hair and beard to the paling complexion. One eye swelled shut. Lips split, cheeks bled, yet the black eyes never wavered from Dean's.
As Dean paused, breathing heavily, the demon spoke in a venomous whisper. "You can't kill me, Dean. Not without destroying yourself."
"Watch me." Dean smiled as he tightened his fist. "You are nothing, you demonic son of a bitch. And I am Dean friggin' Winchester!"
Dean punched the demon again, alternating hands, building his rhythm. Each word he spoke was accompanied by a fierce blow to the demon's bleeding face.
"I – am – what – monsters – have – night – mares – about!"
The demon's head snapped from one side to the other.
"I – stopped – the – goddamn – apocalypse!"
The demon's eyes began to glaze over.
"I – have – killed – more – of – your – kind – than – I – can – count!"
The demon's struggles were weakening, its hands losing their strength as they clawed futilely at Dean's legs.
"I – am – a – hunter!"
The black eyes slid shut and the demon went limp.
"I – am – Dean – Winchester!" he roared as, with one final, mighty blow, he heard a loud crack as the demon's head jerked to the side for the last time.
Dean knelt panting over the body. His chest heaved. His knuckles throbbed with each pounding beat of his heart. The demon's face was a mask of crimson beneath him. It wasn't moving.
Shaking slightly, Dean staggered to his feet. He looked up. The green-eyed boy was standing stock still under the closest pine, clutching the bark, his eyes wide and staring.
"You okay?" Dean asked, his voice sounding harsher than he meant it to.
The boy nodded, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth. Dean leant down and rubbed the blood from his hands on to the demon's clothes. Once they were clean, he straightened up.
"You beat him," the boy said, his smile growing wider. Dean glanced down to the limp figure at his feet. The chest was still rising feebly every few seconds. Dean wondered if it had been right, if it even was possible to truly kill it. Whether it was or wasn't, this round went to Dean.
"Yeah," he huffed, smiling. "Guess I did."
He looked around to the two lanes of rain-slicked asphalt glinting docilely in the light of the rising sun. The Impala was waiting a few yards down the road, resting over the streaked yellow line that bisected the highway. Dean smiled. That hadn't been there a few minutes ago.
He turned back to the child, his grin spreading. "What d'you reckon, kid?" he asked. "You ready to wake up?"
Beaming, the boy ran forward and took Dean's hand.
Dean ran his free hand over the length of the gleaming black car. "Heya, Baby," he said softly, smiling.
He opened the driver's door and allowed the little blond to clamber in first, settling down in the passenger's seat. Dean slid in after him and ran his hands fondly over the familiar steering wheel. The keys waited in the ignition, the chain swaying gently from side to side. Dean reached forward and turned it.
The engine roared to life.
In a bedroom in the Men of Letters' Bunker, with a great, desperate breath, Dean Winchester opened his eyes. They were green.