AN: We've made it to the end! Because I doubt I'll get any more writing in the next few days (though it's possible…there is something I've been working on…) I'll wish all of you happy holidays!

sfaulkenberry: Thank you, thank you. I never want to "solve" complex issues in a short story, because that's not how life works, but I never know if readers find that frustrating or realistic. I mean, I try to have some hope in everything I write because hope is at the heart of the whole human experience, IMO. And that just got deep. *snicker* What I was trying to say is thanks for you compliments.

Cjc1994: Aw, thank you so much! What a nice thing to say! I appreciate your comment in The Hoodie too. I can't send or receive PMs, so I try to respond to commenters here.

Lena: I did a rewrite of this chapter to incorporate a few things you mentioned in your last comment, so I hope I did it all justice. It's a good thing I love you! (J/k – I am happy to make changes; after all, this is your story.) Please lmk if I missed anything.

Blondie: Thank you very much. I don't think I have ever seen you say anything negative, and you are very encouraging! Gracias.

Leann: Thanks again! I hope you enjoy this last chapter.

When you're meeting with the king of Hell, you really ought to be paying attention, on guard and not distracted. Of course, he wasn't the Crowley of old. He and Dean had both spared each other's lives – recently – and it sounded like the demon had had a straight chance at Sam too. And Dean would swear that Crowley actually felt a little bit guilty about the Mark. Maybe that's why he'd been so willing to help get Ben back. He wasn't the same guy who'd nabbed the Braedens years ago. Not that Dean trusted him, but he could predict him a little bit.

So while he waited, Dean let his thoughts wander. Supper had been so nice. So easy. He could pretend that he lived with Lisa and Ben still, and that Sam was over just hanging out for the evening. That there were no more monsters and he was free to let go of his soldier's heart. Working on the car with Ben had been a revelation – the kid was hardly a kid any more, and Dean regretted the years he'd missed. But he didn't regret protecting them, and he couldn't regret the good he and Sam had done.

Saying goodbye hurt more than he'd expected. Lisa had patted his cheek and given him a hug that both forgave him and let go of him. "Take care of yourself," was all she'd said.

Then he was facing Ben. Kid was smart, and kind, and Dean was so proud of him for who he'd become, mostly without any father figure in his life. "C'mere," said Dean, reeling Ben in for a hug before the kid could protest. Yeah, he'd seen the clasped hand/smacked back that Ben had given Sam, and knew that a teenage boy was going to avoid a real hug, even if he wanted one. Ben had stiffened for just a second, then hugged back. It didn't last long, but it was something Dean would remember for a long, long time.

"Call me for anything, Ben. Anything. Nightmare, girl trouble, whatever. Got it?" He messed up Ben's hair, smirking when the kid ducked away. Sam at that age would have punched his arm for good measure, but Ben had a different kind of life. Dean bit back a grin imagining what Sam would do to him now. He might just remove the offending hand.

"Yeah, I will. I might have some questions about…you know, the stuff you do, but I don't think I want to know too much about it. Just how to keep Mom safe."

Dean's pride swelled again. "Yeah. Of course. Sam's been handling a lot of that, but I'll make sure you're off limits for demons now."

"Yeah, cuz you and Sam will kick their asses," Ben smiled a little.

Dean nodded proudly. "You did alright yourself. You're the one who held a gun to the head of their king."

"That dude was the demon king? Whoa. Wish I could tell people that."

"People? Or girls?"

Ben rolled his eyes and they both laughed and for one moment longer they could pretend they hadn't been separated by years and monsters and a decision that still hurt Ben. Still, Dean was surprised and grateful to have the chance to make it up to Ben over time. Time he'd never thought he'd have.

He'd been horrifyingly close to tears as he left.

Dean stuffed down the memories and emotions, and had it all in check by the time Crowley finally saw fit to show up. "Better things to do?" he asked, used to the comfortable rhythm of verbally sparring with his sometime ally.

"Actually yes." Crowley pointed at his own chest. "King. Busy."

