Rated: Rated T for language, eventual sexual stuff, and violence. It probably could be M for language, but I think you all can handle a few f-bombs.

Spoilers: Takes place post Swan Song, so general spoilers for season 5.

Characters: Dean POV, lots of Castiel since he's my favorite, one or two OCs

Author's Note: Okay, not exactly new to fan fiction, in fact, I wrote Buffy fic as a youth, but this is my first go at it in awhile, like maybe two years or so. Just trying something out for fun! Be kind, but please review if you like! Reviews are my life's blood. And note... don't worry the entire story isn't this emo :P

Chapter 1


All he could see around him was death.

The ground, where the earth had just opened its maw to swallow up his only remaining family, was still hot to the touch. A few feet away, the splattered remains of his guardian angel lay, and next to this fetid pile lay the body of his surrogate father, his neck twisted half away off his body, and his blank, lifeless eyes staring at the sky.

Dean tried to get up, but he couldn't. Physically and emotionally, he was pinned to the ground. He put one shaking hand to his face, feeling golf ball sized lumps forming where an archangel had punched him repeatedly. The blood coming from his cuts and bruises was hot and sticky. He realized that he couldn't see out of one eye and his head throbbed and things were fuzzy. He couldn't really comprehend where he was. He didn't know if this was because of what had just happened or if it was because he was concussed. He lay on the ground and stared at the sky, which was grey, cloudy and absent of any birds or light.

"Sammy." He muttered. "Oh god, Sammy."

It had j ust now occurred to him that his brother was in Hell. He thought back to his own Hell, and he imagined the flames licking his younger brother's face, the angry souls of Lucifer and Michael peeling off layers of skin to pay him back for trapping them both in the cage.

"Don't worry, Sammy, I'll get you out. I'll do whatever it takes. I swear." He mumbled nonsensically, talking to no one.

Dean crawled, because he wasn't sure he could stand, to the Impala which sat parked, miraculously untouched by Satan, Michael, or the guts of his guardian angel. He used the fender to pull himself up the front of the car, until he was resting on the hood. He saw his reflection in the window and audibly gasped. He looked exactly like he had just gotten the shit beaten out of him by the devil. He looked terrible. Bobby's corpse and Cas's guts looked better. He still couldn't see out of his right eye and he was pretty sure he might be blind. If only Cas would pop up and heal him…



Everyone he loved was dead.

Dean lay on the hood of the Impala for awhile, wishing he were dead too. He had a gun. It wouldn't be hard to end it now. Hell, he'd welcome it. Except he wasn't sure where he'd go. He'd just averted the apocalypse, but the apocalypse had been the angels' plan all along, so there was a chance he'd never make it into heaven. If he went to Hell, at least he'd be with Sammy. Granted he wouldn't be in a circle of Hell near Lucifer's cage, but at least they'd share the same zip code. Bobby would be in heaven. His mom was in heaven. His dad probably was too. For a moment, he wished he could go there, be with them, safe, warm and surrounded by family. But then he'd have to live an eternity without Sam. He thought about Cas. He wasn't sure where fallen angels who turned human and then were exploded into a sea of guts by Lucifer went.

He lay there for a long time. Things kind of went black and he wasn't sure how much time passed. He was sure he had a concussion. He might just die here, if the concussion and his other injuries were bad enough. He thought about it. The first few times he died he had been so scared. Then he started looking at death as something he'd always come back from because some supernatural creature always decided that it was not yet his time. He was sure his time had been up a long time ago. Sammy's too. He didn't know what the penalty was for always cheating death. He didn't care. If he was punished for cheating his own death, fine. For Sammy's? Even better. As he lay there, he fantasized about ways he'd get Sam out of the pit. Right now, he didn't know how he'd do it. He was sure the angels hated him now for averting their apocalypse and for trapping their leader in the cage. They were the only ones he knew of who could pull souls out of Hell. Some demons could, maybe, but there were no demons that would bring Sam back. He was no longer valuable to them. Ruby and Lilith were dead, and there purposes for Sam had been evil, they could have potentially brought him back. He was no longer Lucifer's vessel. Although Dean couldn't admit it out loud, he knew that there was nothing powerful enough that would want Sam to get out of Hell. Sure, the angels and demons might bring him back if Lucifer was attached, but Dean knew that was a price that Sam would kill him for making them pay.

Slowly but surely, Dean sat up. He couldn't see. He was possibly dying. He knew he had to get to a hospital. He struggled to get into the Impala where his cell phone was. When he finally got into the car and had his cell phone, he just stared at it for awhile, hesitant to call for help. There were guts everywhere, Bobby's corpse was there and Sam and Lucifer were gone. He didn't think he had the strength to move Bobby's corpse. He wanted to give Bobby a hunter's funeral, but he didn't have it in him right now. He couldn't imagine moving Bobby and he certainly couldn't imagine burning him.

He had no idea what to do. The truth was that he didn't know if he even had it in him to do anything. He wanted to be dead. He had no reason to live. Sam had told him to go to Lisa and Ben, but he couldn't do this to them. If they saw him like this, they would be terrified, and there was always some nasty thing out in the dark that wanted to kill him. If he went to them, those nasty things would want to kill them too. He couldn't do that to them. He couldn't inflict his diseased, disastrous life upon them. He would get them killed. They would be dead just like everyone else he loved.

He thought about praying. He might believe in God now, but he certainly didn't trust him. God had cursed the Winchesters, God had created the angels that had brought him into this apocalypse and then forsaken those angels, and God had taken a vacation and never come back. God was a deadbeat dad. God didn't give a fuck. God was an asshole.

Dean rested his head on the steering wheel. He had no fucking idea what to do. It was over and he had no clue what his next move was. He didn't have it in him to call 911. So he did the only thing he could think to do. He gave up.