saw @bloodydeanwinchester's tags on this post so
*TW: SUICIDE IDEATION TYPICALLY DISCUSSED IN RELATION TO THIS EPISODE PLS TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES*
dean's always hated being stabbed. god, he'd have taken a bullet to his head over this any day. what's one last thing that doesn't go his way, he thinks.
it's uncomfortable, is the thing. the hurt, he'll take it. it's nothing he doesn't deserve, nothing he hasn't had before. but the feeling of metal slicing your innards, it's a bitch of a thing. you can never get used to it.
Atleast, he thinks, Sam's here. Atleast, he's able to say goodbye. Atleast he's not alone.
His nerves are all alight, pain painting him bright from the inside, but dean can feel the finality of this burst. it's all too fast and too slow, all at once. dean thinks about being four and the sharp sunlight waking him in his room, his sheets with hot wheels on them. he thinks about baby's headlights shining through thin motel curtains. thinks about....about angels and gods and all that blue light behind his own eyes. he thinks if this is how.. how cas felt, when dean had been stupid and cowardly , when he'd let Lucifer get to him, that night in Washington. he wonders if his soul feels like this too, all sharp angels and live current. he wonders what cas ever saw in him, why he ever tried to save him, even in hell. wishes he could see him, one last time. that wouldn't have been all that terrible.
Still, he thinks. Sam's here. Sam's here. Sam's okay.
he jolts into himself, and realizes that he's been talking, that he's been saying something to sam. he doesn't even know. dean is unraveling. he can feel his body emptying, the slickness of blood at his back.
he grabs at his brother, fists a hand in his chest. Sam's face is twisted in sorrow. Fuck. I love you, little guy, he thinks. then, fuck, don't let me go. i don't want to go. shit's never happened the way he wanted it to, but this is something else. Atleast. well, atleast he's gonna end up in the empty. that's what Billie promised him, right? Atleast he'll be with cas.
Still, Still. he's only human, and he's drowning in his own blood, can smell it, can taste it, it's everywhere, it's —
"I need you to.... to tell me... that it's okay," he says, and his voice comes out trembling, panicked. terrified. God. "I need you to tell me that it's okay."
his brother turns away from him, and dean can't hear him over the ringing in his ears, but he knows the stubborn bastard, the way his shoulders lift. God. God. Cas.
"Look at me," he pleads. "I need... I need..." he can't breathe. god, he can't breathe. "Please, Sam. I need you to tell me that it's okay."
Sam's face swims to the front of his line of sight, all warped like it's on the other side of a fishbowl. dean clutches at his brother harder. tries to, anyway. he's so tired. he's so fucking tired.
his fingers slip.
Something warm, and sam holds him in place.
"Dean...," and in another world, dean would've made fun of the blubbering mess he's become. would've teased him for caring so much about his stupid older brother. "it's okay. It's okay. i— I got you."
it's crazy, dean thinks, that it helps. the tone of his brother's voice. his face, even warped and cracking open with grief. dean raised this kid, and it was a bitch of a job, and man, did he hate it at times, but look at sam now. he did good. he did so good. he did —
dean goes under like he's being put to sleep. almost easy, almost soft. Thanks, he thinks, the last coherent thought in his head. Thanks, kid.
~
He wakes up on a road. The sun shines down bright like it's the start of summer, and there's this pleasant warmth in the air. the world around him is golden, stretching into the horizon on flat land where it meets the brown mounds of the black hills. dean blinks up at the mountains, a strange chill crawling down his spine.
"You're here early," a familiar voice says, and dean turns to find himself standing in front of Bobby's porch. light's drenched this whole place, too, making the wood panelling look blond. Bobby's fucking smiling. Shit. Shit.
dean's starting to feel disoriented, almost.
"And what's 'here' supposed to be, exactly?"
Bobby frowns, his smile slipping. he looks at dean like he's a right fool. "Heaven, dean," he says. "where else'd you think you'd go?"
dean thought.... Fuck. there's a strange emptiness pushing at the inside of dean's skin. he feels like he's been put together upside down. Billie.... Billie....
Billie's in the empty, and fuck. maybe grudges don't get passed down to the new death. fuck. fuck.
Dean stumbles to the porch steps, crumples on them when he can't go further. Absently, he's aware of Bobby moving behind him, the creaking of his rocking chair, his footsteps on the wood.
he stares out at the grass, the outline of the mountains, the clear blue sky. it's beautiful. it's nothing. it's empty. fuck. fuck. what the hell is dean supposed to do now. without — what the hell is he supposed to do?!
Bobby's hand is warm on his shoulder. dean feels small, the way he leans into it, the way he kinda wants to cry.
"what's wrong, dean?" Bobby asks, and his voice is all wrong , like he's tried to scrape the gruffness out of it and badly. dean could laugh. but. fuck. fuck.
why the hell is he here? why is he here?!
he swallows. shit's never really gone his way in life, so why would it in death? he swallows again. says, "i don't know, Bobby."
Me, he thinks. I'm what's wrong.
"i don't know."
