(inspired by mark lanegan and the walkabouts - feel like going home. title from woven hand - to make a ring. no money made, no insult intended. enjoy.)


On the last day in the world, the sun is setting.

It's absolutely breathtaking.

Dean watches it avidly; watches it turn the rock formations around him a dusky red that almost hides the splatters of blood and guts and gore. Almost. The horizon is hazy with the dust that's slowly setting in the wake of the demon army. It's still beautiful.

He hadn't thought they'd just leave him here.

Then again, why not? It isn't as if he's going anywhere. They have all the time in the world, such as it is.

As final resting places go, he feels he could do a lot worse. He's always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.


The sun is still stubbornly clinging to the sky, and Dean smiles tiredly at his brother and his yellow eyes.

"But I don't want to, Sammy," he explains, again, patiently. Sometimes you have to break it down into really small pieces to get the kid to understand.

"But you're going to die, Dean!"

Sometimes, not even really small pieces help.

"Looks like, yeah," Dean agrees, inspecting the mess his brother's little doggies have made of his gut. It's still bleeding sluggishly, but he thinks it'll hold until the sun is gone. He hopes it will.

"I can fix it! You just have to-"

"You can fix my body, Sammy," Dean interrupts. "It sure as hell ain't gonna be me in here after you're done."


"I said no, Sam."

Sam throws his hands up in that gesture of frustration he always vehemently denies is anything even remotely close to girly, and starts pacing back and forth, ranting like he always does when he thinks Dean is being particularly idiotic. "...I can't fucking believe you, you unmigitated bastard, you always do this, you stupid, stubborn...jerk!"

And Dean smiles, deep and warm and real. "Bitch."


The angel looks a bit worse for wear in the last rays of the dying sun. The omnipresent trenchcoat is bloody and torn and one of his massive wings is dragging behind him, sticking out at an odd angle, but his face is the same; otherworldly and serene, with eyes clear as a bird's.

Dean thinks he's happy to see him.

Castiel nods in greeting, and sits down beside him in the dust to watch the burning sky.


On the last day in the world, the sun is setting.

It's absolutely breathtaking.

And then it's dark.


"Yes, Dean."

"Can we go now?"

"Yes, Dean. We can go now."