Disclaimer: Me ownsies no thing to do with Supernatural.

AN: Aaah! Sorry this took a long time to get up, Christmas and what not. But the second season of Supernatural starts in twenty-five minutes, so at least I'm kind of on time! Just a few thankyous too – to the reviewers who stuck with this, for Ben Harper's lyrics in the last chapter and for the song by Emiliana Torinni that inspired this story. You all rock. Hope you enjoy this last not-so little bit!

Epilogue

It was so blue that it hurt your eyes to even look at it. Not a cloud to be seen, not a single blemish on the perfect canvas – just blue; blue as far as you could imagine. And it was freezing. The sky was cold. Open and vast, expansive to the point of nothingness. Empty. Sad. Alone. There was light, there was vivid colour, there was sunshine that sparkled as it reflected off the settled snow. But it was so cold, and everything was laced with a bitter frost. Like even the air itself was too icy to touch, the breeze that occasionally sprung up enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Snow was heaped on the side of the roads, cleared so vehicles might have a safe passage. Despite this, the street was deserted – save for a lone car crawling along the block, engine humming gently and cutting across the relatively serene silence. It looked a little out of place, an oddity in this perfect Christmas postcard. The tall fir trees with their long white jackets; the tidy houses cheerily puffing smoke out of their chimneys; foggy windows misty with the heat of the contentment inside; coloured lights hanging like elaborate earrings from rooves; the square, quaint gardens piled high with snow just right for playing. It was so picturesque you could almost hear the Christmas carols drifting through the air.

Sam's heart was beating very fast as the car slowly edged down the street. Everything seemed unfamiliar these days, and though he felt he should know instinctively where to go, he clung to the steering wheel like some sort of shield, eyes searching for house numbers. Usually the cheerful decorations would have evoked some kind of feeling – of happiness or longing or even sadness. Sam wished vaguely he could recall those kinds of feelings. These days time just seemed to slip away, minutes faded into hours and hours into days and days into weeks and then all of the sudden he hadn't really dealt with anything, just filled the gaping crevasse of yearning and despair with study and sleep and work.

Finally he saw the number he was looking for, pulling in at the curb a little way up the street. It was a nice house, two stories with a sensible colour scheme and a garage off to the right. Through the window Sam could see a Christmas tree, lights twinkling on and off despite the afternoon sun. As he watched a woman appeared, peering out the window into the garden. For a moment Sam thought he had been seen and impulsively sunk lower into his seat, but she simply squinted out at the ground and then up into the sky, before vanishing from sight.

Sam let out a sigh of relief, not entirely sure he had the right house after all. A few minutes later however, the women reappeared, and Sam knew there was no mistake. She looked different; older with a different haircut, and she had lost weight…but the creases around her eyes seemed to have lessened and she looked happy. Sam watched as she hurriedly put on a jacket, pulled on some boots and a scarf and jammed a beanie on her head. Again, for a moment he thought he had been spotted, and considered starting the car and roaring off. But before he had time to think about it, a young boy burst out of the house and threw himself headlong into the nearest drift. Sam saw the woman laugh, and pull another beanie and scarf from the rack before shutting the door firmly behind her. Calling to the child, she bundled him up tightly and they set about playing in the snow.

Stunned, Sam sat and watched the event unfold before him. He couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing, though in hindsight he should have reasoned that this was going to happen. Time didn't just freeze because you wanted it to, no matter how hard you wished. But he hadn't factored this into the equation: a mistake that always eventuated in either disappointment or surprise, Sam astonished by the latter. For a long while he simply stared, as the piles of snow gradually became recognisable as a snowman. Then finally and with an effort he tore his eyes away, almost glaring at the dash and remembering that he had come here for a purpose. Gritting his teeth, Sam swallowed hard and pushed open the car door.

The sound of it shutting didn't carry across to the woman and her child, or if it did, they didn't hear it. Sam's legs were jelly as he crossed the street, and it took all of his composure not to run back to the car, drive away and pretend this never happened. But, as he reminded himself, he had promised to do this – and he couldn't very well go back on it now. Not facing him, she didn't notice his presence till he was practically in the driveway. The boy was immersed as he patted the partial snowman smooth, ankle deep in snow and a look of upmost concentration on his face. He couldn't have been more than four, with ruddy cheeks from the cold and a bright blue knitted beanie. Finally sensing someone the woman turned, and the happiness on her face so pure Sam felt the stab of both resentment and sorrow so intensely that it hurt.

