Today is a week until Dean Winchester's birthday. So I'm going ahead and starting to post the chapters of this fiction so I can post the last one of the 24th.
This fic is in honor of the amazing character who has been brought to life by Jensen Ackles...but who also lives in our hearts. Thank you Dean for teaching us so much about selfless love, true brotherhood, and sacrificing everything for what's right. Showing us the humility it takes to be a hero, how to always keep fighting...what it's like to fall so far and yet rise back up to the greatest of heights. But most of all thank you for teaching us what it is to be WINCHESTER.
The Man Who Dean Is
Chapter .1.
It was Dean's birthday. The sun rose and bathed the cold earth in a warm glow. Not that this mattered from within the bunker. Sam stood in the doorway of his brother's bedroom, doing what Dean would have called his creepy stalker stare. Dean was snoring his way through a serious hangover.
Sam frowns.
Drunk and hungover on his birthday. It wasn't like Dean forgot, they had discussed plans the night before for that evening. Sam had found proof of his brother's binge in the library sitting on the table; a shot glass and a tall empty bottle of fine whiskey. He hadn't even tried to cover his tracks.
"You...drunk!" Sam mutters, for lack of better insult.
Dean mumbles and rubs the side of his face deeper into his pillow. Sam marvels at the peaceful and guilt free slumber Dean is enjoying. Sam never slept good after getting drunk. He felt awful and irresponsible, and slept poorly. AND had a killed hangover. Not Dean, oh no. Dean's body was perfectly adapted and accustomed to alcohol and its effect. Dean drank for those simple affects...good rest, forgetfulness.
Sam supposes there's no reason Dean should especially want to celebrate his birthday, but he couldn't really think of a reason not to. Sure as kids they had never had any really good birthdays, but he didn't remember any REALLY bad ones. Hunters could always celebrate surviving one more year.
Sam sat in the chair at the desk and contemplated his brother. Dean Winchester. 6 feet, 2 inches, 190lbs. A lot of man. Sam was bigger, but then, Sam was REALLY big. Dean lay sprawled in the very center of his bed. He wore nothing more than jeans and thick wool socks. The blanket was pulled over his legs and torso. He looked young and carefree. Not at all the hardened killer, Sam knew he could be. Not at all the drunk he was at the moment.
Sam found himself looking back on his brother's life. What were the moments that made Dean Winchester than man he was? The selfless brother, the faithful friend, the fearless warrior. Sam thought uneasily about all the holes in Dean's past that he still knew nothing about. The two years he was in Stanford, the years he was a baby, when he was too wrapped up in school and puberty to pay Dean any mind.
He thought sickly that during the two years he was at Stanford Dean began to solo hunt. All the dangers and disasters he had been open to were nauseating, and Sam knew nothing of what had taken place. John had abandoned him...Sam had abandoned him...to add to Sam's distress Dean had admitted he spent most of his younger years raising and protecting Sammy. By sixteen he was almost extensively hunting with his father, and helping with the research.
Sam could think of many moments over the last ten years that had shaped his brother's character, but who was the man that came before? The man that came for him at Stanford, the man who was willing to let him go back just so he would be happy? Who was the man that blindly followed their father out of love and loyalty? Who was the man that worshipped, lived by the memory of his mother? Where did this loyal, loving, ruthless being originate? Who was this man with the expert mask covering the soft, hurting, guilty conscience and heart.
Sam couldn't always see that man, even though he lived with him twenty-four-seven, and was rarely apart from him. It took a lot to peel all the layers back to get to the original Dean, and most of the time it took surreal pain. But as Dean slumbered Sam saw that man, that character, that being that had been present since Mary had birthed her first son. What infinite love, Sam thought.
What infinite sorrow.
Sam almost couldn't handle the burden of the revelation into his brother's soul. He felt tears coming to his eyes, a trembling come to his hands. The number one thing he saw reflected from his brother's soul on his face was pain. His walls dropped and restraints loosened Sam saw what kept his brother tense and closed up all the time. He drank so he could sleep peacefully while his body enjoyed a reprieve from all the strain it took to hide it, to suffer through that pain.
Another year yet alive, another year of pain to bear. No wonder Dean drank. Sam sat numbly watching his brother for a long while. Sam loved his brother, he knew he was Dean's world. He always hoped he brought joy and contentedness to Dean's life. It always hurt him at the times when it was made obvious to him that he could never truly give Dean peace.
