Chapter Text
They searched the entire asylum from attic to foundation looking for the Blade. Dean would have removed every brick in the building if he didn’t feel like collapsing into a coma after his ordeal. They didn’t find the First Blade. No matter how hard Dean concentrated, he couldn’t feel the Blade’s presence anymore.
“Azazel took it somewhere else,” Sam finally voiced the conclusion they’d all come to.
“So now what?” Dean grumbled. He leaned against the grill of the truck. “We’re back to square one? Dad doesn’t have that kind of time.”
“I don’t see what other choice we have,” Cas said. “Without the Blade, you cannot face Crowley and hope to survive. He will tear you apart on sight.”
“You really think he’d break our deal?” Dean asked.
Cas frowned. “Crowley will have engineered a thousand loopholes for himself into the wording of your deal. He will find a way to slip away.”
“Well, this sucks,” Dean grumbled. He shoved off the truck and walked around to the driver’s door. Sam suddenly blocked his path.
“What’s happening, Dean? Cas wouldn’t say anything, just that you needed help. Tell me what’s going on.”
Dean tried to reach out and shove Sam aside. He only managed to land his hand on Sam’s shoulder and give a weak push. Sam didn’t budge. He crossed his arms and glared.
“You left me behind. Twice. And when Dad took off–”
“He didn’t,” Dean said. “Dad didn’t leave you. He got grabbed.”
Dean didn’t want to do this now. Sam’s face had gone all pale and scared. Dean had delt with enough tonight, he thought. He deserved a pass to have a nap at least before they hashed the whole thing out.
“Either you move and let me sit, or you’ll have to catch me,” Dean warned. As if to prove it, his knees wobbled.
Sam became a picture of concern, taking Dean’s arm (despite his protests that he was not a fainting damsel) and helping him into the truck. Sam hoisted himself into the passenger seat. After a long minute, the rear door behind Dean creaked open and Cas stuffed his winged self into the backseat. He had more room to stretch his wings out back there, just like Dean had said.
“Now, tell me what’s going on. Who grabbed Dad?” Sam demanded.
Dean pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. His mind kept returning to the bloody scene of Azazel’s mangled body. His stomach rolled every time the image passed through his brain, but the Mark rejoiced, reveling in the carnage it had caused. He half believed the Mark was somehow dredging up the memory over and over like a child screaming “Again! Again!” at their favourite cartoon.
Cas spoke for Dean. “A demon named Crowley has taken your father.” In his sterile, no nonsense way Cas told Sam everything that happened. Dean refused to look at Sam through the whole explanation, instead turning his gaze to the bird skeleton compass on the dashboard. Its magic had faded, the beak of the bleached white skull dipping to rest on the edge of the twigs and sticks of the nest. If they refreshed the spell, would it still work? What if Azazel had hid the Blade in Hell? Would the beak simply point straight down into the earth’s crust?
“Dean,” Sam said.
Dean rolled his head in Sam’s direction.
“What’s our plan?” Sam asked.
Dean snorted. “If you think you’re coming with me, you’re crazy.”
“What?” Sam balked.
Dean straightened up so he could impress his point. “I could have killed you tonight. It’s too dangerous.”
“Who rescued who tonight?” Sam shit back.
“Cas did!” Dean snapped. “All you did was get in the way and put yourself in the line of fire.”
The dark half hid Sam’s hurt expression. “You weren’t going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me,” Sam reminded him. “And if you think you’re leaving me behind, you’ll have to break your promise.”
“Sam.” Dean cut himself off and grit his teeth. He didn’t have the energy to argue. Sam could talk circles around Dean on his best day, never mind after Dean had had a demon scramble his brain.
Cas’s voice rumbled from the backseat. “Perhaps we should all rest and discuss this in the morning.”
“No, we need to find Dad–” Sam started.
Dean cut him off. “Sam, if I don’t get some shut eye right now, I’m going to start tasting colours.”
Sam threw up his hands. “Fine. Move over.”
“What?” Dean swatted at Sam trying to shove him out of the driver’s seat.
“Are you concussed?” Sam blinked at Dean. “We’re not sleeping in a truck next to a demon’s lair. Move, I’m driving.”
Dean fell asleep almost the instant Sam turned the key and the truck grumbled to life. He must have woken up at some point to drag his butt into the motel room Sam found, but he didn’t remember. He did recall waking in the middle of the night to Cas sitting at the end of his bed. But he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. Cas glowed a soft blue-white, his edges suffused with a myriad of light. Dean snuffled and buried his face in his pillow to block out the light. In the morning, Cas sat at the small table by the window and stared out at the pale sunrise.