For a split second, neither of them spoke. Then –

"Charlie?"

The woman's mouth dropped and her face went white. "Sam?"

There was a pause and Sam didn't know what to say, then Charlie stepped forward and hugged him tightly. He almost recoiled at the contact, but it was so heartfelt that he couldn't resist; and after a while she pulled away and surveyed him at arms length.

"It's been too long," she said, a half smile on her face. Behind her the boy continued to play. "How are you?"

Sam didn't think he could stand the small talk. It was too normal and ordinary, such a bland precursor to what he had to say. It didn't fit. And he didn't want her to jump to conclusions, or think things that weren't true. He just had to say it. Sam considered her, not knowing where to look when you tell someone this. At the ground? Over their shoulder? In the face?

She looked at him uncertainly, so he took a deep breath and stood tall and looked at her in the eyes, like he knew Dean would have wanted him to.

"He's dead."

The words fluttered out of his mouth, and it seemed to Sam that suddenly the colour was sucked out of the world and the air along with it: and all that was left was a close, soundless, suffocating world of black and white. Charlie blinked, and for a horrible moment Sam thought she hadn't understood. But then a sad shadow passed over her face, and he knew there was no misinterpretation. She opened her mouth but nothing came out, so she closed it again. But Sam didn't miss the flash of relief that kindled briefly behind her eyes before quickly disappearing. He expected anger, at that. He wanted anger; he wanted emancipation from the vile rage that had been seething under his skin like an infection for so long. He wanted for wrath to take him, for fury to burn in his chest and for him to scream at her until his throat was bloody and raw. But she just stood there, looking at him sadly but without surprise; a living, breathing reminder of a love Sam never knew his brother was capable of. And instead of anger, instead of jealously and disbelief and betrayal, Sam felt tired. He looked around at this new colourless, lifeless world; where every moment that had passed and would pass was wrong; and he wasn't quite sure anymore if he had brought the bad news or received it. Then all of the sudden, for no other reason than that the woman in front of him let out a shaky breath, Sam felt air return so forcefully to his lungs that it hurt; and the weight of gravity and life and mystery and love was so great upon his shoulders that it brought him to his knees.

The snow was freezing, enough of a shock to make him jump. It left him with a nasty sensation in the pit of his stomach, gnawing through his sensibility and hope. He was too small for this. He didn't want to do anything; he didn't want to think – because it was too hard to do everything. Sleeping, breathing, eating…everything was a chore. He was alone, a pitiful sorry mess with wet jeans in the snow.

He felt someone take his hand, and Sam looked up to see Charlie kneeling before him. She didn't say a word, didn't try to comfort him with weak condolences or tired clichés. She just sat with him, and took his hands in hers, a silent expression that told him she understood. Sam looked away.

For a few moments they just sat together, the boy still playing quietly behind them. "Someone should know," Sam said finally, staring at the ground and too scared to look back up at her again. "When a good person dies, something should happen. Someone should stop and say: 'Hey. A good person died today.' Someone should know, you know? Everything shouldn't just go on."

Her grip on his hands tightened, enough for him to glance up at her. "I know," she whispered, not trusting her voice to be louder without breaking. "You know. I think that's enough."

Sam smiled sadly, not letting go of her hands. Charlie didn't smile back, but looked away for a long moment, and Sam saw her swallow hard. When she spoke again, her voice was so quiet he nearly missed it.

"How?"

Sam felt his insides seize, and the ill feeling in his stomach started to creep up his throat. He had tried very hard not to think about how it happened, but it seemed to have a way of always working into his present thoughts. Still, there was a difference between thinking and telling someone else. All he could remember was those sounds, that smell…so much so that it obscured most of the good memories.

He didn't realise that he had paused for so long until Charlie shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't - "

"It was an accident," he cut across her, not meeting her eyes. "A car accident."

Sam heard her intake breath sharply, and couldn't bring himself to look at her even then. There was another lengthy pause.

Suddenly she stood. "It was at night, wasn't it? Early in the morning. And you were with your father."

