There are four carboard boxes on his bed. Dean stands before them like a captain surveying his ship; within these four boxes is his entire life. He thought back less than fondly to a time where his entire life wouldn't fill even one of these boxes. Living on the road, going from dingy motel room to motel room, and even some nights settling for an empty park bench to sleep on . . . all while only carrying a tattered duffle bag and no more; it was the only life he had ever known, and he was fine with that. He knew all along that there were other people who had it worse than him.
The sad thing is now he knows he was wrong. That wasn't okay. Living a life on the run was no life at all, and now he payed the price for it. A grown man in his thirties. No work experiences he can put on a resume, no high school education, no degree, wanted by the police and Feds in a handful of states. No, that is no way to live. He's not going to go that way any longer. It's time to move on.
He smiles as he runs through the boxes again. One full of clothes – t-shirts, jeans, his favorite flannels, his dad's jacket folded neatly on top; the second is stacked with cassettes and records. Sam will probably fill his boxes with books and thick academic journals. Whatever. Dean is nothing without his music. The third box holds his guns. Of course he's not leaving without those.
The last box, though, that one is special. Inside that one is everything that is precious to Dean. The delicate things, the extremely personal things. Things like the pictures of his mom and his family together before everything turned to crap. Back when he could be happy and when nightmares didn't become real and try to kill him. His dad's journal is in there too, tucked in neat and cozy with a handful of Bobby's old whiskey-stained books. The amulet Sam gave him when they were kids is in there too somewhere. Dean folds down the flaps of cardboard with care and tapes them securely shut.
There is a knock at his door. Dean turns to see Castiel standing in his doorway holding a box of his own. "Hello Dean," he says in his gravelly voice. Castiel cracks a smile as he looks over Dean's bed of boxes. "Is your packing going well?"
"Yeah, Cas. Just finishing up. What about you?" Dean asks as he turns back to taping his boxes shut.
Castiel looks down. "I believe I am finished as well."
"Great! How many did you fill?"
He shifts the weight of the box to his other hand. "Just the one," he says.
Dean stops taping and turns around to face him. "Just one?" he asks. Dean takes the box from Castiel and peaks inside. It isn't filled, not even half-way; it only has a small stack of neatly folded clothes pressed against the bottom. "Cas, what is this?"
The look on his face is so innocent and confused. He looks up at Dean with deep blue eyes. "My old coat and a spare change of clothes. It's all that I need from my room."
"Cas, you don't want anything else? No pictures or anything?"
Castiel turns his head to the side with a curious squint of his eyes. He regards Dean. "My clothes are practical and serve many purposes. Why would I need to keep photographs?"
Dean shakes his head. "They're not supposed to serve –" Dean rubs at his face. Maybe there's an easier way. "Cas, you keep things around like photos and . . . and other stuff so that when you look at them, they remind you of happier times." He still looks really confused. "They bring back good memories. Or bad ones. Whatever happened when you had that thing. Understand?"
He still looks confused and his eyes squint even more narrow. "I am an angel, Dean. A celestial being of my composition retains every memory of its existence. I don't need mementos to remember because I don't forget."
Dean places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. "Hey, the idea isn't to remember everything. It's to . . . I dunno, try to forget the bad stuff by surrounding yourself with the good stuff. Like, here look at this."
Dean rummages through the last two open boxes and pulls out something he shields in his hands. He opens it slowly. "This, Cas, is something that I've kept around for years."
He eyes it suspiciously, turning his eyes up to question Dean. "It's a baseball."
"Not just any baseball. This . . . this is a very special baseball. The only baseball game me and Sam ever went to as kids was in Boston. Dad was on a hunt and left us alone for three days. Sam was bored and I had been dying to go, so we snuck into Fenway Stadium and had a blast. Sam caught the last flyball of the game and handed it to me for getting us in there. He said it was the best day ever." Dean tosses the baseball gently back into the box, watching it sink into the denim of his jeans. He chuckles at the memory of Sam's face lit up by the huge florescent lights. "See what I mean, buddy? I remember that day, but I remember it better with the ball in my hands. I can remember best how I felt that day."
Castiel gives an affirming nod as he picks up his box again. "I think I understand now. Thank you, Dean." He turns out of the room and down the hall, his coat fluttering behind him.
Dean finishes packing and carries his boxes into the bunker's main hall, setting them each down with a thud next to all the others. Sam has already brought up his boxes and is fiddling with the contents of his duffle bag. Dean watches sadly, trying so hard not to think of when the next time he'll see his brother will be.
