Part Two
On Day 407 – the last day of 2021 - Sam and Eileen welcomed their only child, a son. When they found out she was pregnant, they traced the date of conception back to that day at the bunker. It seemed fitting, somehow, a new life coming out of a lost one.
Eileen's obstetrician was worried about her "advanced maternal age," a term that caused Eileen to roll her eyes and shoot Sam a universal finger. Sam served as coach and interpreter for doctor appointments and birthing classes, and as Eileen's belly grew, so did his anxiety. Winchesters rarely ended up with the happily ever after.
But this time, he did. They did. Dean Campbell Winchester was born without complication, and his father cut the umbilical cord.
"He's just perfect," Eileen said. "Thank God."
Thank Jack, Sam thought.
His life was, for Sam, literally a dream come true. The house was paid for. Eileen's parents had left her an inheritance, and she'd invested it wisely. Sam sold two of the classic cars from the bunker and put the money away for Dean's college. He put away the Impala, too, since neither he nor Eileen thought it'd be safe for a baby seat. They were able to live freely and modestly, and focus on raising their son.
Sam taught his son to ride a bike and to play ball. He was present, and involved, the opposite of John – though the older he became, the more Sam appreciated that John had probably done the best he could. He and Eileen had a partnership built on respect and trust – and love and laughter. As the days rolled into years, Sam laughed a lot, and he was content, and he was perpetually astonished that these things had still happened, without his brother at his side.
Little Dean knew from his earliest memories that he had been named for his uncle, who had died a hero, while saving two kids. Beyond that, Sam and Eileen were conflicted about how much to tell their boy. They were legacies of the Men of Letters – they knew better than most that sometimes, things actually did lurk in the dark. They had both been raised in the life and wanted Dean to have a normal childhood. But they wanted him protected.
So they tried to compromise – when little Dean was afraid of the imaginary monster in the closet, Sam and Eileen made him a bottle of monster spray – but it was holy water laced with salt and vervain, just in case. When he started school, they sewed a small pouch containing silver shavings and an anti-possession amulet into his backpack. Dean's room had a salt lamp and a wrought iron bedframe. The property was warded and there were devil's traps under the rugs in every room.
By the time Dean was 10 (somewhere around Day 4,100), Sam had started volunteering in the library at Cloud Community College, and it turned into a part-time job as a research librarian. He remembered how much he loved learning, and audited several classes. It was a 45 minute drive, and Sam found he liked the solitude of the commute – it reminded him of all those days on the road with his brother, though the Impala remained in the detached garage, under a tarp.
He and Dean developed a habit of doing their homework together, after dinner, side by side at the kitchen table. Eileen became an avid gardener and turned their small property into a botanical wonder of trees, flowers, herbs, and vegetables. The first thing she planted was a dogwood tree, and she and Sam scattered Dean's ashes at its base. While her guys studied, she experimented with organic remedies and soaps, all of which had some sort of extra protection.
Summers were lazy, spent fishing and traveling. They camped in the Boundary Waters in Minnesota and spent time with Donna. Jody rented a camper and made a yearly trip to Kansas. Alex, Patience, and Claire and Kaia - whom Dean called "the aunties" – tagged along when they were able. It was like Bobby always said – family don't end with blood.
It was on one of these trips (Day 4,982 or so) that Sam and Jody found themselves around the firepit, with a couple of beers, catching up. The camper was parked to the side of the house, and the lights Eileen had strung through her small orchard glowed warmly in the twilight. Voices and crickets murmured from the gardens, along with the occasional bark. Miracle had died the year before and was buried under Dean's tree; the new puppy, Kansas, was six months old.
Jody raised her bottle, toasting the scene. "It's a good life you've built here, Sam."
Sam nodded. "It is," he agreed, but his voice trailed off.
Jody looked at him curiously. "But?"
"I just wonder – are we doing enough?"
Jody snorted. "Every parent wonders that, Sam. And you and Eileen, no offense, neither of you had traditional examples. Dean's a great kid. I'd say the fact you're worried about it says you're doing just fine."
"It's not just the parenting." Sam leaned forward, elbows on knees, to look at Jody intently. "Things seem … quiet. Are you hearing about cases?"
