Supernatural: The End, Part 10


10 – Misfits and Mistakes

(Falling, falling forever -)


Dean had had just about enough of waking up in pools of blood. If only he could stop it.

When he had the strength to move, he pushed himself off the floor, and felt his gut tear. He gasped and put a hand to his stomach, only to feel warm blood gushing out of him. He wasn’t sure if it was a gunshot wound or a stab wound; it was an opening that was making his blood drain out. He sat back against the wall, putting pressure on the wound, until he got an idea of where he was. He was back at Bobby’s place, which was good, because he had buttloads of first aid stuff, but he was in Bobby’s study, which didn’t have that kind of thing. Had booze, though.

He managed to reach one of Bobby’s hidden book flasks, and drank down all the warm whiskey inside. Not enough to numb him, but it was a start.

(- Everything is nothing, nothing is eternal – )

(- So fucking what?-)

Dean couldn’t stand up yet, but he moved around until he found a rag and shoved it in the wound. Blindly opening a desk drawer, he felt around until he grabbed one of Bobby’s many rolls of duct tape, and used his teeth to rip off strips. He then taped the wound as shut as he could possibly manage. He liked to call it battlefield surgery.

(- Claws digging deep, ripping into his soul, shredding it like hellhounds -)

He used the desk to help him stand up, and despite the tape, he held on to the wound like he might accidentally spill all his guts out if he wasn’t careful. They managed to stay in this time.

( – grabbing on to something, punching through solid dark, feeling needle teeth slide into his skin -)

Dean found more stashed booze, and gulped it down. He didn’t know what it was, it tasted like grade A rocket fuel, but he was glad to have it right now. Where had he been? He was getting these fragments, images, but they weren’t connected. They almost told a story, but he couldn’t quite put it together. They were just smash cuts of sinister things, things he was probably better off not remembering.

( – Cas was swallowed by the darkness, pulled under, he couldn’t reach him, the darkness was pulling him in, he couldn’t pull himself out -)

Was he alone here? He wasn’t sure. “Anybody here?” he shouted.

( – angelic light erupted through the void, almost too bright to bear, the void screamed and recoiled, and Dean felt his arm rip from its socket, muscles snapping like twine -)

He looked to make sure his left arm was still attached. It was. So was his right. It felt like it had happened, but he was still relatively intact. Maybe it was … a dream or something. A hallucination.

( – Dean yanked himself free, blood gushing from his shoulder socket, but he reached into the darkness with his remaining hand, grabbed a handful of guts, and pulled. If they took part of him, he was taking a part of them -)

For a second he thought he saw black blood on his hands, but no, it was plain old red blood from his seeping gut wound. The rag and duct tape were holding so far.

(- a voice from the void, ‘Why are you still alive?’ -)

“Cas?” Dean staggered out of the study, lurching into the living room. If that happened, if the void tore chunks out of him, Cas could be the only reason he was still breathing. But the fact that he still had a gut wound indicated he couldn’t finish the job. He had to do his own battlefield surgery, because he wasn’t strong enough. Was he even still alive?

(-‘Because you’re not gonna kill me, you evil son of a bitch!’-)

“Cas?” Dean stopped at Bobby’s makeshift bar to top himself off with a healthy slug of vodka. It burned going down, and it felt like he was swallowing glass. Yeah, he was pretty fucked up.

“There’s no need to yell,” Cas said weakly. He was slumped on the couch – where he hadn’t been a second before – dressed in a black suit with a shirt that was half white and half black with dark blood. His trench coat was heaped on the floor, marinating in its own pool of black blood. His tie was pulled out and askew, and his hair was ruffled. He’d looked like he’d had one of those Vegas weekends where you wake up in a parking lot and can’t remember the last two days, or how you got that tattoo on your ass. Except there usually wasn’t so much ichor involved.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m not completely sure.”

Well, at least he was being honest. Dean held up the bottle. “Want some?”

Cas shook his head.

“I don’t remember a lot of what happened. It was nasty, right?”

“It wasn’t pretty.”

“Did we win?” Dean was partially joking.

“I don’t know.”

Wow. So not comforting. Dean sat down, but kept a hold of the bottle, because he still wasn’t numb yet. “But we’re back at Bobby’s. Is that a good sign or a bad sign?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean considered a snarky remark, but discarded it. Cas’s memory might be as fragmented as his. He had a little more vodka for courage before pressing onward. “Did I really have my arm torn off?”

Cas looked at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, emphasizing how pale he was. “You remember that?”

“It’s hard to forget being disarmed.” Okay, yeah, it was a terrible joke, but he had to make it.

“I didn’t much care for it either.”

