So, here we are. The end of the road.
This is going to be a rather lengthy Author's Note so please do feel free to skip past to the start of the chapter; I'll not be offended. But I couldn't let both 'Supernatural' itself and my time writing for Dean and Sam finish without offering a few thoughts.
I can still vividly remember watching the Pilot episode, 15 years ago, and becoming instantly hooked on the brotherly relationship we saw spring to life, fully formed. I grew so fond of the Winchesters, so quickly, it was unlike anything else I'd encountered and whilst in the intervening years I've grown to love a handful of other fictional characters to a similar degree, Dean and Sam continue to hold a special place in my heart.
Daft as it sounds, the Winchesters had a big impact on my actual life too. Without them I'd never have been inspired to write down some of the stories in my head, and I definitely wouldn't have had the courage to put them online for complete strangers to read. Most important of all though is the people I've encountered as a result. Top of that list is someone who over the last 12 years became a dear friend. Whose PMs became emails, became phone calls, and eventually led to me and my other half arriving nervously in the USA (for the first time) to spend the week with her and her family. Which turned out to be one of the best weeks of our lives :)
Admittedly there has been a less positive side as well. In the decade since I stopped posting stories, I watched the fandom grow into something altogether less fun, less kind, and more divisive. New fans fixated on other characters, vocally declaring them the best part of the show and ignoring Dean and Sam as the heart of it all. People split into groups depending on who they favoured, and the behaviour of an increasing minority on either side verged on bullying, even targeting the actors in real life. Sadly, this peaked with the S15 finale. Whatever your issues with how it ended (and I myself have a few) it's been disappointing to witness the vitriol and unfair comments, knowing Jensen and Jared put their heart and soul into it.
I've admittedly been frustrated throughout the years with the storylines, writing, and characters who have come and gone (or outstayed their welcome). Moments where watching each week became more of a chore than a pleasure. But throughout it all I never wavered in my affection for Dean and Sam or my appreciation of their story, and when we reach the finale in the UK I can say that I've never missed an episode, from the first to the last.
I'm never going to forget the experience I've had as a fan, from being part of a niche fandom at the start of it all to watching 'the little show that could' as it continued year after year to become one of the longest running of its kind, and I'll forever remain fond of Dean and Sam and the unbreakable bond they shared.
I also want to thank anyone who ever left a review, favourited a story, or added me to their favourite authors list. It did – and does – mean more than I can articulate here.
But I've procrastinated enough. Here we are then, the last chapter of my last 'Supernatural' story. It's time to say goodbye to the boys; may they lay their weary heads to rest, and find peace now they are done.
In the end, Sam wondered why he'd never thought of the idea before. It had all the elements of the job they'd done their whole lives, with that same potential for helping those in need but without the near-constant risk of death.
Now all he had to do was convince Dean of that.
He wound up taking a few extra days to do some more digging, to come up with some solid facts and figures and an actual plan of attack. He was fully aware that his brother was growing increasingly antsy, doing his best to patiently give Sam the time he'd promised but running out of things to do in the interim. Acknowledging that he couldn't put it off any longer, on the fifth day he closed his laptop, gathered up the papers he'd printed out, and went in search of Dean.
He found him in the garage, waxing the Impala. Sam couldn't stop the grin that formed as he leant against the doorway, watching Dean buff the paintwork with careful intensity, stepping back to review what he'd just done with a critical eye.
"You know, I'm pretty sure if you polish that anymore you're gonna hit bare metal."
Dean actually jumped, clearly so engrossed he hadn't noticed Sam's arrival. He turned and looked over his shoulder, fixing his brother with a glare. "Some of us actually like to do things properly, Sam. Unlike others who think running a dirty cloth over the paint and throwing a bucket of soapy water over everything counts as cleaning it."
Sam rolled his eyes "It was one time, Dean, and I was 8. Seriously, Dad thought it was funny. You were the one spent an hour lecturing me on the proper way to do things. You gotta let it go, man."
Dean's expression was unimpressed. "You used dish soap, Sam. Dish soap."
Letting out a long suffering sigh, Sam gestured with the papers he had in his hand. "I have something I wanted to show you, unless you need some more alone time?"
