AN: Well, we've come to the end. I will miss Barb and Co.
In case anyone cares, the story was inspired by the song Ghosts and Roses by Jeremy Renner. (I'm a big fan of a character he played, Hawkeye in the MCU – I'm a sucker for the underdog.) The title of the song made me think about someone getting killed and their blood splashing on roses, and the story was born. It was initially going to be Barb vacationing with a friend, while mourning the death of her husband, but obviously that all went to the wayside and her sisters got their 15 seconds in the sun.
I need to mention again that this story was helped along a great deal by the fabulous betaing by JaniceC678!
Thank you so much for reading!
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Sam paused in his packing to pick up the item that Barb had dropped off a few hours earlier. He weighed the old baseball in his hand and studied it, memories flooding in.
They'd been at Uncle Bobby's long enough to actually be enrolled in school in Sioux Falls for a while, but Dad would be back soon. Sam and Dean were all packed for whenever that might be. Sam didn't want to leave. It was the longest they'd ever stayed with someone other than Pastor Jim, and it was so much better than staying alone in a motel room, which is what usually happened. Besides, Uncle Bobby had so many interesting things around his place and knew so much about so many things. And of course, he didn't enforce training the way that Dad did.
Which is why they were now standing in an uneven triangle in an empty area of the salvage yard playing three-way catch. It was easy, calm. Thanks to Dean's and Uncle Bobby's lessons and patience, Sam could throw almost as smoothly as Dean now, though not nearly as far. They didn't talk much, just threw the ball, the rhythm of it somehow soothing.
Sam knew the other two heard the rumble of the Impala as soon as he did (probably sooner for Dean, since he could be like Radar on M*A*S*H sometimes, hearing things before anybody else did), but they didn't stop, so Sam didn't stop either. In fact, when Dad walked up, even his footsteps weary, Uncle Bobby threw the ball to Dean and pointed with his chin. "'Sanother glove over there," he said.
Sam studied his dad even as he caught Dean's throw and sent his own toward Uncle Bobby. Dad looked tired, but not mad. Just...thoughtful. Maybe even...longing? That didn't seem right. But then Dad picked up the glove and the other three moved to make their triangle a crooked square and they all played catch for another good half hour. It was one of Sam's fondest memories of his dad.
"That survived the fire at Bobby's," said Dean from the doorway. His voice didn't startle Sam, as he'd sensed his brother's approach. "Didn't seem right to throw it out after that. And it took down that Nazi be-yoo-tifully."
Sam smiled but didn't look up. "Bobby teach you how to throw?" Even after all this time, saying Bobby's name brought a pang.
Nobody else would have caught the slight hesitation from Dean, but Sam wasn't just anybody. "Mostly," Dean finally answered, the ring of truth in the word. "Dad had just started with a football and a wiffle ball sometimes, before."
Before was their shorthand for before the fire or maybe before everything changed.
"But then Bobby managed to convince Dad that throwing was actually an important skill. And Dad, well, he loved baseball. Sometimes, it was like he couldn't resist," Dean continued, which surprised Sam a little. Usually, once before came up, any conversation was over.
"I remember," said Sam. They both knew that Hunting wasn't the real reason Bobby had played catch with them, and Dad had known it too. It just had made it an acceptable pastime, since it could be considered "training." Sam looked over at Dean for the first time. "Would you mind, uh, if I kept this in my room? At the bunker?"
Dean's face softened and he looked pleased. Perhaps that Sam felt the same attachment to a simple baseball as he did, or that Sam wanted to keep something important in his room. "Yeah, I mean, if you want it." He tried to play off his reaction, but he hadn't fooled Sam.
"I can put something else in the trunk for you to throw at Nazis if you want," Sam offered with a grin, giving Dean an out from the potential chick flick moment.
"Grenade?"
"No way I trust you with one of those."
"How about one of those spiked mace things that knights used?"
"You don't throw those. And knowing you, you'd probably hit yourself in the head swinging it around."
"Hey!"
Sam felt his grin growing. "How about a bowling ball?"
"You can't throw a bowling ball, you moron." Dean shook his head.
"Maybe you can't," said Sam with his best shit-eating grin.
"I'd hit you, but you'd fall over, and I don't want to have to explain your new bruises to the Mighty Firths."
Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean wasn't too far off. It was a week and a day after they'd arrived at Orizzonte Rosso, which meant it was the third day since the sandstorm and Sam's near-death experience. He was still kind of weak and shaky, and Dean of course knew it. At least he was starting to let up on the mother hen routine. He'd even gone out with bridal party member Dana the night before, giving Sam a chance to have a drink with Janna.
The evening had been pleasant, but between Sam's lingering tiredness and inability to stop thinking about a certain diminutive Hunter with a penchant for going after banshees, he'd called it a fairly early night. To his surprise, Dean hadn't stayed out all night either. So maybe the hovering was still happening. But he hadn't insisted on a baby-sitter (or four) for Sam this time, possibly because Sam had threatened to shoot him if he left him to the tender mercy of all the Firths again. (It might have been okay if Dean hadn't left instructions like a mother leaving her newborn for the first time. For God's sake, Sam was probably as big as all of the women put together, and perfectly capable of looking after himself.)
Still, Sam was trying to let Dean do what he needed to do, as much as he could stand it. He had vague memories of collapsing in the street and knew that Dean had had to perform a cleansing ritual to clear up the last of the poison – and Sam knew exactly what that looked like. It looked like you were killing the person you were trying to help. Sam also had hazy memories of Dean helping him to the restroom, spoon feeding him soup, and maybe even holding his hand to ground him through a nightmare, though the last might not have really happened. Dean, finally clean-shaven, but with a hint of fear still in the back of his eyes, deserved a little extra consideration right now.
"You okay, kiddo?" Dean asked when Sam had been silent for a few minutes. "You up for this?"
Sam had to smile again at the old nickname, and instead of smirking, he let it grow into a real smile and looked Dean straight in the eye. "I'm good, Dean. A little tired, but I feel great." Well, sore and still really tired, but mostly great. "Are you...are you good with going?"
"To pour one out for Lulu? Sure." Dean shrugged easily and didn't seem too concerned. He'd never liked the idea of communal mourning, but Barb had promised that this wasn't to be a sad occasion, just a short time of remembering the sister who'd gone on. She had made sure that Sam and Dean didn't feel guilted into coming along, either, saying they were practically family now that they'd saved Judy's life. Besides, it was also to be a bit of a tribute to Camilla, who'd only wanted to create beauty in her short lifetime, and who had ultimately stopped the killings.
Sam stood from his packing – they were leaving in the morning – and didn't complain when Dean took his elbow when he swayed a little. "I'm good, I swear," he said, but quietly.
"I still want to replace your bandage before we go," said Dean. Sam didn't think it needed to be covered at all anymore, and knew the stitches could have come out given how well the skin was knitting together.
"Maybe later," he hedged, and was relieved when Dean didn't argue.
It wasn't long until they were all loaded in the Impala – and Sam really meant all. Barb had extolled the virtues of the "sexy" car to her sisters until they'd asked for Dean to drive them the short way up to the bluff where they'd be holding their little tribute. One of the many workers the women had befriended had told them about a quiet place with a perfect view of the entire development, and that's where they were going.
To Sam's amusement, none of the sisters sat in the front seat. Being so small, they fit easily enough four across in the back. (Judy had all but dived for the front seat, but the others had manhandled her into the back with them, claiming she couldn't be trusted between the Winchesters.)
Judy wasn't so bad, though. In addition to plying the brothers with wonderful food like the rest of the women, she'd given them one of her famous knit blankets "for that angel friend of yours. Barbie says he's handsome, too." It was an unusual combination of colors, but not ugly like her other blankets. It was just a series of stripes of random widths and all different colors and textures. Judy had called it a "stash blanket," saying she'd made it from all the bits of yarn she had left after other projects. Sam intended to put it in the room Cas sometimes used, to add a bit of color and remind their friend that he was welcome to call the bunker home.
Dean was giving Sam sideways looks again, and he realized that they were already approaching the bluff and he'd hardly said a word the entire way. Sam caught Dean's eyes and deliberately rolled his own, knowing that acting snarky was the quickest way to convince Dean that he was fine. He rolled them again when Dean handed him a jacket, but he put it on. The heat had broken after the sandstorm and at night the temperature got down into the low fifties. So it was easier to simply wear the coat than to argue with Dean and his four back-up naggers.
Besides, tonight was all about the sisters.
