Dean stared up at Jenny, forcing his brain to accept that the dark-haired vampire sneering down at him was the same girl they had encountered in the past. He had always appreciated the classics-classic rock, classic cars—but monsters not so much, especially when they were managing to beat his ass. Over Jenny's shoulder he could see Sammy rousing, and he went into the song-and-dance routine he'd perfected years ago, chattering about whatever went through his head while Sam slowly and carefully inched his fingers closer to his dropped machete.
"I'm not the boss, but I called dibs," Jenny bragged, just before Sam stood and decapitated her in one beautiful, fluid movement. His little brother really was awesome.
Dean didn't have time to savor the victory as the remaining vampires closed in for the kill. Sam took on the smaller one, and the vamp who looked like he could bench-press the Impala came at Dean. The hunter might be outmatched in size, but he had years of experience and the training of John Winchester to back him up. They struggled, and Dean ended up on top of the barrel-chested monster, who lifted him off the ground and carried him across the barn, howling with rage. Dean didn't have time to process, instead relying on well-worn instinct; he raised both arms and brought his fists down on the sides of the vampire's head, aiming for the ears. As soon as his fists connected with the lumpy flesh beneath the mask, his opponent screamed and dropped him heavily to the floor.
With a glance to the side Dean saw faint light glint off Sam's machete as it sliced the air and through his vampire's neck, the head falling in one direction and the body the other. Sam immediately caught his brother's eyes.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, and the warning was enough to bring Dean back to the moment and he rolled away as the hulking vampire lunged toward him again. The roll was actually a tactic their father had drilled them on again and again during one hot summer in Indiana, having no mercy on his sons as sweat dripped down their faces while he yelled, "Not good enough, boys! It has to be perfect! One day your lives might depend on it!"
Well, this seemed to be the day.
Dean finished the roll and came up on his knee, holding out his hand and barely sparing a glimpse at his brother, since the vampire was now almost on top of him again. Sam's machete was already sailing toward him, the hilt curving down out of a slow spin in the perfect spot for Dean to reach out and grab it. HIs fingers curled around the handle and he immediately shifted his weight, standing and slicing simultaneously, feeling the slight resistance when the blade met the vampire's neck, then the release as the sharpened metal cut through flesh, tendon, and bone. He straightened his stance and watched the vampire's enormous body crumple to the dirty floor as his head tumbled to a stop next to a beam.
Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for his thumping heart to start beating normally again. That had been way too close.
"Are you ok?" Sam asked, grabbing his upper arm and shaking him slightly.
Dean opened his eyes, taking in the fear lining his brother's face.
"Sure, I'm ok. That was a piece of cake," he lied, falling into the habit of doing whatever he could to take the burden off his baby brother. His heavy breathing probably wasn't doing much to make his words convincing, but he felt obligated to give it a good try.
Sam's wrinkled forehead told him the effort hadn't worked. "Dean, I thought he was going to kill you!" Sam yelled in the way he had perfected that was both angry and concerned at the same time.
"Of course, he could have killed me, he's a freaking vampire!" Dean yelled back, confused by Sam's overreaction. They'd been in this same situation a hundred times before, there was no reason for the theatrics this time.
"Look!" Sam proclaimed, turning toward the beam and flailing his hand at it. "That vamp almost speared you on that thing!"
Dean focused his attention on the object of his brother's attention, and his own eyes widened at the thick piece of rebar sticking out of the wood. The alternate ending of the fight played out in his imagination, and he realized how easily he could have ended up impaled on the rusty spike. There wouldn't have been any coming back from that kind of injury, especially not now, without Cas to save his sorry ass.
"Damn," he said quietly, a cold shiver racing up his spine at the thought of what might have been. "I didn't even see it."
"Yeah, well I did," Sam declared, working into a lather, "while I was across the room and couldn't do anything about it. You were barely a foot away when he finally dropped you."
"Come on, Sammy," Dean placated, not wanting to reveal how shook up the fight had made him. It should have been a run of the mill hunt, but it was the first one after losing Jack and Cas, and that made everything feel different. He decided to fall back on bravado in order to deal with the discomfort. "These vamps would have barely made the JV team when I was in Purgatory; you worry too much."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. He paced a few steps away before turning around, his lips pressed together.
