Happy two year finale anniversary! Once again I couldn't let the day go by without posting something, so I was more than happy to participate in the Now It's Perfect challenge over on AO3 celebrating the brothers' lives either during or after the finale. Big thanks to the mod for running it! There's some personal head canons of mine in here, hopefully they all make sense. This was super therapeutic to write because dangit the brothers deserve some peace, so I was glad to give them some of that. I hope you all enjoy!

Big, big thank you to my buddy Lilac Letter who looked this over, fixed my mistakes, and provided some wonderful comments that helped me fill in some missing pieces! You're a star! Any remaining mistakes are my own and as usual I don't own anything.

Now it's perfect. Not almost there, not so close it's basically right. Perfect. Dean's once again got his little brother in his hold and is not about to let him go anytime soon. Sure, the beautiful scenery and sense of peace that blankets the space are nice, but they're not Sam. They're not a presence and a heartbeat Dean knows as well as his own. Nothing could ever even hope of coming close to that.

Sam's still looking out at the trees and the river rushing beneath him.

Dean's looking at Sam.

And while his heart swells with happiness to have his brother here, he can't help but look at Sam's still young features and wonder what happened. Can't help but pray that nothing went wrong too soon after he left Sam alone in that barn.

Finally, Sam stops indulging his staring and turns—not so much to dislodge Dean's arm slung across his back, mind you—to look at him. "You know I'm real, right?"

The grin on Dean's face gets wider. "Course I do. You even have to ask?"

Sam smiles too, and his eyebrows tilt down a little. "No, no, just…making sure."

"You look good, Sammy," he says. "Young."

Sam looks down at himself, as if for the first time registering what he looks like. Odd. He flexes his fingers, which makes him smile. "I do," he says quietly.

Dean keeps watching for any signs that something is amiss. He wants to bask in this bliss for a little while longer, where they're back and that's all that matters. But a large part of him, the big brother part, needs to know at least something.

"So, uh." Dean clears his throat. Would 'hey when and how did you die?' be too inelegant? "What's the future like?"

Sam looks only a little surprised by his method of questioning, though he seems to have expected it in some form. He gestures towards the Impala. "They stopped producing gas cars in 2055."

It's a one-two punch. First, the hit that Sam did in fact live a life after Dean died. And second, the audacity that wimpy electric vehicles were probably the only option.

"I knew you'd make that face," Sam says almost wistfully, like he's been envisioning Dean's reaction to one or both pieces of information for some time. "The cars aren't all bad."

Dean hums noncommittally. "So, almost an octogenarian, huh? You still driving?"

"By 2060, no, I wasn't." Sam shakes his head.

"Hey, at least all those salads were good for something."

Sam shrugs. "You spend the last forty years driving around up here?"

Dean is about to say no, but he pauses. Technically, he has, but time is so different up here it's felt like…he isn't really sure how long. "I guess so. Didn't feel like it. Saw Bobby." He watches Sam's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Yeah, I know. He said Jack and Cas broke down the walls, no more reliving your greatest hits alone in the hamster wheel. We can go anywhere, see anyone it sounds like."

Sam's eyes go wide. "Cas? He's here? He's alright?"

His disbelief is almost confusing until Dean realizes that Sam's spent decades thinking Cas was stuck in the Empty, just like Dean did up until he saw Bobby. Dean grins and says, "Yeah, man. Bobby said he and Jack are working together, breaking down the walls around here. I mean, I didn't see them, but they're around here somewhere. We'll find them." He means it with every ounce of energy he can muster.

He'd had nightmares for months about Cas sacrificing himself and being taken to the Empty after it had happened. And now, those nightmares can be put to rest, at least partially. They're all alright, generally speaking. Just the fact that they can see Cas again, and maybe Jack, makes things better. Maybe they won't see them yet though. It's probably best that he and Sam get settled first before any more revelations get thrown in their faces, especially based on how borderline overwhelmed Sam looks.

