If You Don’t Like The Ending, Write Your Own – Supernatural Fan Fic, Part 1


So, Supernatural has limped to a close, and once again, I find myself underwhelmed, and a little upset. Yes, the show has been on way too long, but it can be a whole lot better than it is. So, between more “serious” writing, I decided to write my own fanfic, fixing the problem, and giving everyone an idea how I’d end Supernatural. You probably don’t care. But if you do, here it is. (Yes, these aren’t my characters, no ownership intended, it’s fanfic, you know the drill.)

 (Season ten spoilers, obviously.)


1 – The Beginning of the End

Even before he fully regained consciousness, Dean knew something was wrong. The hell of it was, he didn’t know what.

He wasn’t in pain, which was the first thing he noticed. If he wasn’t, that was good, right? But it was weird. He thought he should be. Why? His mind scrabbled around in the dark as he forced his body to start moving, as usually he could jump start his consciousness through action. He’d done it a million times before. Too damn many.

Finally he opened his eyes, and realized he was looking out the windshield of the Impala, which had hairline cracks in it. Internally he groaned that Baby was hurt, but it could have been worse. He’d replaced the windshield before. Beyond the glass was an overgrown field, giving him no sense of place.

Except …

Now it came flooding back, a nightmare replaying itself in the light of day. Had he actually killed Death? He had, to save Sam, and then the Mark of Cain was removed, and all hell broke loose… literally. Again! He remembered a dark cloud enveloping the car, and a coldness that seemed to get sucked into his lungs, freezing him from the inside out, and then ..?

He looked over to the passenger side, and saw Sam slumped there, head against the window. “Sam,” Dean said. He was surprised at how rough his voice sounded, as if he’d been screaming. “Sammy?” He shook his arm, but that just caused him to slide forward, sinking deeper into his sag.

Dean grabbed him and pulled him back, suddenly horrified. After all this, was he dead? Did this stupid whatever the fuck kill him, after he killed death to save him? Son of a bitch. He put his fingers on his throat, searching for a pulse, and his skin was so cold adrenaline spiked through Dean. No, no no no no …

Sam suddenly straightened up, coming to with a slight gasp. “What the hell ..?” He looked around blankly for a moment, then his eyes settled on Dean. “What happened?”

Dean stared at him for a moment. Did this make sense? Did any of this make any sense? “I’m not sure,” Dean admitted. At least it was the truth.

Out of sheer habit, he popped the car door open and got out, and only after the fact did Dean realize his legs felt kind of numb. How long had they been out? The air smelled faintly of exhaust, and birds tweeted in the near distance, but otherwise, things were as they always were. The sun was out, it was lightly overcast, the clouds too flimsy and white to be any threat. Where was the Darkness?

He heard Sam follow him out, heard the slam of the car door and footsteps crunching on gravel. “Is there any chance this was a hallucination?”

“Man, that’d make my week.” Dean realized he almost missed the gnawing, constant rage of the Mark. It had been comforting to think it was all the mark and none of it was him. Now he had no excuse.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. What greeted him was odd. “You gettin’ a signal?”

Sam pulled out his phone and checked. “No. Huh. That’s weird.” Sam pointed off towards a slender wire pole in the distance. ”That’s a cell tower. We should have nothing but reception.”

“Okay. My bad feeling about all of this just got worse.” He shoved his useless phone back in his pocket and returned to the car, Sam following him. Sam’s relative silence was notable. He probably didn’t know how to talk about everything that had just happened, so he was doing the Winchester thing, which was setting it aside until later, if ever.

Dean still didn’t feel right, but wasn’t sure why. But he did the Winchester thing, and started the car. He’d figure it out later.

Once on the road, the first thing that struck him was how free of traffic it was. Really, there was nothing. This was a semi-rural location, so it didn’t bother him initially, but after a couple of miles, the lack of other vehicles stuck out like a Satanist in a nunnery.

Sam did something odd. He turned on the radio, which was usually a Dean thing (driver picks the music), but nothing came through but static. He started turning the dials, doing front to back, AM to FM, and it was all the same. Even the type of static didn’t waver. “Where is everybody?” Sam asked.

A knot formed in the pit of Dean’s stomach. “Maybe if we’re lucky, this is purgatory.”

“Does it look like purgatory to you?”

“No. But maybe it’s changed since I was last there.”