"I keep thinking that maybe we won't be able to do it anymore, now that Chuck isn't pulling the strings. What if one of us really gets hurt? I couldn't take it, Dean, if you..." he trailed off, his big eyes watery.
"Hey, hey," Dean soothed, his big brother programming taking control at the sight of Sam's distress. "Did you see that move we pulled off? I mean, the way you tossed me that machete at just the right time was a thing of beauty! That was skill, Sam, nothing but skill! I don't care what Chuck did or didn't do, nothing can erase all the years of training Dad gave us and all the years we've spent hunting. Hell, we're even Men of Freaking Letters! So, don't go all worry wart on me, the brothers Winchester are still fine and dandy, thank you very much. And we are still the best damn hunters this world has ever seen!"
He thought it was a pretty rousing speech, but he waited to see if it had any impact on Sam. It took a few seconds until a small smile curled the edges of his brother's mouth.
"I was so pissed that summer when Dad made us keep practicing that move. I kept expecting to cut your fingers off before we got it figured out," Sam recalled ruefully.
"Aw, Dad used a fake machete until he was sure we had it down, and it definitely comes in handy against a nest of vamps. But you have to admit, we've gotten a little rusty on some of the basics. It might not be a bad idea to run some of Dad's old drills," Dean suggested, walking over to pick up the bloody machete. "Now let's get this place cleaned up so we can head home. I miss my bed and it misses me."
Sam jerked awake as the Impala slowed to a stop, his body attuned to even the slightest change in the car's well-known rumble. He scanned out the window, noticing a few faded brown picnic tables and a small stone building. The driver's door squeaked as it opened then thumped shut, and the trunk lid popped open a few seconds later. The night sky had lightened to a dull grey, which meant that dawn was close. By the time he'd gotten out of the car and stretched the kinks out of his muscles, Dean was sitting on top of one of the picnic tables with his feet on the seat and a cooler open by his side.
"Isn't it a little early...or maybe late...for that? Sam asked, nodding at the bottle of beer that Dean tipped to his lips.
"It's five o'clock somewhere," his brother responded, fishing in the cooler for another bottle and handing it to Sam, who took it and sat down next to his brother.
"I thought you were in a hurry to get home," Sam said, twisting the cap off his beer and wondering what the pit stop was about. Dean wouldn't have decided to delay getting back to the bunker for no reason at all.
Dean tilted the top of his beer toward a gap in the trees. "Sorry if I'm interrupting your beauty sleep, princess, but since we're out here I decided you might want to see that."
A soft orange glow was barely visible on the horizon, and the clear view of the sky hinted that it was going to be a spectacular sunrise. They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping beer and listening to the wind as it rustled the tree branches. It was peaceful, after all the time they had spent over the last few months fighting Chuck, to just sit and wait with nothing else they had to do.
"Cas said something to me before the Empty took him," Dean finally ventured, his voice soft and hesitant.
Sam didn't respond, giving Dean a chance to talk; his brother was like a skittish colt that might easily bolt if pushed too hard. It was best to let him take the lead in what was probably going to be a difficult conversation.
His brother cleared his throat and peeled a piece of the label off the bottle. "He said that he loved me," Dean continued, not looking up.
"Of course, he loved you," Sam replied quickly, not sure why that comment would have affected Dean so much. "He might not have said it before, but it was obvious that he..." Sam let his voice fade away as a new idea occurred to him. "Oh," he added, wondering why this was the first time he had considered it. "Are you sure he meant it that way?"
"No," Dean replied, his voice gruff. "It was just something about the way he said it, and that he had finally found his moment of true happiness. And," he paused, staring up at the sky where the stars were just barely visible. "That he knew what he wanted was something he could never have."
Sam didn't respond, mulling the words over in his mind. Did the statement really mean what it sounded like? "I don't know, Dean," he finally said. "Cas is an angel; he doesn't feel the same way we do and I think we forget that sometimes. I do think that he loves you more than he does any other human, but that doesn't have to mean that it's, uh, you know," he was surprised that he was stumbling so much with articulating the possibility.
Dean's eyes darted toward him and he took another pull on his beer. "I would never hurt him and if I'd even thought he might feel that way, I'd have been more careful about things between us," Dean said, biting his lip. "I really do love him..." his brother's voice broke and he turned to face Sam. "I didn't even say anything; he told me that he loved me and I just stared at him, then the Empty came and he was gone. That was the last thing between us. What the hell is wrong with me?" HIs eyes were bright and wet with unshed tears.
