Shooting Stars


"Can we pretend that airplanes

In the night sky

Are like shooting stars?
I could really use a wish right now

A wish right now

Wish right now…"

-Airplane by B.O.B-


They sat on the hood of the Impala, sipping at the beers held firmly in their hands, staying silent for the hell of it. The black sky overhead glittered with stars that stared back down at them as they looked up. All the answers to their questions were waiting up there, just aching to be discovered. All the answers to heaven and hell, life and death, angels and demons were there…in arms reach.

But in their lives, an arms length was to the ends of the earth and back, fighting off every monster they could find along the way.

It was a hellish life, a tormented journey, and a deadly quest. And yet neither of them could truly imagine what life would be like without all if it. Would it be simple? Elegant? Or plain boring? They quenched their thoughts with the fact that they would never be able to experience it. But if you dug deep enough into their minds, you'd find the question lingering there, always helping them determine their next move.

While others dreamed of having fairy tale lives, the Winchesters dreamed of a white picket fence and a dog waiting obediently.

That's how it always was. And that's how it would always be.

So instead of complaining, they fought tooth and nails to keep the simple pleasures in life. A cool beer, a calm breeze, and –like tonight—the ability to relax even for a moment, and watch the stars, even if the world was falling to pieces all around them.

Dean shifted on the hood, resting the heel of his boot on the front bumper of the Impala, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a long sip, his eyes never leaving the sky. They'd been sitting out here for more than three hours in complete quiet. He couldn't ask for anything better. He rested the bottle on his knee, his eyes scanning across the skies, taking in the bright lights. His focus settled on a moving light, flying east. He quickly reached over, tapping Sam's shoulder with the back of his hand and then pointing to the sky.

"Make a wish, Sammy." He grinned at his little brother, saying the first words that night. Sam raised an eyebrow and looked up, flicking his hair out of his eyes. He huffed out a small laugh, the corners of his lips ticking up into a smile.

"Dean…that's a plane. Not a shooting star." He stated matter-of-factly, giving his brother an incredulous look.

"So?" Dean scoffed, still grinning. "We can bend the rules. Been doing it since we were kids."

Sam shook his head, looking back up at the airplane that sped across the velvet black heavens.

"You goin' too?" Dean pestered.

"Fine." Sam pressed his lips together, focusing on the aircraft, trying to think of one wish instead of wishing for a million things. He felt Dean's eyes on him and glanced over, shrugging his shoulders. "Done."

"What'd you wish for?" Dean took a quick swig of beer.

"You do realize that if I tell you my wish it won't come true, right?" The younger brother said sarcastically, his eyes lighting up with humor.

"You're the one who said it was a plane." Dean chuckled. Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, how 'bout this. I'll tell you mine first."

Sam smiled, looking down at the beer bottle he twisted around. "Sure. What did you wish for?"

"For more moments like this."

Dean's bluntness caused Sam to stiffen slightly. His shoulders squared and he stopped breathing for a second, trying to remember the last time either one of them had the guts to even look at each other in the old brotherly affection they used too. For Dean to say that…it was heartbreaking. Sam looked over at his older brother, studying the content look on his face as the elder stared upwards, unaware of Sam's shock.

He inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

"Same here."