The Last Winchcester

Chapter 1

The hot sun beat down, reflecting off the black roof of a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. The man inside was speeding, tyres kicking up dust as he went. Soon, a large barn appeared in the distance, wavering in the heat. Parking about a mile away from it the man got out and walked round to the other side of the car. He stared at the empty seat which once held his brother, remembering how they would laugh and sing along to old rock songs, Sam shaking his head at his ridiculous brother. Now, the seat was taken up by a gun. A gun with a single bullet, with a single purpose. To kill.

Gripping it in his hands, Dean walked. One foot in front of the other. Marching, just like a soldier. Daddy's little soldier. Images rolled through his head, his dad, dead. His mum, dead. Sammy.
Dead.
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Sprawled out on the ground, blood soaked his hair and coated his clothes. Crusting over his nose and lips. His legs had been bent the wrong way round, arms cut and beaten till he begged for mercy. And he hated every second of it. For Dean had to watch while his brother was brutally tortured, then murdered in front of him. He had tried to break away from his bonds but the harder he pulled the tighter they got, until they cut into his wrists. All the while Sam had been whispering to him, as if the effort that it took him to speak was too much and his lungs might collapse in on themselves. "It's going to be alright," his voice was horse and low from screaming. "Hey, Dean, we're going to be okay. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Dean had yelled at him, told him not to be so stupid but Sammy kept murmuring quietly to him.
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Dean was on the ground, face pressed against the hot earth. Tears burning
his cheeks. He crushed the dirt in his fingers and screamed. It just wasn't fair. He was the one who had screwed up, not Sammy. He should have listened, and now, someone he loved had paid for it.
He cocked the pistol and stared at it. It glinted up at him mischievously, almost daring him to do it. Dean took one last look around him, nothing but dirt and dust and shrubbery for miles. His eyes swept back to the barn. There was figure in the doorway, staring at him.
Dean stood.
The person moved forwards, Dean stepped backwards. The man stopped at stared at Dean. Recognition passed over the last Winchesters face.
"Cas?"
"Hello, Dean."
"Cas, jesus christ, man, you scared the crap out of me."
"My apologies. Dean, what are you doing? Don't do this."
"I can't, I can't do this anymore Cas. With my mother gone, Sammy-" Dean stopped, the thought still brought bile to his throat.
"There's nothing for me here anymore, Cas."
"Dean. I'm here. You can always call on me."
Dean smiled sadly, softly, "Sure thing, thanks buddy."
Cas returned the smile and held out his arms for Dean.

The younger man walked forward, he whimpered slightly, tears threatening to cascade down his face. Dean took one more step towards the angel, he was almost touching him now, he leaned in, and-
Nothing.
Cas was gone.
"Cas?" He whispered out into the stillness, "Cas!?"
Then, the pictures, the memories. How he hated the memories. The trench coat drenched in the angel's blood. His body, bent and broken, red spots flecked his face and dyed his hair a sick shade of red. Cas was gone, never coming back.
No one gets close to Dean Winchester and lives.
Dean screamed, in agony and pain, with all his pent up feelings, he screamed and screamed until his lungs burst and his throat was sore and his voice hoarse and devoid of all emotion.

He picked up the pistol. Finger resting on the trigger, he placed the cold merciless weapon against his forehead.
He listed the people who had died because of him.
1. His bastard of a father
2. His mother, beautiful and pure
3. His brother, strong but young
4. His angel, the one he loved. The only one. And he would never get to tell him.

Four unforgivable things. He pulled the trigger,

Click

Bang!

Crash...