He broke from his daze as Dean stirred and threw an arm over his face and stretched, free arm stretching way over his head. He moaned and then froze; the hand thrown over his head slipped under the pillow. Sam thought too slowly to warn his brother it was just him before he got shot. Lucky for him, Dean moved the arm from his face and peered at the supposed threat.
Dean groaned and threw his head back into the pillow.
"Damnit, Sammy," he rubs a hand over his face. "I could have shot you." He looks around to find a reason for Sam's presence.
"You were doing it, weren't you?" He asks, voice more gravelly from sleep.
"What?" Sam asks innocently, spreading his hands.
"Doing that creepy stalker stare, WHILE I'M ASLEEP. It's not natural, Sam."
Sam smirks as Dean props himself up on his elbows,"How're you feeling?" He half hopes Dean is sick for getting drunk after he went to bed.
"I'm fine," Dean returns standardly, he gives Sam an upraising look. "Why're you asking?"
"You should have a killer hangover, Dean." He answers. "A whole bottle, really?"
Dean falls back onto the bed and rubs both hands over his stubbly jaw. "Its my birthday Sam, save the sermon for tomorrow."
"I don't really feel like waiting, Dean," Sam growls.
"Well, at least wait until my birthday's over," Dean grumbles.
"Alright," and Sam couldn't help but smile, "12:00 tonight."
"Agreed," Dean mutters from under his arms which are protecting his eyes from the light.
"So are we still going out tonight, or are you gonna be..." Sam watches as Dean sits up, feet hanging off the end of his mattress.
"I am golden, Sammy, what time is it?"
Sam consults his watch, "Making its way towards eight o'clock."
"Oh yeah," Dean rises and to Sam's amazement stood straight and tall not even hinting at dizziness, "Seven hours of sleep, I'm set for the rest of my life."
"Dean," Sam follows him to the bathroom and leans in the doorway as Dean washes his face and brushes the taste of old liqueur out of his mouth, "That's not even that good a night's sleep."
Dean brushes past Sam and makes his way to the kitchen after grabbing a shirt, "You know the last time I slept that long?"
Sam follows like he tends to, "Uh, the night before last," he snarks back.
Dean walks into the kitchen stretching and reaching for coffee filters, "No, when I was dead, smartass."
Sam flinches.
Dean pretends he doesn't see.
He pours water into the coffee maker and sets out two cups, Sam grabs milk, cereal, two bowls, two spoons. They sit over breakfast in companionable silence with steaming cups of coffee and newspapers, Sam scans the internet for weird deaths, something up their alley.
He thanks his lucky stars, they find nothing.
...
By five o'clock Dean was showered and ready, somehow avoiding a phenomenal hangover. Sam watches in awe as he appears in the library clad in dark jeans and a button down navy blue dress shirt, he seems to feel better than ever. He sits down across from Sam and pulls on his boots, then props them up on the opposite chair to tie them. Sam watches as he pulls cash out of his wallet, counts it, and then carefully places it back in with painful perfection. Sam had seen their father do this before a thousand times, he smiles.
"You ready, Sammy?" Dean asks, pulling on his navy blue jacket.
Sam watches Dean as they climb into the Impala, and his brother cranks her up and they speed down the highway towards the city lights on the horizon. His brother radiated an excitement more like nervous energy, Sam wonders why he would get drunk if he looked forward to his birthday? Then Dean was always a mystery, only Dean would find some sort of celebratory joy in getting stoned. Sam realizes he knew little about Dean's latter birthdays. He could only recollect a handful in his childhood. He has no idea what his brother likes to do on his birthday, even what he prefers other than burgers, booze, and, women.
"So..." he lets out a breath, "...What are we gonna do?"
"I know you've got plans, Sammy." Dean shot back, pushing a tape into the cassette player.
"You sly dog!" Sam states, sitting up straighter and looking at Dean closer.
Dean smiles amiably, "No, you sly dog!" He returns. "But just for the record I didn't look where, just when.
"I will hate Frank Deveroue for the rest of my life for making you a guru." Sam bitches as Dean rolls down his window and turns the music up.
"Good old Frank," he shouts back to Sam before belting out to AC/DC.
Sam groans, but follows suit, rolling down his window and managing to know a few words before the song ended and Dean had turns the music to a background hum.
"So Sammy, need directions." He drawls as they turn into town, and their speed reduces miserably.
"Oh yeah, hold up." Sam types in the restaurant name into his GPS on his phone. "Here ya go," he hands over the phone to Dean.