Sam's head snapped up, rising so he could see her, the question burning in his eyes. Charlie looked ashamed.

"I knew," she said. "Somehow I just knew. And you can say what you like, but I woke up one morning and something was different and I knew." Finally her voice broke and she hung her head.

This time Sam moved to touch her, but Charlie backed away. "No. Don't. Don't comfort me."

Sam looked at her warily, but she met him with steady eyes. "You've got to understand. I loved your brother more than anything, but I wasn't going to wait for him anymore. I'm sorry for you and I'll miss him, but I stopped mourning for him a long time ago."

He blinked, taken aback by a strength he didn't know she had. Before he could respond though, a little voice rose up from the ground.

"Mommy, can we finish the snowman now?"

Both Charlie and Sam glanced down, distracted. "Oh Jimmy," Charlie said, and Sam could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm sorry. You've been so patient." She looked at the child and then at Sam, as if weighing a decision in her mind. "Come here, I want you to meet someone."

She bent down and scooped the boy into her arms, swinging him onto her hip. For the first time Sam got to see him closely. He was a chubby little kid, though that might have been from the thick jumper he was swathed in. He had a healthy complexion, his cheeks red and his blonde hair flicking out from under his beanie like a bizarre long fringe. As Sam's eyes travelled over him, he noted that the child bore a striking resemblance to Charlie…except for his eyes. There was no mistaking those eyes. The arcane green flecked with the deep-set brown. He knew those eyes. He had seen them before. They were Dean's eyes.

His surprised realisation must have shown on his face, because when he looked up at Charlie for confirmation she was beaming, tears shining in her eyes. "This is your Uncle Sammy."

Sam felt like his heart had been pinned to the back of his chest. Jimmy smiled at him hesitantly, and for a second Sam swore he saw Dean looking out at him. The same crooked grin, the same crinkle in his eyes. Then Sam beamed, his heart suddenly beating so fast it almost hurt. This was unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.

Sam bent so he could be on the same level. "Hey Jimmy. It's nice to meet you."

James considered Sam with a critical eye before relenting. "Nice to meet you," he echoed, looking up at Charlie who nodded. James stuck out his hand.

Sam laughed, the sound resonating in his throat, clasping James' little hand in his own. Sam thought he had never felt so much love in one little hand, and the feeling was so overwhelming that he realised with a start there were tears on his face. "You look so much like your Mom," Sam said, barely controlling the quaver in his voice.

James grinned. "That's what everyone says." Sam smiled, but James' face fell. "Why are you crying?"

Sam chuckled, wiping at his tears and catching Charlie's eye. "They're happy tears. I'm just so happy to meet you."

The boy looked sceptical, putting his arms around Charlie's neck and pulling himself up to whisper something in her ear and then leaning back.

Charlie grinned, looking at Sam and then at Jimmy. "Of course you can give Uncle Sammy a hug. I think he would like that."

James smiled and outstretched his arms, grabbing onto Sam. At first Sam was surprised, but all of the sudden he got such a strong feeling that Dean was with him that he felt sobs swelling in his chest. He hugged James as he cried for his brother, for his father, for himself, for all this time that he had no hope. He opened his eyes and saw Charlie, her own tears gone, beaming at him in the afternoon sun.

"You see," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Dean has this uncanny knack of always staying with me."

Sam grinned as he took a deep breath, and as he looked back up at the sky, it seemed a little closer. It didn't look so big anymore.

"You're squishing me!" James finally said in protest, trying to squirm away but having no room.

"Oh," Sam relented immediately, and laughed in apology. "Sorry. It's been a long time…" He trailed off, handing James back to Charlie. He cuddled into her again.

"Can we finish making the snowman now? You promised it would be ready in time for Dad."

"Of course, honey," Charlie let him slide to the ground. "How about you find some sticks for his arms and legs while I talk to Uncle Sam."

Sam smiled as he watched James set about on his new expedition. Charlie tucked her hands into her pockets, watching him closely.

"I guess I better go," Sam said, turning to her.

She looked concerned, taking her eyes off James for a moment. "Stay, if you want. There's a spare bed upstairs. You can't be alone for Christmas. Stay for dinner with us."

