The Year is 2014
There was wreckage everywhere. The smell of smoke filled the air, filled the noses of the few remaining people. The Croatoan Virus had taken over, it and it seemed like everyone was dead. The stranger in white was right… Of course he was.
The man stumbled around the trash that littered the earth, around the dead bodies, around the random parts of limbs that someone had lost. His leather jacket was torn to shreds and lay miles behind him. His boots were scuffed to hell, splattered in blood that wasn’t human. The jeans he wore had scars and stains from previous fights, fights that didn’t even seem relevant at this point. His shirt clung to his back in sweat despite the cool breeze that brushed across his bare arms. A knife was gripped in his fist, and strange fluids dripped off of it. He brushed it off on his pant leg blindly, narrowly missing slicing the fabric open with the sharp blade.
Grass fluttered around him, and the man stumbled as he slid the knife into the holder he had stolen. He had lost everything when the car was destroyed. His precious car, the car that he had protected and saved from the brink of death a million times before. It wasn’t like he would be able to use it anyway. Gas wasn’t something that was easily available. He finally made it, though. Finally made it to the house that he only briefly lived in. To the house where it all began. The family had long since abandoned it, the paint long since peeled off. The wood was degrading, and he could see segments of the roof that caved in. The man slowly drew the gun that he had carried with him for years and cocked it, raising it up.
"Cas? Castiel! Cas, Cas talk to me." Deans knees were digging into the ground, the rocks stabbing his kneecaps. He either didn’t care or couldn’t feel it. His arms were wrapped around the angels body, his jacket soppy with blood from the demon he had just killed. There was distant screaming. Castiel coughed, the bright blue light of his grace spilling out from the fatal wounds that riddled his body.
"Castiel talk to me. Cas, please!"
"Dean…" Castiel groaned. Something growled, and Dean jumped up, pulling Cas into an alley way as fast as he could. His back was pressing into Deans chest, and Dean flinched every time Castiel did.
"Cas, c’mon man. Use your angel mojo. Heal yourself. Cas?"
"Dean, I can’t." Another cough. His entire body shuddered. His breathing became more labored with every second that passed.
"Cas, you can’t die on me. You can’t. I’ve already lost everyone; you can’t leave me, too!"
"I am sorry, Dean, I’m not strong enough."
"How did that demon even get ahold of an angel blade, huh? How is that possible?" Dean began to ramble as if to distract Castiel from dying. "Call out to someone. Pray to someone." He jerked his head up to the sky and yelled, forgetting he was supposed to be hidden. "Hey! Hey! Somebody. I need help! Please! I have one of your brothers…" Deans shouts faded as his face contoured into pain.
"No one is listening, Dean." The angel rasped, his arms hanging limply against Dean’s legs. His back was still pushing on Dean, his head almost lying on the hunters shoulder. Dean’s lips quivered. He couldn’t stand seeing him die. Not after his dad. Not after Bobby. Not after Sam said yes. Not after Charlie had her neck snapped. Not after Garth was possessed. Not after Kevin had his eyes burned out.
"Maybe if this was my grace…" Castiel began, but was cut off with a moan.
"Let’s find your grace. Can we find your grace? Meta—Metatron might still be alive. He has it, doesn’t he?" Castiel just stared at him, not bothering to hide the pain he felt in his eyes. "I’m sorry." Dean said as his eyes began to water. "I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough to save you Cas."
Castiels hand reached up shakily, and Dean took it in his own. Horror over took his entire body as he felt how weak his grip was.
"You will carry on, Dean." His eyes closed.
"Cas?" Dean felt the angels hand go slack. "Cas. Cas, no. Castiel say something!" His body arched, and a blinding light exploded from him. It lit up the entire ally way, filling every nook and cranny. Dean cried out and covered his eyes with his free hand. He waited a few seconds to lower it, not wanting to see the sight below him. Castiel’s body just laid, the angel that had brought life to it for years now dead and gone. Dean spoke his name one last time, tears spilling across his cheeks. His chest tingled, and Dean carefully laid Cas’s body on the ground.
Looking down, Dean let out a choked sound at what he saw. The majority of his shirt had been seared off where Cas had been. Two twin wing marks had been stained into his chest.
Thirty minutes later, after Castiel was given a proper hunters burial, Dean Winchester began walking.
The gun pressed into the underside of his chin, the cold of the metal not bothering the man in the least. He stared at the house for a few minutes, his face the stone of someone who lost everyone.
"I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough." He whispered, then fired.