"Ah, nice The Black Stirrup."
"You been there?" Sam asks, a little disappointed.
"Nah Sammy, keep your shirt on, only heard about it. All good things though." He shoots Sam a million dollar smile and takes a scary left turn earning several annoyed honks.
"Dean! Careful, you don't want a ticket on your birthday, do you?" Sam scolds, looking over his shoulder making sure, everyone was okay and that no police were in sight.
"When else do you want to get ticket, Sam? Face it, your birthday is the only time its actually really worth it!" He laughs after his reasoning and waves to some girls whose stares find his face and follow it down the street.
"Your incorrigible," Sam states, but finds himself hopelessly smiling. Because he envisioned them having a good time but this was well beyond any type of good mood he'd seen Dean in for a long time.
Come to think of it Sam couldn't remember the last time he had been with Dean on his birthday. The last time he remembered especially celebrating it was the year before he went to hell. After that there was no time to celebrate between apocalypses, soulless brothers, heaven and hell treaties, leviathans, purgatory, trials, Abbadon, Metatron, Mark of Cain, and now, the Darkness. How after all these years even with the Darkness breathing down their necks Sam has found time to spend Dean's birthday with him he has no idea.
But people change, especially Winchesters, and especially after all these hard years. If Sam had learned anything it was take what good with Dean he could get so when the bad came he has something to fight for.
Sam is laughing again and it feels so good. Dean is beside him heaping abuses on his phone, "Stupid phone," he says and throws it towards Sam's lap. "I can find this place on my own."
And Sam has no doubt that Dean has already memorized the route and would get them there faster without having to hassle with the phone. He grabs the phone and shuts it down. He slides it into his pocket as Dean pulls into the parking lot of The Black Stirrup.
Dean lets out a whistle, "Going all out for my b-day, Sammy, I hear you."
Sam doesn't bother to respond as Dean stops next to a nicely dressed man standing waiting. Then man leans down to Dean's window, "Mr. Winchester?"
Sam relishes the look of surprise on Dean's face and chuckles at the suspicious glance Dean sends his way, "Yeah?"
"Valet, sir. And my I say sir, it would be an honor to drive your vehicle, quite a cherry ride sir."
Dean smiles at the comment, but sends a nervous glance Sam's way.
"Dean, he's not gonna' take the impala for a joy ride, he's got plenty of other cars to park,don't you?" He asks, smiling up at the valet through Dean's window.
"Yes sir," he looks back to Dean, "Let me assure you sir, the restaurant takes full responsibility of customers vehicles while they are inside, sir."
"Alright, alright" Dean finally concedes, getting out of the car, "But only because your making me feel old with all the sirs."
The valet laughs and bows in thanks, "Have a lovely evening, Gentlemen."
"Will do," Sam says as he and Dean are ushered through the double doors.
"Good evening, Gentlemen." A brunette in a purple cocktail dress with two menus in hand addresses them. "I'm Chelssie, I'll be taking care of you tonight, please follow me this way to your table."
Dean gives Sam an impressed look as he follows after her, Sam is impressed by Dean's lack of flirting, this was not what he was expecting.
Chelssie leads them to the back of the restaurant, past a bar in the middle of the big room built in a square, and up several steps to a section that is quieter and obviously for VIP guests. She ushers them into a small booth up against the wall with deep leather finished bench seats, and slides their menus in front of them.
Sam knows he's scored with this place as Dean's hand lingers over the seat and he flashes him a smile.
"Your reserved wine will be coming with your main course, gentlemen, can I interest you in anything to drink in the mean time?" Chelssie asks.
Dean sends Sam a surprised glance, but Sam merely smiles, "I'll take whatever's on draft, Chelssie."
She smiles and looks at Dean, who looks her dead in the eye and says, "I'd love a Pina Colada sweetheart, do I need to go to the bar or can you get that for me?"
Sam's mouth falls open and he stares at Dean, quickly muttering the basic latin exorcism under his breath.
Dean smirks at him.
Chelssie smiles, "I can personally vouch for our Pina Colada. And yes, I can get that for you, would you like the fruit with that?"
Sam stares shocked as Dean answers with ease, "Oh yeah, sweetie, the whole nine yards."
"Alright guys," Chelssie returns, "I'll be right back with those for you."
Sam watches her retreating form wondering over his brother's drink choice.
"Don't break your head, Sammy." Dean snarks, and laughs a little, and pulls the collar of his shirt down, "Tattoo in tact, I'm still with you, little brother."
