36. "I'm Proud of Us."

I'm an outsider when I get to the homeless encampment. I can smell the fires they make and the stench that clings to their bodies. Could be a natural scent. I'm armed with my batons, ready to defend myself from a mob of homeless that decide to defend Metatron.

Any eyes that find me, they step out of my way, like I'm some disease. Some who wander in my path scurry along, as though they fear they're my prey. Wake up soon, Sam. I might need you. I don't know what I'm going into.

I move through the encampment, my eyes focused on the warehouse behind it. That has to be where Metatron and Dean are. Metatron wouldn't be hiding amongst his loyal, duped subjects. At one point, my eyes linger on a blood spot on the ground. I don't think too much about it.

I find an open way into the warehouse, and I make everything go mute. My ears open, trying to listen for any subtle noises that will give me a direction. I sidestep, turning my back as I hear something. I breathe, realizing it's just a noise. I move on.

The deeper I creep into this warehouse, a frown etches onto my face. Do I have the wrong place? Am I too late? Did the fight happen and I missed it? Don't give up until you search every inch of this place. Feeling determined, I carefully scope out my surrounding area.

It's not until I hear something that I start heading in the noise's direction. I search more frantically now, looking for signs of a body, alive or dead. I don't want to hear screams of pain, but if I do, I want them to be Metatron's.

While I'm searching, my mind goes back briefly to Cas and Gadreel. How are they faring?

At hearing something that sounds like a body dropping to the floor, I trot towards the source. Behind what cover I have, I can just barely make out two figures. They have to be who I'm looking for. I peek around a corner, just catching a glimpse of a smaller figure and a taller one. The taller one is on the ground, the smaller one is on his wrist, probably talking to him.

Dean. Metatron. My grip tightens on my batons. Time to play hero.

"Hey, ass-hat!" I bellow, stepping from the shadows.

I don't like what I'm seeing. Metatron is beating Dean to a pulp. Dean, who is covered in his own blood, being wailed on by the Scribe of God.

Somehow, I get Metatron's attention. Boy, he sure like theatrics. Posing as one of the homeless to get on their side. God, does he look pathetic. Metatron hits Dean one more time before backing off.

"And who are you supposed to be, Buffy?"

I crack my neck. "I'm your worst fucking nightmare." I step under the dim lighting of the warehouse.

"That's supposed to scare me?" I want to punch that smirk right off his face. "What makes you think you're so tough?"

I dangle my batons at my sides. "I'm a Winchester. Hunting monsters like you is in my blood."

"Ooh, I'm so scared!"

"You really should be." And I charge for him.

Metatron doesn't shove me away like I expect with some angel juice. He lets me get to him, but he blocks one of my arms. I grit my teeth and kick him away. I have to keep him away from Dean. If I buy him enough time, Dean can end Metatron and end this whole angel civil war.

"You don't know what you're dealing with," Metatron hisses at me.

"Then show me!" I dare him, striking him across the face with a baton. I wish his head had come off with the swipe. "Don't make this easy!"

"Whoever said that was my intention?"

I'm lifted off my feet by a strong, invisible battering ram. I fall onto my back and have Metatron all over me before I can gather my bearings. My mouth throbs as it gets his fist thrown at it. I kick at him and whack him with the baton in the face again.

"That's more like it," I hiss, using his daze to get to my feet. I go in, swinging at Metatron with all my might.

I gasp as I feel something slice at me. When did he pull that out? Metatron has an angel blade now. Shit. Now, we engage in the true gladiator battle. I've got a slight advantage in weaponry, but Metatron has the advantage simply because he has Grace on his side. And his isn't borrowed like Cas's is.

Metatron does everything to distract me. I keep retreating while he swings the blade wildly at any part of me that's exposed. He nearly scrapes my cheek and nearly takes out one of my eyes. I get a few hard hits against him, which send him stumbling back. Blood leaks from his mouth and bruises are starting to form on his face.

I growl, feeling the rage inside. He's not coming out of this alive. I won't let him. I yell and charge for him. I aim a swing at his face, but by the time I blink, I'm swinging at empty air. I scream in outrage, spinning around feverishly.

"Coward!" I holler in the warehouse. I feel like a raging bull. "Fight me like a real monster!"

I don't scream as I feel it. The pain registers much faster than I expect. The shock makes me drop my weapons. They loudly clatter to the warehouse floor. I look down and see a red, sharp tip sticking out from my stomach.

