Supernatural: Season Sixteen -- (the epilogue) - 1. Episode One: “The Premonition”

On the walls were mounted Dean's sawed-off shotguns. Around the room were strewn his cast-off clothes for the day. His jeans, his flannels, and his boots lay on the floor next to his bed where he slipped into an exhausted sleep. At the feet of the sleeping man lay his miracle dog, the newest member of Dean's family.

Each morning Dean would pull this dog close to him and kiss its head in some silly childlike gesture of delight. For the first time in his life, he actually felt he could be happy. Right now the pup let out an occasional whimper and flicked his ears, shifting his dark eyes back and forth as the sleeping man groaned and fidgeted under his light blanket. Miracle snuggled his sandy brown fur close to the man trying to comfort him during his disturbed sleep.

Dean dreamed. He dreamed of a spike impaled into his back. He dreamed of blood leaking into his internal cavities as he hung from the hook, him pleading for Sam not to leave him as he grew weaker from blood loss. He saw Sam's face ravaged with tears and grief as Dean confessed how much he loved him, how proud he was of him, how strong Sam was.

Dean knew how much he wanted to stay with Sam; he knew he couldn't have what he wanted. It was his time to go. He begged for Sam's permission to leave: “Tell me, tell me it's okay to go,” and his relief when Sam gave his consent: “You can go now.” Dean trusted Sam would have a good life without him in it. Just stay with him now for these last final moments.

He dreamed he died and had a Hunter's funeral. He dreamed he went to heaven. Bobby was there. His parents were there, and Castiel too. He only had to wait for Sam to arrive.

Tears rolled down the sleeping man's face as he gasped and finally awoke. His whole body shook. Miracle suddenly leaped from the bed and hunkered in a corner.

Dean felt a pressure weighing down the side of the bed behind him. He came to attention and rolled over to see a seated figure with long chestnut hair curling down its back. A woman's face turned toward him and said over her shoulder “Hello Dean. What were you dreaming about?”

“Amara,” Dean gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Dean jumped out of the bed. He wore black boxer briefs and a dark blue T-shirt. He grabbed his robe that was draped over a nearby chair and quickly slid it on.

Amara rose from the bed and faintly smiled at Dean's modestly as he tied the robe. This time her dress was golden, held up by thin straps. It shimmered with its own light. Her hair draped over her bare shoulders. Her red lips pursed with their own self-satisfaction.

“I brought you something,” she said. The faint smile still played around her lips. She lifted an eyebrow.

“What?” said Dean, looking around the room.

“Your dream.”

“That terrible dream I just had?” His voice had a tone of irritation in it. “Why would you do that? Just to terrorize me? Why would you make me dream about my own death?”

“It's not just a dream, Dean. It's a premonition.”

Dean took a deep breath and stepped back. The bed was still between them. He dropped his glance for a moment before looking into Amara's eyes.

“You mean,” Dean looked away and closed his eyes. “That's how I'm going to die? On some vampire hunt in some abandoned barn?” Dean nearly shouted, feeling outraged and a sense of injustice. “After everything that me and Sam fought for, that's my ending?” He felt tears welling up in his eyes. “We fought to be free from Chuck manipulating our lives.”

“Chuck is no longer writing your story,” said Amara. She moved to the foot of the bed to come toward him.

“Oh, so you've taken over Chuck's sick little narrative,” shouted Dean. “I should have known. Beings like you just can't stop playing with the lives of others.”

“That's not true,” said Amara. “You won your free will. I will not interfere.”

“Then how do you know my ending?” said Dean. “No one can read Death's book.”

“I can,” said Amara, “but Chuck could not.”

“How can that be?”

“When my brother caged me, Death came into existence. That's why I didn't know Death,” said Amara. “As the Darkness, Death would have been in my domain. When we separated, the universe that came into existence also divided. I became the Darkness, Chaos, the Female. Chuck became the Light, Creation, the Male.”

“And Good and evil?” said Dean.

“Good and evil are moral terms relative to your world. They don't exist for us, only unity, balance, and harmony, or division, instability, and discord.”

“So why is the world so filled with unhappiness and death and despair?” said Dean.

“That's how Chuck made it. He made it without balancing it with me. Then, he wanted to destroy the universe and start over. He needed me to cooperate with him. I refused. I got him to promise me balance, but he lied, as usual.”

“Why did you refuse?” said Dean. He calmed himself into a more subdued state. He kept his eyes on Amara as she slowly made her way toward him.

“I wanted to protect this world from him. Maybe because you were in it,” said Amara. “My attraction to you was real. Not some story my brother was writing.”

The two of them stood facing each other near the foot of Dean's bed. She's stepped forward, raising her hands to caress his face; to rub her fingertips over the stubble on his cheeks. Dean stepped back to avoid her touch.

“Do you no longer feel our connection?” she said. She brought her hands back to her breasts.

“We never had a connection.”

“We did. You never trust it. We will always have a connection, Dean. You released me. We both bore the same mark,” she said. “But I'm not the one you love.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean's voice was low, almost a whisper.