Choosing to ignore the dig, since he was actually finished anyway, Dean gathered up the cleaning supplies, put them back on the shelf, and followed Sam into the main part of the bunker. He led them to the kitchen, sitting down at the table with a slightly nervous air and bouncing one leg up and down as he waited for Dean to wash his hands and join him.
Sliding into the seat opposite, Dean gave him a pointed look, one eyebrow raised. "Should I be nervous?"
Sam attempted a smile, shaking his head. "No. I don't think so. Not really."
"Great. That was totally convincing right there." He leaned back in the chair, tilting his head to one side. "How about you just say it, put it us both out of our misery, huh?"
Taking a deep breath, Sam forced himself to calm down. Mirroring Dean's posture he met his brother's curious gaze, and began. "Okay, so you know I've been looking into what we talked about, a Plan B for giving up hunting?"
Dean nodded, and Sam continued. "Well, I think I found something. It's pretty similar to what we already do, and it would let us still help people, maybe even save lives if we're lucky, but we wouldn't have to worry so much about winding up dead in the process."
Dean was intrigued, he had to admit, and when Sam paused, looking no less anxious than when he'd started, he gestured with one hand. "Okay, and? You're killing me with the suspense here, Sammy."
Sam hesitated a moment longer, then leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a determined expression replacing the nervous one. "So, I've looked into it, and I've found a place not too far from here which would be perfect. It's not cheap, but I've had an idea about that too. We don't want to go on relying on the cards Charlie set up for us. If we're going legit, then the last thing we want to do is draw attention from the authorities and wind up in jail because of fraud. This way we could buy the building outright and once we start earning money we can use that for everything else. We wouldn't even have to charge too much, just enough to cover the essentials so we could help people who really need it but can't afford the alternatives. I haven't spoken to the British Men of Letters yet but I can't see them saying no, not with everything we're offering. They'd be fools not to agree."
He stopped, leaning back again and waiting for Dean to respond. After a few seconds of silence he frowned at the blank look he was getting.
"What?"
Dean shook his head. "I'm sure that made sense in your head, but if you run it back again you might realise you didn't actually tell me what the hell you're talking about. Like why we're buying property and what exactly we're offering the British Men of Letters?"
Sam ran his fingers through his hair sheepishly and cleared his throat, realising his brother had a point. In his rush to get it all out there and – hopefully – get Dean's approval, he'd managed to skip a step. Taking a deep breath, he clarified.
"I want us to set up a Private Investigation Agency, one that specialises in missing people. We could start off small, stick with local cases, but maybe in time once word gets around we could travel further afield. With these sort of cases we know law enforcement rarely have the resources to do much beyond the basics. But with our skill set and with the time to dedicate to it, I guarantee we could solve a lot of them. Maybe we get to reunite families, maybe sometimes we just give them closure, but either way it'd be doing good. Admittedly there's a chance some of them might turn into the kind of cases we're trying to get away from, but I've thought about that too and with our contacts we can discreetly pass those on so they get dealt with and come up with something believable to still give the families an answer."
Dean was silent, brow furrowed. Just as Sam reached peak nervousness he finally responded.
"You wanna set us up like Magnum PI?" Not giving Sam a chance to react to the non-sequitur though, he continued. "I mean we've got the better car of course, and definitely better dress sense, but I could see you rocking a moustache, now I think about it."
Sam looked exasperated. "Seriously? This isn't a joke, Dean!"
Before Sam could really get going, and feeling a little bad since it was obvious his brother was wound pretty tight, Dean held up a hand to stop the flow.
"Okay, sorry. I was just a bit surprised, that's all."
"Good surprised, or bad surprised?" Sam asked and Dean looked thoughtful. "Good, I guess. I mean, I can't honestly say it's something I'd considered but a lot of what you said does make sense. I don't hate the idea, put it that way. But I'm still a little fuzzy on where the rest of it comes in."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, okay. What I was talking about was selling the bunker to the British Men of Letters. With everything in here, all the knowledge and equipment and stuff even we haven't gotten into yet, I think they'll jump at the chance. We could get them to make it look genuine too, give us the paperwork to seem like we sold them an old family property or something. With the money, we can buy the building I was talking about – it's got a small office on the ground and an apartment above that'd be big enough for the both of us."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "You wanna sell the bunker? Why not just run the PI gig from here?"
