Just in case you were on the fence about reading this comic, there are a couple of things you should know.
Will sell at cost, or trade at 2:1 for Supernatural panel ticket(s).
(The SPN tickets are not for me: I have friends who really really really want to go!)
I’m willing to trade my Alan Tudyk or Yvonne Strahovski ticket for a ticket to the Supernatural panel, too.
He can’t understand why it didn’t work, but he can’t bring himself to hit the books and figure it out.
Maybe Dean was right.
Maybe it’s better this way.
Dean’s gotta be at peace now. He’s…he’s gone. He’s gone and maybe it’s time to let him be gone. Maybe it’s time to stop the cycle. Let Dean be…
Let Dean be gone.
Slowly, Sam makes his way back to Dean’s room, and blows out a breath, hesitating before opening the door.
He’s expecting the body to be where he left it; for a sour smell to have settled over the room as Dean’s body cools off.
The smell is indeed sour, but not dead body sour.
It’s sulfur sour.
And instead of his big brother’s body lying prone on the bed, that body is sitting up, adjusting his boots and running a hand through his hair slowly.
Dean grins slowly and looks up. “Hey, Sammy.”
"But…but…you.." Sam’s voice breaks. "Dean. You were dead. You died."
Dean gives a low chuckle. “I got better.”