Sam catches his eye. "What," he asks.
Dean takes a deep breath. "You sure you still want to do this?"
"Dean, we talked about this." Sam takes a seat and extends his hands out in front of him, palms up on the table. "It shouldn't be our responsibility to fix the world every time it falls apart. There are other hunters out there that can pick up the slack. I think we've done enough, don't you?"
Dean nods, still wearing a furrowed brow. "Yeah, I do. You still want to wander? I thought you'd be the one to settle down somewhere. Find yourself a girl, or a dog."
Sam cracks a weary smile. "I may. But I want to find that somewhere first. I mean, your decision to stay in Kansas is great and all, but that place was never really home for me. I want to find somewhere my own." His eyes are a bit sad when he looks away from Dean.
Dean's frown falters and he feels his eyes soften. "You should give school another try."
Sam laughs. "I might just do that," he nods.
They sit there in companionable silence for a while, thinking long and hard on each of their next moves. For Dean, he is charting his path back to Lawrence in his mind. Anytime he remembered being happy, it was there.
About an hour after he left Dean's room, Castiel swiftly turns around the corner into the main hall and drops his heavy box on the table with the beginnings of a grin pulling at his lips. "I filled my box. I believe we are all ready to go?"
Dean grins at him. "That was fast. Can I see what you put in there?" Castiel nods. Dean cracks the edges of the cardboard and bends them back. At first glance, it looks like a bunch of junk. But the more he stares, the more he comes to recognize that he's seen this stuff before. Sam's notebook filled with some of his doodles and notes from old cases, the ash tray from the coffee table in the media room, Dean's favorite coffee mug, and several other seemingly forgettable things that can easily be tied back to either of the Winchester brothers. Dean smiles broadly, toughed by the sentiment. He slings an arm around Castiel's shoulders. "This is great, pal. Good job." Castiel's face breaks out into a beaming grin.
As they pack up their gear, they say their goodbyes. Sam piles all of his boxes into a spare car from the bunker's garage. He plans on heading South first, promising to keep in touch every now and then. Dean pulls him into a tight hug, feeling his brother return it with his gigantic arms wrapped around his big brother.
As Dean and Cas watch him drive off, Dean stands on the road watching the dust settle long after Sam's car is out of sight. Dean feels this is to be a huge new chapter in their lives, one where both of them will be alone and both finally okay. No more worrying about what to hunt or what new catastrophe to deal with. No more worrying over where Sam is at any given moment. No more watching over his shoulder.
Dean takes in a deep breath, feeling almost free for the very first time. 'So this is retirement, huh?' he laughs to himself.
When Dean tears himself from the road, he turns to see Castiel already seated in the passenger side of the Impala. It was agreed that Dean would give Cas a ride to the bus station and get him a ticket from there to anywhere he wanted to go. He just hadn't made up his mind yet. Dean slides into the driver's seat and claps Cas on the shoulder. "Alright, buddy. Where am I sending you off to, huh?"
"I'm not sure, Dean." Castiel looks out the window. After a long moment, he asks, "Where will you go?"
Dean hesitates before he answers. "Well, I'm going home."
"I thought the bunker was your home."
Dean shakes his head with a small smile pulling at his cheeks. "Nah, Cas. The bunker has been nice, but Lawrence was where I was born. I grew up there."
Cas turns to regard him with open, inquisitive eyes. "And you wish to go back? What is there for you now?"
Dean has thought about that for a long while. His conclusions are what cemented his decision: stability, safety. He will feel safe there. Safe in his memories of happier times.
"There's just something about going home, Cas. Someday you just gotta go home."
Cas's mouth puckers in thought. His brow creases and a frown settles into his face. "I no longer have a home."
Dean shakes his head as a chuckle rumbles in his chest. After all this time, the angel is still clueless.
"Cas," Dean says softly with a hand on his friend's shoulder, "you've always been family. Your home is with us. Always has been?"
Castiel's form brightens and a warm smile spreads across his face. Dean can feel the heat of it snake up his arm and encase him, too. "Can I come to Lawrence with you, Dean?" Castiel asks hopefully.
So damn hopeful that it almost breaks Dean's heart. Dean grins hard and pulls his best friend into a tight hug. "Yeah, Cas. Of course, you can."
He starts the engine a few minutes later, still smiling like a fool. Even though Sam will be gone – off on his own exploring the world – at least Dean won't be alone.