"Because we need somewhere we can meet clients, an address we can put on adverts and cards. It's not like we're going to need the kind of books and equipment we've got here for missing persons cases, and this gives us a way to start off legitimately. It also gives us a fresh start. We've got so much tied up in this place, so many memories already. I think it'd be good for us to leave it in the past. Move on."
Dean gave him a knowing look. "Remove the temptation to still get involved in anything monster-related, you mean?"
Sam didn't deny it, shrugging and giving his brother an equally knowing look.
Dean had to admit, even if only to himself, that if they stayed it wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that he'd get nostalgic and feel the urge for one last hunt, or to follow up if a new case turned out to have a supernatural element to it. Sam also had a point about a fresh start, leaving behind the baggage which came with the bunker.
Still. This was the first real home they'd had, beyond the Impala, and part of their heritage as it turned out. The idea of walking away was a big one, and he also wasn't certain about pinning their hopes on the British Men of Letters, not given their history.
Looking at Sam though he could see how important this was to him, and after their recent talk and everything which had preceded it he'd vowed to do whatever it took to give them both the future they'd almost been denied.
If that meant selling the bunker and starting from scratch somewhere new, then so be it. As long as they were doing it together, the rest was after all just details.
Putting Sam out of his misery, he nodded. "Alright. What the hell, we've done more with less. Setting ourselves up as legitimate gumshoes should be a walk in the park."
Sam's shoulders sagged. He'd genuinely expected an argument, or at the very least reluctance on his brother's part to truly consider cutting ties with their old lives. Getting an easy agreement left him almost giddy with relief, making the logistics seem almost child's-play in comparison.
He smiled, letting his delight show. Dean rolled his eyes but after a second returned the smile, expression fond.
"Alright, let's not turn this into a 'moment'. How about you show me this building you've got us buying. It better have decent parking. I'm not kidding."
Undaunted, Sam handed over the papers, launching into his plan for getting things started and how to approach the British Men of Letters. Dean nodded at key points, impressed but not surprised at the level of detail and the amount of thought his brother had put into this. The more Sam explained, the more it began to feel like they really could do this.
It looked like the Winchesters were going into the PI business.
Sam was drawn out of his memories by a loud, satisfied sigh. Glancing to his left he chuckled when he saw his brother stretched out in the Adirondack chair, hands folded across his middle, eyes shut, a look of blissful relaxation on his face.
"You good?"
Dean opened one eye, turning his head towards him. "Oh yeah. I'm just gonna sit here and quietly slip into a food coma, if you don't mind. Man am I glad you married someone who can cook like that."
Sam shook his head fondly as Dean's eye slid closed again, turning his attention towards the quiet rumble of conversation from the other side of the garden, where the rest of the family were clearing away the remains of dinner.
Shifting to make himself more comfortable, his thoughts drifted back to where they'd been a few minutes before.
He knew it was the date which had triggered his memories of the day they'd made the big decision to go from saving people and hunting things to searching for those who'd disappeared. He'd been right about the British Men of Letters, who had eagerly agreed to the price they'd asked for the bunker without even haggling. From there things had moved quickly, and 32 years ago to the day they'd found themselves taking one last look round the bunker.
They'd hired a small van and loaded it with everything they'd wanted to keep, from the table where they'd continued the tradition of scratching their initials and Dean's favourite chair, to a set of bookshelves Sam had always liked. They'd even cleared the kitchen of the basics, including the coffee machine, with Sam making a careful inventory of what they'd taken but the British Men of Letters hadn't quibbled a thing, only too pleased to be getting their hands on what remained.
For all the bad that had happened while they lived there, it had been a sad moment when they finally took their last look from the top of the stairs and closed the door behind them. Luckily any sense of melancholy had been overtaken by the sheer hard work in the weeks and months that followed, setting up the office and starting to build the business from scratch.
At first the cases had been slow to come in, gradually increasing as word of mouth spread. They worked mostly within the state but sometimes they'd come across something further afield, the resulting trips satisfying the wander lust which was a legacy of their old lives.