I let out a whine as the blade gets ripped out of me. A harsh hit from the side sends me reeling, bleeding, onto the warehouse floor. Metatron stands over me, with the blood-covered blade. I cover my wound with my hand, looking at my weapons that are closer to him than me. He can end me right here.

But he doesn't. Instead, he goes for Dean. Despite the intense pain, I start crawling for my batons. He can't get Dean. I watch with petrified eyes. Dean is slumped against a wall, on the ground. He's got the First Blade in hand.

But it doesn't matter. I scream in agony as Metatron slams the blood-covered blade into my brother's chest.

In the midst of my screaming, I hear someone else scream. Sam.

I'm shaking, in pain, bleeding out, watching as Dean keels over onto the floor. No. No, no, no, no, no...

I grunt, watch as Sam goes to Dean, gets him sitting up. I don't hear what they're saying, the blood is pounding too loudly in my ears. Red is on the floor around me, I can't staunch the bleeding. I completely ignore Metatron in the warehouse. I'm more worried about Dean than anything else.

"No," I rasp, somehow managing a sitting position. Sam has Dean back up against the wall, showered in his own blood. I can almost see the life leaving Dean with each passing second.

For a second, I think I'm the one shaking, but then Sam and Dean look around. Something's causing the place to tremble. I collapse and roll onto my back, still seeing Metatron in my vision. Douchebag. I want to get up and kill him, but Sam tries to, charging with his own blade. But by the time he gets to where Metatron once was, the Scribe of God has disappeared.

I crawl towards my brothers, see Sam trying to press a cloth to stop Dean's chest bleeding. My God.

"Sammy," Dean rasps. I sob. He sounds so defeated. "You got to get out of here before he comes back. You and Jo both."

"N-no," I grunt, remaining on all fours.

"W-why, Jo-Jo?"

"Shh," Sam tells Dean in a panic. "Shh. Shh. Shh. Shut up. Shut up. Just save your energy, all right? Oh, man. We'll stop the bleeding. We'll—we'll get you a doctor or—or I'll find a spell. You're gonna be okay."

"Listen to me. It's better this way."

"No!" I moan. "Dean, s-shut up." I cough.

Dean gasps. "The Mark. It's making me into something I don't want to be."

At last, he sees it. He admits it.

"Don't worry about the Mark," Sam insists. "We'll figure out the Mark later, all of us. Just hold on, okay? Get you some help. Can you stand, Jo?" Sam's eyes bug as he sees the red on my clothes. "He got you too..."

I wave Sam off. "I'll manage. Help Dean."

I sway as I get on my feet. I grab the batons, but they feel like lead weights all of a sudden. Sam gets Dean's arm over his shoulder, grabbing his waist, and heaves him upwards. Dean moans in pain.

Together, the three of us stumble towards the exit of the warehouse. Half of the time, Sam keeps slowing our progress because he's too busy hovering over me. My blood is pounding in my ears, and it's taking all of my concentration to keep focused. Don't pass out. Keep going.

"What happened with you being okay with this?" I hear Dean tell Sam.

"I lied."

"Ain't that a bitch? Sam. Hold up. Hold up."

Sam sets our brother on a piece of equipment. I take this time to let my knees buckle. I hunch over, and when I pull myself back up, vertigo hits. Through my vision, I can see a fresh coat of blood is all over Dean's mouth.

"I got something to say to you, to the both of you," he murmurs.

Sam tries to hold Dean up. "What?"

Dean's hand rests on Sam's shoulder, and I crawl close enough to grab his other hand. The tears are falling and I can't stop them. I can see it, the fade in his green eyes. But I'm not ready to let him go. He's gotta hang on. He has to.

"I'm proud of us." Dean's hand moves to Sam's face.

But the hand doesn't last long. It drops from Sam's face, and I feel a slacked grip in my hand. I look down then up at Dean's face. He's not blinking, and I don't see him breathing. The dread suffocates me.

"No," I cry, letting the shakes take over. "No, Dean..."

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam panics. "Hey, wake up, buddy." Dean doesn't respond to anything that Sam does. I rest back on my knees, feeling my heart tear in two. "Hey. Dean. Dean!" Sam's got our brother's face in his hands. Even that doesn't help.

We lost him.

**Jesus fricking Christmas. [dabs eyes] Frick, that hurts, and I bloody wrote that.

I share your pain, angels. I truly do. I knew this chapter was going to tear me apart from the inside. I knew it. And it did. It ruined me. It broke me.

Just like the episode broke us all.**