Dean pondered that a moment. “You got an arm ripped off too?”

“If I had a true physical form I wouldn’t be alive right now.”

“Well… fun.” No wonder he looked so rough. “What was the point of it? The void?”

“I can’t answer that question.”

“What about the voice asking me why I wasn’t dead yet?”

Cas canted his head towards him. “What? The void spoke to you?”

“It didn’t speak to you?”

“Not that I recall. What did it say?”

“It asked why I was still alive.”

Cas sat forward, resting his head in his hands. From his posture alone, Dean guessed this wasn’t a good sign. “They’re still expecting you to die.”

“A lot of people expect me to die. I’ve disappointed a lot of them. And some not so much.”

Cas let out a strangely heavy sigh. “This isn’t good. There may be no way out.”

Dean snorted, looking around for better alcohol. “Well, I’m used to that. It feels like my whole life has been a bunch of dead end scenarios.”

Suddenly bright light flooded the room, blaring through the windows like someone had put a battery of spotlights on full blast. You could feel the thrum of energy through the walls and floors. Cas stood, barely squinting at the light, and approached the closest window. Dean tried to follow him with his eyes, but couldn’t. The light burned like acid. “What the hell is this?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Cas said. But there was just a sliver of awe in his voice.

The light was bursting through the seams of the floor, crawling up the wall, dissolving everything in its path. Dean had to cover his eyes, because the light was unbearable. He could feel his retinas burning up.

A shadow fell over him, protecting him from the light, and no shock it was Cas. “I don’t think we have a lot of time. I know you don’t think so, but demons exist for a reason. There’s a balance to the universe. There are rules.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dean squinted up at him, and the light was just so corrosive it looked like a line of it was running down the center of Cas’s face.

“You’re part of something now. You can’t lone wolf it all the time. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Cas, I get it. Why are you telling me this?”

He smiled, and another seam of light cracked down his face. Suddenly Dean realized it wasn’t just his face. He had bleeding lines of light crawling down his chest, his arms and legs. It was like his angelic energy couldn’t contain itself in a Human form any longer. “It’s happening.”

It took Dean a moment to understand what he was saying. “Ascension?” He felt idiotic for even saying it aloud. No, a make over. Why had they been going through this hell for … months? It felt like months. But time was different in Heaven, just like it was in Hell.

Cas smiled, and a few more pinholes of light punched through his face. He was becoming too painful to look at. “Angels are not in your purview. They fall to a higher authority.”

“Why are –“ And then he finally understood. “No. What did you do?”

Cas was veined in luminescence. He was now more light than Human. “Save them, Dean. Save the world.”

“Don’t leave me here, you bastard!” He jumped to his feet, not sure what he intended to do – something, anything – but then Cas exploded in brilliant white light, burning his eyes completely out of his skull .


The Darkness was trying to smother everyone. It was late afternoon, and it was pitch black. The Darkness was choking the sky, and the last time Sam had been able to truly see, the black clouds of it looked stacked at least two or three miles up. It was a static tornado, waiting to release its true fury.

Sam didn’t need to breathe, so he was good, but anything alive and breathing on the ground was in serious trouble. He had to crawl, as the pressure of it was crushing. It wasn’t hurting him right now, as far as he could tell – being dead was as numb as you were ever going to be – but he got a sense it wasn’t happy. It was working up to something.

Sam knew what in an instant.

He felt something grab his ankle, and all of the sudden he was in the air, falling up. It was like gravity had been reversed and he was plummeting into the sky. If he could see the ground he’d probably be terrified, but it was all one big black mass of Darkness, and the only thing he really had was a disorienting sense of speed. Finally, it had figured out he was up to nothing good.

He could feel them, ghostly hands, and whispered half-words that almost made sense, but the only word he could genuinely make out was the repeated one “Ours.” Weird how such a normally innocuous word could seem so deeply creepy.

What the Darkness didn’t know was Sam had been hanging on to his secret weapon since the clouds started coming in thick. Even though he was racing for the troposphere, he still had it in his fist.


“Eat me,” Sam said, and snapped the shard in half.

Even though he was dead, he felt the death shockwave that emanated from the shard. It was like a gust of Arctic air that promised instantaneous frostbite. He could even watch the shockwave as it moved through the Darkness, turning it into instant ash as it flowed outward. It started raining down, and after a brief millisecond of what seemed like weightlessness, Sam began falling down as well.

It was hard to say, but now that he could see the ground, he guessed he was about a mile up, and now he was plunging back to the Earth at breakneck speeds. He was dead, but he was as liable to shatter on impact as anything dropped from a great height.

Oh man, this was going to suck.

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