AN: Fine. FINE. I'll write an addendum, but only because Wildfire's Flame asked. *winks* And because I'm hopelessly mawkish. And maudlin. And any other 'm' words that make me sound smart. Also, I completely forgot the harvest festival even though Shazza19 reminded me. So, this coda is for you guys. I'm a little afraid it takes some of the punch out of the ending and it's hopelessly sentimental, but man I had fun writing it. The show never gives the boys any closure, so I did (see also, my story Sisyphus Rests, lol).
By the way, the lyrics at the end of the story are from Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven. Also, in chapter 16, I completely forgot to ask if anyone is old enough to have caught the reference to Newhart? If not, and you want to, Google, 'this is my brother Darryl, and this is my other brother Darryl.'
Wildfire: I'm so glad you liked the end! JJ breaks my heart in a million pieces. I get so damn attached to my characters. PLEASE let me know what you think about this addition. You inspired it, after all!
Scootersmom: What a lovely thing to say! A compliment, then a request for another story – which is an even bigger compliment. *sends waves of appreciation* The only thing in the works right now is a version of the Melusine story, showing it from the boys' perspective, but I'm always writing.
Carry On, faithful readers!
They made their choice. They chose family. And, well, isn't that kind of the whole point? No doubt – endings are hard. But then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?
-- Chuck, Supernatural
Last chapter: I'm glad it's you, Sam.
Sam was a shitty sleeper. That was just reality. His little family was well aware of that fact, so it was an unwritten rule that when Sam was sleeping, and sleeping peacefully, he was rarely disturbed. So why was someone throwing things at him? He was in his own bed, he was comfortable, and he could taste the lingering vestiges of a dream that was actually…pleasant. Leave me the fuck alone.
Sometimes while he slept, Sam would see something that was more than a dream but less than a vision, and they always came true. They didn't involve death or Azazel or usually much of anything too important. But they did come, like the powers within the demon blood or Sam's own ability or whatever the hell it was couldn't quite fade all the way. They didn't hurt, and they didn't matter, so he pretended they didn't exist. Besides, they were often pleasant, which was a really nice change from pretty much everything else in his life.
One time, it had been about Lana, the sweet waitress at the bar, who had once confessed how badly she and Calvin wanted a baby, but how it wasn't happening naturally and they couldn't afford IVF treatments. A few months later, Sam had woken knowing she was pregnant, which was confirmed a few months after that when he saw her in the grocery store sporting a baby bump. And before they ever learned about Ramsey, the extra psychotic hellhound on the loose, Sam had known he'd be killing another hellhound, which is why he didn't protest when Dean and Crowley went off to hunt her. Sam already knew he'd find her first.
This morning, what he knew, what he'd experienced, filled him with more peace than he'd known in years. And he'd really like to wallow in that for a few minutes, thank you very much.
Something small bounced off his shoulder. Dean was talking. "Go away, asshole," Sam told his pillow.
"No, your highness, you're coming with me."
Sam's deodorant landed on the pillow next to his face. His deodorant? He vaguely noticed that a lot of his toiletries were sprinkled around him. Apparently, Dean was using them for missiles. Admittedly, it wasn't a bad way to wake up a Winchester. Much less likely to end in bruises than touching Sam or Dean while they were sleeping.
Sam was definitely not firing on all cylinders yet. He wasn't hung over, not this time. Three nights earlier, after JJ went through the rift, Sam had tempted fate by indulging in Johnny Walker again. Overindulging, actually. But this time, Dean was there, overindulging next to him. And Cas and Jack showed up too. And they reminisced a little about the mysterious, complicated man that they had just been starting to know. They all knew why he'd committed his ultimate sacrifice, and for whom, but they didn't talk about that. Instead, they talked about how he drank coffee that was nearly boiling hot and how he mocked Dean for his dead man's robe and how he taught Jack how to "walk the dog" with a yo-yo, something none of the rest of them knew how to do. And they didn't talk about how he was different from Sam or why, or the glimpses they'd witnesses of who he might have become if safety and security had become his new norm.
And Sam, who knew his limits for drinking like he knew how to load a Taurus or recite an exorcism, blew right past that limit without looking back. But the next morning, he woke up in his bed, warm and safe and barely hung over, and reflected on how nice it was to have a fully powered Cas watching over them.
But that was days ago, and Sam hadn't drunk more than 2 beers last night. He squinted at the clock. It was already 9am, but so what? It wasn't like they had a schedule today. His only goal was to keep researching the weapon that Jack had liberated from the Brits. He mumbled something that may have resembled English.
"You have 20 minutes to shower and get ready, then I'm dragging you to the car even if you're naked," Dean informed him, sounding far too awake.
Finally, Sam gave up and sat up. "Why?"
"Because if we don't hurry, all of Betty's Swedish meatballs will be gone."
Sam was ready in time, though his hair was still wet when Dean forced him to leave. But they were participating in the community, and voluntarily, and Sam wasn't about to argue.