Sam takes a deep breath in and out. He seems happy, at least, which counts for something. "So who else did you see? Mom? Dad?"

Dean shakes his head.

"Are they not here?"

"No, no, they are, we can go see them whenever, but I just, I don't know. Felt like drivin' until I felt like stoppin'."

"And you only stopped now, when I got here?"

Dean nods slowly. He waits for a reaction from Sam, but there's a quiet little 'hm' and nothing else. He doesn't seem all that surprised. "Wanna go for a drive?" Dean asks, their tried and true method for getting back to basics when the world under their feet has been shaken.

Sam lights up, and that's all the answer Dean needs. They separate and slide into their familiar seats in the Impala. Dean starts her up and as he reaches to put her in drive, notices that Sam's the one doing the staring. He's not even trying to mask the bittersweet way he's watching Dean.

There's a quip for Sam to 'take a picture because it'll last longer' on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't say it. Maybe Sam would've wanted a picture exactly like this to keep him company for the last four decades. Dean throws the car into drive and tries not to think about it.

It feels just like driving on Earth. The bumps on the road, forces shifting them side to side on the seat as he steers the Impala through the winding forest road. That and he's got his copilot back.

Sam's the one to break the silence some time later. "Do you regret anything?"

Dean looks over at him, confused.

"I know you said you were good with how, you know. But still?" He's got his eyes open wide, searching for answers.

Dean only hopes that the possible answers to that question haven't kept Sam up at night. Who's he kidding? Of course they have. And Sam probably knows every one of Dean's answers too. Wished he could've spent longer with his brother, saved more people, checked off a few more bucket list items, tried that new spicy hamburger recipe he was certain would have been awesome. There's a list, for sure. But there's not much they can do about it now.

"The Grand Canyon," Dean finally settles on. It's one Sam knows and is a simple enough answer to not ignite anything emotion-wise. "I mean, we fought God and his sister and tangled with angels and demons, and I still never saw it. But most of the rest of it is small fry." He looks at Sam pointedly at that, just to make sure Sam knows that not getting to spend the rest of his life with him wasn't small fry.

Sam nods, having gotten the stated and unstated meaning of Dean's words like always.

"You?" Dean asks and returns his attention to the road. Does crashing a car mean anything up here? Would they just pop back into existence without a scratch? It's an interesting question, but Dean's not about to find out the answer.

Sam takes a breath in and lets it out slowly. Dean, like Sam, knows the top ones on his brother's regrets list. "Never got around to owning another dog. My son had a few fish over the years but never—"

"Your son?" Dean interrupts him loudly and turns his attention to him again. It'll be a miracle if they don't get wrapped around a tree. He's fully prepared to not ask anything else, since this is probably whiplash for Sam and he doesn't want to put him through the wringer. But then he sees a smile spread across Sam's face, and Dean knows questions are fair game. Maybe not too many, not now, but eventually. "Tell me everything," he states, leaving it open for Sam to say as much as he wants.

And Sam does. Not everything, but quite a bit. His son's name knocks the air out of Dean's chest and it takes everything in him to not pull over then and there. He looks over periodically and is floored by the sheer pride in Sam's eyes. It's the same way Dean looks when he talks about Sam, he just knows it.

Sam gesticulates with his hands and smiles and scrunches his eyebrows as he remembers and pieces together exactly what he wants to say. And this, this right here, is why Dean was okay with dying when he did.

Would he have given anything to be an uncle to little Dean? Yes. Would he have given even more to watch Sam be a dad, a role Dean knows he would've taken on and excelled at? Hell yes. But what happened happened. One more regret to add to the pile, he supposes.

Now, he could never be a hundred percent certain that Sam would pull through without him, but he had faith in his stubborn little brother. To hear that Sam did just that and more, made a life he was proud of with a son he adored, that they were safe and happy and fulfilled, makes it all worth it. Everything.