The location was perfect. Once Baby's lights were off, the lights from the development in the distance were the only artificial lights in view. A million stars made a gentle canopy above them, and it was very nearly silent. The sand lay like frozen ocean waves, smooth and gray in the meager moonlight, cacti and rocks like ghostly ships casting long, pale shadows across a dry sea. In the lights of Orizzonte Rosso, the red of all of Camilla's roses stood out like a beacon. Not only had the sandstorm not killed them, they'd thrived in its wake. The old and dying blossoms had been torn off, but the buds had survived, and had bloomed with a vengeance over the next couple of days, wreathing the entire area with color and their light fragrance. From this vantage point, Camilla's roses truly had created the red horizon she'd imagined. Sam thought he remembered Barb telling Camilla that her flowers were desert roses, bred to flourish in the soil and climate of Arizona, and she'd been right. It was like a prairie after a wildfire. Instead of dying off from the blaze, the native flora exploded with life in its wake.
Dean was leaning against the car, giving the women a little space, and Sam joined him. The residual warmth from the sun on her black exterior felt good. After a few minutes of all of them enjoying the quiet and the beautiful scene below them, Myra began to speak.
"Lulu, when Mama was pregnant with you and Jude, I wasn't happy. I had Mama and Papa and a little sister to dress up in pretty dresses, and that was all that I wanted in the world. There was candy in the stores again because the rationing was over, and the grown-ups were all so happy because the war was over. And then Mama started to guess that it would be two babies, I was even more disgusted. But honestly, I was more worried than anything else. I knew that, as the oldest, I would be responsible to take care of the little ones, and I didn't think I could take care of three. Then you two were born, and you were so beautiful! Even Mama had trouble telling you apart at first, but I never did. When you got older, I was in awe of your artistic abilities, but more than that, like all of my sisters, you were truly an amazing human being. You made me better just by knowing you. It isn't fair of you to go before me, and we're going to have words about that when I get there. I love you, Lu."
Sam blinked and was very careful not to look over at Dean. There was a lot in Myra's words that he could imagine Dean saying to him.
Carolyn stepped up next, not looking at the roses or the cool shadows of the desert, but at the stars. "Mama never quite believed that I remembered when you and Judy were born," she said quietly, as if having a conversation with someone right next to her. "I was a little worried about what my job was supposed to be. Myra was bigger, and would take care of you, and you and Judy had each other for friends, so I wasn't sure if I was even needed. But I soon learned that you were the quieter of the twins, and then I was worried that you wouldn't get as much attention. So I'd sneak you a toy or extra food here and there, and you'd look at me like you knew. And then you'd share it with Judy, always. And when you were really little, I'd sneak in your room and sing to the two of you. And it usually made Judy fall asleep right away, but not you. You just stared and stared with those big eyes. You never lost that wonder for what's beautiful in the world, and even though you were younger than me, I learned so much from you. I can't wait to hug you again." She paused. "And if you're the reason that shotgun landed at my feet, thank you. But you need to move on."
Sam shifted slightly, and if it put his shoulder against Dean's, that was certainly just coincidence. The women looked at Judy, but she shook her head a little, so Barb slung an arm around her shoulders and began to speak in a clear voice. "Lulu, I'm the only person in the world who gets to call you Big Sis," she said, and Sam could hear her smile. "I'm also the one who caught you secretly planting flowers at Sylvia Jones' place after she was too old to do it. And I know that even though you claimed it was you, Judy's the one who backed Papa's car into the fence. You had this ability to know exactly what someone needed – an ass-kicking or a hug or a home-cooked meal. You were so full of life, so good at giving back, it's hard to believe that you're gone. I mean, I'm seventy years old and I still expect you to be calling me to make sure I'm eating and sleeping enough." She laughed lightly. "I'm doing both, I promise. Love you, Lu."
This time, it was Dean who stirred a little, settling a little more heavily against Sam.
There was a pause, and just when Sam thought Judy wouldn't say anything, she cleared her throat and began to talk. Her voice didn't sound much like the Judy he was used to, but it grew stronger the longer she talked. "Well, Lu, you really did it now. Don't you remember our pinky promise when we started school? We promised that we'd always live in the same town and that when it was time to die, well, we'd do that together too." She sighed, then laughed. "Guess I'll have to commit enough mischief for both of us until it's my turn. And then, hoo-boy, Juju and Lulu will ride together again. I hope Heaven is ready!"