"A cocktail drink, really Dean?" He asks, incredulously looking at his brother.
Dean doesn't defend himself but instead, "Sammy, this place is rad," looking around, and then turns sparkling emerald eyes to him, "Thank you."
Sam finds himself blushing under Dean's intense stare, "It's nothing Dean."
"No Sam, I really appreciate it, like best ever." He smiles and sits way back in his seat.
"I just..." Sam pauses.
"You just what?" Dean presses gently.
"I regret not being with you on this day more, like in the past." He looks down ashamed, but Dean grabs his hand where its sitting on the table.
"Hey Sammy, look at me." Sam raises his eyes hesitantly. "Hey, I haven't been there for every one of your birthdays either."
"You've been there for more," Sam retorts.
"But that's not what counts, we're here, and alive right now and that's pretty huge Sam, thank you for celebrating with me." He smiles and Sam can't help it, he's go that infectious big brother comfort smile painted on his stupid face, Sam laughs and looks away for a few seconds.
Dean leans across the table and gives a comforting pat the the side of his neck and Sam is reminded of when he was last given that particular comfort, when Dean had been dying in his arms...
Thankfully Chelssie is returning with their drinks and Sam recovers as Dean does the talking, she leaves them with some suggestions for entrees that Sam doesn't really hear. He watches as Dean sips the sweet drink out of the tall glass, the rim hidden in pineapples, cherries, and mint leaves. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, Dean only making a slightly bitchy face.
"Sonuvabitch!" Dean exclaims.
"What?" Sam asks, alarmed, looking around.
"That is the best freaking Pina Colada I've had in all my very long 38 years, and trust me Sam, I've been a lot of places."
Sam laughs, but just looks at Dean incredulously, clearly asking WTF is going on Dean?
Dean sighs and just explains already, "It was mom's favorite drink, Sam." He looks down, and laughs nervously. "I remember her getting it a few times, one time on my birthday, must a been my fourth. We were sitting in a restaurant that had some rinky dink bar and she ordered one, let me taste it..I loved it. From there it just turned into a good memory, made me feel closer to her on my birthday."
Sam swallows convulsively and watches Dean's eyes fill, Dean looks away again. "Seem's like a little thing, but you remember all the little things when its cut off all the sudden, you know?"
He looks back up straight into Sam's eyes and gives a watery smile, "So every birthday since twenty-one, and a few before that too, Pina Colada for me."
The moment is past, Dean is flashing his birthday grin again, but Sam pulls the glass over and takes a long sip of the fruity drink. He and Dean's eyes meet and for a brief second, the hole that an absent mother left is filled, and they both know her in a way that most people wouldn't understand. Drinking something she liked, keeping a tradition she started, being the legacy she left behind, they are with Mary Winchester...for a brief second.
Then Chelssie is back all smiles and the boys break eye contact and the moment is over.
"Alright, y'all guys ready for entrees?" She asks smiling and Dean returns it wooing her in a heart beat.
They order entrees, Sam some tortilla chips and fresh guacamole and Dean fried spinach balls with tzatziki sauce. Sam didn't know Dean knew what tzatziki sauce was. Then they launched into a very long and detailed debate as to whether chicken or lamb gyros were the best. In the end Sam was still of the opinion that chicken was better, but then, he figures if he could get Dean to eat anything other than beef he was doing just fine.
As Chelssie and another male waiter brought over their entrees and glasses of water an old man is seated across the VIP seating area from them. The boys notice because of his rather plain attire, brown slack pants a striped sweater vest, bow tie and white hair and beard. Over all he doesn't look like he could afford this place, but then Sam supposed he and Dean didn't look that way either.
The older man looks around the room slowly, eyes lighting on Dean and they pause, they slid to Sam, and slid back to Dean, needless to say he was getting Sam's hackles up, setting off all his alarms. Across the table Dean makes eye contact with the older man and nods his head politely. If he's having any of the same feelings he's not showing it. Sam decides to breathe and enjoy his night off while he can get it.
When Dean puts the first spinach ball dipped in tzatziki sauce in his mouth he thinks he's very possibly died and gone to heaven. He groans in delight deep in his throat and Sam gives him a reprimanding glare. Dean ignores him, quickly popping another in his mouth and has the very distinct thought, BEST. BIRTHDAY. EVER. IN. MY. WHOLE. FREAKING. LIFE. He knew it wasn't over yet, not even really started but those things...