He shook his head ruefully. "You're a remarkable woman, Charlie," he said, and she looked surprised. "You have the patience of a saint and the heart as big as this house, but I think my family has just about used up its credit for your sympathies."

This time Charlie shook her head, smiling kindly. "Not at all."

Sam touched her shoulder, looking earnest. "You've moved on. You're happy now. The Winchesters have caused you too much pain for too long." He smiled, for the first time able to think of his brother without it hurting. "Dean wouldn't want that."

Charlie looked at him searchingly and then nodded slowly, accepting his hug. "Say hello to him for me, won't you? If you see him around," she mumbled into his shoulder, and Sam laughed and nodded.

When they pulled away, his face was serious. "Thankyou."

She smiled genuinely and Sam let his hand trail down her arm, squeezing her hand before turning away and walking out of the driveway. She watched him cross the road with thoughtful eyes, and saw as he got into the car. Then she too turned away, closing her eyes and feeling the entire world in front of her, heart bursting with feeling. She took a deep breath, feeling Dean standing beside her – and looking out into the sky, she finally said goodbye. Then she opened her eyes and smiled, dropping to her knees and helping Jimmy roll another ball for the snowman's head.

Across the road, Sam just didn't want to leave. He couldn't explain it, however bad he was feeling before he had arrived – there was now a little bubble of hope that was rising in his chest. Dean was gone, but there was someone who remembered him. And that made the bitter hurt a little easier to swallow. In his rear-view mirror, Sam saw another car turn into the street, moving slowly down the road. After a few moments it turned into the same driveway and Sam saw a man get out. He was much the same age as Charlie, with longish dark hair and square-framed glasses.

She looked up at the sound of the car door shutting, and Sam saw her break into a wide smile. "Luke." She sounded relieved to see him, crossing the garden and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Luke looked surprised, but let out an easy laugh. "Hey, glad to see you too." He nuzzled her neck, making her laugh, before pulling back and kissing her.

Jimmy, who let out a cry of 'Daddy!' and launched himself across the yard, broke their embrace. Luke drew away, spreading his arms open wide and lifting the boy high up in the air. Luke smiled as James giggled, settling himself into his father's hip.

"So what have you been up to today?" Luke questioned, tickling James' face.

James squirmed away. "We made a snowman!"

"Would you look at that!" Luke wandered over, taking in his hastily rolled head and crooked arms and legs. "That is the best snowman I've ever seen in my life!"

James beamed with pride. "Hey Dad, can we make snow angels? Right now?"

"Snow angels?" Luke looked over at Charlie, who shrugged. "You bet we can."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

Charlie pulled a face. "You've got your best jeans on Luke, you should go and get changed."

"I suppose your right…" Luke winked at Jimmy as he put him down, then turned quickly and ran at Charlie, hoisting her over his shoulder and dumping her in a nearby pile of snow.

She emerged spluttering, looking mad but with laughter in her eyes. "You…"

"Oh, you love it," Luke replied, grinning and then falling down next to her, pulling Jimmy with him.

Sam couldn't help but smile as he watched the trio flail in the snow. After a few minutes Sam saw Charlie take Luke's hand – he looked over at her and she smiled. But he didn't return it; rather he rolled over and kissed her so gently and lovingly it made her weak at the knees. Sam felt a pang on Dean's behalf, but before he could recognise what it was, it was gone. He looked over at the family, capering happily in the snow, and then at the road ahead – then he reached down to the ignition, started the car, and drove away.

Christmas night. Sam lay sprawled across the bed in his hotel room, eating ice cream from the tub. Carols tinkered from the television as he watched a Christmas special, Santa smiling jovially at the young children who lined the streets in breathless anticipation. Today had been ok. A bit lonely, but he couldn't really complain. It could have been worse. He had been feeling better since he had seen Charlie, and it had crossed his mind to take her up on the offer of Christmas lunch. He had, in fact, even put on his jacket and stepped out of the door…but the street was so crowded with families that Sam felt like an outsider just standing there, let alone going for lunch. So he went back inside, ordered room service and sunk into a comfortable pouch of daytime television and wiled the afternoon away.

