The problem with dying, Dean has decided, is that it always hurts too damned much. He's died three times already that he can remember, and none of them have been particularly pleasant. He thinks that a doctor would have said he died instantly from Walt's gunshot, but that instant after the bullets had plowed into him had been pretty fucking painful. When he'd stabbed himself in the djinn's world it had also hurt like hell and he'd had to do it to himself, so that had sucked big time too. Being ripped apart by hell hounds would probably qualify as his worst death, but even though it seemed to go on forever, it had really been over in a few horrifyingly agonizing minutes. He doesn't remember any of the times he died in Broward County, but having one of them being peacefully passing away in his sleep would have been nice. He doubts that Gabriel would have had that much mercy on either him or Sam. Now, though. Now he's dying of end stage stomach cancer, has been for months, and he'd gladly take any of his previous deaths over this.

All he can do now is lie in bed, wasting away and wishing that pain meds had any effect on him. He's alone, Sam's been gone for years, and he'd pray for death if he believed that it wouldn't end up only prolonging his suffering. It won't be long, he truly believes that, but he can't make himself give up. Sparing himself pain has never been something he's good at.

A nurse comes in. She's young and pretty and Dean can't remember her name. She checks his oxygen line, wipes down his face, calls him Mr. Winchester.

Call me Dean, sweetheart, he wants to say, but there's no air, no energy. She leaves and he thinks what's the point? Can't even flirt with the hot nurses.Apparently his body agrees. His breaths become fewer and harder until they stop completely and there will, blessedly, be no return for him this time.

When he gets up and sees his worn body lying on the bed, he finds it all depressingly familiar. There's no one waiting for him, and he's really not up for a search so he stands by the window. If the reaper wants him, it can damned well come and get him. He waits a few minutes and decides the hell with it.
"Tessa! You here? I'm ready now, so come and get me already!" Nothing answers, nothing comes. "Hey! You're not going to leave me here, are you? I'm going to be one hell of an angry spirit sweetheart, so just reap me, would you?"

"Dean."

Dean jumps and if he wasn't already dead, that voice would have killed him. He turns slowly.

"Death. Long time no see. Bring me some pizza?"

"No. I've come to tell you my reapers won't be visiting you. You're slated for something else."

"Something else? What else? Don't tell me there's some more destiny crap I have to deal with. 'Cause I'm so done with that."

"My apologies. Someone else I should have said."

Dean freezes. "Who?"

"They'll be along shortly. If anyone else shows up to collect you, just tell them you're waiting for your ride."

"Anyone else like who? My ride?" Dean's talking to himself now, Death's moved on.

"Great, I can't even get reaped like a regular person. Damn it. My ride?" Dean's facing the window now and headlights are sweeping up the drive. A familiar rumble hits his ears, and with a thought he's outside, staring in disbelief as the Impala comes to a halt in front of him. He runs his hands over her smooth exterior in wonder. She's whole, unmarked and just as dead as he is- destroyed in the last ditch efforts of the demons to continue Lucifer's plans. A group had caught Dean alone; he was always alone in those days. He'd managed to escape with his life, but the Impala had been reduced to a lump of molten metal and even Dean couldn't bring her back this time. He'd mourned her, still wrecked from mourning Sam and when the cancer began to eat away at him a few years later, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Hey, baby. You're my ride?" He smiles and rests his forehead against her roof. "Good. I mean that's good. I was a little worried about where I was going, but you wouldn't take me anywhere bad, would you?"

The engine rumbles a loud negative. The lights flash and Dean laughs and gets in- gets another shock as he slides behind the wheel.

"Hey, Dean."

"Sammy?"

"It's me."

" How can you be here? I mean, how did you get out?"

"That cage was only meant to hold Lucifer, I walked right out of it.'

"Boy, he must have been pissed."

"Oh, he was. She picked me up right after. Man, you should have seen her, she was badass. We've just been waiting for you to move on."

"Badass, huh? That's my girl. You've been waiting all this time? Move on where?"

Sam gestures out the window. The hospital's long behind them, now the lights of stars shine through the windshield. "Wherever we want."

Dean stares straight ahead, grips the steering wheel with both hands. "Sam."

"Yeah, Dean."

"Are we in outer space?"

"More like the outer atmosphere now."

"Uh huh. In what universe would outer space be wherever I want?"

"Come on, Dean. There's a million galaxies out there and she'll take us anywhere we want to go."

"Well, I want to go to the Grand Canyon. And Amsterdam. Come on, Sam. We haven't even seen this planet yet. Can't we hang around until we've at least seen the sights?"

Unseen against the dark of space, black wings unfurl, banking back towards the Earth. Dean's not ready, that's okay. They can wait. She times it so they'll reach the canyon with the sunrise.