"Dean, you realize you're doing that out loud?" Sam asks, smirking over his HUGE plate of chips and guac.
"Oh my god, Sam! This is soooo good, like good, like first time driving the impala good, like first time-"
"Yeah! Oh, oh, okay! Good...I get it." Sam chuckles, "Here, let me have some." He reaches over and is surprised when Dean allows him to.
"Okay, but only one, if you want more, you have to get your own," he watches Sam's face expectantly and when the anticipated look of bliss crosses his face, "Huh? I told you, good right?"
"Dean, you have to give me more..."
"No way Jose," Dean laughs, jerking the plate away from Sam.
"Dean..." he whines, going full operation PDE. (puppy dog eyes)
"NO." Dean says, pointing at him sternly, "No, puppy dog eyes allowed on my birthday. Look, here's Chelssie." He smiles his biggest smile at her, "Hey Sweetie, can we get some of these for Sam, please."
Speaking of puppy dog eyes, Sam knows Dean's got them too. They just weren't hazel like his. And he was by no means immune, those great-big, glimmering, all-to-feminine, heartbreaking shining lights staring up at you like you're the center of their universe and if you let them down their whole world will fall away to dust. He was by no means surprised when Chelssie took his plate and whisked it away saying they would replace it free of charge.
Dean sat look very proud of himself.
Chelssie cleared their entree dishes away and for them main course Sam ordered a piece of salmon with a tomato-mango salsa and garlic creamed potatoes. While Dean seemed to have stuck on the lamb idea and ordered a full wrack of lamb chops, and asparagus.
"You eat asparagus?" Sam asked, looking very doubtful. "You know what asparagus is?"
"SAM...please tell me you've had asparagus before?" Dean was making the same face he'd made when Sam had told him he'd never been to a live rock concert before. Like your life is incomplete and absolutely pointless.
"Well," he says sheepishly, "Its not like I've had lamb chops before either."
"Sam," Dean says, face completely serious, "I have failed you as a brother."
Sam laughs.
Dean laughs too, "I may not eat well all the time Sam, but I know how to eat with class."
"Are you actually bragging about knowing something superior to middle class?" Sam crooks an eyebrow at his brother.
"I'm not saying I'm expert on high living Sam, but good food is good food, everyone should have a chance to REALLY eat." Dean smiles at his brother and sucks at his Pina Colada again and it struck Sam how absolutely at home he was in this fancy place, completely confident sipping a ladies drink out of a straw, ordering some of the finest meat in the restaurant and nodding respectfully at old men. This was a whole side of Dean Sam didn't know.
Suddenly he wants to.
"How many places you ever been to like this, Dean?" He asks casually. Motioning around the entire room to include every single bit of grandeur in the room.
"Hm..." Dean thinks for a moment, "A few. 'Specially, in Vegas and New York. AND...let me tell you, there are dandy places in Orleans, gah, Sam, some day I'll take you there little brother, show you a real good time." Dean's eyes took on that faraway look again, and Sam almost fancies he can see memories reflecting in his glistening eyes like in movies.
"Tell me about the best," he says, eagerly leaning forward. "After all it's your birthday, tell me about some of the ones I've missed."
"Well," Dean laughs, "It's crazy the places you go for a Pina Colada in January." Sam laughs and watches a thousand memories fly across his brother's face as he searches for the best one.
"You should have seen dad's face the first time I ordered one in front of him!" He laughs and so does Sam, he can't picture how shocked John must have been.
Dean sighs, and Sam is sad to see so little joy coming from his memories, "You know Sam I've been to a lot of fine places to get that drink, but mostly I don't remember. After having that drink, thinking of her, mom, knowing that she could never be proud of the man I've become, most of the time I just got drunk. Woke up not really knowing how I got there or what happened. But I always remember that feeling, being close to her, almost feeling her there with me."
"Dean," Sam said softly, "Mom would be proud of you, hell, I bet she is. You think word don't fly in heaven?"
Dean shakes his head, "You heard her back in '77 she never meant for us to have this life, she hated hunting, she hated that life. I embraced it Sam, I loved it, I still do most of the time. I love the rush of the kill, the thrill of the chase, the victory of the hunt. That's not who she wanted me to be."
Sam shakes his head back at his brother. "You'll never understand how other people see you, will you Dean? You'll never understand how all the lives you've taken are for the better, you'll just always feel guilty. You'll never see how extraordinary you are. Because you're right, you're a warrior but your heart is so soft. You fight for what's right even when nobody has ever done right by you."