Damn. The dry air was making Sam's eyes sting. Next to him, Dean rubbed his nose, trying to disguise it as scratching, but Sam had used the same maneuver too many times himself to be fooled. They were quite a pair, mourning a woman they'd never met. But that's not really what they were doing, Sam thought. They were mourning for the siblings that were left behind. And he'd better stop that train of thought before he embarrassed himself. The fact was, they both knew exactly what that felt like. They had just been lucky enough to get a second chance -- or a dozen. He stared at the four sisters, all arm-in-arm now, and for a second, his tired eyes seemed to see a fifth figure, almost another Judy. But when he blinked, it was gone, and he decided that he'd watched too much Star Wars lately.
They all stood in silence for a while after that, but it was comfortable. Finally, Myra declared that it was too cold to stay out any longer. "Yeah, it's high time for Sammy to get to bed," Dean agreed, and Sam's body betrayed him by yawning on cue.
As Dean turned the big car back around to get them back on the road, Carolyn spoke up. "What did your archivist friend say about the name you suggested for the roses, Sam?"
Sam ignored Dean's elbow at the mention of Janna. Acknowledging him would just give him more ammunition for teasing. "Well, once Janna realized that Camilla had mentioned in a letter that if she had a daughter, she wanted to name her Esparanza, she thought it was a great idea. It's hard to argue with a name that means hope, you know? Since Janna technically discovered the seeds, I'm thinking they might just take her suggestion."
"That's a lovely name," said Barb. Sam caught her eye in the rear view mirror and caught her sudden, impish grin. "Just think – we'll all have these exclusive roses in our little gardens. What a few rich developers don't know can't hurt 'em!"
"I think we should give cuttings to anyone who asks for them, and for free," offered Judy with her own slightly naughty, slightly sad smile.
"That is exactly what Louise would have done," stated Myra, and that was that.
After they dropped off the women, Dean drove them the short distance to their own condo. Sam was nearly asleep before he finished his evening ablutions. Dean teased him for it, but Sam was too tired to care about that either. He roused slightly to find that Dean was checking his bandage. "M'ther hen," he muttered, not able to find the motivation to open his eyes the rest of the way or pull away.
"Am not. Go back to sleep, bitch."
Sam's hand was released and Dean stood again. They didn't have the great big family that the Firth sisters did, Sam thought, but what they had, who they had, was more than enough. Cas. Jody and the girls. Donna. And of course, Sam had Dean. If he had Dean, he could get through whatever life threw at him next, no matter what Mom did. It was a comforting thought.
With a sigh, Sam relaxed even farther, more asleep than awake. So he wasn't quite sure if he was dreaming or not when he heard a voice whisper, "Me too, Sammy."
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
It was a good thing that Sam and Dean had brought their old cooler with them, because by the time they left, it was nearly full of amazing food. Sam knew he'd miss the home cooking almost as much as Dean would.
It took a while to say good-bye to all of the sisters, and there was an awful lot of cheek-kissing in the process. And somebody (Sam's money was on Judy) grabbed Sam's backside at one point. Given the way Dean jumped a minute later, Sam supposed the same thing had happened to him. It amused him more than it should have.
Barb was the last to go inside. "Did you notice that the white roses are starting to bloom again, too?" she asked, pointing to a bush that had survived Judy's driving. "It sounds like nobody really believed they would, or that they'd grow here at all. One of the landscapers planted them anyway because they're her favorites. Even though they're from England and prefer a much cooler, wetter climate, they're adapting and even flourishing."
Dean gave Barb a bland okay, and? look, but Sam just smiled. He knew her well enough to know that there was something behind her words.
"I think I know why they're so tough," Barb continued. "They're known as Winchester Cathedral roses." With her signature grin, she waved good-bye.
Dean snorted a laugh as he backed out of the driveway – around all of the roses, Winchester, Esparanza, or otherwise. "So," he started as they put the development in their rear view. "You said you think you've found our next case in Brookings, South Dakota? We should totally swing by and see Jody while we're out there." He sent a glance Sam's way. "You good to go straight there, or do you need some downtime in the Batcave first?"
Sam complained because he was supposed to, but on the inside, he was grinning as big as Barb had.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
A few months later
"Hey, Sam, Marla said to tell you there are some packages for you," called Cal across the supermarket. Sam nodded his thanks, too heartsick to feel as amused as he normally would have at the way small towns worked.
Mom was gone, trapped in another world with Lucifer. Cas was dead and burned. Even Crowley was dead. Dean was a shadow of his normal self, trapped in grief and despair, and only allowing their new roommate (Lucifer's kid!) to keep breathing out of respect for Sam's wishes. Or maybe just because they didn't know how to kill him. Sam wasn't sure which. The weight of it all pressed hard on Sam's shoulders every minute of every day and sometimes it felt hard just to breathe. But Dean needed him to carry them both for a little bit, and he owed him that consideration, a hundred times over.