Dean shuffled through his morning routine, not yet fully awake. The day could have been any of the hundreds on the road with Dad and Sam in the same room. Sam’s hair splayed over the pillow as he snored softly. Dean flopped back on his own bed and reached over the side for his shoe. He grabbed one and lobbed it at Sam’s lump under the blanket.
Sam snorted awake. “Wha?”
“Coffee?” Dean grunted.
Sam mumbled back an affirmative. Dean snatched his keys off the table in front of Cas before the events of last night hit him. His hand faltered on the doorknob. He glanced at Cas. Blue eyes watched him back, a question in those angelic depths. Would Dean come back? Or should Cas meet him at the corner?
Dean glanced back at Sam’s sleeping form. He owed his brother an explanation at least. And maybe Sam could track the First Blade while Dean and Cas dealt with Crowley. More brains, especially Sam’s brain, on the case the better. Funny how everything looked simpler and more hopeful in the soft light of the sunrise.
So, for now, coffee. Then they could deal with the end of the world.
Unfortunately for the Winchesters, the end of the world always seemed to find them first.
The door slammed off its hinges, throwing Dean to the floor. Through the splinters and smoke, a stocky man’s figure stepped into the room.
“Well, what’s this?” The posh British voice growled. Crowley. Dean sat up, throwing a terrified glance around the room. Sam had leapt out of bed. He looked ridiculous with his bare feet and brandishing the gun he kept under his pillow. Cas had also stood and now glared with his fists clenched at the demon.
Crowley dropped his sneer to Dean, still rising from the floor. “You’re late, darling. I don’t usually do house calls, you know.”
“We had a few snags,” Dean replied. He’d finally got his feet under him. He took foolish pride in the fact that his knees didn’t shake. He faced the demon with no weapon in his hands and no plan. But he’d face the demon with his pride.
“So.” Crowley adjusted his cuff links on his black suit. “Have you fulfilled our deal?”
“You know the answer to that, hellspawn,” Cas growled.
Crowley tsked. “No need for name calling, darling. I want to hear the boy say it.” He returned his gaze to Dean and this time his eyes blazed red. “Did you kill those worthless worms?”
Dean swallowed hard. Time to face the music. “Yes.”
Crowley sighed. He shook a finger at Dean like a naughty dog. “Now, Dean, we both know that’s only half true.”
“Abbadon and Alastair died on my Blade,” Dean started, “Azazel–”
Crowley flicked his fingers. Pain exploded through Dean’s cheek. His head snapped back. He cupped his face reflexively and blood trickled over his palm from a cut under his eye.
“Azazel is still in Hell!” Crowley roared.
“He took the Blade–” Dean started.
“Are you giving me excuses?” Crowley hissed. “Remember who you’re dealing with, boy. Dear old dad can still do the tango in Hell, you know.”
“It’s my fault,” Sam suddenly burst out. Dean shot him a venomous look to shut up, right now. “I exorcised Azazel. We didn’t have the First Blade or a chance of surviving him. I did it. It’s not Dean’s fault.”
Crowley turned his leaden red gaze on Sam. Dean’s body itched to throw himself at the demon, to keep him away from Sam forever.
“You’re the baby brother,” Crowley said. “The one Azazel wants.”
Sam swallowed hard and Dean heard the sound from across the room.
Crowley tipped his head in a curiously considering way and studied each of them in turn. He focussed on Dean last. “I propose an amendment to our deal.”
“No,” Cas said from his corner. He hadn’t moved since the demon entered the room. “You have taken enough from the Winchesters.”
“Darling, I’m only getting started.” Crowley bared his teeth. “Why don’t you fly away and let the adults do the talking.”
Cas turned to Dean. “He has nothing to offer you.”
“Except Daddy dearest,” Crowley cut in. “I’m offering a new trade.”
The mix of fear and hope turned Dean’s stomach inside out. “What?”
“I return John Winchester to you in exchange for you giving me Sam Winchester.”
“Not a chance in Hell,” Dean ground out immediately. The question didn’t even beg consideration. He couldn’t hurt Sam, not ever. Leaving John with the demon tore Dean’s soul to ribbons, but his dad had made his own choices. Dean would not pay for the sins of the father with the blood of his brother.
Crowley shrugged. “In that case, you’ve failed to keep your end of our bargain, which means John Winchester is mine for eternity.”
