The broken son

11. Epilogue

It's been a year since Dean escaped from Purgatory. Obviously Time and Space and even God were against him saving Cas, so the only solution was that he let him go, kissing his sweaty forehead, then his cold lips, leaving the angel's dead body to rot in the cursed lands.

Dean appeared in an empty field next to dark woods he'd never seen before, a few kilometers away from the nearest village. His phone was dead- the screen was somewhy blueish. Expected. The hunter checked himself for any physical harm- nothing but his bleeding hand. He was still in shock.

Dean kneeled and sticked the angel blade in the dark soft soil, like a small grave. Just so he knew where his boyfriend's life ended in a different dimension. He bowed down his head and swore to hunt down that monster which destroyed his life and his hope.

The Winchester stood up and sniffed. But it wasn't just the cold weather. He was feeling a strange emptiness in his soul, something he'd never experienced before, like his heart had just shattered into pieces. It was dark. Cold. Ancient. The oath he just made was beyond powerful- it meant that he must fulfill his last task at all costs. Dean headed to the village.

***

It was October when Dean arrived in the bunker. His car was parked outside, but it was covered with a thin layer of dust. Strange, Sam must have used a vehicle when Dean was gone- there was always stuff to do.

He took out his key for the door and got inside.

"Sammy?", it was cool and empty, the lights were out. Dean turned on the torch he bought earlier and looked around. The whole place was a mess. Books torn apart everywhere, the big table turned over, the chairs were into pieces. And there, in the middle, on a pile of blood stained books, was his brother's dead body.

***

It was a foggy and cold morning, exactly one year after Dean's escape and Cas' and Sam's deaths. The last Man of Letters was driving his Chevrolet Impala 1967 without the usually loud classic rock music he loved. His face was showing no emotion at all.

The last year was horrible. He spent it drinking a lot of alcohol and doing nothing but depressing himself. The only reasons why he ever left the bunker for maximum 30 minutes was to get more whiskey and food. But not burgers or salad. Dean has barely eaten a pie ever since.

But thank God, or whoever was up there, the year has come to an end.

Dean turned off the engine and took a sip from Bobby's bottle. He had just reached the place where he buried Sammy- right next to the angel blade, which still stood there, as magnificent as Cas. A circle shaped part of the ground was covered with beautiful flowers and the grass was so green...

The hunter opened the door and got out with a gun in his hand.

I've always wanted to die with a gun in my hand., he used to say.

He just never imagined that he'd end like that- wasted, broken and alone.

Dean dropped to his knees and put the weapon under his jaw.

The radio in his car had turned on by itself and was playing and old song.

Carry on my wayward son...

He then looked up at the still dark sky with tears dripping from his eyes. Eyes with dark circles around them.

There'll be peace when you are done.

"I'm coming, Sammy. Can't live without you, Cas."

Load.

Lay your weary head to rest...

Shoot.

Don't you cry no more.

The last Winchester collapsed on the graves of his beloved ones.

The song kept playing in the lonely, dead silence.