Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.

Epilogue

11 years later

Sometimes Dean wondered what the point of it all really was. It had been almost a year. Three hundred and forty-seven days to be exact, but hey, who was keeping track?

Dean sure was.

He didn't understand how three hundred and forty seven days could feel a hundred times longer than the seven thousand three hundred and something days they were together. Marah had come into Dean's life like a tsunami.

In the way that you notice the small things first, like the tide receding slowly. Just like he had when she agreed to go off and talk with him that first day. You notice the small things, recognizing that they might be signs on an impending disaster, but you ignore them. He had thought of how nice she was, how caring, and Dean had latched onto her. Though, once you really pay attention to the signs, you realize that you're in danger, but there's nothing you can do. He had tried to say goodbye, tried to let her go, but Dean couldn't do that. He thinks he had already loved her way back then. He just hadn't known it yet. Then she swept over him, washing away everything that was there, his previous thoughts on love and commitment. She was there when he got back from Hell. She went with him and Sam on hunts, she helped out, she never complained. Dean never thought he'd cheat on her. Not once. And she never left him.

Just like after the great wave, new life grew when it was over. Dean was happy, even in the darkest of times he knew she'd be there. Marah would help him, she would save him, stand by his side until the end.

But rebuilding always has its rough patches, and their relationship was no different. They got into fights and they had their disagreements. Dean and Marah had some big fights too. Screaming at the top of their lungs at each other, to the point where Sam would be clamping a pillow over his ears. Sometimes Dean would storm out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him, the sound echoing throughout the whole motel. Marah would either continue to be angry after he left, and rant to Sam, or she'd regret her words and start crying. Sam would comfort her then too, telling her she was right if he agreed, or trying to explain where his older brother was coming from. Dean always came back though, the longest he ever stayed away after a fight was four hours.

Dean didn't know what to compare her leaving too. An anaconda maybe?

That hunt a year ago in Wichita Falls. A simple exorcism gone completely to Hell.

"Dean!" Marah screamed as she watched the dark haired demon crouched over her husband, a blade in her hand. The pistol was out in a flash, the bullet finding it's mark in the bitch's head.

It was useless. Marah knew it would be, but it got the demon's attention away from Dean. "You little-" The demon didn't finish her sentence, stalking towards Marah for a few steps before thrusting her hand towards her, her palm open.

Being thrown through a brick wall was something Marah had never experienced before. Being electrocuted over and over again with a snap of someone's fingers was also new.

And so, so painful.

There wasn't anything Castiel could do. His grace was there, keeping him alive, but subdued. He couldn't heal someone who was in Marah's condition. Cas could make her comfortable; stop some chills, reduce her fever, keep the nightmares at bay. But he couldn't do much else.

Dean had taken her home after only a week in the ICU. He had told the doctors he understood there wasn't much that could be done, but he knew his wife would rather die at home than in a damn hospital.

Two weeks at the Bunker in Lebanon, Kansas. Two weeks of Dean refusing to leave her side. Of Dean supporting her up when she vomited, of Dean coaxing water past trembling lips, and humming to her while stroking her hair to keep her calm.

He memorized the signs of when she was about to get sick, of when she was having a nightmare. He knew what she wanted before she even tried to ask for it.

Sam would come down to their room late at night sometimes, and look in to see his brother sitting by her bedside. Dean would be holding her hand in both of his, eyes trained over her still face. He'd tell her stories, sing to her, and tell her what he thought about the world. He'd never stop talking to her in a hushed whisper.

He said goodnight, he said good morning, he told her what he had for lunch. "So you don't have to bitch to me about not eating." He'd explain to her, as if to explain himself. As though he was still hoping she'd pull through.

Dean would plaster a smile on his face when she was awake. Glazed over eyes struggling to focus on anything in front of them. But once her mind caught up with where she was, she tried her hardest to stay awake.

"Hey, baby, yeah it's me. It's Dean. Come on now, I wanna see those pretty eyes of yours, that's my girl. Stay awake for me, please stay awake for me."

Though in the end, even though they all knew it was coming, none of the boys were prepared. Not even Castiel, who could sense each heartbeat in the Bunker at once. The angel could feel her heart getting weaker and weaker with each beat. He could feel her blood cells loosing the futile fight of trying to heal her. He should have been more prepared, but he wasn't.

It had been Castiel who told Dean when she had an hour left.

Dean had let Carter say goodbye to his mother. The little boy telling his mother how much he loved her one last time as tears rolled down his little cheeks. He had told her how much he would miss her singing, and how Daddy never sang along to the movies like she did. Carter told her how he'd miss her pancakes, how he'd miss her tucking him in at night. He told his mom how he'd miss those weekends when it would just be them and Daddy and they'd go somewhere. Just the three of them.

And then the little boy had climbed up onto the edge of the bed, putting his mouth right by her ear and whispering to his mom how he'd try and be strong for Daddy, because she had told Carter that sometimes even Daddy needs people to be strong for him.

Sam had taken the sobbing boy away then, leaving just Dean alone with her. As soon as the door closed, Dean couldn't fight the tears. They rolled freely down his cheeks. He held her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as he told her how much he loved her.

