There's a chill in the air.

Then again, there's always a chill in the air. You can't have an almost apocalypse, and by almost Dean means they barely escaped with their skin intact, you can't have that and get away scot free.

But for what it's worth, they got away with a lot.

Castiel was back with his mojo intact, and even stronger than before. Bobby was alive and with two functioning legs thanks to Crowley, who had disappeared after the encounter with Death.

Even Gabriel, even Gabriel was well, floating around and popping in on the most awkward occasions. It was what he did best after all.

The only difference was now he couldn't fuck with them.

Sam doesn't ever go into detail, and Dean understands why. He spent forty years there.

Sam doesn't even know how long he was there, but for Dean it was two months. Twenty years should seem like nothing compared to Dean's time, but Sam spent his locked in a cage with an angry Archangel, and an even angrier Lucifer.

Sam doesn't go into detail.

Dean doesn't press.

Sam came back to him though, so it doesn't matter. After all he's been through; Lisa was more like a sister he had to protect, than a girl he could love for good.

He went back on the road with Sam of course, but there wasn't much supernatural activity anywhere. It all dropped off the map the second Lucifer was behind bars.

At some point the lines called brother and love crisscrossed, intertwined and now they have something strong and proud. Something beautiful, if Dean really has to add another adjective.

The Impala is with them always, and that's where he sits now, waiting for the sun to inch a little further up so they can drive to nowhere.

Dean hears the motel door shut, and turns to greet Sam with a smile on his face.

His grin dies when he sees Sam's serious expression, and a million possibilities fly through his head.

Something has happened, it's bad, he thought they were through with all this crap.

Sam walks up, barefoot, something clenched in his right hand.

Dean notices a long stick in his left, thin as a pencil. On the end a large white flower blooms, some sort of cross between an orchid and a lily. It's like nothing he's ever seen before.

Dean tenses when Sam stops in front of him.

Sam looks up, eyes deep and expressive. He puts his hand out, unfolding it to reveal a silver band.

A wedding band.

Dean's throat closes up, and he holds out his left hand, but Sam shakes his head, and moves the ring to the right.

"Why..?" Dean starts.

"Tradition." Sam says simply.

Dean feels the metal slip onto his finger, warm from Sam's hand.

Sam holds out the stick with the orchid-lily, and as soon as Dean's skin touches it, the one flower grows even bigger, and the hypnotizing white flowers bloom all over the stick.

"It's right," Sam says quietly, kissing Dean on the cheek.

Dean agrees completely.