Crowley snapped his fingers. A torrent of smoke filled the room. Dean covered his face with his arm and tried not to breathe the stench of sulfur. When the smoke cleared, John Winchester stood next to Crowley. He looked dazed, and beaten. Old blood crusted his temple and one eye had swollen shut. His clothes hung in tatters, as if a beast had clawed at him.
Sam half stepped towards John with a tiny gasp. Crowley held out a menacing hand. “Ah ah. He’s mine now. He’ll make such an excellent plaything.”
John suddenly bent in half, clutching at his middle and screaming. Dean froze to his core. He’d never heard his dad make a noise like that. Like his insides were being torn out.
“Are we having fun yet?” Crowley roared.
Dean couldn’t move. He remained fixed in place, staring at his own father dropping to his knees and keening in pain. Dean didn’t understand any of this. Half of him wanted to turn away and curl up into a ball forever. The other half was all hunter, trying to dissect what on earth Crowley got out of torturing their dad in front of them. Dean had nothing left to offer Crowley. Nothing the demon wanted.
“No!” Sam shouted. “I’ll take the deal. Me for him.”
There it was. The trap Crowley had laid. And Sam had stepped right into it.
“Sam, don’t!”
“I accept,” Crowley said too quickly. He flicked his wrist. John crumpled to the ground, folding in on himself and heaving great gasps that drowned out Dean’s thoughts.
Something tickled at the back of Dean’s brain. The hunter continued to calculate and evaluate. Something wasn’t right here. That had gone too easy.
Sam started towards Crowley. Dean threw out an arm and caught his shoulder. “Wait.”
“No waiting, darlings. The deal is made,” Crowley said.
“Fine,” Dean answered. “Give us John first.”
Crowley snorted. “Fine.” He snapped his fingers. A blur of smoke fell away from John’s wrists, as if invisible shackles had dissolved. John wobbled to his feet. Crowley made a shooing motion. John started towards his sons.
Something in the way John moved didn’t feel right. Dean had always known his father to walk tall and proud. Even after a werewolf had taken a chunk out of his leg, he’d limped with his back straight. Now, John hunched and huddled over his middle protectively. His head drooped. He made no effort to disguise his grunts of pain. Any other person might have summed it up to the literal torture John had endured. But hunters didn’t live very long without being suspicious bastards.
Dean muttered “Christo”. Crowley flinched, predictably.
John also flinched.
Dean shoved Sam behind him. He had moved just in time. John suddenly leapt at him with his arms outstretched. He crashed into Dean, sending them both to the floor. The back of Dean’s head smacked the floor. He grunted. Stars spun across his vision. Everything cleared when a pair of hands wrapped around his throat. Dean thrashed. John kneeled with his entire weight on top of Dean.
“Exorcizamus te–” Sam shouted.
“None of that,” Crowley’s voice broke through. Dean heard a crash. But those two words out of Sam’s mouth had startled the thing inside John enough to loosen his grip. Dean managed a swift kick and a sharp elbow to free himself.
Dean rolled into a crouch. John, or the demon, did the same. They faced each other like two caged animals. Dean glanced around. Sam lay in a heap by the bathroom. Cas and Crowley were locked in a swirl of black smoke and black feathers. From what Dean could see, they seemed evenly matched. As Dean watched, the two of them bowled over and went surging through the picture window. Glass shattered everywhere. Cas and Crowley disappeared from view.
Dean wanted to help, but first he had to deal with the demon in front of him.
“Who’re you?” Dean growled.
The thing tipped his head. “Aw, I’m hurt. You don’t recognise me, Dean-o?”
Shock rocked Dean. “Azazel? The hell are you doing working with Crowley?”
“We found some common ground,” Azazel said. His smile on John’s face gave Dean the shivers.
“Where’s the First Blade?” Dean demanded.
“Oh, I’m keeping it close.” Azazel reached into John’s jacket and withdrew the Blade. Its jagged edge seemed to gleam in Dean’s vision. His entire body strained to reach out and snatch it.
Azazel kicked out and knocked Dean’s ankles out from under him. Dean crashed down. He rolled to his knees. Azazel caught him by one arm and twisted it up painfully behind his back. The harder Dean struggled, the more his shoulder threatened to pop from its socket. Azazel raised the First Blade. Dean couldn’t keep his gaze away from it clutched in Azazel’s hand. The Mark yearned.
“You want it? Have it.” Azazel crowed. The Blade went up. It darted back down. Dean couldn’t stop its horrible trajectory.