Now the sun was sinking slowly behind the horizon, the dusk of the most anticipated day of the year colouring the sky. Sam stretched half-heartedly, scattering the remnants of his lunch and early dinner over the bed and staring idly at the television. He might leave tomorrow. There was things that he had to do, things that he should have done but kept putting off. For the first time in a long time Sam felt able to deal with things more complex than work or study, and he realised that he had quite a bit of catching up to do.

A quiet knock on the door brought him out of his musings, and Sam rolled from the bed to answer it, a little puzzled. He pulled open the door, and contrary to finding the cleaning lady as he had expected, it was Charlie.

He couldn't keep the surprise off his face or out of his voice. "Oh. Hi."

Charlie blushed a little. "Hi."

There was a moment of awkward silence, Sam looking at her curiously. Charlie glanced down at her hands, which were fidgeting with a piece of paper folded exactly in half. Taking this in, Sam glanced at her face for some sort of explanation. She wouldn't look at him though, just looked torn…but then she seemed to settle, regaining her ability to speak and lifting her eyes.

"I know we said goodbye already," she said. "But when you left, I realised I should have given this to you. I think it's the only one I have, but…I want you to have it." Taking a deep breath, Charlie offered Sam the piece of paper. He took it hesitantly, turning it over in his hands and then unfolding it.

Smoothing out the crease, Sam realised it was a photo. Charlie stood in the centre, wearing a long dress and her hair swept back in an elegant wave. Dean stood next to her, one arm around her waist, looking very svelte in a handsome black tuxedo. They were both beaming, and a banner in the background proudly proclaimed: 'Prom Night'. Sam didn't think he'd ever seen a nicer photo of Dean. He looked back up to see Charlie watching him anxiously, trying to gauge his reaction.

"It's fantastic," he said earnestly, and she looked relieved.

"I know it's not much, but I think you need it more than I do. Dean gave that to me, just before he left when we were in our senior year."

A little frown creased Sam's face. "I don't want to take it off you…"

Charlie smiled. "I bequeath it to you."

Sam returned the smile, lowering his gaze to the photo once more. As his eyes flickered over the picture, he noticed a lone figure standing the very right, looking in the opposite direction. Though he was largely obscured, Sam knew it was the man he had seen the other day. Suddenly a question bubbled up in him and before he could stop it, it had escaped his mouth.

"Does he know?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Does who know what?"

Sam indicated the picture, too late to try and cover. "Does he know about Jimmy?"

Charlie stared for a moment at the photo, and then at Sam. "I never told him," she said, without shame. "But he knows. And he loves James every bit as much as I do… or that Dean would have," she finished, answering his unspoken question.

Sam felt a little ashamed. "I shouldn't have asked - "

"It's fine," Charlie said, the tone of her voice making it very clear that there was nothing more to the topic. Sam searched her face, but when she smiled it was without any tension. "Look, I better go. Luke's waiting in the car."

"Right," Sam nodded, folding the photo again and pushing it into his pocket. "Thanks. It means a lot to me."

Charlie reached and squeezed his hand, winking at him affably. "Keep in touch." And then she turned and was gone.

Sam stepped back inside the room, collapsing on the bed. Worming the photo out of his pocket he examined it in more detail, their infectious smiles spreading to his own face. A good ten minutes later Sam turned it over, looking for some kind of date or stamp. But there was nothing save for a line of cramped writing in one corner, something that he had missed before. Squashed into a tiny little square, Sam could make out – even from the tiny letters – that it was Dean's writing. He had had the practise of illegibility down to an art. Sam squinted his eyes, bringing the paper almost to his nose to read it. Finally, after much straining and with the assistance of a magnifying glass, Sam made out the words. The only remaining words of his fiercely loyal and spirited big brother, written to the only girl that he had ever really loved.

Meet me on the sunny road.

Charlie was curled up on the couch, James asleep next to her. The heat from the fireplace soaked into her as she idly stroked his hair, her body in the room but her mind far away. Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder. She didn't do it often. But sometimes…when she felt so suffocated in suburbia and complacency, she would shut her eyes and wonder what it would have been like if Dean had stayed. Wondered what it would have felt like, if he would have held her differently at night, if he would have been alright with a mortgage and a son and wife who was always going to be a little bit different. But then she thought of Luke, and the mere contemplation became betrayal. It wasn't fair when she had promised herself to him, and it made her feel ashamed. She loved him, but sometimes she was so sure that he deserved better that she just wanted to leave.

