A New Kind of Life

By

Alobear

Summary: The last scene of Do You Believe In Miracles (Season 9 finale) from Dean's point of view.

Category: Sort of slash – Dean/Crowley

Author's Note: This snippet has been lurking in the back of my head since the season nine finale first aired, so I thought I'd better write it down. After being less than enthused by the season as a whole, the ending just blew me away and suggested lots of interesting new ideas to my twisted brain. It could easily be read without the slash overtones, but I thought I'd label it Crowley/Dean because that's how I saw it as I wrote it, and I'd rather be up front about it than risk accusations of mis-labelling. Read it how you will!

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Dean floated in darkness, unable to feel his body, unaware of any physical surroundings at all. He couldn't remember anything; where he was, what he had been doing, how he had ended up wherever here was.

Then, he slowly became aware of a voice speaking nearby. It sounded familiar to him and he strained to make out the words.

"Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak. Make a deal, bring you back. It's exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It's all become so... expected."

Dean struggled to make sense of what was being said. The cadence of the words brought to mind an image of a man, someone who awoke an intense surge of jumbled feelings deep inside Dean's chest. But he couldn't remember who the man was, couldn't link the image and the feelings to solid facts.

"You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on the Mark of Cain, I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really."

The Mark of Cain. At the mention of this, a sharp, burning pain suddenly blazed along Dean's arm, bringing with it more images; images of violence, accompanied by stabs of rage and ecstasy. He saw himself doing things, terrible things that filled him with a fierce joy. Some of them felt as though they might have happened recently, but others spoke to deeper memories and a time and place long ago and far away. He felt that place calling to him, calling him home to its fiery embrace, and he started to drift towards it.

But the voice brought him back. It had a quiet insistence that demanded his attention, and so he listened.

"I mean, I might not have told you the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental."

The sound of his name brought Dean even closer to the surface. He wanted to hear it again, from this voice that both repulsed and attracted him. The image of the man grew clearer; a smirk playing across thin lips, a sardonic glint in dark eyes.

"But...there is one story about Cain that I might have... forgotten to tell you. Apparently, he, too, was willing to accept death, rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the Blade."

The pain flared again along Dean's arm at the mention of the Blade. He felt a deep yearning, as though there was something missing from his hand. He wanted to fight, to maim, to kill. It was what he was good at. It was what he was born for. And now he felt, more than ever, that he was equipped to do it well. The voice continued.

"He died. Except, as rumour has it, the Mark never quite let go. You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation?"

Dean felt his heart stutter, as if the owner of the voice could command his very life force to do his bidding. Dean wanted to respond, to let the man know he was listening and that his words were reaching their mark. The darkness was receding. He was coming truly back into himself.

"It wasn't until you summoned me... No, it wasn't truly until you left that cheeseburger uneaten...that I began to let myself believe. Maybe miracles do come true."

Dean felt a presence close by him, and then the sensation of someone placing something in his hand. His skin prickled at the touch of another hand, and then he felt a surge of completeness as the Blade found its home and was brought up gently to rest against his chest. His senses flooded back into him; he felt the weight of his own body on a soft surface, the whisper of air across his face, the sound of someone moving nearby. But everything was slightly off kilter. He felt different, but couldn't quite put his finger on how.

"Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now - it's not death. It's life - a new kind of life."

The sound of his name jolted through him again and, with it, came the memory of the fight with Metatron; the pain of the angel blade piercing his chest, Sam's desperation and his own acceptance. He had died and come back – again. But the voice was right; this time it was different.

"Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon."

Dean opened his eyes to find Crowley gazing down at him.

Crowley looked different. Dean felt different, looking at him. Everything was going to be different now.

Crowley looked down, Dean looked up, and they both smiled.

THE END