It felt like a punch in the chest. And then. Pain. Pain unlike anything Dean had ever felt. It lit him up from the inside like a livewire. Heat flared through his skin. He had to look down to check he hadn’t burst into flames. The Blade stuck out grotesquely from between his ribs.
“Oh God.” It came out like a plea. A prayer. A beg for help.
Azazel released him. Dean touched the grip of the Blade in half disbelief. Distantly, the rush of the Mark surged up his arm. In some sick way, Dean had been reunited with the Blade, and the Mark rejoiced. But Dean’s horror drowned it out.
“Dean!” Sam screamed. Dean lifted his head. Azazel had crossed the room and snatched Sam by his hair.
The world narrowed to Sam. Only Sam. Sam in danger. And a demon hurting him.
Dean stood up. He closed his eyes and let the Mark’s frenzy take him. Heat rushed over him from head to toe. Dean reached down. He had the Blade. And now he was going to use it. Dean pulled the Blade from his own flesh. He didn’t even feel the pain over the surge of electricity in his veins. Hot blood dripped down his front, soaking his shirt. Dean revelled in it. Soon the demon who’d spilled his blood would fall under Dean’s Blade.
Dean leveled the Blade dripping with his own blood. “You’re dead, Azazel.”
“You won’t kill me like this.” Azazel smirked. “Not while I’m wearing your daddy’s meat suit.”
“Exorcizamus te–” Sam started.
Azazel snarled. He gripped Sam’s throat, choking off the exorcism. Dean’s blood boiled.
He pounced. The Blade slashed across Azazel’s arm. The demon jerked back. He kept his hold on Sam.
Sam started the exorcism again. Azazel roared, an animal sound coming from John’s mouth. Dean zeroed in on the blood oozing from Azazel’s arm. The Mark hissed. It wanted more. It wanted to bathe in the blood. Dean agreed.
He charged.
“Stop or I’ll rip his throat out with my teeth,” Azazel threatened.
Dean paused mid stride. What he wouldn’t do for some angelic intervention here. C’mon, where was Cas? He had to have smote Crowley to smithereens by now. The Mark refused to let Dean remain still while his target was within reach. Dean took a single, predatory step forward.
“I warned you.” Azazel threw Sam to the floor. He landed a blow across Sam’s jaw that snapped his head to the side. The next punch cracked his head back the other way. Again and again. Sam’s ribs snapped with a terrible pop.
Dean moved like lightning. He still couldn’t stop the flurry of punches Azazel rained down. The demon didn’t hold back its hellish strength. Sam became a bloody mess from the first hit.
Dean finally closed the space between them. He slammed bodily into Azazel. They rolled over in a tangle of biting, clawing, slicing fury until Dean finally pinned Azazel down. He lifted the Blade.
The snarl on Azazel’s face vanished. The lines around his mouth smoothed. A light returned to his eyes.
“Dean.” John’s voice came out of John’s mouth.
Dean froze. The Mark screamed. It didn’t care who this man was who raised Dean and taught him to control his curse, to breathe, to always protect Sammy. John. Dad.
John raised a battered hand and touched the side of Dean’s face. Dean wanted to crumble and embrace his father and never let go. The Mark wanted to sever the hand that dared touch him. It left him immobilized between the two actions.
“Dean, the demon’s still in here. You know what you have to do,” John said urgently.
“No,” Dean choked out.
“Please, Dean. It’s over. I’m already dead.”
Everything in Dean wanted to wail. “Don’t you ask me to do this,” Dean begged. “I can’t.”
“You can.” John grimaced. “Hurry. Please, son. He’s coming back.”
John’s face morphed back into Azazel’s hateful glare. He came back already swinging a fist at the side of Dean’s head. Dean plunged the First Blade into John’s chest. Flames licked through John’s skull, burning the demon out of his corpse. For just a moment, the edges of John’ mouth curled up in a smile meant from father to son. Then John and Azazel both fell back dead.
The Mark flooded Dean with power. His limbs shook with electricity. He had the strength of a whole army. He needed more, more, more. He leaped to his feet and whirled to see what other destruction he could wrought upon the earth.
Sam lay in a limp heap on the floor. The Mark forced one step out of Dean. Then another. Dean wrestled every inch of his control and turned his back. The Mark returned its attention to the dead demon on the floor and crowed it approval. It rejoiced and reveled and Dean let it have its party while he kept hold of every muscle and refused to turn around and face Sam until the Mark settled. At last, it curled up like a dragon that had just feasted on a battalion of extra crispy knights. It rumbled under his skin with a growling purr. Dean relaxed his grip. He went to his brother.
