The tip of the cigarette glowed a dull red in the darkness as Dean took leisurely puffs, the smoke winding its way upwards into the night sky.

He could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of cigarettes he'd smoked in his entire life, so he couldn't rationalize why he'd impulsively forked out good money for a pack of twenty yesterday.

Maybe he was just fed up with drinking too much whisky and needed a new addiction to feed.

::::::::::::::::

"Do I have to state the obvious? " the familiar voice sighed at his back. " That smoking is detrimental to your health."

Dean gave an ironic chuckle. "Dangerous to my health, huh? Oh, you mean like non-stop gulping down bottles of whisky, and going after rabid monsters who'd like nothing better than to carve me up like a turkey for dinner?"

"Well, if you put it like that," Sam huffed. "I think I'll join you."

"You want a cigarette? You? Giving up on the healthy living?"

:

At Sam's nonchalant shrug, Dean passed him one.

"When I was at Stanford, I sometimes smoked, Sam confessed. "It helped me relax and …well think less about what I'd left behind."

Dean didn't reply. There was no need. They knew each other so intimately now that words were practically superfluous.

:

The stars twinkled above, indifferent to the two men, never to feel, love or suffer as the Winchesters had, yet beautiful to behold.