Hopefully this half will be a little lighter :)

Part 2.

Home. The smell, the silence, the security...Sam swears it'll only be a miracle or the next apocalypse that makes him leave the bunker ever again. (It will most likely be an apocalypse.) He takes in a huge breath of the still, cool, familiarly scented air and lets it sigh out in relief. The smells of him and Dean and their life here together wash over his senses, the soft lighting filters up to the stairs from the library caressing over his burning eyes.

He hears Dean taking in a similarly deep and happy breath behind him and they both start descending the stairs in tandem. Their mom follows behind them, she seems to understand the 'hugeness' of this moment for them.

They made it. They actually made it back home. Sam's still not even sure how, hasn't yet registered the events of the last twenty-four hours. He just knows this was a miracle in and of itself, and he vows he's never taking it for granted again.

He sends Dean an elated look who gives him a soft smile in return. His brother's fingers tips slip reverently along the backs of the chairs, his eyes roving over their home full of a gentle light. Sam finds himself smiling at him, his heart impossibly full.

Mary stands at the end of the tables a fond smile playing on her lips, her heart both light and heavy at the sight of her boys. This is their home, but she knows it has nothing to do with her. Sam knows she understands, and that's why he ignores her presence for the moment, lets himself bask in this moment with Dean and the place they had made mean something to them.

"So," her voice break the silence, and Dean's head jerks towards her as if he'd forgotten she was there. He probably had. Sam smiles to himself, they both needed sleep so bad.

"Sleep or food first?" She asks, blue eyes alive with a love and devotion that makes Sam's heart jump.

"Shower." They answer together, and then break into giddy laughter.

"Right," Mary answers, "Food afterwards or..."

"Bed for me," Dean answers, hands lingering over his eyes a little too long as he rubs them down his face, clueing Sam into the fact that he's got a brutal headache.

"Me too, Mom." Sam says, sending her a grin because he knows she probably needs to some reassurance too, knows that the past weeks can't have been easy for her.

She nods, "Okay then."

"You gonna stay here?" He asks and she nods a uninterpretable look in her eyes.

"Yeah, I'll be here."

They all three turn towards the halls, Mary to the kitchen, Dean and Sam to their rooms.

"Mom." It's Dean's voice and it halts them all. She turns towards them, her face unreadable, but Dean's is like an open wound the guilt, regret and uncertainty rankling in it like gangrene. "Tonight...that's not what I..." he glances to Sam minutely, "...that's not what we wanted."

"I know that Dean..." she says stepping back towards them.

"You can't just," he interrupts her. Clenches his teeth and fists his hands with what he's trying to say. "You can't do that anymore, you can't step in and pay for our mistakes...you just can't. I can't..."

"Dean." She stops him stepping up into his space. His eyes, glistening with hurt and regret meet her shining baby blues. She lays a small, white hand on the side of his face and Sam's heart aches with the way Dean unconsciously turns his face into the touch.

"Yes I can." She says softly but firmly. And he opens his mouth to object. "I can." She asserts again. "And I will. I'm not..." and it's her turn to struggle with words. "I might not be everything you ever dreamed I could be, I might not agree or believe in hunting like you do..." she glances over to Sam to include him the conversation, her other hand coming to lie lightly on his forearm.

"...but I believe in you. I believe in the good you do. And I fail you, and I know I hurt you...but I will fight for you, and if I get the chance to sacrifice my life for yours I'll do it in a heart beat.

"You deserve to live just as much as I do." She says softly. Before Dean can rid himself of the frozen, shocked look on his face she's tipping up on her toes and places a nearly reverent kiss on the arch of his cheek bone.

She smiles catching the sight of his eyes closed with the tender display of affection. "Now," she levels a firmer gaze at the both of them, "You guys get some real sleep, alright?"

Sam nods and they both watch her go and then turn going to their perspective rooms wordlessly.

...

Home. God, Dean swears he's never leaving again. Crowley, all his hell hounds, and demon minions couldn't drag him, not even close. He hits his mattress hard but feels like a feather floating down on a bed of a million other feathers. His ceiling, thank heaven, his very own, familiar ceiling is above him.

The twirling of the fan above him comforting, the soft light easy on his burning eyes. His sheets are angel soft on his skin, his pillow deep and cool under his aching head. It's everything he'd dreamed about while being locked up...so why can't he sleep?