“Your angel, Dean, the one who confessed his love to you.”

“He did that to save me. I can't repay him for his sacrifice.” Dean's eyes became wet. He looked away from her, not wanting her to see the tears welling up in his eyes.

“You don't think his confession was real?” Her tone was almost accusatory.

“If it wasn't real, it wouldn't have summoned the Empty.” Dean's voice was low and soft. He looked down at a spot on the floor in front of him. “He sacrificed himself to save me. I didn't deserve it. He should have let Death take me instead.”

“And his love for you?”

“I don't deserve it.” Dean shook his head. He let his hands fall to his sides and turned his back to her.

“He offered it to you freely. Do you not feel the same way?”

“He's my friend. My big dumb friend. It hurts to lose him like that. But what can I do?” A tear finally fell from his eye. Dean was ashamed to let her see it. He quickly wiped it away.

“Would you like him returned to you?” said Amara.

“I would do anything to get him back,” said Dean. He turned to face her.

“There is always a way.” She spoke in a tantalizing voice, raising her eyebrows and turning the corners of her lips down.

“You mean ask Jack to bring him back? He said he wouldn't interfere.” He could have asked Jack when he had the chance, but something inside of himself told him that he wasn’t deserving. He had kept his silence.

“You don't need Jack. Not when you have God's sister.” Her eyelids widened momentarily and she gave him a sharp look.

“You're not angry at us for trying to kill you also?”

“That was Chuck's plan all along. He was simply manipulating you and Sam. He wanted us to die together so we would revert back to our origins and he could restart the universe. You finally managed to trick him with the one thing he couldn't know. His own ending.”

Dean felt relieved. He had harbored guilty feelings once he got past his anger. He was willing to sacrifice her to get at Chuck. God made a fool out of him again, when it finally sunk in that he was pulling another deception.

“How can you get Cas back?” said Dean. “Can you just walk in there and pull him out?”

“I can.”

Dean looked at her incredulously. His mouth fell open, just for a moment, before he closed it after a quick breath.

“I am so much more than what you see,” said Amara. She tilted her head sideways and smiled at Dean. “The Empty is the place of my birth. Chuck and I were born from the Empty. It is our ultimate home and the place of our origin. We were the fullness against the void of the Empty. Any place that Death can go, so can I.”

Dean was silent for several moments reflecting to himself, before he finally said, “What is the point of getting him back if I'm just going to die soon anyway?”

“Your dream was a view of the future,” said Amara. She reached out and placed her hands gently on Dean's shoulders. He didn't resist her this time. “But you have free will. Chuck is not writing your story anymore. You can change your future.”

Dean's face was pale and expressionless. “You mean I don't have to die like that?”

“No, Dean. Your future is open to be rewritten however you want it.” She's squeezed his shoulders. “You can even share your future with that angel who loves you.”

Dean’s eyes filled with tears. He let out a sob before he stifled it, and took several long breaths.

“But remember this,” said Amara. “If you change your future, you also change Sam's.”

Before Dean could respond, Amara vanished.

~~~

Dean couldn't sleep after Amara's visit. Miracle dog followed Dean to the galley of the bunker. He got a beer and then settled into a chair in the library with Miracle beside him. He opened his beer and took a long swallow.

Dean looked around at the books in the library and wondered what Sam would do without him. If his end came soon, how long would Sam stay here in the bunker? Dean was sure Sam would move on and stop hunting. He wanted Sam to leave the life. In his dream, Sam didn't appear to be hunting any longer. Dean felt relieved by that.

Dean reflected for a long time on what Amara had said. He heard Sam moving around in the halls quietly calling for him.

“Dean. Dean, there you are. What are you doing up? I saw you weren't in your bedroom.”

“I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep.” Dean continued to sip at his nearly empty beer.

“What's wrong?”

Dean looked at his little brother, who was wearing a T-shirt and sleep pants, and noticed just how handsome and grown-up he was, even with his hair disheveled from sleep.

“I had a bad dream,” said Dean.

“About what?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Come on Dean, don't keep things from me.” Sam sat down across from him at the table. Between them were the initials they carved in the tabletop. Sam gave Dean pleading puppy dog eyes to get Dean to share his feelings.

“I dreamed about how I was going to die,” said Dean in a voice that was cold and meant to be vicious.

“Come on, Dean. You have had dreams about stuff like that before. Why is it bothering you so much this time?”

“This time it wasn't just a dream. This time it was a premonition.” Dean almost growled.

“How do you know that?” Sam wasn't going to let Dean shove him away with his grouchy demeanor.

“Amara told me.”

“Amara was here in the bunker?”

“I also dreamed about you.” Dean let his voice soften. “After I died, you lived a long life. You got married. You had a son. You lead a normal happy life with a family. You lived to be an old man, and went to heaven.”

Sam was quiet for several moments, and then he said: “That is a nice dream, but Dean, I don't want you to die.”

“You don't understand.” Dean's voice was almost pleading. “Amara told me, if I change my ending, it also changes yours. I want you to have a long normal life. I'm willing to die for that Sam.”