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Dean is 10 and Sam is 6.
He's wrapping a bandage around his father's torso, while Dad explains to Sammy about infection and stopping the bleeding. Sam's too young for monsters, but he's seen enough blood and gore outside the TV to have him mentally prepared for anything; Dean would prefer it if Sam didn't watch. It's hard stitching up a wendigo claw wound with two beady little eyes watching you.
Later that night, Sam asks why Dad won't let him have a go at stitching him up.
Dean's exhausted. Rolling onto his side, facing away from Sammy, he sighs.
"It's better this way."
Dean is 16 and Sam is 12.
Dad has started to take him on hunts, which is totally awesome. He finally gets to do something other than 'look after your brother'. (He doesn't mind protecting Sam, but it's nice for a change of pace.)
Until he gets caught by the werewolf, it's gnarly claws digging into the skin of his wrists. And then he gets caught trying to nick his brother's favourite sandwich ingredient. And then he's half abandoned in a place he could actually call home, only to be called back by his original duty - look after Sammy.
Pulling the sleeves of his shirt down, he leaves the boy's home and slides back in beside Sam. His Dad grunts affirmation of his choice; Sam almost kamikazes his toy jet into his leg, the aeroplane saved by Dean's swooping hand.
"Why do you always gotta save it, Dean?" Sammy says, his face pouting.
"It's better this way."
Dean is 18 and Sam is 14.
His brother cannot cook for shit. He tries, sometimes, because when Dad leaves them with more money Dean will try to provide them with something other than take out every night.
Sam fails, horrifically, with eggs. He can't seem to grasp the aspect of anything that needs to go inside the oven. The mac and cheese he completes after nearly an hour barely passes edible. So, on the 3rd night of cooking debacle failure, Dean stops sitting on the sofa, watching Doctor Sexy. He gets off his ass and leans on the kitchen counter to watch his brother cook. As soon as he spots a mistake - whisking, with a wooden spoon really?! - he closes in, hip bumps Sammy out the way, and silently shows him how to do it with a fork. Grinning toothily, he hands his brother the bowl of whatever-he's-making and ruffles his hair.
"It's better this way."
Dean is 22 and Sam is gone.
After the argument he and Dad had, Dean receives a four worded text.
He pretends his eyes don't sting as he deletes it, hoisting his bag over his shoulder, ready to move on to the next seedy motel.
It's better this way
Dean's sold his soul and Sam is alive.
It's better this way.
Dean's talking to angels and believing in Gods.
It's better this way.
Dean's left his brother to die, and stopped communicating with angels. All of them. His friend, too.
It's better this way.
Winchesters:
It's better this way. It's better this way. It's better this way. It's better this way. It's better this way. It's better this way. It's bet-
Dean's 30 something and has a mark on his arm. It makes him want to kill.
Sam's trying to fix him, but the cost is too much. Too much. They've done their best. Cas has given all he had. Hell - the son of a bitch Crowley has given enough.
He's calling an old friend, with the recipe for the best fried food he's ever cooked in his mind.
(Call, summon, whatever you want to call telecommunication these days, blood usually has better service coverage)
Death has some interesting things to say; regarding his mark, and his own proposition of 'wipe Dean Winchester off every plane of existence'.
Impossible, apparently. Worst evil - the darkness - will be unleashed, supposedly. The Winchesters have screwed things up again, surprisingly.
He's phoning his closest friend. There's a favor he can ask of no one else. Even though Cas' loyalty, to him, he concedes, has been sketchy in the past, and has been more on the side of his brother of late, Dean has no doubts, none left, that Cas will do this. For him. For the world. For every damn person who has died so far in this crazy crusade, dripping in the blood of innocent victims and tied in the bow of trying to make the world a better place. A safer place.
Unfortunately for the world, the single circumstance in which that will happen is if both Winchesters are eradicated.
And, well, we all know it's impossible to kill a Winchester for very long.
"Hello Dean."
Two words from a simpler time; back when angels were angels and hunters were hunters. A smile creeps up, reminiscent on Dean's lips.
"Hey Cas." He's smiling at his friend, not much about him has changed given the number of times he's died.
Dean tries not to think about those nights. The ones when not all the Jack in the world can drown out the thought of the angel, his (for all intents and purposes) angel. Dean definitely takes something harder when the thoughts of Purgatory sneak through the cracks, the fear sliding its cruel fingers through the slices he's made in his own mind, in a place where Cas can die.
"Why are you conversing with Death?" Cas asks, and his head is tilted.
"You can't finish getting the ingredients for Rowena's spell, Cas, and you know it," Dean sighs, the weight of a lifetime of fighting crumpling down on him, "I can't be saved -- this time, buddy."
"You CAN!" And there's the flash of angel Dean sometimes forgets hides in the tax accountant get up.
"He can but he mustn't," Death quips, "The darkness is far worse than anything you've faced," Death takes a bite of his taco, "Even in Hell, and the Fall, angel."
Cas twitches, his shoulders rolling beneath his coat like the remnants of wings on his back. Of course, Cas' wings must be just as fried as Zeke's. Figures.
"What of Sam?" Cas asks him, pleading with Dean the only way anyone can. Brothers. Bond. Codependence. "He won't stop until you are saved. And neither shall I." He says the last part quieter, not meeting Dean's gaze.
So the whole profound bond thing was true, huh. Dean would like to thank Chuck for the realization timing.
"I need you to make him forget. About me. Entirely. This whole shaboo. Replace memories if you have to, but take the chunk of 'Dean walking back into your life and screwing everything to Hell for you again' out. As far as Sammy needs to know, his brother and Dad died. There's enough mortuary reports for it."
Cas is silent. His mouth is slightly parted. On anyone else, that would translate as complete abject horror and rebuttal.
"You can still see me Cas," Dean says, taking a step backwards towards Death, who touches him at the mark. He feels his body turn to a fluid state, and hears Cas gasp, "I'll just be a little... Less dangerous to the living, now."
Cas is crying.
There's more to be explained, details of the time 'before'; Dean's original suicide plan; Sam.
For now, Death stops touching his arm and he stops being translucent, as the invisible occupants of the empty room would see him.
Cas crowds him into a hug. This isn't their goodbye.
"You're a good man, Dean Winchester."
Dean's smile is halfhearted, the words won't ever feel right in his skin. Flying them to Sam's location, invisible to him, they watch him curse and pull at his hair and blame Rowena and Crowley-
Cas looks at Dean, who nods; his fingers touch Sam's forehead.
There's a split second, where time for them adjusts. In that fraction, Dean smiles at a young man. He gives him a hint of the sadness, his voice cracking before the words can even choke their way out of his closing airway.
"It's better this way."
The man with the long hair, standing in front of a college dormitory. There's no Jess by his side, but the memories of the fire explain that - and the mental institution he stayed at until he got over it for the past decade help too. He was still raised a hunter, by his deadbeat Dad and punk of a big brother.
Cas is by Dean's side this time.
The Angel and Death. Title's catchy, even if the scribes end up writing it down wrong.