It had taken a while to get used to 'the new normal'. Sam knew Dean especially had struggled at times, even though he'd never said as much aloud. But while there wasn't the same drama or action that there was with hunting monsters, there was still the satisfaction of tracking down leads, putting in the legwork, and – best of all – finding answers for the families who had hired them. Some were sad, some happy, and some downright heart-breaking but all had a sense of a job well done and it was clear their clients appreciated at least having their questions answered and the peace of knowing what had happened to their loved one.
Of course, there'd been other more mundane moments sprinkled along the way. A year after their move, Sam had met someone special. A nurse at the local hospital, they'd hit it off while waiting to collect take-out from the popular Diner in town. Although he'd eventually allowed himself to consider the possibility of a real relationship, the truth of their lives had hung over him, making him feel like he wasn't giving his whole self.
Encouraged by Dean, he'd sat her down one day and explained everything. Unsurprisingly it had proven to be a hell of shock, culminating in a hasty retreat from the apartment. After days of silence however, during which he'd worked himself into a complete state of panic, she'd come into their offices with a determined glint in her eye. Dean had been about to make himself scarce but she'd pinned him with a look, launching into an interrogation the likes of which they'd never experienced.
After an exhausting few hours, to Sam's relief she'd accepted everything they'd told her with a grace he hadn't expected. It had cemented their relationship and he'd asked her to marry him less than a year later, Dean proudly standing at his side as Best Man when the big day came.
From there they'd followed the rather cliched, cookie-cutter path. Holding his new-born son in his arms had been a moment of joy he'd never expected to experience, matched only by the sight of his brother holding his namesake a few hours later, wonder in his gaze as he'd looked into his nephew's eyes.
He'd been more than a little surprised when Dean had returned the favour. In truth, he'd long since stopped expecting him to settle down, Dean seemingly having decided that wasn't for him. Sure, there'd been a few serious relationships over the years but none of them had progressed any further than that, which is why he was blind-sided when Dean had announced one day that he was going to be a father.
It hadn't been planned, and after a lengthy discussion both parties had agreed it would be a mistake to use it as a reason to get married or move in together, but there was no animosity there either and Sam had been relieved when the plan to amicably co-parent had been a success.
Dean had moved into a small house just round the corner from where Sam already lived, and his daughter had spent half her time living there right from the start. Sam had been amused when he'd been the one imparting wisdom as the tables turned, talking his panicked brother through the ups and downs of looking after a baby. In fairness though Dean had taken to it quickly, like riding a bike, with his own memories of helping to raise Sam after their Mom's death combining with his natural gift for taking care of the ones he loved, making him the fantastic father Sam had always known he would be.
He was startled from his thoughts again by Dean's voice, tone amused. "You do realise there's smoke coming out your ears."
Looking sheepish Sam turned, noting the smirk. "Shut up. I was just thinking."
"I can see that. Dare I ask what about?"
Sam shrugged. "Just reminiscing. Thinking about how far we've come and all the stuff that got us here."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Wow. No wonder you looked so constipated." Ignoring the glare with decades of practice, his own gaze shifted towards where Sam had been focused earlier, his expression fond when he glanced back again.
"Yeah. We did good, didn't we?"
Sam smiled, swallowing past the lump which had suddenly appeared in his throat. "We did. We really did."
Dean shook his head, chuckling. "Who'd have thought it, huh? I still remember looking at Garth's family and thinking that was never gonna be for us. Yet, here we are. I still think I'm gonna wake up one day and find out it's all been some sort of dream. Like maybe we're stuck in a barn somewhere, getting drained by a Djinn."
Sam frowned, whacking Dean's arm lightly. "Dude, come on. That's not even funny."
"Wasn't meant to be."
Sam crossed his arms, fixing Dean with a stern look. "This isn't a dream, Dean. What we've got? We did all that ourselves. We worked hard to get here and the universe owed us a break, after everything."
Dean sighed. "Yeah, I know. It just feels like I'll jinx it somehow, if I take it for granted."
Sam's expression was understanding, as they got to the root of his brother's unease. "I get it, Dean, I do. I've spent plenty of times over the years, getting out of bed in the middle of the night just to check on the boys and make sure it was all real. I'd even call you half the time, remember? Because I'd get it into my head that it was just me and you hadn't made it in the end."