But he always had a way of knowing, he could sense her guilt and uncertainties; and when she was feeling bad, he would put his arms around her and tell her that he loved her, no matter what. And that would be enough until the next argument, or the next time her hand hesitated on the doorknob when she knew he would be there. But then like always, Luke would just hold her a little tighter, as if he could hug all her problems out of her. And that's why she loved him; because he was beautiful and gentle and he had so much love to give, and he chose to give it to her.

There was a soft creak, and Charlie craned her neck to see Luke padding into the room.

"The washing's on," he whispered, careful not to wake James and snuggling in behind her on the couch. "I'll put it in the dryer when we go to bed."

Charlie looked around at him gratefully, shifting slightly so he could be more comfortable. "Thank you."

Luke smiled benignly, letting his arms slide around her waist and then kissing her softly on the neck. It took her by surprise, and she felt butterflies tumble around in her at his touch. They had been married for nearly three years now, and she still wasn't used to him touching her like that. But it was nice and she liked it; that special little thrill that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Charlie smiled; relaxing against him so his chest supported her back and enjoying his added warmth. After a moment she arched up and kissed him behind his ear, like she knew he loved. Sure enough, she felt him shiver a little, and she leaned back into him once again and shut her eyes. She could feel his heart beating, his chest expanding against her; cocooned in his arms. He smelt nice, like washing powder and aftershave and the chicken they had had for dinner. She smiled again, feeling content but also a little concerned. She didn't think it was possible to really love two people. And she did love Luke. She hadn't just convinced herself to settle for second best, she knew that…but it worried her that a little voice popped up occasionally to wonder and wish. And she didn't want that doubt, not anymore.

She felt Luke move against her and she opened her eyes, craning her head upwards to see him. Luke looked down at her, feeling the way she leaned into him and knowing that he was just as infatuated with her now as when he was seventeen. She had this way of smiling at him; like one minute he had been married for three years, then when she looked at him with those wide eyes and he was the same jittery teenager who fell so hard for her. So when she smiled at him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes, he felt such a great spark of affection that it went right through him, a warm feeling burning like a furnace in his stomach and spreading through his body. And before he knew what he was doing, he had slid down so their faces were level; and brushing the hair away from her face, he kissed her.

Charlie was surprised by his directness, heart beating faster as his weight pushed her into the couch. His mouth was warm and he felt right against her, like he was meant to be there. Like things were complete. She had never had that feeling before, and it was so overwhelming it took her a minute to kiss him back. She pushed him away, untucking herself from under him and settling into his lap, so she could kiss him better. Luke let her take the upper hand, allowing her to fit herself against him and enjoying her hands against his chest. After a few minutes he felt James stir on the couch, and pulled away. Charlie looked over and saw he was awake, gently pulling him into the remaining space on Luke's lap.

James looked confused; but Luke patted his head and whispered softly to him, and soon he had cuddled up against Luke's side and fallen back to sleep. Charlie watched as Luke consoled him, fascinated by the concern and love and creased his face. He saw her watching and felt colour rise to his cheeks, but Charlie smoothed back his hair and rested her face against his, her arms around his neck keeping him close.

Luke tightened his hold on her, wanting to be as near to her as he possibly could. For a long time they didn't speak, Luke not quite able to comprehend how two people could possibly be so dear to him. He looked at Charlie, who seemed lost in the firelight, the look on her face the faraway kind that always seemed to precede a sort of sad look in her eyes. That disheartened him, sometimes. He didn't doubt that she loved him, but he knew that no matter how hard he tried; she just wouldn't love him as much as he loved her. And that look on her face…he didn't want her to feel bad about that. He understood, he really did. The thing was, he wanted to be with her so much that it didn't matter. All that stuff, it didn't mean anything.

"I love you," he said at last, and she looked around at him. "I love you," he said again, putting a hand behind her head and pulling her face to his. They were so close she could see every single one of his eyelashes, and the look on his face was so earnest it brought tears to her eyes. "And that's enough for me."

Charlie closed her eyes, and when she opened them she kissed him. She loved him, she was sure. And she wouldn't wonder anymore.