That knowledge settles comfortably over him and they sit in silence for a few moments. The road opens up to a straightaway lined by trees. Dean notices the somewhat sudden shift in what had been a mountainous road and decides to take it for what it is. He tightens his fingers on the wheel and slightly pushes down on the gas.

There's no speed limit in heaven, after all.

They cruise. Eighty. Eighty-five. Sam rolls down his window and Dean does the same. Wind barrels through the inside of the car, making Sam's hair fly in every possible direction as it seems to breathe life into their lungs.

And Sam laughs. Bright and full, turned to look at Dean through a mess of brown hair. One of his hands rests on the open window, palm facing the wind.

He looks utterly ridiculous. He looks content.

An image flashes behind Dean's eyes of a twelve year old Sam sitting in the passenger seat the first time Dean took the Impala out, undulating his hand out the open window as if it were a surfboard catching a wave. He had looked at Dean with the same grin on his face, had his hair tousled in a similar manner.

They were free back then in those stolen hours, just the two of them and the car between jobs. They're free now.

Dean laughs with him and pushes the Impala to ninety.

Eventually the straightaway ends, but the trees don't, so Dean keeps following the winding forest road and enjoying the breathtaking scenery until the shape of a building comes into view behind them. It seems to materialize out of nothing. Dean comes to a stop in front and both he and Sam scope it out. Honestly, it looks more suited to being situated at a beach than in the middle of a forest. It's a simple one-story motel, eggshell blue with white trim and seafoam green shutters. The parking lot is empty but the neon sign in the office window blazes a cheerful red and purple 'OPEN' against the evening sunset.

As Dean looks at it, a vague sense of familiarity washes over him. Add some rust, broken shutters, and a dull peeling paint job and it would almost look like somewhere they stayed in Maine with Dad decades ago. Not quite, but almost.

"Haven't seen an honest-to-god motel in ages." Sam breaks the silence.

"Yeah?"

Sam nods. "Most went under or got bought out by chains."

Dean's a little saddened to learn that. Sure, he had seen the trend back when he was still alive as the unique, quirky one-off motels were replaced by generic chains. But still, it's a loss. A little bit of individuality across the country that a newer generation won't be exposed to.

A sudden memory makes him smile. "You remember the one in north Texas in high school? With the—"

"Cowhide lampshades and cartoon cow bedsheets?" Sam finishes and grimaces at the memory.

Dean snaps his fingers. "That brown and white wallpaper was an atrocity."

Sam laughs along with him. "That it was."

They sit there for a moment, reminiscing in the nostalgia, and Dean is more than happy to do so. "I can keep driving until we hit a Motel 6 if that'd be better," he says, half joking.

"No, no. This one looks cow-free."

Dean can't tell if Sam also recognizes the motel as possibly the one from Maine. Maybe he does and doesn't care. Or he's so wrapped up in everything else that it escapes him. Both are options.

He pulls the car around to the back side of the motel and into a spot for room 15. No need to go into the office and pay up front in heaven, right? By some unspoken agreement, they both get out of the car and walk around to the trunk. When they open it, their duffels are inside, packed and ready to go.

"Did you…?" Sam trails off.

Dean shakes his head and runs his fingers along the duffel strap. It's fraying on one side and has a gun oil stain in the middle. Just like he left it forty years ago. He decides he doesn't want to think about it further and hefts its familiar weight over his shoulder. "Vacation time."

There's already a key in Dean's jacket pocket when he goes to unlock the door. They both stand in the threshold for a moment and look around. Dean won't outright say it feels cozy, even though that's the first feeling he gets. The real motel in Maine had very decidedly not been cozy, so this is a massive upgrade. A radiator sits off to the side (does it get truly hot or cold in heaven?) of the kitchenette and small table. Instead of a television there's a large chest of drawers, which, when Dean opens a few, are stocked with games and snacks.

Sam pulls out a package of licorice and looks at it quizzically. "Why have food? It's not like we need to eat."

