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Blood trickled out onto his hand. The wound was a deep, long gash across his abdomen. Dean knew that he was dying. He looked to his right and saw his brother, bloodied, laying on the ground. One last fight, they had said. They knew the chances of surviving the assault were slim, the one last chance of saving humanity. This time there would be no coming back, and Dean accepted that. He wanted no more pain, no more suffering. It was time that the Winchesters would be at peace.
Sam was breathing shallowly, struggling to hold on.
"Its gonna be okay, Sammy. We're gonna be okay," he spoke, his voice weak and breaking.
"We're gonna see them all again. Mom, Bobby, Jo, Ellen, they're all waiting for us."
Dean laid down next to his brother, clutching his hand like they did when they were kids.
"Dean..." Sam started, his voice faint.
"I'm here Sammy, I'm here," his brother replied.