Dean stretched. A full body stretch. Arms above his head. Feet poking out the end of his covers.
There was silence.
He shook his head and smiled. Not a crack, not a creak, not a groan. Not one familiar ache or pain.
He stretched again, just for the hell of it, and laughed as he swung his legs out of bed.
"Strange new world," he said to himself as he pulled on his jeans.
He padded down the Bunker hall in his bare feet. The normally hard concrete floor cushioned his every footfall, because this was Dean's bunker, the one he created from his mind.
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he hollered as he reached Sam's room.
The door was open, and Sam's bed was made. Perfectly folded sheets over a blanket.
"Where you at, baby brother," he called down the hall.
"Kitchen," he heard Sam call back.
"And you can stop with the baby brother thing," Sam said as Dean appeared at the doorway.
Dean chuckled. "Yeah, all right. You sleep?" He poured himself a coffee and breathed in the aroma. "Man, this might be the best coffee I've ever smelled in my life."
"Most likely."
Dean took a sip from his mug. "Tastes good too. Smooth."
"Had a bit of a mocha flavour to mine."
"Mocha? Jesus, Sammy."
"Shut up."
Dean laughed. He felt like he'd laughed more in the last… "Day, was it a day?" He didn't know. Like Bobby said, time moved differently there.
"What's for breakfast," Dean said as he slid into a seat opposite his brother.
"You know you don't need to eat anymore, Dean?"
"I know. I like eating."
This time Sam laughed. "I know. I made pancakes," he pointed over his shoulder. "I'm guessing they're still hot."
"You want some?"
"Why the hell not."
"So, you sleep last night?" Dean said, shovelling a maple syrup laden forkful of food into his mouth.
"You know you don't need to sleep anymore, Dean."
"I know. I like sleeping. And Sam, you still dream. But good dreams. No nightmares. No blood."
"Yeah? Maybe I'll try it tonight."
"Good." He eyed Sam. His brother was looking down, staring into his coffee cup. "You doin' okay, old man?"
"Dude."
"What? You lived to what? Seventy-two? Me? I'm Forty-one!"
"I'm the age I was when you left me," Sam said.
Dean went quiet. "Um. Yeah. About that. I'm so sorry, Sam," he said. "I didn't mean to leave you. You know that, right? It was just…"
"Dean. Don't. It's what we fought Chuck for. Not having him pulling our strings. It's not your fault you died. I know that."
Dean nodded. "Okay."
"And those kids?" Sam said. "I kept an eye on them. They grew up happy. You did that. You fought for that."
"You did too," Dean said. He put down his fork and looked at his brother. "You know, Sammy. I didn't want to die that day. But I'm okay that I did. Like you said, that's what we fought for. Life unwritten. And I guess that included death. The only thing that worried me, was leaving you. I'm so damn happy you got to live a life. For both of us."
A small smile drifted across Sam's face and quickly disappeared again.
"He'll be along," Dean said.
"I can wait," Sam said.
Dean stood and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You won't have to wait long. I told you, time moves differently here." He tossed their dirty dishes in the sink. "You know, when I got up this morning? Not a single damn pain. Not even a crack of a bone. Those dishes will wash themselves, right?"
Sam laughed. "Probably,"
"Anyway, I feel so damn light. Nothing aches! Except my face from all this smiling."
Sam laughed again. "I bet. Not your natural condition."
"Not at all. How you feel about a road trip?"
"Where'd you have in mind?"
"I heard about a place."
"Let's do it."
Dean didn't remember ever feeling this good. Driving his Baby with his brother by his side was always Dean's favourite thing. But this was extra sweet. The sun was beating down on them - warming rays sparkling through the windshield. The breeze was blowing through the rolled down windows. The world looked brighter. The new world. Their new world.
Sam played with the radio dial, turning from channel to channel, every song a favourite. "They have radio up in Heaven?"
"They have whatever we damn well want, or need, or dream."
"It's a lot to take in," Sam said.
"Yeah. It is. I never thought I'd make it here. I didn't see this as my end, you know?"
"Why? You always fought for what was right. You always fought for me."
"Yeah but…"
"Dean, you deserve this. We both do."
"So, tell me about this nephew of mine," Dean said, changing the subject, and he listened as Sam talked about his son, and the life they lived. For Dean.
They drove along a long dirt road, Baby smooth over every single bump, and pulled into a carpark. Before them lay the ocean. Bluer than anything either of them had ever seen before. Salt spray hit their lungs, and they both drew in a deep breath.
"Wow," Sam said.
"Yep," Dean said.
"I don't think I've ever seen anything this beautiful."
"I got a feelin' we might be saying that a lot," and Dean swung open the car door and stepped out. "Boots off," he said as he bent down and undid his laces.
"What we doing?" Sam said, as he got out of the car and slipped off his boots and socks.
"Something we talked about a long, long time ago."
They stepped onto the beach, their feet sinking into the softness.
Dean looked up at the sun, closing his eyes as he let its warmth disappear into his skin. He could feel his brother standing beside him. Solid and real and there.
They made it. The two of them. Together. And they did all right. Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose their life. They chose family. They chose love.
He looked down at his feet and then looked at Sam and smiled.
Sam smiled back and laughed. "I got it," he said. "Sand between our toes, right?"
Dean nodded and smiled, his heart so full he was sure it would burst.
"Yep. Sand between our toes, Sammy. Sand between our toes."