Three years, five months and sixteen days at one address, which blasts my previous record out of the water. Even at Stanford I never lived in the same room for more than one school year.
Cas won his war five years ago, at the cost of most of the host of heaven and several thousand humans. We haven't seen him since he declared victory.
After that, the hunts just trickled off. "Think about it, Sam," Dean pointed out. "In the past six months we've had ten dead ends and three real hunts. Maybe it's time to find a new line of work." Which is why we live here.
Lisa married her doctor friend, but Ben still comes out to visit sometimes. Bobby's finally putting some real effort into the salvage business and doing well at it. Sometimes he teaches language courses at the local college. The Campbells, those that are left, are still hunting, as far as I know.
Dean tried to take up construction work, but no one was hiring, and the few odd jobs he found couldn't keep us fed or keep the nightmares away. He went back to school, seventeen years after he dropped out, and now works as an EMT. Last year, he won a medal for his part in pulling kids out of a school bus on fire. He won't wear it in public of course, but he still has the rose that Tommy Anderson's mother gave him.
Car up and died about three months after we moved into the house. Dean will never give her up, but without the credit card scams, there's no way we can get a whole new engine, which is what it needs. Too much time idling in town, that's what Dean says.
She couldn't take standing still, is what he means to say.
And me? I work in the library. Research librarian's assistant. It's quiet, thousands of books, computers with dozens of journal subscriptions, customers with interesting problems, friendly co-workers and decent pay.
It's just, you know, a little hard having to sleep at night and be awake in the daytime every single day. Strange sleeping in the same bed every night, hearing the same sounds. Strange having to deal with the same people day in and day out, until they think they know you, and having to deal with them still. Same restaurants, knowing what the food will taste like before you eat it, knowing exactly what the menu says.
When we were little, Dad took us to a carnival a couple times. I went on this one ride with spinning teacups. While I was on it, I laughed my head off, but when I stepped off, I fell over. "The ground is spinning!" I complained.
Still waiting for this place to stop spinning.