A/N: Speculative fic, supposed to take place a few years after season 3. Spoilers are only up to "Malleus Maleficarum". I have no idea what Kripke's really planning on doing with the season finale.
Summary: All these thoughts, all these questions . . . are better left unasked. Sometimes the only way to go on is to pretend that nothing ever changed in the first place. Sam and Dean, after the crossroad's deal has been resolved.
"A Long, Endless Road"
I.
They make a silent decision not to talk about it. Ever. At one time, Sam might have had trouble with that.
Now? Not so much.
II.
They don't hunt for awhile. Instead, they drift across the states, visiting landmarks they've never been to, checking up on towns they'd liked living in as children. They make a side trip to South Dakota, staying at Bobby's for a few days, but leave before they're ready. This can't be a safe haven for them, anymore.
They want to tell Bobby what's happened, but they can't. There's no telling what he'd do. And he'd suss it out eventually, if he hasn't managed to already.
They're safer on the move. Just the two of them, and a long, endless road.
Still. It's hard, leaving their Uncle Bobby behind.
If Bobby's figured it out, he never lets on. He tells them not to be strangers. His tone says he'll never see them again.
Sam only breaks down crying once.
III.
After a few months, they pick up hunting again, because it's simply what they know. What they were trained for. What they were made for. The only purpose they really have left.
Sam comments on this to his brother once. Dean starts laughing so hard that it gets to sounding a little hysterical.
Regardless of the irony inherent in their situation, Sam and Dean fight the good fight, hunting the creatures that go bump in the night without letting themselves think about how things could've been different. They throw themselves fully into the job. There's a lot of work to be done, after all.
Shapeshifters, vampires, poltergeists a plenty. Witches in Wisconsin. Pagan gods in New Jersey.
There's always something lurking. Always something to hunt.
No need, really, to bring demons into it.
IV.
There are advantages, of course. Even Sam can admit that. In Tennessee, he gets sloppy, almost gets turned by a werewolf. In California, he gets jumped by a vamp who makes him as a hunter.
Both times, Dean saves him. Saving Sam has never changed.
It's just that, now, Dean has different weapons at his disposal.
V.
Once, Sam walks in on Dean talking to himself. Some might call it praying. Sam isn't sure he can. He's about to make a hasty retreat—slip out quietly, to save Dean some embarrassment—but then Dean says Pastor Jim's name, and something about it stops Sam in his tracks. Maybe because he hasn't thought of Pastor Jim in a very long time. He feels guilty about that—how many times had Sam sat in his lap, asking innocent questions and listening to stories of God?
Doesn't matter now, though. Pastor Jim's been dead for years, and God's long since moved out of their reach.
"You used to tease me," Dean's saying, addressing the floor since it's easier to look at than the ceiling. "You used to say I was a lost cause for the flock, that I had something of the devil in me. Used to tell me to get my fucking feet off the table before you kicked my ass so hard the Holy Spirit flew out my mouth." He smiles bitterly, one hand rubbing across his eyes. "I used to say you had a pretty fucking mouth for a man of God."
Dean takes a breath that's ragged. Sam doesn't breathe at all. "I knew," Dean says to the floor. "I knew you never meant it. Always givin me a hard time . . . and I always gave you one right back . . . I knew you never meant it. Knew you'd never give up on me." His half-smile turns to a grimace, and he covers his face with his hands. "I knew you believed in me. God. God, I'm so sorry."
A noise comes out of Dean's throat, then, part wounded animal, part something else. It's a strange combination of keening and growling, and Sam can't bear to see the expression on Dean's face. He retreats hastily backwards, silently exiting the motel, and hides inside the Impala until his brother is done crying.
VI.
Dean is oddly prone to nostalgia now, often talks about things long since past. Sam thinks he does it just to prove to himself that he can still remember. Sometimes, Sam considers asking him about it, the way he would have done, oh, only a few years ago. Sam always used to push, always wanted some kind of answer.
Now, he knows that most questions are better left unasked.
Dean puts on a show a lot, trying to give some poor man's impression of normal. He eats food by the forklift, even though Sam knows he isn't hungry, isn't even sure if Dean can get hungry anymore. Another question, another answer, that he doesn't really want.
Dean makes a point of singing obnoxiously in the car, cranking up the music as loud as it will go. Sam's pretty sure that Dean finds no solace in the music, but his love of the car, at least, is something that hasn't faded. Dean spends as much time in her as possible, sometimes preferring to sleep in the backseat than on a motel bed. He treats the Impala as reverentially as his memories. She's a member of the family, after all—and the only one that can't cry over what's been lost.
Sam and Dean can't always make the same claim.
There are days when it's just the two of them, drifting through the country, talking about nothing at all, pretending it's the past. Days when they can pretend that nothing has ever changed.
Those are the good days.
VII.
The bad days include the one where Dean saves Sam from the vampire. The Holy Water spills everywhere
Dean's screams echo in Sam's ears for day.
VIII.
"You remember that time I put Nair in your shampoo, Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean. Yeah, I remember."
"Yeah. That was pretty damn funny, huh?"
Sam holds Dean's hand while Dean wipes his eyes.
IX.
After that vampire in California, Dean disappears for a day or two. When he comes back, he's got a box of donuts under his arm and a pair of sunglasses on his face.
"Thanks," Sam says, and pretends it's for the donuts.
-Fin