Left alone in his bedroom, Dean wanders around a little, not quite aimlessly, more like he is saying goodbye. Dean straightens the bedding where he and Cas had been sitting. Picks up the dirty clothes and puts them in the hamper. He runs his fingers along the book spines and album covers, and he takes his favorite gun out of his duffel, unloads it and sets it and it's magazine on the shelf above the bed. He puts the keys to the Impala on the small table next to the bed.

Dean digs clean clothes out and then goes in to shower and shave, leaving the slight stubble he prefers and taking time to style his hair. He pulls on clean boxers before dressing in his best jeans, dark washed with no holes, soft, but new enough that they are not faded. A black tee and his dark red flannel shirt go on next before he pulls on socks and black boots. Then he puts on his leather jacket. Walking back over to the shelves, he picks up the photo of his mother and tucks it in the inside pocket of his coat.

Dean pauses a moment thinking before he goes over to the closet. He digs through an old shoe box he has on the shelf until he comes across an amulet he wore for years. He smiles slightly as he pulls it over his head and tightens the adjustable leather cord. He remembers when Sammy first gave it to him, and when he threw it away. He's pretty sure no one knew he doubled back to that hotel room to dig it out of the trash. He straightens it around his neck, and then notices it's starting to glow. He turns.

. . . . . . .

When he finally walks into the library, it's Dean, but different. He is beautiful and awesome. The ginger highlights in his hair and beard look lit; his green eyes glow from within. In his hand, he holds an angel blade. He has wings curving over his head by more than a foot, glossy black at the tops but tapering down into dark crimsons, orange, and an almost molten gold along the tips that trail behind him. They look like they are on fire as they flutter out unevenly, almost overbalancing him.

Death snorts. "I see my brother has kept his part of the bargain."

Bobby groans and gasps his name. Tears pour down Sam's face. There's a collective gasp as the bunker inhabitants realize that they are looking at God's work - done here in the bunker.

"Then we are finished here." Death takes on last lingering look at Dean. "You, I will be seeing." He turns to take in angels and Hunters. "Singer, mind your children; Joshua, Ezekiel – you mind the angels. Don't mess this up." And then he's gone.

Dean staggers a little further into the room, wings flapping haphazardly, knocking a few things down and sending papers flying. He looks pained at his own awkwardness. "Someone? How do I put these away?"

Gabriel coughs out what could be a sob or a laugh. Dean Winchester is not just holding an angel blade, it's an Archangel blade. He remembers his lost brothers, dead or caged, and realizes that God has given him a new start. He steps forward. "I'll help you, kiddo. I'll show you the ropes." With a wry grimace he adds. "C'mon little brother. We've got work to do."