Dean shrugs and grabs a yellow bag of peanut MnMs. "For the sheer enjoyment of it, Sammy, why else?" He rips the package open. It even smells the same. "Hey, how many burgers do you think we can eat up here? Not like we have to watch our cholesterol levels."

Sam, predictably, rolls his eyes, which makes Dean grin before he pops a piece of candy into his mouth. It tastes real enough too. He sits down on the corner of the bed closest to the door, relishing in what feels like clean sheets and a room with no funky odor.

"And sleep? We're just souls, right? No longer on the physical plane. So is it a necessity or just something that's supplied because it feels like we need it?"

"Dude," Dean says around a mouthful of candy. "Your metaphysical questions aren't gonna get answered. Enjoy the mystery."

Sam frowns a little but eventually relents. Dean can still see the gears turning in his mind. It's comforting to know that even after all the years that have passed, Sam's curiosity and need to know haven't wavered. And it isn't like Dean doesn't have questions himself. He just figures it's heaven, so they can do what they want when they want. Together. That's the baseline for everything he wants to do for all eternity, so the rest—candy, beer, hell even taking a drive—that's just extra.

"Do you think we make memories?" There's something quiet and genuinely curious, no, urgent about Sam's sudden question.

That gives Dean pause and he looks up from his candy package. Sam's sitting on the corner of the other bed, so close his knees are almost brushing Dean's. His fingers fiddle with the stained duffel strap and he isn't looking at Dean.

"I'm sure we do. It'd be a lot of chaos up here if people constantly forgot what was going on," Dean says, trying to be reassuring.

Sam's jaw works. "Things got…fuzzy…the last few years," he says slowly. "Eventually, technology moved so fast that I couldn't transfer your voicemails anymore. And I held onto that stupid tomato one," Sam says and lets out half a laugh, "for, gosh, decades."

Dean still remembers it. It was, basically, yesterday for him. Two days before they left for Ohio, actually.

"Yo, Sammy, they've got Sgt. Pepper's tomatoes that look kinda like zombies, that exciting enough for you? Got the burgers and beer. Anything else, call me back."

A pretty horrible last voicemail, in retrospect. Sam listened to his grocery list for decades, just to hear his voice. Dean's heart aches.

"And it's not like I ever forgot what you sounded like, you know? But without that reinforcement, it…slipped. I'd hold on so hard and could never be sure again that what I was holding onto was right." Sam finally looks up, and damnit there are tears in his eyes. Dean would do anything to stop them from falling.

"Well, hey," Dean says and puts the candy to the side. "I can re-record it, hm? Or make it something that isn't a grocery list this time."

Sam smiles, just a little.

Dean wants to add that now that they're together, he's never letting Sam out of his sight again. That Sam will never need a voicemail because Dean will be here, annoying him with his voice, for all eternity. But the fact of the matter is that Dean doesn't know enough about heaven's current configuration to promise that.

And he can't let Sam down again.

"Sammy." He reaches across the space between the beds and puts one hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry, for how it, you know." He meant it when he said it was good, it was supposed to happen that way. But if he had to choose a permanent death? Leaving Sam by himself, helpless to do anything to help him as he died would never have been on the list.

Sam purses his lips and nods. His throat bobs like he's about to say something, but he stays quiet.

"Hell, if it'd been you, I would've…wasted away in a pool hall within the year."

"Dean—"

"I mean it," Dean insists, his gaze hard. Without Cas or Jack or Mom or any of their regular allies to help lessen the soul-crushing grief, he knows how it would've ended. Just him, and knowing he hadn't been able to keep Sam safe when it mattered… Dean tries to shake it off. "Point is, I'm sorry for leaving you alone. And you can be damn sure I'll fight to make sure it never happens again."

He squeezes Sam's shoulder for emphasis. A single tear slips from Sam's eye.