He cannot breathe. Just can't draw in a deep enough breath. Cannot find air clear and clean enough, can't make the feeling of boulders on his chest go away. He lays on his back, one hand flat on the mattress feeling the thread count of his sheets the soft hum of music coming from the headphones he's not wearing anymore, discarded on the mattress. The other hand rests on his chest, fingers playing a soothing rhythm on his sternum.

Nothing puts his whirl wind of a mind to rest.

Finally he sighs deep and gives up, grabs his phone, boots and coat and heads out into the silent bunker in defeat. The halls are dark but he enjoys listening to his echoing footfalls, he loves the way the low library lights reflect of the finished hard wood floors. Doesn't take the feel of smooth crystal of his favorite decanter and whiskey glass as he grabs it en route. Loves the coldness of the rails under his hand as he pads up the stairs and relishes the feeling of wind hitting him full in the face as he swings the bunker door open.

He leans against the firm iron when it shuts behind him and he watches his breath fog in the freezing air. He doesn't mind the prickling of his skin, or the way his eyes water with the cold because the door isn't shutting him in, isn't shutting him out. It's simply there, it's his. His door to his home, he leans against it staring at the starry sky above his place in this world.

He finally breathes easier. All of wide, flat Kansas laid out in front of him definitely enough room to breathe, to let the feelings off his chest...to feel free again.

When his chest begins to burn with the coldness of his deep breaths he gives one last sigh and decides he's putting all this to rest. He's free, he's here with his mom and Sam and Cas...somewhere...no ghosts, no demons, no nightmares. He survived and he's free of it...he'll be damned if he lives on being a prisoner of the past.

Yeah, that sounds way too healthy for him.

He sets the whiskey and his phone down on the concrete edge and slips into his coat and boots, not bothering to lace them up. He sits on the ground, back against the cinderblock wall and grabs the glass, pours himself a finger of whiskey. Sips it, welcomes the oh so good burn, and the even better warmth that spreads in his stomach when he swallows.

The back of his head connects with the wall in a just this side of painful thump and his eyes are overwhelmed with the stars. It's so cold their light is brighter then Dean thinks he's ever seen, and he lets his gaze wander meaninglessly trying to see all to be seen but knowing he never would. The best feeling. His time is his own, the sky is his...this moment and it's tranquility is his.

The door grinds on its hinges but it doesn't disturb Dean's euphoric mood, it's a sound he's been expecting as inevitable. Familiar footfalls crunch in the gravel and then Sam slumps to the ground, firm and warm and real next to him. Dean wordlessly takes the glass he's holding in his hand and pours him some whiskey that Sam no doubt looked for before he came out. (Little brother loved the nice stuff.) Sam huffs a breath that clouds in the air and zips up his coat to his chin, and accepts the glass getting started on warming up.

Sam's head rests back on the wall, his eyes reflecting the stars above as he does as Dean had just been doing; taking in the vastness of the universe around them.

And Dean can finally breathe.

...

Sam wakes in a cold sweat honestly surprised he even got as far as sleeping in the suffocating feeling of his room. He's hyper aware, feels everything, hears everything. That little cell having part ways desensitized him. Rising up on his elbows and consulting his phone and, almost screaming when the bright light hits him in the face, he finds he was only out for about thirty minutes.

He flops down on his back and breathes in and out of his nose steadily, staring at the ceiling and the fan. Four walls and a ceiling are far too constraining for him right now though and he finds himself up and half way to Dean's room without so much as a coherent thought.

His brother's door is open, and Sam can make out the twisted, empty sheets from there. A wry smile shapes his lips as he grabs shoes and coat from his room already sure of where Dean has retreated to. He rubs at burning eyes and blinks somewhat dumbly at the missing decanter of his favorite whiskey but then shakes his head with a dry chuckle and just grabs an extra glass noticing there's one already missing.

He opens their mini fridge there in the library and grins wolfishly when he finds the peanut MnM's he'd left there, Cas didn't think about food thank god or else the candy would have been long gone for sure. He stuffs the bag in his coat pocket and ascends the stairs wondering how he hadn't heard Dean leave.

The door grinds on its hinges and the cold air hits Sam with the most welcome burn, his heart skips with the wave of freezing that accosts his senses. It's a whole different high than before, but just as, if not more welcome. Dean was here waiting, for always...for good.

