Cold. Rainy. Typical Anywhere, USA weather for November. Sam Winchester stared out the passenger window into the bleak night, watching raindrops splatter the glass like some sick painting. Journey's "Lights" meandered softly from the Impala's speakers, filling the otherwise silent air with some distraction.
Dean Winchester shifted in his seat, annoyed by the speed he was forced to go in this terrible weather. Squinting through the windshield, he searched tirelessly for any hopeful neon glow of a hotel. He needed a hot shower, a soft bed, and a little cable television to get the events of Halloween out of his head. He and Sam hadn't spoken more than mumbles and grunts to each other in forty-eight hours, and Dean was getting tired of the inner monologues and debates that he had been putting himself through since they had left Uriel and Castiel behind in that God-forsaken town.
"Stupid fuckin' angels," Dean muttered. "Gotta be caught up in everyone's fuckin' business."
"You know talking to yourself is one of the signs of insanity," Sam quipped from the passenger seat, not taking his eyes off the window. However, after glancing over, Dean realized his little brother's eyes were glued to his reflection in the dark glass. "Yeah, well, maybe I'd like a little more conversation than what I been gettin' these past couple of days."
Sam sighed and turned then, hitting his brother with the perfected puppy-dog stare. "What do you want me to say? He would have killed us if I hadn't stopped him-"
"With your powers. Yeah, I got it." Dean chewed the inside of his cheek angrily, unsure how to continue now that the topic was open for discussion. "It's just that...Jesus, Sammy, if you'd seen the look on your face, you'd be freakin' too."
Smiling gently, Sam wiped his nose on his coat sleeve. "Yeah… I gotta admit, when my nose started bleeding, I was a little freaked myself."
"At least you didn't let him go…" Dean trailed off, uncomfortable with what he was about to admit. If Sam hadn't been able to hold the demon, there would be no more Sam. The past year and a half would have been a complete waste. Hell, Dean's entire life would have been for nothing. "All I gotta say, Sam, is," Dean cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the road in front of them, "better to have you using your creepy-ass powers for good rather than have you die at the hands of that scum."
"Wow." Sam's quiet explanation drew Dean's eyes away from the windshield. He got a brief look at his brother's grin before glaring back out at the rainy highway. "Shut up."
"So, are you saying my powers are a good thing?" Sam shifted in his seat, eager to hear Dean's response. If his brother denied his abilities, Sam could easily call Dean a hypocrite, something he didn't get to do very often. If he said yes, then Sam could have the chance to hone his skills into something that could make their lives a little easier.
"No." Dean's quick and quiet response caught Sam off-guard. He stared at his brother open-mouthed, confused and hurt. "For this time, when saving your life was involved, I guess it wasn't too bad. But those powers are dangerous, and besides," Dean glanced at his brother and shrugged, "they don't exactly come from a positive source."
He felt rather than saw Sam stiffen next to him. "You sound like Uriel," Sam said quietly.
"Uriel?" Dean scoffed. "The hell did that high and mighty son of a bitch have to say?"
"He...uh...he asked me why I wanted to use the power that had been given to me by the creature that killed Mom and Jess." Sam looked at his hands, swallowing back the tears that he could feel in the back of his throat. "He made today sound like such a curse."
"Sammy…" Dean began, his brother's name no more than a whine on his lips. "Sam, what did I tell you? Uriel, at least, is not an angel we want to be friends with. Why do you let him get to you?"
Sam shrugged but didn't give an answer. Dean sighed and continued his search for motel lights out the windshield glass.
"What was she like?" Were it not for the lull in music, Dean never would have heard Sam's question. He glanced over at his little brother, surprised, only to see Sam still staring at his hands.
"I've told you a hundred times, Sammy. Why do you wan-"
"I know," Sam interrupted, finally looking up to meet his brother's eyes. "Just...tell me again. Please?"
After holding the gaze for a good minute, Dean sighed and looked at his hands gripping the Impala's steering wheel. "She was beautiful. And good. And perfect..."
And so, on November second, the Winchester brothers drove down a lonely highway, brought together by loneliness and a love for a woman long gone.
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R.I.P. Mary Winchester.