"Busy getting' some sweet, sweet lovin' from mother trucker?" Dean couldn't help but smirk at the flat look he got for that comment.

"For your information, I fed her to someone. Literally. No más Tatiana."

"Pity. I hear there's a Conway Twitty tribute band playing down the road. Maybe you can pick up a replacement honey bunch."

Crowley gave a low whistle. "Blood sugar low? Or was it spending time with Winchester junior that's making you so pricky?"

Dean's good mood evaporated. "Forget about them, Crowley. Forever."

"So it is family matters thay are the boil on your backside." At the look on Dean's face, Crowley held up his hands in surrender. "I said they were off limits, they're off limits. Take a breath." He flipped one hand palm up and waved the other like a 2-bit magician and the weird lamp thing appeared. "Now, would you like the honors of taking out the trash or shall I?"

Dean gave a go for it motion. His priorities were clear – he wanted the threat gone, and he didn't especially care how it happened. Crowley opened the top of the container, and the familiar black smoke poured out, but it didn't get far. Crowley made some complicated gesture with his hand and the smoke – the demon – coiled in on itself. It writhed and twisted in a manner that indicated it was in pain. After a moment, Crowley closed his fist. A high-pitched squeal came from the smoke, then with a long hiss, it burned into a rough circle of embers on the ground.

Dean looked at it with some satisfaction, seeing a similar expression on Crowley's face. He was sure that Crowley had made a show of the demon's demise to remind Dean, remember I'm powerful and dangerous. Crowley had a reason for everything he did.

Unwilling to actually thank Crowley out loud, Dean nodded his approval and wiped his hands on each other like he was brushing off dirt. "Good, that's that now. And Crowley?"

He waited until Crowley turned his way, one eyebrow raised.

"I know you're up to something."

Crowley grinned delightedly. "Dean, you should know by now that I'm always up to something." With that, he disappeared.

Sam was ready to go by the time Dean came back. He slung his bag into the trunk and slid into his seat without a word. And he didn't comment, other than to ask how it went with Crowley and comment on how Cas had scolded him over the phone when he'd admitted they both were injured.

"He says we need to hurry back so he can, and I quote, 'put the two of you back together again.' And yes, he said it exactly like that." Sam was going for exasperated but it came out as fond.

Dean grunted and rolled his eyes and complained that he really needed the time to get poor Baby back in shape. And he waited for Sam to try to get him to talk, but Sam was going the patient way again, waiting for Dean to open up on his own.

Dean hated the patient way.

He far preferred Sam's old way of poking and poking until something gave, because then Dean could explode in anger, which was a lot more comfortable than a lot of other emotions. Come to think of it, Sam's old way sounded a lot like Dean's way of getting Sam to talk. Sam's new, patient way was stupid. And effective.

Dean decided to say so, but what came out instead was, "I'm okay."

"Good," said Sam. Patiently. Damn him.

"I am."

"Good."

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Being the calm one."

Sam gave Dean a look that was part John Winchester shutting down bullshit and part Pastor Jim praying for patience. "Dean, I am the calm one."

That was both true and untrue. But yeah, kind of true. "You're the annoying one." Dean took a breath. It was coming out now, whether he wanted it to or not. "It's your fault that I talk about crap like this now. I used to figure it all out on my own, my own way."

Sam was too kind to mention just how unhealthy those methods had been, maybe because he'd indulged in many of those same habits.

Dean used his shoulder to itch his jaw and weighed his words. "I just want to say thanks, man. I should've looked after them, but you stepped up and…and I'm glad." He winced, waiting for the Dr. Phil head shrinking or chick flick moment that was sure to follow such a charged admission.

Sam shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Dean let out an even longer breath. Maybe the quiet, patient way wasn't so bad.

Winchesters blew out of town, slamming doors shut behind them and never looking back. Winchesters didn't talk things out or thank each other. They drank or fought instead. But now they'd reopened a door, and they'd talked things out and it seemed like Winchesters could change after all.

And Sam was right. That was okay.