"But I am so proud of you. Doing what you did, raising a kid, carrying on. You got out and made a life. You did that. And now we get this, you and me, stuck for eternity."

Sam's eyes are tear-filled but level with his. "I spent more than half my life without you," he says through a throat that sounds like it's nearly choked shut with emotion. "Eternity's just fine with me." And then he smiles gratefully and Dean can see a weight fall off his shoulders.

What that weight was exactly, Dean isn't sure. Worry that Dean wouldn't be happy with how he lived his life? Fear that Dean would want to go off on his own and explore heaven?

Whatever it was, it seems to be relieved by Dean's words, which is what matters.

Dean shakes his shoulder and gently claps a hand onto it before pulling back. He grabs a peanut MnM from the bag and tosses it to Sam without warning. Sam, red-eyed, catches it easily and keeps smiling at him.

Still in sync, decades later, light years away from the physical plane.

Dean makes burgers after. The ingredients are all right there in the fridge waiting for them. Sam cuts 'zombified' tomatoes as Dean calls them and they talk. Not about anything in particular, but about everything. Sam tells him about the future, Dean recounts his conversation with Bobby.

They both agree to go out in search of their parents and Cas and Jack.

But not yet.

It feels like hours have passed, but the sun still hangs low in the sky, orange sunset light spilling in through the curtains to make patterns on the light blue floor tiles.

They eat, not because they feel hungry, but because it feels normal and good, and that's enough reason for both of them. They pull out games and play hands of solitaire, gin rummy, and poker, using pieces of candy as chips.

Very slowly, the sun begins to dip below the horizon and they turn on all the lights in the room to keep playing.

"Do you remember this place?" Dean finally asks while waiting for Sam to make a move.

Sam looks up from his cards quizzically.

"I mean, when I saw Bobby, he was in front of Harvelle's. And it looked like Harvelle's, but not quite. Like it was a more, I don't know, spruced up version. Same thing here."

Sam takes a second to look around the room and really scrutinize it.

"Alright, picture this," Dean says and waves a hand towards the game cabinet. "Box television with five channels. Dripping ceiling, peeling paint, six inches of snow outside the door."

Dean sees the moment it clicks in Sam's head. "Maine?"

Dean nods.

"Gosh, I must've been…six ?" Sam furrows his brow as he thinks.

"There about. Dad stuck us here for a week right before Christmas. Nothin' but canned soup and spaghetti o's. Had to pile all the blankets on one bed to stay warm with that crap radiator."

Sam makes a face at that, clearly remembering their substantial menu fondly. "Why would the road lead us here of all places?"

"You got me." Dean shrugs. Sam finally plays a hand so it's back to Dean. "We must've watched that '60's Rudolph movie what, five times? You'd look away every time the Abominable Snowman came onscreen," he adds with a laugh.

"Would not."

"Oh, you so would. Blankets over your eyes, the whole nine! And the poor guy just had a toothache!" Dean puts down his winning hand and pulls the candy chips towards him, feeling doubly victorious. "You remember that snowman you made? You used chunks of parking lot asphalt for the eyes?"

Sam takes a moment to think before he shakes his head.

"You were so damn proud of yourself, and a few days later it started to melt and the eyes fell onto the ground. I had to put them back on and tell you that Mr. Snowman was okay, that's how snowmen slept, three different times before you quit being horrified."

Sam still looks lost as he searches for the memory and comes up empty. "Guess I forgot about that." He starts dealing them another hand. "But you know what I do remember?"

"Hm?"

"You snored, even back then," Sam smiles at him, like he's just played some sort of trump card. "It practically rattled the bed."

"Very funny. Only slept so hard because I was busy convincing you snowman magic existed all day long," Dean says defensively.

His little brother looks back at him fondly like he hung the moon and the stars, just like he used to years ago. "You did a good job," Sam says simply, but the tone of his voice betrays the apparent simplicity of the statement.