He spots him a few feet away and envies him the look of complete peace on his face. But it looks like Dean's a few shots ahead of him and Sam is really ready to rectify that, after all he's been waiting for this moment for almost two months now.

Dean is as in tune with him as ever and pours him a generous amount of whiskey without even looking at him. Sam sinks to his rightful spot beside his brother and breathes in more of the clear, crisp air blinks in sudden disbelief and awe of the stars above them.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean asks, breaking the comfortable silence between them as Sam savors a burning mouthful of liquor.

"Mm?" He returns without looking away for the glorious night sky.

"Let's not get arrested again."

"Agreed." He says simply and then finally their eyes meet and they break into the right side of tipsy giggles.

"So..." Dean draws out, taking a drink before continuing. "We good?"

Sam nods, "Yeah of course, why wouldn't we be?"

Dean shrugs and looks down for the first time, and Sam watches him let a handful of gravel fall through his fingers. "Just with deals and stuff."

Sam laughs a little, "Crazy right? Things are not pretty when we get backed into a corner."

Dean purses his lips thoughtfully, "Ain't that the truth."

Sam nudges him with his shoulder, "Hey." And Dean looks up to him. "We did what we had to, we had to make a choice."

"Yeah," Dean says demurely, swirling the liquor around his glass. "I mean, but is that good enough?"

Sam frowns trying to read his brother's profile. "What do you mean?"

"We almost got Mom killed, Sam...again." Dean says gently, but Sam can hear the layers and layers of distress there.

"Hey Dean, no." Sam says firmly, "We're not doing this. And we didn't do that. That was her and only her and her life is her own. We gambled, and we gambled with our own lives, we can't stop her from doing the same."

Dean nods heavily, "Yeah I guess," he says, "I guess it never seems just right."

Sam laughs at that, "Exactly. It'll never be perfect, but lets take the win. I mean Dean, a few hours ago I was looking at the rest of my life without you, this screwed, screwed to hell life and now..." he sighs and looks back up to the stars. "...now we're here, and you're here and just god Dean, let's please take this win."

Dean sends him a sad smile that turns to something more sincere at the end with a twist of the corner of his mouth.

"All's well that ends well? That's your new motto Sam, really?" He teases.

"For tonight anyways." Sam answers sincerely. Then feels his own mood lighten, "You read Little House On The Prairie?"

Dean looks affronted, "And you're telling me you haven't, classic boy."

Sam just shakes his head and laughs, "Woulda thought you stuck to the 'Stephen King' classics is all."

Dean waves him off and takes a long drag from his glass hisses with the burn and Sam smiles, because Dean rarely reacts, only when he's truly enjoying himself does he indulge in the burn of his beverage.

Sam sighs draining the last drop from his glass and revels in where he is right now. Dean beside him breathing and humming under his breath, the wind biting into them reminding them of their very realness. The stars above them twinkle and shine so bright and the moon has a ring around it with the cold.

Dean finishes off his first glass of liquor too and holds up the decanter and Sam offers his glass for a refill. He watches Dean's concentrated face as he pours Sam's whiskey. Takes in the beloved face. Green eyes shining with the reflected light of the moon and glazed over a little with the alcohol in his blood. The slight smile on his lips shaping the crow's feet beside his eyes, his longer than usual hair accentuating all the familiar features. Sam thinks of all the days he sat in that cell and thought of this face and wondered if he'd ever see it again.

"I missed you," he says softly. And Dean stops pouring and goes to pour his own, though Sam catches the pause that no one else would have noticed.

"Me too, Sammy," Dean almost breathes into his glass. He takes a drink and Sam hears him swish it around in his mouth and then swallow. "Me too."

Sam feels a contented smile play over his lips and lets his head lean back against the wall again as he hands Dean the bag of MnM's and loves the overjoyed expression on his brother's face. Laughs as Dean hums 'The Candyman' through a mouthful of the chocolate sending Sam flirty glances. Dean mirrors his posture and the following silence is swallowed up by the sound of the wind, the sounds of cars on the near by highway, a dog or coyote barks in the distance and Dean shifts with it, his knee knocking Sam's as he settles again.

All sounds and feelings are of absolute freedom and finally...finally Sam feels the weight lift from his chest and he just breathes.

...the end.

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