Sam hadn’t moved. He stayed sprawled and unconscious on the floor. His face was a pulpy mess. Dean fell to his knees at Sam’s side. The Mark hissed. It was sated for the moment, but its greedy hunger wouldn’t refuse tempting Dean. After all, Sam needn’t suffer. He’d lost a lot of blood to Azazel’s inhuman strength. His breaths wheezed painfully. He wouldn’t make it with those crushed ribs. Dean should just end it mercifully. It would so easy to slit Sam’s throat. To put him out of his misery.
“No,” Dean mumbled to himself. He pushed away, clutching the Blade to his chest where it couldn’t do any damage. “I promised.”
The room went fuzzy. Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes. The black sparks at the edges of his vision didn’t clear. The dark crept in closer and closer. Dean hadn’t realised he’d slumped to the ground until he blinked at the room tipped sideways.
Sam’s voice suddenly cut through the static. “Dean! Stay with me.”
Dean blinked again . Sam crouched over him. Blood dripped from his face down his neck. Dean wanted to lunge forwards and tear that throat open with his teeth. Bile flooded up Dean’s gullet. He threw himself back, scrambling to get away.
“Dean.” Sam reached for him.
“Go!” Dean rasped. “Get away from me.”
“You promised me,” Sam said. He took a painful step closer, ignoring Dean’s growl. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me. I believe in you.”
Sam came even closer. He could reach out now. He lifted a hand to Dean’s shoulder. “It’s over. You can drop the Blade.”
“No, he can’t.” Cas appeared by Sam’s side in a flurry of feathers. “If he lets go, Dean will die.”
“What?” Sam gasped.
“He’s lost too much blood. The Blade is the only thing keeping him going.”
Deep in his bones, Dean knew that was true. The hole in his ribs ached with heat. He’d lost so much blood he couldn’t tell what colour his shirt had been.
The Mark’s frenzy flared again. Dean’s vision wavered. For just a second, he didn’t see his brother. He saw a victim, a target, a vessel for his wrath.
“No.” It came out half a whimper. “I won’t hurt you. I promised.”
Dean loosened his fingers. The First Blade dropped from his hand. It clattered to the floor, splashing in the pools of blood under Dean’s feet. Without the Blade’s power coursing through him, he felt the wound for real. It sent flames up and down his torso. Dean’s vision wobbled.
The world went topsy turvy. Dean lost consciousness.
Dean woke up. He opened his eyes to a vast expanse of white sand. He stared. His toes sank into a beach that stretched out to a never-ending azure ocean. He’d never seen a sea so calm. There wasn’t a single wave out there.
“Hi Dean.”
Dean spun around. A man with curly hair and a beard leaned against a tree. He wore board shorts and a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. “Want a pina colada?” He offered a coconut.
“Who are you?” Dean snarled. He reached for the First Blade. It wasn’t there. Dean looked down at himself. He also had board shorts on. Somehow that made him irrationally angry.
“I’m God,” the man said. “You can call me Chuck.”
“What is this?” Dean demanded. “Is this a dream?” He glossed over the whole God thing. He’d deal with it if he decided to accept this as reality.
Chuck shrugged. “Call it a near-death experience. A lucid dream. The last of your synapses firing off while your brain starves for oxygen.”
Dean swallowed hard. “So, I’m dying, and this is just a hallucination?”
“Oh, no.” Chuck spread out his hands. “This is real. I snatched you out of time for us to have this conversation. When you go back, it’ll be like not even a second has passed.”
“Why?” Dean asked.
Chuck sighed. He folded his hands in front of him. “I thought you deserved to know how you got the Mark of Cain. And what the consequences of your current mortal situation means for you.”
Dean blinked. “What?” He said eloquently.
“Let me explain,” Chuck said. He tucked his hands behind his back and began.
“Lucifer himself made the First Blade. See, before that, no human had ever died. Dear old Lucifer had no idea how to snuff out the spark of life. He may have gone a little overboard, if you get what I mean. The Blade doesn’t just kill, it reaps souls. The very first Reaper was Cain himself. He just didn’t know it yet. I let him live out the rest of his life, and die. Then I gave him his punishment. He had chosen death, so I made him Death. He served me as my chief Reaper for millenniums until I decided he’d earned his release.”
“Earned?” Dean asked skeptically.
Chuck raised an eyebrow. “I may be the God of wrath, but I’m also the God of mercy.”