It was then Dean saw the deer on the side of the road. A young buck, its antlers still stained with fuzz, and its head twisted around, so it was facing its own tail. It was wandering around, rear leg crooked and dragging, a large gash on its side that was bloody but leaking no blood. “Sam,” Dean said, hoping against hope he was hallucinating. Maybe that’s what happened when you killed death. The universe took revenge in a barrage of horrifying images, one after the other, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

It took Sam a second to find what he was looking at, but when he did, his jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in shock. “What … Jesus, how is that deer alive?”

“Its’s not alive,” Dean said, suddenly sure of what had happened. Oh shit. “Its neck is broken, and it’s not bleeding. It should be bleeding.”

“T-that’s not possible, Dean. It’s badly hurt. It wouldn’t be walking around if it was dead.”

He stopped the car as the deer continued its drunken, stumbling way by the side of the road. It must have died at the exact same time, or just after. “Sammy, I killed Death.”

For a second, Sam stared at him, and his complexion paled to the color of oatmeal. “No. That’s not – How is that possible? Death is … you can’t just get rid of it.”

Dean rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Once again, he had acted without thinking, and once again, the world was suffering for it. “Except I did. Son of a bitch.”

“No, we’re jumping to conclusions. One deer doesn’t mean death is gone. And what does it have to do with the lack of radio waves or reception? Let’s just get back to Cas and Rowena, and see what’s happening from there, okay?”

Dean knew, in his gut, he had fucked up everything. Some instinct in him had picked up the lack of death, and that’s why everything felt so wrong. What was life without death? Was it a blessing or a curse now that the Darkness was loose?

He put the car in drive and kept going, even though the leaden feeling in his stomach had solidified, like all his internal organs had turned to metal. He could almost hear Bobby saying, ‘You idjit. You goddamn idjit. Look what you’ve done.’

The answer was less than a mile down the road. There was a smashed up blue Honda in the road, surrounded by a halo of broken glass, its front end so crumpled it was almost completely flat. It had collided with the deer, and neither had come out intact. There was a faint, dark trail of blood showing the deer’s stumbling progress away from the car, and the blood trail stopped a few yards away, probably pinpointing its time of death.

The driver’s side door had fallen off, and sitting beside it on the asphalt was a man. His legs had been obliterated by the accordioning of the front end, leaving them a mangled mess of blood and bone above the knees. (There was nothing below the knees but shreds of skin and cloth.) The car’s steering wheel was imbedded in his torso like an askew breastplate, and it looked like some of his intestines were peeking out of the bottom. The remains of his shirt and pants looked dark red from blood, but he didn’t appear to be bleeding anymore. He stared at them as they drove past, eyes huge in a pale face, probably still in shock. Also dead, and not dead. What must that feel like?

“Dean, stop the car,” Sam said, his hand on the door handle.

Dean didn’t. He gave it a little more gas. “We can’t help him, Sam.”

His head whipped around, and he glared at Dean. “Dean, stop the goddamn car.”

He shook his head, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. “He’s dead.”

“No he’s not. He’s badly hurt. We have to do something –“

Sam went on, but all Dean could hear right now was the thudding of his own heart in his ears. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back. He didn’t want to say it, but it came back to Dean as hard as any punch. Sam’s cold, cold skin. “Do you have a pulse?”

Dean had asked it quietly, but Sam must have heard some of it, because he stopped ranting at him. “What?”

“Do you have a pulse?”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about, Dean? Of course I have a pulse. I’m talking, aren’t I?” Perhaps to humor him, he grabbed his left wrist in his right hand. “Dean, look. I can understand why you have this theory, but …” Sam was suddenly distracted, and moved his thumb’s placement on his wrist. He moved it again, and then gave up and put two fingers on the base of his throat. Even Dean knew if your heart was beating, you could feel it there.

“Tell me you found it.” There was a long moment of silence, and Dean looked over at Sam, with his hand still at the base of his own throat. “Sam?”

His hand fell to his lap, and he stared out the windshield like there was something out there besides miles of bad and empty roads. “I can’t find it. I don’t think my heart is beating.” Sam finally looked at him, with nothing but pleading in his eyes. He was terrified.

He’d killed Death to save Sam, but it hadn’t mattered at all. Sam died anyway. Only, he wasn’t quite dead. Nothing was exactly dead.

‘Idjit,’ Bobby said again, in the depths of Dean’s mind. ‘You goddamn idjit. Look what you’ve done.’

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