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It’s over.
No more apocalypse. No more fight. Chuck is gone. Jack is in charge. That goofy, amazing kid holds the reins to the universe, and he swears he will do nothing with it. And perhaps Dean should know better–after Chuck, after everything, Dean shouldn’t trust anyone with that power–but that’s Jack, that’s Castiel’s kid, and Dean finds he can do nothing but trust.
Jack rules in heaven. Free will rules on earth. Sam is alive and safe and happy, and somehow Dean is at least one of those things. It’s everything they ever fought for, everything they ever wanted, everything Dean spent fifteen years thinking could never come to pass, so why does he feel so–
Empty.
Dean paces in the bunker, restless and anxious for a reason he can’t explain. He knows they won. He repeats it in his head over and over, a litany to ground him and keep him sane. They won. No more apocalypse. No more fight. Chuck is gone. Jack is in charge. Sam is alive and safe and happy, and so Dean should be too.
It doesn’t matter that after that first apocalypse Dean believed the same thing, that they won. That was different. Sam was gone; there was no peace in that, as much as Dean tried to move on. This time, this apocalypse, it’s different. Chuck is gone. Jack is in charge. Sam is alive and safe and happy, and Dean is at least not dead.
Dean doesn’t know what to do. He lets his restless pacing take him to the kitchen, thinking to channel this nervous energy into something productive, some food, a pie maybe, but he opens the cabinets and opens the fridge and it’s all so–
Empty.
The keys to the Impala are on the counter, his leather jacket is hanging by the door, and then Dean’s driving into town, into the grocery store. The grocery store is teaming with life. Of course it is, because Chuck is gone. Jack is in charge. Sam is alive and safe and happy, and Dean is filling his grocery cart with anything that looks vaguely good, and definitely anything he can use to try to cobble together a pie.
Dean avoids the kids running through the produce section while he examines apples. He loads up with those Little Debbie snacks that Sam pretends to hate, but Dean knows he loves. He even grabs Eileen’s preferred cereal, because from the way Sam was plastered all over her face, Dean doesn’t think she’s going anywhere any time soon.
Which is good, which is right, because after everything Sam deserves to be happy. Someone should get to be happy.
Dean pulls his overly full cart to the check-out, watches the girl ring him up, and then slips his hand into his back pocket for his wallet and comes up–
Empty.
Fortunately he keeps a spare credit card in the glove compartment. He somehow convinces the check-out girl to hold his stuff while he runs out–there’s no line at the moment, despite the people everywhere in the store. Soon enough, Dean has the groceries paid for, and he’s back in the Impala driving to the bunker.
He spends the rest of the afternoon baking, filling the kitchen with warm aromas that exude home and safety. Apple pie. Snickerdoodle cookies. A chocolate cake, because why the hell not. It’s too much food, too much dessert for the three of them, but Dean doesn’t care. It’s just to give him something to do.
Sam and Eileen come out of their room for lunch–Dean made some burgers but of course Sam goes for the salad instead–and the two lovebirds eat and laugh. Dean tries to laugh along with them, but it’s feels fake and hollow and so–
Empty.
Lunch is over. Sam and Eileen head out–they told Dean why but it’s already slid from his mind like oil on top of water. Dean scarfs a piece of pie and a piece of cake like it might fill him, and then fills a bag with some cookies for the road. He takes the stairs out of the bunker two at a time, as he reminds himself it’s over. They won. Chuck is gone. Jack is in charge. Sam is alive and safe and happy, and Dean doesn’t ask himself why he isn’t too. He knows why Sam gets to laugh and live after the win, and he does not.
It’s just like after the first apocalypse. Sam was in the cage, Sam was trapped, and Dean was trying to live, trying to move on, trying to be happy, but how could he when Sam was with Lucifer?
And that was the shit deal always dealt to Dean Winchester. He won the apocalypse, again, but it always came with a price, one that is too high, one that he would never pay. It’s team Free Will, and no one ever gives Dean Winchester the fucking choice. Sam just throws himself in the cage, and Castiel–
Dean cuts that thought short as he slides into the Impala. Then he drives. She’s the only thing that centers him, that allows him to focus, to forget for a moment the yawning void inside his soul. He drives with no destination, with no purpose. Tries not to think of everything he lost, except maybe the Impala was the wrong place to go. He can’t stop listening for the flutter of wings. When he glances in the rear view mirror, he expects to see blue eyes looking back at him. Instead, of course, the back seat is–
Empty.
He drives and drives, only the radio for company. His phone rings a few times, but Dean doesn’t want to talk to Sam. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He wants to drive. He wants to focus. He wants to remind himself that it’s over. They won. Chuck is gone. Jack is in charge. Sam is alive and safe and happy, and maybe it doesn’t matter that Dean feels dead inside.
Dean’s died before. He’s been to hell; he’s been to purgatory. Hell, he’s even been to heaven. But this is life, and that makes it worse. Life isn’t supposed to feel like death.
It takes him hours to realize where he is going. Hours until he pulls up to an old barn in the middle of nowhere. The barn looks like how he feels: old, weathered, and–
Empty.
Dean parks the Impala, leaves everything in the car, and walks in the barn. The old spray painted sigils have faded. It’s been over a decade since Dean and Bobby put down everything they knew trying to stop what they thought was a demon. Dean feels like it’s been longer, like an eternity or two has passed in the meantime.
In the middle of a barn, in the middle of nowhere South Dakota, Dean lets himself break. He falls to his knees and he screams. It’s anger. It’s grief. It’s just so fucking unfair. Dean has given everything for this fucking world, everything to save it and others time and time again, and it’s just unfair that the cost is always so high.
He doesn’t even have Jack anymore. The kid is in heaven. Yes, he’s in control, but what matters is he’s not here. Dean didn’t even get to keep that piece of Castiel, didn’t even get to keep that ridiculous kid who Dean came to love.
It’s over. They won. Chuck is gone. Jack is in charge. Sam is alive and safe and happy, and Dean is so fucking alone.
The scream ends. Dean slumps forward, prostrate in the middle of the barn, and he doesn’t know what to do.
“Cas,” Dean says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His throat hurts, his voice raw. “Please.”
There’s no answer. Of course there is no answer. Because Cas isn’t here. He’s in the–
Empty.