Chelssie comes back at that moment and Sam goes silent, watching Dean carefully, hoping he hasn't ruined the evening. She places their plates in front of them. And Dean gives her a stretched smile and Sam's heart sinks. She walks away and Dean unwraps his silverware and lays the cloth napkin over his lap.
"Maybe your right Sam...maybe I am. I learned a long time ago you can't think about these things too much." He surprisingly looks Sam right in the eye. "It hurts too much, makes you want to fix things you can't fix, makes you feel like a failure."
He sighs and his eyes grow wet again, "All I know is if I had a kid I would never want to raise them to this life. And that if it did happen, if I wasn't able to prevent it, you see...this is all mom's fault." He shakes his head and smiles sadly at Sam.
"What I'm trying to say is mom must feel like such a failure when she looks down on us, sees who we've become. And if she can't be proud of herself because she can't be proud of us, and if she can't be proud of us I can't be proud of myself." He shrugs, "That's just the way it is."
Sam says nothing, doesn't know what to say. How do you refute that? How do you convince your brother he's not a failure? That he's the best man you've ever met, the cleverest hunter you know, the only parent you ever want?
Chelssie saves them from further dampening the evening by returning with the barkeep and Sam's mood is lightened by Dean's obvious intentions of not letting their conversation ruin the night. It's when the barkeeper supplies a bottle of wine that Sam gets excited.
"Good evening Gentlemen," the barkeeper addressed them, "Here's your wine, and may I say I've been waiting a long time for someone to crack this open, so let me know how it is."
Sam takes the bottle from her hand and opens it carefully with the supplied corkscrew.
"Can I ask, why you chose this one?" She questioned standing to the side.
Sam's smile creeps it's way to his lips, his eyes remain on Dean's face, " '79 is Dean's birth year, they both turn thirty-eight this year."
Dean looks at Sam shocked, "You bought us vintage wine on my birthday from my birth year!?"
The bartender laughs at his face, but Sam is a little nervous, after all wine isn't really their thing.
Dean stands up, "I have to hug you right now," he determines.
Sam blushes and stands too, as Dean wraps his arms firmly around him. Sam sighs feeling like he's made a good step in making up for missing so many of Dean's birthdays.
Dean lets Sam go and says, "C'mon let's try it!"
Chelssie supplies two deep and wide wine glasses and Sam pours Dean first and then himself, their glasses meet in cheers and their eyes over them.
"Happy Birthday Dean." Sam says simply, and then they drink.
And it is good.
Just good wine.
Strong and sweet, sliding down their throats into their stomachs and warming them pleasantly.
"This will be perfect with my lamb," Dean decides and digs in.
Sam laughs and his heart is fill to the brim, this is good.
...
The old man across the room watches them with glistening eyes. Does he even remember his thirty-eighth birthday? Each person is given the gift of time, the question is what they do with it? He hopes these young men were making life worth their while. He can sense the heavy emotion, the celebratory relief that they are both alive to see this day, but also, the guilt. It's a heavy aura surrounding the younger man, he's guessing the younger brother. Regret at having missed too many of these special days.
A memory itches at the back of his mind, he digs it back up. A story told him a while ago, two brothers-impossible odds. Oh yes, he knows these men. The Winchester brothers, how could he have not recognized them immediately? The warped waves of time surround their souls. The younger brother's soul bears a hundred extra years in hell's time...the older brother, forty. He can see the many occasions their time appeared to be up only to be granted more.
And though deals had been made, and dark miracles had taken place he knew these boys had been granted the extra time because of who they are. No matter how many times they messed up, or hurt each other, they ultimately worked with all their might for the good of...everything and everyone.
He thought about all the many deities that had worked against them, those the Winchester's had defeated. Angels, demons, greek gods-including Loki, Orisis the Egyptian god of judgement, Osis the Egyptian god of time. Witches. DEATH. LEVIATHAN. Azazel, Alister, LUCIFER, MICHEAL, Zacheriah. (he was really glad that dick was gone) Metatron, Cain, AND the Mark of Cain (you'd think they were just showing off if you didn't know how many times they died during all this.)
And now...the darkness. And the old man rested with ease as the rest of the supernatural world was in a tizzy over her arrival. Because he had faith in these mighty warriors, he had faith they would defeat like they had done in every aspect before.
He thought perhaps Dean Winchester deserved a birthday gift from Father Time.
tbc...
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