Epilogue

A few weeks later

The weeks passed despite Dean's wishes, faster than time had any right to. He stood in the warm sun of the parking lot, hands hung at his sides, his eyes closed against the light while Sam dug in the trunk to collect his things, wishing it would thaw him out just a little. That maybe it would put some life back into his blood that he hadn't felt in a while. It was coming to a head, this storm, different entirely and yet, just as threatening, he thought.

"Ready to go?"

Dean opened his eyes and focused on Sam. He was blushed in the cheeks, his smile wide, though Dean saw the anxiousness in it. In his arms were the things he couldn't live without, a few things to get him along on the bus ride, clutched to his chest like it was going to run away. That was what Dean wanted to do right then. Force his arms around his brother, keep him from running away.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his head while urged his jaw to unclench. He brought to his face what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Let's go, brother." He took the handle of the wheeled suitcase out of Sam's hand and they walked on.

Clarksdale's bus station was on the nicer end of the bus stations that Dean had seen, with a high, shaded awning that covered rows of benches to give the passengers a cool place to wait for their bus. Monitors stood at the curb before the six-lane road, sharing which routes were on time and which were late. Dean stood before it, watching Sam while he watched the screen. There was a soreness in the back of his throat that he couldn't help but try to swallow down.

So this is it, Dean thought. You couldn't stop a runaway train. Would Sam call, like he promised? Write? Come back for Christmas maybe? During his break? If staying in Lyon meant that Sam had someplace to come back to, Dean would stay a hundred years, that was no argument. But that would never mean he didn't want to be wherever Sam was, though. No house was - or had ever been - a home without him in it, and this last month of living together again, finally, had proved that. They'd made it their own little home over the weeks, not so necessarily out of necessity. John had told Sam not to come back and he hadn't. Dean hadn't spoken to him face-to-face in months, not while Sam was under his roof, while they tried to figure this college thing out. Dean would stay behind, work on bringing John around to the idea then they would all meet up again in California. Sam didn't have much faith that plan would work but Dean needed to try before their family was split up forever. He'd make it work. Sam had said California wouldn't be the end - not in so many words - but even while they planned for the future things were feeling suspiciously…final.

"Okay, so, it's on time." Sam turned with a toothy grin. Dean wished he could see a sign of insecurity, hesitancy, but he didn't.

"We made it just in time then," he said, putting his stomach in it so he didn't sound so eviscerated.

Sam nodded, letting go of his breath. Getting out of the house had taken longer than it should have. Dean hoped it had been enough to delay this.

They walked to the gathered crowd of people waiting for their busses. Dean wondered how many of them would be with Sam all the way to California, if any. He opened his mouth. A bus came from behind, revving its engine, cutting him off as it passed. Greyhound, with the numbers 4-7-5 on the side.

Sam's.

Dean's stomach flipped, the sound of the busses and people around them suddenly too loud. He grimaced. The crowd seated at the benches rose, pulling along their things, while the bus eased to a halt in front of them.

Sam's overshirt fluttered behind him in the breeze like a curtain. "Come on, Dean."

His fingers were growing cold despite the warm summer heat. Yet he walked on, meeting Sam at his place in line while others queued up behind them.

"Are you, uh - " Dean's voice suddenly fell away. He swallowed, looking around at the people. "You sure you'll be fine?"

"I'm sure it'll be great. The site said that even if I lose my tickets they can still find me, and I've got my phone. Money for when we stop."

Dean exhaled. "I didn't like the sound of the landlord on the phone. If he fucks you over - "

"It'll be fine." Sam paused, looking at Dean. He blinked and looked away.

A stranger's voice. "Hey, bud?" A man and woman behind Sam waved their hands to usher him forward. The line was moving. Dean's heart was not.

"Okay, okay." Dean put a finger on Sam's chest. "You call me the second you're there, and at every stop. If you need help, whatever. Want to come home. Hear me?"

Sam hesitated, and there it was - what Dean was waiting for. The wrinkle in his forehead, the roll of his lips. But it was gone in a moment, buried or washed away, evaporated. Sam nodded. "I will."

Dean pulled Sam into a hug at the shoulders, clutching him like he'd been doing for days now, like he'd been slipping away all this time, regardless of what Dean did. Now was the time for it, though, before he wouldn't get to for…how long?

A man in a Greyhound uniform appeared at their sides and took Sam's rolling suitcase with him, passing it to another uniform to stow away in the undercarriage. Sam pulled away with a sniffle, swiping at his face in the same way Dean was, both too prideful to let the other see. But they knew. At least, Dean did.

"Make good decisions," Dean said, planting his hands in his pockets.

Sam opened his mouth but stayed silent, turning down his eyes with another nod. At the mouth of the bus Sam offered up his ticket. The man tore the paper down the middle, passed it back, then Sam walked up the steps, and that was it.

The last of the passengers boarded the bus, the workers sealing the undercarriage compartments while Dean watched what he knew was the back of Sam's head. He turned, and they caught eyes just as the main doors closed. Even through the dirt on the window Dean could see the glisten of tearing eyes. Maybe they weren't to prideful, after all. Sam waved, offering a sad grin. Dean waved back.

A cloud of exhaust flew away from the tailpipe while the bus pulled away, and, dully, Dean asked himself why everyone he loves always disappeared behind clouds of smoke.