Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or it's characters.

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 9X23 AHEAD JUST A WARNING

Fear.

Once the blade had gone through Dean, he knew. He wasn't going to make it. Slowly looking down, the blade being twisted and pulled out, that certainly confirmed it. An odd wave of calmness went through him. He was going to die. And maybe, just maybe, this time it'll be for real. He'll leave. The mark. The guilt. The stupidity. Everything. And you know what? Dean had fought until the final minutes, and that was good enough for him. But when Sam called out, the calmness went. In a flash. And that was it.

He was going to die.

And Sam was gonna be there.

Risking a look to Sam wasn't the best idea Dean had ever had. The face of despair and shock that Dean saw when he looked to his little brother crushed him.

Death was no longer calming, or comforting.

It was crap your pants terrifying.

Not because Sam had lied and said he was gonna be okay with it. No.

Sam was gonna see him die.

Acceptingly on Dean's part.

He was going to leave Sam. Alone.

What if he made some dumb deal to make Dean come back?

He was going to leave everything.

Suddenly, leaving it all, it felt like the worst outcome.

Plus, Metatron wasn't dead. He was God knows where, which, considering Metatron was trying so hard to be God, was actually quite fitting. That left all kinds of possibilities.

Then Dean hit the floor.

Oh no.

It took all his energy to drag his eyelids up to see Metatron's smug little face.

Stupid little smug bastard.

Sam's heavy running footsteps were getting closer, and Dean felt him pull him up.

No.

Dean could feel himself slipping. He didn't even have enough energy to crack a joke to Sam about Metatron poofing out, away from him. Even it wasn't the time. When Sam tried to help him, the fear got even worse. And Dean thought that wasn't possible.

Sammy, go. Please. Nothing you do is gonna help me. Metatron is gonna come back, and kill you too. Just go. While you can. Please.

Dean tried to voice his thoughts but it just came out as "Sammy, you gotta get out of here before he comes back." Dean tried even harder to voice how urgent he felt it was.

Go. Just leave me. I'm okay with this. Alright? The mark, it's turning me into a monster. I'm only gonna get worse if you manage, by some miracle, to get me outta this. I'm gonna leave, before everything gets too bad. It'll suck, but I know you can get through this. Please Sammy, for me.

But of course, Sam wasn't having any of that, and pulled Dean up. Dean spewed out about Sam saying he was okay, resulting in Sam admitting he had lied. Dean managed to joke in that situation.

Better can while he can. When he's- No. Hold on, Dean. Come on. For Sammy. He's not gonna see you die. Again.

That was the moment he felt it. The other whelming cold. The pull. The call. The calmness. Everything was numb.

This was it.

"Sam, I gotta say something."

When Dean was leant up the table, or what he thought was a table, and was greeted with Sam's anxious face, and a whispered "What?", was when he accepted it. The call. The calmness.

"I'm proud of us."

And that was it. Peace.

All Dean ever wanted.

No more calls of the blade, wanting him to kill.

No more disappointment.

No more guilt.

No more stupidity.

Nothing.

Nothing but peace.

That was all Dean ever needed.

He didn't care where he was. He didn't care that something was off.

Dean was at peace.

And he loved it.

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