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“Fine, that’s the way you want it? Story’s over. Welcome to the End,” Chuck says and then just like that it’s night time.
Dean gets up and walks over to Sam. “Hey you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Wait, I thought that Chuck said the gun was the only thing that could...” Dean says, trailing off as he looks down at the body of Jack.
“He’s a writer,” Cas says, tears in his eyes as he looks down at Jack. “Writers lie.”
The ground begins to shake as souls shoot up from the ground.
“What the hell is happening?” Dean asks, looking up as the souls fly above them.
“Souls...Souls from Hell,” Cas says.
The three of them look at each other. This is bad. It’s more than bad, it’s the end of the world all over again.
Bodies start to rise, undead, slowly creeping to where they stand. Cas pulls out his angel blade and Dean grabs two posts from the wrought iron gate.
Suddenly everything seems so stupid, every excuse Dean had ever used to himself to not tell Cas how he felt, it’s all for nothing now.
“Cas,” he says, turning to look at him.
“I know, Dean,” Cas says, nodding to Dean.
There was never any time to tell him; there still really isn’t time to tell him, not properly, the way that he had felt, had always felt for so long. The three of them back up into each other so that they can each protect the other.
As the undead come closer, Dean reaches down, and grabs Cas’ hand squeezing it tightly before dropping it to start fighting.
There is no time right now to tell Cas how much he loves him, but he can only hope there will be time for it later.