Dean relented.
Chuck sighed. “I took the Mark and the Blade from Cain when he went to his reward. I left them on Earth, but I safeguarded them. I put a firewall around the Mark, per se. No one could receive the Mark unless they went through a series of trials and understood what they were asking for.”
“Then how-?”
“Mary Winchester.” Chuck responded. “She went through the trials. She wanted the Mark. But at the last second, she pulled back. Because of you. She hadn’t known she was pregnant until the very last second of the ritual.”
Dean chewed on that. “That doesn’t explain how I got it.”
“Mary rescinded her approval for the Mark, but you didn’t.”
Dean spluttered. “But I was just a baby. Not even that.”
Chuck shook his head. “It didn’t matter. You were a soul and a living body. The Mark was hungry. You didn’t say no. It took you. I’m sorry.”
Dean mulled this over. His mind reeled. But something still bothered him. “I’m still not clear on why you felt the need to tell me this. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, but why now?” A thought occurred to Dean. “Are you going to take the Mark from me? Save my life?”
Chuck shook his head. “No, you misunderstand me. You’re dying. There’s no way around it. You will die, and then you will become Death.”
“What?” Dean spluttered.
Chuck nodded. “That’s the curse of the Mark of Cain. It’s not just the life of bloodlust. It’s also the afterlife. This little conversation we’re having is more or less a job interview.”
“Job interview?” Dean parroted.
“Yes. Congratulations, Dean. You’re about to become Death numero uno.”
“No,” Dean argued. “No, I don’t want it. Screw you!”
Chuck sighed sadly. “It’s not up to you, Dean. These are the rules of the universe. When the owner of the Mark of Cain dies, they become a reaper.”
“You let Cain off,” Dean pointed out. “You can just snap your fingers and–”
“No, I can’t,” Chuck said.
Dean studied him. He cocked his head. “Can’t, or won’t?”
Chuck smiled an infuriating enigmatic smile. “We’re almost out of time. I look forward to seeing you soon Dean. You’ll make an excellent reaper.”
Dean gasped awake. The hole in his chest knitted itself shut with a sting and a hiss. Dean got to his feet.
Cas crouched over Sam’s limp body. They were enveloped in a shining white light. Dean realised Cas was trying to save Sam. He poured his scant Grace into Sam, trying to heal his injuries.
“Cas,” Dean said.
Cas looked up. He recoiled immediately. “What the hell happened to you?”
Dean cocked his head. “Do I look different?”
“You feel different,” Cas answered. He squinted his blue eyes. “You have an aura of Death around you.”
“How convenient,” Dean drawled. He’d woken with a calm sense of purpose. He had a job, and all the instructions had laid themselves out in his brain. He would Reap souls, one at a time, until Chuck decided his time was done. It would be a long, peaceful road before him. What better responsibility for a hunter than to greet those who had fallen and usher them on to the next great adventure.
Dean laid a hand over Cas’s on Sam’s crushed chest. “You have to let him go. You’re not strong enough.”
Cas snarled. Fondness flooded Dean’s chest where his heart no longer beat. The First Blade lay at his feet. He reached down and picked it up. It no longer burned hot in his veins. Instead, it fit into his hand like an old friend, cool and reassuring.
“Don’t.” Cas shoved himself between Sam and Dean.
“I am Death now,” Dean said. “I have a job to do.”
Cas tried to stop him. He pressed his hands against Dean’s chest. Dean moved forward unhindered by Cas’s attempts.
Dean knelt over his brother. Sam wheezed a painful breath. Dean reached out a hand. He pressed his palm to Sam’s collar. He closed his eyes and let his power flood out of him. Sam’s broken ribs made a horrible wet snap as they cracked back into place. The blood vanished back into Sam’s veins and his blue face brightened with colour.
Sam gasped. He sat up. “What the hell?”
“I don’t understand,” Cas said behind Dean. “You’re not going to reap him?”
“I am Death,” Dean repeated. “I choose who lives and dies.”
Dean smiled down at his little brother. “I made you a promise. I’ll see you around, Sammy.”
Dean fell back into the veil. He felt it enclose around him, hiding him from Sam’s view. But he lingered, just for a moment.
“Dean!” Sam shouted. Tears streamed down his face. “Dean, don’t leave me!”
Dean turned to go. He had an appointment with a dying woman in Wyoming. She’d earned her rest. He would give it to her.
Just before Dean stepped into the void, he heard Sam whisper. “I’ll see you around.”
END