Hope it's not to different from what you wanted. ----
It's just a little ironic that he dies at the hands of someone he was destined to kill.
Pain swells like drops of blood upon his lips, pale pale lips that crack and dry. Limbs grow cold and this death is the most painful of all the one's he's experienced before.
Hellhounds tearing at his skin, organs bursting in bloody explosions. Chains digging through his skin and dragging him under.
Shoe kicks at his face, head snaps to the side and he's breathing in black dirt.
"You're not all that special, just little vermin," he whispers in a voice so painful to hear. The sun lights behind him, blinding Dean to the man standing before him (he knows though).
"Sammy," he murmurs, a gasp of soil clogged air that thickens the blood rushing from his mouth.
He can remember when they died, each human funeral more painful than the last, until they have all gone and he is left alone in this galaxy, here in this empty, endless expanse of planets and stars. He is no stranger to loneliness but it hits him stronger now than ever before, more than he can mask beneath his Vulcan exterior. It hurts more than he has anticipated upon seeing them all together again. The pain grows as he watches them; it is like watching ghosts, distorted holovids of a past he can never have again, of a future that may never be theirs. They are not truly his and he knows this, but they are so similar, so strikingly familiar that he bites his tongue at the urge to acknowledge Uhura, at the habitual, if not fond, retort that springs to his lips the moment McCoy opens his mouth
( ... )
--- Chuck wrote the last words of the Winchesters as something like, “Together we fight,” or “Might as well go out swinging!” When in reality it was more along the lines of:
“Oh, Crap.”
“Told you, stupidest idea ever. EVER.”
“I couldn’t I have at least died with a double bacon chili-cheese burger in my mouth?”
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----
It's just a little ironic that he dies at the hands of someone he was destined to kill.
Pain swells like drops of blood upon his lips, pale pale lips that crack and dry. Limbs grow cold and this death is the most painful of all the one's he's experienced before.
Hellhounds tearing at his skin, organs bursting in bloody explosions. Chains digging through his skin and dragging him under.
Shoe kicks at his face, head snaps to the side and he's breathing in black dirt.
"You're not all that special, just little vermin," he whispers in a voice so painful to hear.
The sun lights behind him, blinding Dean to the man standing before him (he knows though).
"Sammy," he murmurs, a gasp of soil clogged air that thickens the blood rushing from his mouth.
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Pain swells like drops of blood upon his lips, pale pale lips that crack and dry
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(no wincest please)
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---
Chuck wrote the last words of the Winchesters as something like, “Together we fight,” or “Might as well go out swinging!” When in reality it was more along the lines of:
“Oh, Crap.”
“Told you, stupidest idea ever. EVER.”
“I couldn’t I have at least died with a double bacon chili-cheese burger in my mouth?”
But Chuck figured his words were more dramatic.
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