"Nothing, Dean, nothing's wrong with you," Sam replied carefully. "That's the point. Cas could always see who you really are, just like I can. It sounds like he was happy to be able to tell you how he felt no matter what your answer."
Dean nodded and took another drink, not elaborating further. "I can't leave him there, in the Empty. I have to try and get him out," he said bluntly.
The declaration wasn't a surprise to Sam. Cas was family, and they didn't leave family behind. "He'd do the same for us," Sam agreed, turning his attention back to the sky.
The orange glow had grown, adding layers of pink and yellow to the bands of color raising over the horizon.
"There's something else, Sam," Dean continued, his voice low and serious. Sam wondered what else his brother had been hiding, and he hoped it wasn't as bad as it sounded. The past few weeks had left him feeling like a raw wound, and he didn't think he was ready to deal with more deep, dark secrets. "Now that Chuck is gone and we can write our own stories, maybe it's time for you to think about what you want to do. I mean..." Dean forced a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "You could go back to school—you aren't too old for that. You could have a nice, normal life like you always wanted," his brother nodded, as if trying to convince himself it was a good idea.
The suggestion stopped Sam in his tracks. "What are you talking about, Dean? Do you really think that's what I want to do?"
His brother shrugged. "It's always been your dream, I just figured now would be the time to go after it. There's nothing holding you back any more."
Sam wasn't sure if he should be touched or furious. "I'm not twenty-one anymore, Dean," he said firmly. He wanted to make sure that his message was loud and clear this time. "I've grown up; I've changed. Yes, that was my dream for a long, long time. But I've realized something over the last few years. I don't need a normal life, hell I don't even want a normal life! I want our life, Dean. Me and you, doing our thing. That's what makes me happy. So, quit trying to get rid of me."
The smile that crossed Dean's face this time was genuine and deep. He finished off his beer. "Whatever you say, Kemosabe. And there you go."
The sun burst into the sky, the reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks splashed as far as the eye could see like they had been painted on with a brush. "Chuck did get a few things right," Sam pointed out.
"Damn straight," Dean agreed, standing up. "You ready to go?"
Sam nodded and followed Dean to the car. His brother paused by the driver's door and leaned over the top of the car, casually lacing his fingers together. "You know, we really can do whatever we want now. We don't have to spend our time doing laundry or washing dishes. There's lots of things we've missed out on."
It was true, they had spent their lives following a path that seemed predestined for them both. Now that they could pick anything at all it seemed very clear to Sam what they needed to do.
"We've still got the family business," Sam said wryly, holding onto Dean with his eyes as they faced each other.
Dean chuckled, the sound deep and as warming to Sam as a heavy blanket on a cold night. He once again shuddered at the way this hunt might have ended, and he felt grateful they were still in this together.
"Saving people," Dean said with a sly grin.
"Hunting things," Sam added with a smile of his own.
Dean slapped his hand on the top of the car to emphasize the point. "You said it, Sammy. Now, come on, Miracle is going to wonder what happened to us."
They both got in the car and slammed the heavy doors. Dean turned around and started searching for something in the back floorboard.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
"Just a minute," Dean answered, his voice muffled from having his head and half his body in the back of the car. "Got it!" he announced, turning around with a cassette in his hand. He proudly held it up and Sam could read the word written on it with black marker.
"Kansas?"
"The perfect song for the perfect moment," his brother declared, putting it into the deck and pushing a number.
The words of the song burst through the speakers and as Dean put the car in gear and spun out on the gravel, the familiar strains of the music enveloped them.
Carry on, my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more...
Sam watched Dean, singing with full abandon, and he knew that every moment they had to sing, to laugh, to hunt, to share a beer, to make their own choices, they reaped the reward they had been fighting for their whole lives.
One day they would hopefully join those they had lost; Mom and Dad, Bobby, Charlie, and so many others they had loved. But not today, and not tomorrow either.
It wasn't time to lay their heads to rest yet, there was a lot of living left to do, and to celebrate Sam joined in on the song, his voice intermingling with his brother's as the Impala headed toward the brilliant sunrise and ate away the miles toward home.