Over the last few years, Sam had been hunting less frequently. Eileen had given it up completely when she found out she was expecting Dean. He found he was less of an active participant and more of a mentor, a resource. More of a Bobby than a John, but even those calls for advice had lessened.
"It's a new generation," Jody said. "I think it's safer. There will always be monsters, but we don't have Chuck stirring the pot for his own amusement."
"Team Free Will," Sam said.
Jody nodded. "With Jack in charge of Heaven and Rowena in charge of Hell, there's balance. The girls are looking for things to kill. The cases don't come to them like they used to. Hell, Alex graduated nursing school and has a whole other career. Claire and Kaia got married and had a kid. It's a different world." She took a long swallow. "Maybe, when left to their own devices, people and monsters try to do the right thing."
"You know, we never told Dean," Sam said. "I mean, we're not completely oblivious. Those soaps and lotions that Eileen makes, from the herbs she grows? They're all infused with holy water and sage. I think she puts holy water in his Cheerios."
Jody laughed.
"I just feel like I have this secret from my son, and I don't like it. But then again, does he need to know? Is ignorance really bliss?"
"Did you take a philosophy class last spring?" Jody quipped, and it was Sam's turn to laugh. "I don't have any advice for you, kid. My girls were teenagers and neck-deep in the life already. Would I have told my son? I don't know." She took a deep breath. "All I can say is, once you tell him, he can't ever unknow it. The world changes for him forever."
Sam nodded solemnly. "Yeah. That's why my dad's journal, and Dean's, are locked in the gun safe."
"Dean had a journal?" Jody asked incredulously.
Sam chuckled. "Most of it is like Dad's – notes on hunts, research on lore. But he had written letters in there, too, mostly to our mom. There are computer printouts from when I made the dean's list at Stanford, and a list of web sites. I checked them out, thinking it was some great occult resource. Turns out it was anime porn." Sam stretched, and held his bottle in the air. "To my brother."
Jody raised her own bottle. "To Dean. And all the others we lost along the way."
They sat in comfortable silence, more nostalgic than melancholy, until the camper door banged open and Claire, spotting them, pushed her small son out the door. "I need a minute while I clean up the macaroni that's all over the floor!" she called, sounding exasperated. "Jimmy, go – go see Nana."
"Nana," Sam marveled.
"It's a different world," Jody said again.
On Day 6,617 (though Sam had stopped counting by then), New Year's Day 2039, Dean was up and out the door before either of his parents woke. He returned just after 1 p.m., as Sam was finishing a sandwich.
Sam looked up. Dean shrugged off his jacket, and Sam choked.
"Hey Dad – whoa! Are you okay?"
Sam took a hasty sip of water. "Yeah, fine – where did you find that shirt?"
Dean grinned, running a finger over the soft flannel. "In the back of the hall closet. Vintage, am I right?"
"You are right," Sam agreed. "It was your uncle's."
"Yeah? No kidding." Dean caught the look on Sam's face and said, "Um … maybe I should have asked? Is it okay if I wear it?"
Sam waved him off. "Sure - keep it. It just surprised me, is all. So where were you?"
"Yeah, about that – where's Mom?"
"Returning that awful Christmas sweater from Garth and Bess," Sam answered.
"Good – I wanted to show you first." Dean rolled up his right sleeve. "I went over to BodyArt and got this."
The anti-possession symbol – the same one on Sam's chest – was tattooed on Dean's forearm. Sam's mouth fell open. Dean mistook his shock for disapproval.
"I know, I know, but I've been thinking about this for a long time," he said hastily. "I know it's a permanent decision. But it's the same as the one you have, and you and Mom said Uncle Dean had one too, and I thought – well, I'm eighteen now."
"It's … um … it's perfect," Sam said slowly. "Where do you find the design?"
"Don't get mad," Dean said. "I took a picture of your chest. On Thanksgiving night. You were sleeping off the turkey."
Sam took another swallow of water, to cover the emotion on his face.
"You always said it was like the Winchester family crest," Dean said. "The Winchester men." He peered at his father. "Are you okay with it? I mean, I guess it's too late – but do you mind?"
They looked at each other for a long moment. When Dean had said, "Don't get mad," Sam had expected the next sentence to be something like, "I found Grandpa John's journal" or "Aunt Alex got drunk and said she used to be a vampire." If he was ever going to talk about the family business – to explain the life, to ask Dean what he might suspect – this was the time.