Dean's heart and throat clench at the same time despite his efforts to have his demeanor remain neutral. He always tried his damndest. He had hoped that despite everything they'd been through, Sam would at least know that. Not that they ever said such things face to face, of course. He'd gotten the sense that Sam knew, over the years, but hearing it and knowing that Sam trusts him to hear all its inflections in five simple words makes it hard to speak.

He clears his throat instead and starts shuffling the cards. "Shame I didn't teach you how to beat me at solitaire." He hands Sam his shuffled deck and readies one for himself. It's been a lot of emotional moments for one heaven-day, alright? Sam will understand, he always does.

Sam gives the cards a final shuffle, watching Dean the whole time, still faintly and fondly smiling.

Unsaid meanings understood by all parties. Just as it should be. Fantastic.

They lay down their cards, Sam calls the start, and Dean puts up his first ace.

Eventually, the sun does dip below the horizon. Whether it's a natural heaven thing or because the two of them feel like it, Dean has no idea, but those are questions for another day. They each have a change of sleep clothes in their duffles. Dean is pleasantly surprised to find his favorite pair of hotdog pajamas along with his grey hoodie. He slides it on and relishes in the soft comfort of it.

He only stops when he notices Sam staring, stood stock still next to the bathroom door, holding his own pajamas in his hands. He's looking between the hoodie and Dean, something unreadable in his gaze. Just as Dean's about to ask if he's alright, Sam takes a visible breath in and enters the bathroom.

Sam returns clad in a grey pair of sweatpants and his god-awful purple dog t-shirt that was ripped to shreds over a decade ago—at least based on Dean's mental timeline. Dean mocked him mercilessly for it the first time he saw it, so it's tradition to do it again.

"Do you even know what type of dog it is?" he banters as they turn down the sheets.

"Doesn't matter," Sam says matter of factly. "It's soft."

Dean rolls his eyes. Ridiculous is what it is. "So do you think this means clothes have souls then too? I mean, that thing bit the dust ages ago."

Sam tosses a pillow across the room and it hits Dean square in the chest with a dull thud. Dean shoves it onto the floor and gets comfortable in the bed. The mattress is soft, memory foam-like. With a sudden pang, he misses his room in the bunker. Maybe they can find it up here somewhere. Or do only old, destroyed things end up here? Is the motel no longer standing and that's why it's here?

How long will they sleep for? Do they wake up when they're ready?

Not at all?

As soon as Sam settles, Dean turns out the lamp on the nightstand in hopes that the darkness will quell the questions buzzing around in his mind. After a few minutes his eyes adjust to the absence of manufactured light. Some faint ambient blue light filters in through the curtains across the kitchen window. It's barely enough to make out the shadows in the room. Enough to see that Sam is on his side facing Dean, practically as close to the edge of the bed as he can get.

"Night, Sammy," he says, not taking his eyes off his brother.

"Night, Dean."

Dean half expects that to be the end of it. The room is a decent temperature, so there isn't even a hissing heater or air conditioner to provide white noise. Which means that every time Sam shifts restlessly or breathes a little shakily, Dean can hear it. He lets it go on for a much shorter time than he would've back on Earth because come on, they're both dead now, the time for suffering is over.

"Sam?" His quiet voice seems to resonate in the still room.

The sheets crinkle a few feet away. "Sorry."

"You good?" It's pretty obvious that he's not, but Dean's leaving it up to Sam to decide how much he wants to share and when. He watches Sam's shadow shift from staring at the ceiling to turn towards Dean.

"What if we never wake up? What if this is…it?" It's so unusual for Dean to hear uncertainty in Sam's voice, and even more rare for there to be fear mixed in too. And yet, he can hear both.

