The end of the world wasn't like what Dean thought it would be. They'd done their best - hell, they'd sacrificed everything - but they'd failed.

Castiel argued that they'd succeeded. He said the human race would grow back to its original size before they knew it. Of course, "before they knew it" was in angel time, not human time. It would take thousands of years before things returned to normal... or something like it.

But the demons lost. That was the important thing, Castiel reminded him. The demons lost.

So did the human race, Dean argued.

Castiel didn't seem concerned by this.

So here they were. The impala still ran perfectly, and for that at least Dean was thankful. And of course Sammy was still here. Sammy was safe. Dean was safe. They were together. That was really all that mattered. Fuck everyone else.

Still, on days like this, in the hot summer sun, driving through the empty streets of a nameless town, Dean wondered if they couldn't have done better.

"There's one," Sammy said, pointing out the window.

Dean slowly put on the brakes and looked at where Sammy was pointing. There was an old motel with lights on inside, and on each window and the front door, symbols painted in (what Dean hoped was) red paint. Demon repelling spells.

"Better check it out," Dean said, parking the impala. He grabbed shotgun from the backseat and hopped out. Sammy followed him towards the building, adjusting the cowboy hat he'd begun wearing a while ago, much to Dean's amusement. Still, he couldn't blame him. They were cowboys, in essence.

"Hunters, you think? Or well educated civilians?" Sammy asked, glancing at Dean as they approached the building.

"Doesn't matter," Dean said. "People are people."

Sammy nodded and they knocked on the front door, guns cocked.

They'd run into survivors now and then. Human beings always found a way to survive. Of course, finding other hunters was a problem. Everyone knew who Sammy was these days. The Anti-Christ was hard to mistake. The black eyes that never changed back after the last battle gave him away, even if the battle scars and cold air that seemed to radiate off of him didn't.

Saving people, hunting things... that was what they did. That's what they'd been raised to do, and they'd keep doing it, as long as there were people to save.

Dean kicked in the door when there was no reply and Sammy tensed. They were always ready for another fight.