As for Jack...well, Sam believed that Cas was right about him, that Kelly was right about him, and that someone with monstrous potential could do good.
But it still was a lot to carry. Dodging the concerned looks of the motherly cashier, Sam paid for his things and headed to the post office.
The package was huge, but not very heavy. Curiosity pricked at Sam, and it was so good to feel something other than worry and grief that he indulged it and opened the box in the car before heading back. It contained two very big, very ugly hand-knitted quilts.
The first was primarily made of a sparkly silver yarn. Around the edge was a border made up of red swastikas, with a black line crossing through each. And in the center, giant, yellow, block letters bordered in black read: I KILLED HITLER. Pinned to it was a hand-written note that read: Dean, thanks for killing Hitler, Nazi zombies, mean ghosts and all of the other things we're not supposed to know about. Keep kicking ass! – Judy
The other blanket was a horrific shade of orange and had a giant reproduction of the Ghostbusters' logo in the middle. Around it, in red letters, it spelled out: WHO YA GONNA CALL? The note attached to this one read: Sam, the world is a lot safer with you two in it. Easier on the eyes too. Thanks! – Judy
Sam smiled, then laughed a little, and for the first time in a while, it didn't feel wrong. His shoulders straightened just a little and he thought of Barb's words about the Winchester roses. Damn straight, Winchesters survived and even thrived through adversity. And they would again.
Hoping Dean would feel the same, Sam turned the Impala toward home. Toward his brother.
* * *
AN: A few people have asked again for my email address, so I'll risk putting it here, since I do not get PMs and love chatting with readers and writers and getting ideas. It's imawoomie at yahoo dot com. I know I mentioned it after at least one other story, but I don't remember which one.
I don't know how universal wiffle balls are. They are about the size of a softball, but made of plastic, hollow, and full of holes so they're really lightweight. They are perfect for learning to throw and bat because they're too light to hurt much if (when) you miss.
M*A*S*H was a TV show about the Korean War. The character Radar got that nickname because he always heard incoming choppers before anyone else.
Winchester Cathedral roses are a real thing. They're very pretty, but I have no idea if they'd grow in Arizona or not. Esparanza roses already exist, but I'm pretending they don't, because I really like the name. So there.
BruisedBloodyBroken: No apologies necessary, ever. And if you're post surgery you are completely justified in being the queen bitch of bitchville if you want to, in my opinion! My dad (who lives with us) recently had shoulder surgery, and I told him that he could complain as much as he wanted to, because recovery is hard and dammit, it hurts! I dropped my email address above. If you could send me a note, I have a couple questions about your prompt. :-) And I really, really hope you feel better soon.
bagelcat1: My email address is above, at the beginning of the AN. I love it when someone mild-mannered shocks everyone by doing something totally badass. My mom was such a mild-mannered woman, but had that spine of steel you talk about. (How she gave birth to three such outspoken daughters, I have no idea.) And I adore that you and I share a mutual love for those brotherly moments – never too much schmoop! Schmooptasticness! Okay, I'm okay now. I'm watching for your email, so now you have to send it. *g*
Kathy: You called it, as you so often do! I always think of little things like this when I watch TV and movies and ask all of the what-if questions. I think it's why I started writing, even as a little kid. I think your mind must work like mine does, because you seem to ask similar questions, and ones I don't think of, too. I could be wrong, but I feel like you'll like the visual from this chapter of standing on a bluff under the stars and looking down at the desert and Orizzonte Rosso from far away.
writingtrainingwheels: I did send you a PM, though I don't know if you'll get it. I'm a technological troglodyte, I fully admit it. Otherwise, my email address is right after the end of the story, above. I'm always happy to chat with other SPN fans! And I'm always happy to see your name pop up in the reviews.
Colby's girl: Glad you liked it! It's always the quiet one, right? It made me smile to have Carolyn shoot a shotgun at Mara.
muffinroo: The conclusion was already written by the time I read your comment. I should have had a Cas response to being called sweetie! I know the formula you like: mystery, angst, pain, shmoop. AmIright?
Janice: Thank you so much for all your help and advice on this story! There truly were many times we had the same ideas and concerns, or when you knew just how to fix a problematic passage. I am truly grateful for all of it...including the hand holding. Thank you!