"Damn straight I remember, especially when the phone ringing woke up Mary-Jo and I'd have to spend another friggin hour getting her back to sleep."
Sam had the grace to look guilty at that, even though each time Dean had never truly complained, understanding all too well the lingering fear which would prompt Sam to call. He chuckled, his expression turning rueful.
"I guess we both still have some hang-ups. You're right, though. I never thought we could have this either, which is what got me thinking in the first place. Sitting here like this, seeing our kids together. It makes me want to stop time, you know? Like I blinked and it all went by too fast."
Dean nodded, grimacing a little as he shifted in his chair. "Tell me about it. You know some spotty-faced kid in the grocery store the other day offered me a Seniors discount?"
Sam laughed out loud at the look of indignation on Dean's face. "I hate to break it to you, Dean, but you are a Senior."
Dean dismissed the reminder with a wave of his hand. "Technicalities, Sam. I could've still taught him a lesson about respecting your elders and not being so damn condescending."
Sam tried, and failed, to stop the smirk from forming. Despite the fact Dean was now into his seventh decade he refused to acknowledge that fact, hardly slowing down even as the birthdays sped by. He'd not even considered Sam's gentle hints at retirement, only grudgingly agreeing to switch to part-time work when Sam reached that age, at the same time reluctantly starting to leave the more physical side of things to the next generation.
They were still busy, sadly, and it had been years since they'd started to train up Dean's daughter and Sam's youngest son. The switch from 2 to 4 had gone surprisingly smoothly, much to the pride of them both. Whilst they'd talked in private about the Winchester family legacy, they were glad none of their kids would ever know the lifestyle they'd had, or face the same hardships and loss.
What they were passing on here, that was the true family business Sam wanted to leave behind.
As if following his thoughts, another thing which had stayed the same no matter how many years passed, Dean nudged him gently with his elbow, waiting until Sam looked at him to speak.
"I think they'd be proud, you know. Mom and Dad, Bobby. I think they'd approve of where we ended up."
Sam smiled softly, his gaze blurring a little. "Yeah. Me too."
Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, leaving it there when Sam covered it with his own. After a few seconds though he gave Sam a little shake, his expression lightening.
"Come on, let's go see if they've got the coffee ready. I'm pretty sure I heard mention of pie earlier too."
Sam shook his head, watching as Dean pushed up out of the chair with barely a hesitation, still moving like someone half his age. Sometimes he felt like he was the older brother, cursing the aches and pains he had to work through when he woke up in the morning, feeling the twinges from old wounds whenever the weather changed.
He knew that logically Dean felt the same things but he rarely showed it. It was as if the second chance they'd been given, the shot at a normal life complete with the unexpected pleasure of watching their kids grow up, and doing it all side by side, had given him an unrelenting store of energy. He truly seemed to take joy in every day and for Sam, having watched him sacrifice so much over and over and over again, it was one of the best things in the world.
Realising he was getting left behind Sam stood up, crossing the grass to where Dean had stopped to wait for him. When he got there he surprised his brother by slinging his arm across his shoulders, pulling him in as they started to make their way towards the house.
Dean was looking at him suspiciously, although he'd made no move to pull away, and Sam shrugged, keeping his arm in place.
"I'm glad you're here, Dean. I'm glad we got to do all this together."
Dean rolled his eyes but as he ducked his head Sam didn't miss the slight blush or the pleased look on his face.
"Yeah, yeah. Still sentimental, eh Sammy? You never did grow out of that." He paused, glancing back up with a soft smile that spoke of all the years of history behind them, and those that were still to come.
"Bitch."
Sam's smile was matching, and for a brief moment images flashed before his eyes like a film reel and he found himself simultaneously looking at the brother in front him and the one who was decades younger, but the gaze remained the same.
"Jerk."
Grinning now, Dean lightly pushed Sam away, heading for the back door and warm light spilling out from inside as Sam automatically followed in his wake.
Because in the end, no matter how many years passed and no matter where the road took you, what was really important was who was travelling beside you.
In that regard, they always had been and always would be, the luckiest people in the universe.