And Sam let it pass. Mostly. "I don't mind," he said. "I'm actually kind of touched. I always believed it protected me somehow, and maybe now it'll protect you."
Dean rolled his eyes, looking so much like Eileen that Sam had to laugh. "Dad. I'm a grown-ass man."
"I'm glad to hear you say that," Sam said, "because I am not telling your mother for you."
Dean graduated and went on to The Ohio State University to study electrical engineering. He wanted to build electric cars – to create something that would run on renewable energy without sacrificing speed or, as he put it, "coolness."
"The Winchester is strong in that one," Eileen said wryly. "It's like he's part you, part me, and part Dean."
By the time Dean had his masters' degree and was living in Kansas City, Sam had retired and Eileen's gardens had become smaller. Now in their early 60s, they were both slowing down.
"I'm too young to feel this old," Eileen complained.
"It's all the walls we were thrown into, back in the day," Sam replied.
But for Eileen, it was more than that. By the summer of 2048, she had become weak, easily fatigued, and short of breath. Sam pulled out old texts and looked for supernatural causes, but the doctor diagnosed heart failure. There were a few treatments, but in the end, Eileen chose to take the time she had left and spend it with her men.
"I'm 63, Sam," she told him. "I've lived about forty years longer than I ever expected to. And I got to spend almost thirty of them with you."
She slipped away quietly on a cool October evening, wrapped in a quilt on her front porch. One hand was on her son's shoulder, as he sat on the wide planks and leaned against her leg. The other was on Sam's forearm, the middle and ring fingers folded in, the sign for "I love you." Sam had his arms around her and felt her take her last breath. When they realized she was gone, Dean sobbed into Eileen's lap. Sam stroked his head, tears running down his face, and thought, It was a good life. It's a good death. It's okay, my love. You can go.
After the funeral, the Winchester men scattered Eileen's ashes under Dean's tree. Sam hugged Dean hard, kissed the side of his head and told him how much he loved him, and sent him back to Kansas City. He watched Dean drive away, raising his hand in farewell. Then he went to the garage and pulled the tarp off the Impala. It took him a minute to get behind the wheel – his hips didn't bend as easily as they used to – but when he did, he sat for a long time, running his hands over the steering wheel, mourning his wife, remembering his brother.
Dean stayed in Kansas City only another six months before packing up and moving home.
"I don't want you to give up your life," Sam said.
"Life is virtual now, Dad, didn't you know that?" Dean answered. He set up his old playroom into a state-of-the-art command center and worked from there. Sam gently needled him about finding a partner and settling down and Dean, just like his mother, rolled his eyes every time.
His hours were irregular, since he had clients all over the world, and sometimes days passed when the men didn't see much of each other. By the time he was in his 30s, Dean started spending a few days here and there away from home. He once left for a week, telling Sam he was headed north to "help the aunties with something," though he wouldn't say what. Leaky roof? Vampire nest? Sam never asked what Dean might know, but he was grateful for the anti-possession tattoo, the silver charm his son wore, and the holy water he still sprinkled in the breakfast cereal.
When he was a young man, Sam was sure he'd meet his end as his brother had – death by werewolf, or wraith, or woman in white. It turned out to be death by time. Old age caught up to him, and during the last week of his life, Sam almost felt as if he had a hand in each world, and they melded together perfectly. He dreamed of his parents dancing at his wedding, and his brother straightening his tie before the ceremony. He had a beer with Eileen at the Roadhouse. Bobby took young Dean fishing, and Charlie bonded with the boy over computer wizardry. Castiel, somehow, was a guardian angel who came occasionally to Sunday dinner, where they said grace to Jack. It became easier to stay in that world, than to come back to the hospital bed in his living room.
But he had to come back, one more time. It was Day 13,366.
"Dad?" Dean was there. His boy. "It's okay. You can go now."
Sam covered his son's hand with his own. He smiled, a gentle, ready smile, and closed his eyes. He wondered what Heaven would be like. The smell of his home, underlaid with the medical supplies from the last two months, faded to the smell of fresh air and water. Pine trees. New wood. Eternity.
"Hey, Sammy."
The End