AN: Ugh, wrapping things up is hard. I came. I saw. I…gave it my best.
And if you've been reading this story, you should know this already, but…beware of falling schmoop. I'm not even sorry.
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3:01 am
Some skeevy motel in nowheresville, Nebraska
As Sam gasped himself awake and then lay, panting softly and staring at the mystery stain on the ceiling, Dean reasoned that two days out of Hampton, Virginia, they truly had returned to normal. Well, Winchester normal. It was unusual for Dean to already be awake, though. Before Sam could look his way, he quickly tucked away the doll-sized AC/DC shirt he'd been holding that would probably only fit on one of Sam's big paws now. Dean wasn't any more interested in talking about his nightmares than Sam was.
"Already awake, Dude," he said softly, so Sam wouldn't be startled (or feel guilty) to see Dean sitting up.
"Time is it?" asked Sam in a sleep-roughened voice that sounded so much like Dad that Dean briefly closed his eyes before answering.
"Three."
Sam rolled to sit up on the side of the bed. He put his legs on the side toward Dean, indicating that talking was acceptable. He washed a heavy hand down his face, reinforcing the impression of their father. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"Look what Bobby sent me, that sneaky bastard," replied Dean in a typical deflection. He tossed his phone toward Sam, wondering too late if Sam were awake enough to catch an unexpected missile in the darkness with only one working hand. Luckily, Sam's reflexes were up to the task. He blinked at the tiny screen for a few minutes before his brain could interpret what he was seeing. He snorted.
It was a candid picture of two figures on a bed. The one on the viewer's left was Dean, no more than 14 years old. He lay on his back, naked to the waist, with bandages on his stomach. There was a head on his left shoulder, tucked under his chin like it had every right to be there. It was Sam, maybe 4 years old, swaddled to his arm pits in a blanket and clearly deeply asleep. His left arm, wrapped in an ace bandage, rested on Dean's chest. Dean's own left arm was curled comfortably around his little brother, holding him close to his side.
Sam snorted again and handed the phone back. "We should remind him we have blackmail material on him, too," he said. But while the words were acerbic, the tone was not. They'd gotten an unexpected chance to remember – to relive – the closeness they'd once experienced. And maybe it had surprised both of them that the bond between them, while aged and seasoned and beaten up a bit, was still strong and whole.
"Too bad we owe him, big time." Dean mused, closing the phone before he got even more maudlin.
"No shit." Tired Sammy had a much dirtier mouth than normal Sammy – always had. And it amused Dean, just like it always did. Sam yawned hugely and stood. "I'm gonna hit the head and see if I can get back to sleep. You should try to sleep too." Huh. Pot, meet kettle.
When Sam was in the bathroom, Dean pulled the ugly nightstand out from between the beds, ignoring the ache it caused in his stomach. He left it in the middle of the room and used his legs to push his bed over. He almost had it flush with Sam's when the bathroom door opened again. "What the hell are you doing?" asked Sam in confusion.
"Curtains don't close all the way and I don't want to get woken up by the sun at the ass crack of dawn." Dean grunted with effort as he pushed the bed the last couple of inches. It was sort of true. They'd gotten in fairly late, but couldn't do anything about what Sam thought was a wingwak until the next night, and Dean did intend to get all the sleep he could. They probably should have gone to Bobby's, like he'd offered. But despite their injuries, that wasn't in the cards with Sam so driven. And Dean was feeling a strong need to find their dad. Maybe it was because he could've sworn he'd felt the guy while recovering. It didn't make sense, but then again, what did in a world of monsters?
Sam cast Dean a disbelieving look, but didn't say a word. Maybe he was too tired to call Dean out, or maybe he wasn't quite ready to let go of the comfort they'd accidentally found either. With a shrug and a mumbled, "whatever," he literally fell face down on his bed and pulled the covers over himself in one fluid motion, apparently done with being awake. Dean laid down more carefully, pleased with his machinations, and decided that the pain it would cost him to pull up his own covers wasn't worth the effort.
Neither man mentioned that they both slept for a record seven uninterrupted hours, or that they woke up less than a foot apart, and Dean had covers over him. Nor did they ever bring up the hungry house, much less the picture.
But Dean forwarded the picture to Sam, and neither man deleted it, either.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
3:01 am
Some skeevy motel in nowheresville, Georgia
John washed charred ghoul off his hands, and glanced curiously over as his phone dinged. He was mildly surprised to see it was a text from Singer. The two hadn't parted on the best terms. Again. Though he was very grateful to the man.
When the picture came up, emotion caught him by such surprise that he leaned for a moment against the chipped sink. His boys. Seeing them so vulnerable had brought so many things to the surface. Sometimes he felt like he'd missed out on those days when they were actually little.
And holy hell, did he miss his sons. Sometimes loneliness was a tangible thing, an angry thing with teeth that gnawed on his soul and gave him no peace.
But conversely, seeing the boys again, and so small, reminded him that they weren't small or weak or alone now. And it solidified his need to keep them safe, even at the cost of being with them.
John's fingers ached, and he realized he was perilously close to breaking another phone from squeezing it too hard. His forced his hand to relax and his body to straighten. He glanced down at the picture one more time, then closed the phone and took a deep, cleansing breath.
At least they had each other.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
3:01 am
A house just outside of Sioux Fall, South Dakota
Bobby tapped his nearly empty glass against the top of desk. He finished off the amber liquid without straightening from his slouch in the creaky old chair. He wasn't sure why he'd sent the picture to John after sending one to Dean. The former had been there to see the boys like that, of course, and he was hardly the reminiscing type. Hell, Bobby wasn't sure what had prompted him to take the picture. It wasn't like he wanted to spend his time thinking about just how close the Winchester boys had come to dying.
For that matter, it was the thought of that near miss that was keeping Bobby communing with Jim Beam instead of sleeping in his perfectly good bed. It was the alcohol that had made it seem like a good idea to send the picture, he supposed.
Bobby hadn't had any idea just how much he'd missed Sam and Dean until he'd seen them. And sure, he missed them as annoying, snot-nosed brats, but it was even better to see the adults they'd become. Sure they were hard-headed morons, but they were also brave, loyal, strong, genuinely good human beings.
Bobby found himself hoping, maybe even wishing, they'd let him help them more. It was mostly selfish – he flat out wanted to spend time with them. But his gut also told him that fate had a big, steaming heap of shit in store for them, and he wanted to help, even if it meant some of that shit landed on him, too.
Damn, he hoped they'd call again. He hoped that they'd be able to overcome the Winchesters vs. the world mentality they'd been raised with. And yes, he hoped that stubborn bastard that was their father would come around too. Family should be together.
A reluctant smile curled Bobby's mouth as he looked at the picture one more time. He couldn't wait to tease them again about their tendency to cuddle.
No matter what else happened, and whether or not they called, at least they had each other.
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Scealai: LOL! That made me laugh!
printandpolish: Would you believe that the bear was a throw away line and then I couldn't let it go? I'm so glad you enjoyed the story. I should absolutely have let Philomena get a ride in Baby.
Lena: The towel scene was for all of us. *snicker* I like to think you and I know each other well enough to hassle each other...heaven knows I give you a ton of crap! I just get paranoid once in a while. Your use of "yet" makes me very happy. And you have to know pleased I am when I can make you smile, my friend.
All readers ... what's your opinion on this ending? Should I have left off the entire epilogue? Or stopped after the first section? Feedback appreciated!
