Author Note: I don't own Supernatural. I have no idea what happened with this piece but, yeah.

The Road From Calgary

Yesterday Dean Winchester was in San Augustine. He remembers driving, long hours staring at the same stretch of different roads. The changing tone of the Impala as he dropped through gears didn't break the raging monotony in his head. Yesterday he killed his brother.

-

He ends up just south of Lawrence, Massachusetts. Another Lawrence, another Winchester. He's crossed nine or ten state lines, night and day, before he can possibly let himself stop to think. To think about stopping. He chooses a hotel by the side of the river and can't think why. It reminds him of somewhere sunny and peaceful and he can't think where. Déjà vu without the memories.

-

The world seems somewhat more empty. Maybe it's because there's no Sam. Because he had to correct himself when he asked for a room. Or maybe it's because Heaven and Hell have gone back to their designated locations. (Well, sort of.) It took him a day to drive here and he didn't have to be given a play-by-play of events to notice that things aren't quite the same as they were twenty-five hours ago. Twenty-five hours ago, when Dean wasn't the only Winchester orphan.

-

Then again, things aren't quite the same as they were before before twenty-five (getting onto six) hours ago. It's like coming home after a holiday and suddenly noticing how your house smells; not that Dean has ever lived anywhere long enough to let his senses become that familiar. Not in this lifetime anyway. And not in twenty-six years of the first one. It's been twenty-six hours, and Dean finally notices that he's not dead too.

-

He's been waiting since it happened. For death, for suicide, for a deal sealed with a kiss. He needs someone to come and snap him out of this so that he can get around to grieving and be snapped out of that as well. He thinks maybe he should go and get something to eat, and then wonders how he can, if he's supposed to (allowed to), and this time round Sam's not there to put up a front for. For Mum, for Dad, for everyone since and everyone in between.

-

When Dean gets out of the shower he can't remember when he got in, except that it's been twenty-nine hours now and he's wondering when (if) he's going to get some sleep. But that just reminds him he's in a room with only one bed for only one (well, what's left of it) person. So instead he puts on clothes that feel to clean and also full of sin. For the first time in what feels like too long, too short a life, he's leaving unarmed. Maybe he's asking for it, maybe he just doesn't care.

-

He finds himself beside the river, and he must of walked here because he didn't bring the Impala keys with him and when he stopped to ask someone the time (he left his watch behind as well) it's been just over thirty hours since he quietly emptied a clip of its rounds, emptied his brother of his soul. The river seems familiar.

-

Dean doesn't think he's been this far east on a case in, well, let's just say it's been a while. And he's definitely never been to this river. He thinks. So it sort of makes sense that Cas should turn up then, getting on to thirty-one hours. Dean notices his presence, the gentle fury of wings, the moment he appears but it's a while before he announces himself.

"Hello Dean."

And there's something about the way he says it, just the same as always, the way he's always said it, that somehow helps. If nothing, Dean now knows the world hasn't completely stopped, hasn't completely changed. Although really it should have.

-

They've stood there too long. Two hours too long. And Castiel hasn't said more than two words since he got there. Literally. So Dean decides he might as well find out if he remembers what his voice sounds like.

"I thought you'd all gone."

Cas comes forward to stand beside him instead of behind him.

"We'll always be here Dean," Cryptic clues to cryptic questions. Dean isn't even sure what he asked anymore. "We have a lot of clearing up to do."

"And then?"

"We'll see."

That's not quite what Dean meant. At least, that's not what he thought he meant. He doesn't know the time but it's getting late. (Thirty-three hours.)

-

There's a chill wind coming in off the sea. It's a while away but Dean's still pretty sure he can smell the salt. He's never just been to the sea, never as a kid, never as an adult, and never now.

"Dean -"

"I know."

And he doesn't, he really, really doesn't. He takes one last look at the unfamiliar lake that his mind brims with memory at the sight of. He takes one last look. Goodbye Sammy. Maybe it's because he couldn't think his brother's name (no, not Sam, his name) until now, or maybe it's just because a once angel has stood by his shoulder for nearly four hours for no reason than just to stand there, but Dean somehow feels as though maybe there's a chance he'll wake up tomorrow morning.

-

No-one's come back from the dead but, hell, why not. So Dean turns to Cas and just puts his arms around the not quite angel. Breathes. This isn't something Cas is entirely alien to any more, but he still hesitates before placing his hands on Dean back. For some reason it feels like Dean's comforting the man who once had wings and fought for God, instead of the other way round, and for some reason that helps. It feels better.

-

When Dean opens his eyes he's back in the motel room. He has no idea how many hours it's been. Well, he had to stop counting sometime. Cas it still standing before him, the ghost of happiness across his face. Without really looking away from Dean he pulls the amulet over his head and hands it over to it's real owner without meeting his eyes. Dean slowly takes it, but it doesn't feel right (doesn't feel the same) any more. So instead of returning it to where it belongs (belonged) around his neck it stays clasped in his hand. He suddenly feels very, very tired, almost swaying on the spot. Cas puts out a hand to steady him.

"Will you get some sleep now?"

Dean looks him straight in the eye. Maybe this isn't an end. Maybe it's a beginning, or just a half-started story continuing. Maybe they can both stay and he can stop counting.

"Are you going to leave again?"

Castiel gives him a gentle look and steps closer.

"Dean, I never left."

And he never will.

-

(Thirty-six.)