"I never really understood why you stayed. How you could put up with me, but I'm sure glad you do. You helped me, made me the happiest man in the world. You made Sammy happy too; you made us all a family Marah."

Twenty minutes left of her life, and Dean managed to fit beside her on the bed. He lifted her up slightly, resting her head on his chest like she always had when they slept, and held her hand. His arm around her boney shoulders, he buried his face in her hair.

When Dean started to sing 'Hey, Jude' softly to her, she managed to weakly squeeze his hand. Dean had looked down at her, but her eyes were still closed, he had pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and kept singing.

She was gone before he finished the song. He knew. He could feel it in his soul.

Upstairs, tears made their way down Castiel's face, and the sight was enough to tell Sam she was gone.

"She's gone Carter." He had whispered to the boy in his lap, and then had let him cry into his shirt as tears rolled down Sam's face as well.

They all tried to ignore the sobs they could hear coming from downstairs.

Dean still cried some days. Given, they were few and far between now, but it still happened.

The hunting had gone down a lot for him as well. Dean just didn't feel like it, didn't get the same rush or excitement out of it as he used too. He tried, went out on a hunt with Sam a few months after she passed, but it was just different.

Every time he turned, he expected her to be there. Expected her to ask the follow up questions. Expected her to run up with a smile on her face, saying she'd figured out what they were dealing with.

But she never did. Because she wasn't there. She wasn't even waiting back at home, like she always was when just he and Sam went out. She was dead. She didn't exist anymore. And Dean felt so alone.

Dean didn't admit it out loud, but Sam had caught him a few times. Walked in on Dean calling her phone, just so he could listen to her voicemail. Just to hear her voice. Sam had confronted him about it too.

"I don't think it's helping you, Dean." Sam told him, starring down at his older brother, who held the old flip phone in his hand.

"I just gotta-"

"It's not healthy man." He interrupted, and Dean let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"This is the last time, dude, okay? I promise."

It wasn't though, and Sam knew his brother still had the phone. He still kept it charged. He still looked at all the pictures almost every day.

Dean just didn't want to forget.

"Dad?" The sound of Carter's voice brings Dean back to the present. The twelve-year-old boy is used to seeing his father zone out sometimes. It doesn't happen as much as it used to, but he knows his father is thinking of his mother.

Even at twelve, Carter was almost up to Dean's shoulder. Blonde hair, slightly darker than Dean's, was a mop on the top of his head. Green eyes, still brilliant and mirroring his own, gazed at Dean from underneath the doorway.

"Hey, buddy." Dean grinned at his son. His reason for living. Carter was why he kept going, kept on pushing himself to not give up. He opens his arms, and Carter walks across the wooden library floor to hug his dad.

If it weren't for his son, Dean doesn't know what he'd do.

"When'd you get up?" Carter asks, looking up at Dean.

"Few hours ago, Sam called and needed some info. That wraith is proving to be nastier than he'd first thought." Carter just nodded. He knew about monsters and demons and angels.

It was hard to ignore when your father was turned into a demon and had the Mark of Cain.

"He'll be home in a few days though, right?" Carter asks, his arms still around Dean.

"Should be back by tomorrow night, if it all goes smoothly." Dean explains, running a hand over the boy's head gently, "You hungry?"

"You feel okay, Dad?" Carter asks, not answering Dean's question.

"Yeah," Dean looks confused, "Of course." He crouches down, his hands on Carter's shoulders so he's eye level with his son. "Why'd you ask?"

"You were just kinda out of it, when I walked in."

"Nah, I'm fine." Dean lies, plastering a grin on his face.

"I miss'er too Dad." Carter tells him, and Dean swallows the lump in his throat.

"I was that obvious, huh?" Dean chuckles slightly, and Carter just nods.

"It's okay to be sad still, shows how much you love her." If Dean read the words, he'd bet money that Marah had said them herself. But it's Carter who tells him this, because Dean's wife is dead, and their son inherited her knack for justifying everything in the world.

"Thanks," Dean says, and Carter gives his dad a soft smile.

"Uncle Cas says Mom's in heaven." Carter tells Dean, hopping up to sit on one of the long wooden tables.

"Yeah, she is." Dean grins.

"You think she's watching out for us, Dad?" Carter's voice is hopeful as he looks at his father. Dean's features soften as he thinks it over.

"Why didn't you run?" Dean half shouted at Marah, his shoulders rising as he let out a breath. "I was a fucking demon, I almost killed you!"

"But you didn't." Marah pointed out calmly from her spot on the other side of the table. Dean's arm was out a moment later, the lamp flying off the table and shattering into thousands of tiny pieces on the floor. "Dean!"

"I almost killed you, Marah! You should've run! Gotten as far away from me as possible!"

"I'm not leaving you, Dean!" her voice was rising now. "You're good now, we're good now. And like it or not, it's not just Sam's job to look over you. It's mine too."

"Yeah," Dean said with a sigh, a smile gracing his lips for the first time in days. "I bet she always is."