It was a little crowded, but they knew far more people that Sam had realized, and the greetings were friendly, easy, like they belonged there. Kasey, the doctor, eyed Sam funny, but everyone else simply accepted them. Weird was okay in small towns once it became a familiar weird, and the brothers had apparently achieved that.
Cas and Jack weren't there. They were busy flying all over, Dean had said with a fond smile. Their friend could barely contain his joy at having wings again. It reminded Sam of Bobby walking the stairs all night after regaining use of his legs. But it was okay without them there sometimes, too.
The crowd might have felt claustrophobic, but Sam could see over everyone's head, which helped. And Dean managed to get himself invited to be one of the judges for best pie and Sam unbent enough to try out a deep-fried Oreo and even tried out a silly game involving tossing rings over glass bottles. He chose a pink stuffed dog as his prize and gave it to little Mandy Perkins, making a friend for life. And when he used sign language to tell her that the dog was hers, her mom looked at him like he'd just saved the world.
It was a damn fine day.
Heading back to the bunker, Dean moaned about being way too full and gloated about three separate promises of homemade pies from the winners of the baking contest. Then he side-eyed his brother. "You've been smiling since you got out of bed this morning. I'd ask if you were dreaming about Erin Andrews," drunk Sam had admitted to finding the statuesque sportscaster beautiful, "but you're not that interesting." He tilted his head. "So, what did you see?"
Sam really shouldn't be surprised by his brother's insight any more. Dean was more perceptive than anyone else he'd ever known. "It's hard to describe," admitted Sam. Dean waited patiently, so Sam did his best.
JJ jumped into the rift with his eyes wide open, watching the other two men as long as he could. He wasn't sure his reality even existed any more, or if he'd simply stop existing once he was through it. But he landed on the hot, dusty ground, the package still clutched to his chest. There wasn't a single plant or animal in sight, just a barren wasteland and the feral face of a Shedim. It moved faster than he could have dodged, not that he wanted to.
It was over so fast; just one second of pain, then warm nothingness. He knew the Shedim would eat his soul as well, and waited for even the nothingness to be gone, for all awareness to be gone as he no longer existed, but it didn't happen. He was confused. There was no body, no senses, nothing. But then there was a voice. The voice.
"Damn, bro, have I been waiting a long time for you," it said with gentle humor. "And let me tell you, you're a lot of work."
JJ couldn't say anything in response. He knew this wasn't a facsimile, a different version. This was the voice he'd missed for so long. Corporeal or not, tears he couldn't shed clogged a throat he no longer had. He wordlessly asked his question.
"Yeah, work. Who do you think distracted those hellhounds a few years ago? Or pushed you out of the way of that psychotic banshee? I even led you to that other Sam so he didn't bleed out. Did you seriously think I'd leave you alone for all of that?"
"I didn't – I hoped – "
The voice softened. "I know. But I told you a long time ago I wouldn't leave you. Not really. Not forever. C'mon, Sammy. Time to go."
Dean had driven past the bunker and kept going as Sam explained what he'd sensed or experienced with halting words. They hit a 2-lane highway as they had so many times before, all that was familiar about Baby greasing the wheels of a hard conversation, making it easier to talk and share.
"Damn." Dean nearly whispered the word.
"Dean, uh, you need to know, JJ was actually glad you chose me, in a way." Sam had to say it, no chick flick rule be damned. He'd seen the guilt darken Dean's eyes, knew he felt responsible that he couldn't save the other man, and for the look of desolation JJ had worn as he'd jumped into the rift.
"Glad? What are you smoking? And can I have some?"
"No, I mean it Dean. He was glad, because it meant that his Dean would always, no matter what, choose him. It meant that things were the way they were supposed to be."
Dean shook his head tightly. "He wanted to be the first choice, Sam. You saw his face."
He wasn't getting it. Sam licked his lips as he thought about how to explain. "Not your first choice, Dean. Not really. See, so many things that we thought were constant aren't. Dad isn't unkillable. Mom wasn't perfect. Not all monsters are bad. Angels aren't necessarily good. God isn't who we thought he was. But there are a couple things that won't ever change. And one is that Dean protects Sam. You reminded him of one of the few constants we've got in this world."
"Fuck, Sammy." Dean's voice shook.
Sam didn't relent, because if he didn't say this now, he never would. "Want to know another one? Sam believes in Dean. And that's why we'll win. Because none of the –" he waved his hands a little wildly "everything we've gone through has changed those two things, not really."
Baby growled her approval as the road whipped by and Dean, out of words, grabbed Sam's sleeve without looking at him. There was hope in the gesture, and love, and the things he hardly dared believe in because Dean's heart was too big and too full to let the words escape.
It was another 30 miles before Dean spoke. "I'm going to buy us some coffee, and we're going to listen to some Zeppelin before we start singing Kumbaya and braiding each other's hair. Then we're going back home to tell the rest of our family to get their tailfeathers back there, and we'll all figure out a way to kick God's ass. Okay? Okay."
He pushed a tape in the tape deck and turned up the volume and Sam only smiled as the music washed over them.
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll
She's buying a stairway to heaven