Dean has to take a moment to remind himself to be reassuring, as if he wasn't just worrying over the same thing a few minutes ago himself. "Doubt it. You really think they'd go through all the trouble of rebuilding this if all you get is one long day and then lights out? No way." Dean shakes his head. Even if Sam can't see him, he can hear the pillowcase rustle. "Plus, Jack and Cas are in charge now. Permanent darkness doesn't sound like something they'd go for." He hadn't thought of it really before he said it out loud, but it makes sense, and thinking of it now, it does bring him a sense of comfort. They've got people—celestial beings, whatever—looking out for them again, even if they're not in the direct vicinity.

He twists a little to look more directly at Sam and in doing so lets in a rush of cool air between the sheets. The room definitely wasn't this cold a few minutes ago. Freaking heaven physics.

Sam lets out a heavy breath. "You're probably right," he acquiesces, but doesn't sound convinced.

"I'm the big brother. I'm always right," Dean says lightly, and is rewarded with a small laugh for his efforts.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Seriously." He waits until he can feel Sam's eyes on him. "Not goin' anywhere, man."

"You better not."

The room is quiet for a few minutes until Dean has to pull up the blanket as the room's temperature drops. Not enough to be truly cold, but enough to be noticeable. Sam keeps tossing and turning in the other bed.

Dean mentally throws up his hands. "Okay, fine, Maine motel part two," he mutters. "Get your ass over here." He slides to the other side of the bed—cold, no thanks—and leaves the covers open for Sam.

"What?"

"You heard me," Dean says gruffly. "Hurry up, it's freezing." A little over exaggeration never hurt anyone, right? Especially when this'll solve two problems in one.

Sam only dawdles for a few moments before Dean watches his silhouette rise from the other bed. He crawls in next to Dean and pulls the covers over them both.

"Still a furnace," Dean comments, in this moment glad for it. The sensation of having Sam within arm's reach is comforting too. If the floor fell out from under them, he could grab onto Sam's arm and they'd either fall or cling to the ledge together. But they wouldn't be separated, not again.

He can tell Sam takes comfort in it too. He can feel his brother relaxing into the bed, tight muscles finally giving up to be supported.

Dean lets out a long sigh and settles on his back. "Get some rest, Sammy."

Sam must move his head, because there's a slight pressure against his shoulder and Dean can feel him nod. The weight doesn't leave, seeming to drag Dean down to sleep just by itself.

He wakes some time later. There's no digital clock in the room, not like time has any meaning anymore when it seems to be able to stretch and bend to fit their needs. Dean blinks a few times, trying to figure out what woke him up. It's still dark outside, no traces of dawn yet making their way into the room.

After spending a moment cataloguing the situation, he notices that Sam's breaths aren't sleep-steady, but slightly more erratic. Awake. Bingo.

Dean doesn't say anything. It feels like Sam hasn't moved a muscle in the last who knows how long. Dean extricates an arm from his side and wraps it around Sam to pull him into a sleepy, one-armed hug.

Sam starts at the contact, but immediately relaxes.

Dean closes his eyes again and feels Sam's breaths hitch a few more times before they begin to steady out.

"You still snore," Sam finally says. It's so anticlimactic and mundane that Dean could laugh.

But he doesn't.

Because he knows what it's like to spend forty years in a kind of hell without his brother by his side, without his idiosyncrasies and little annoyances and things that give life greater meaning. He spent a year learning what it was like to wake up and not have Sam out for his morning run, to not go out for breakfast, to not fly down the road in the Impala together with the windows down and the world at their fingertips.

And all that just makes him even more proud of the fact that Sam did survive it and was able to make a life after.

So instead of speaking, he tightens his grip and doesn't even think about falling back asleep until he knows Sam is finally doing just that.

They seem to meld over the course of the night, two halves of the same whole finally fitting back together. When Dean rouses, both his arms are around Sam, who's tucked against his chest and has his head resting next to Dean's sternum. His hair is mussed and tangled around his face, so much so that Dean can't see his eyes. He's in no rush though, so he takes these moments for what they are and relaxes into them.

They've had a few nights like this over the years, usually preceded by snowstorms in motels with the power knocked out or screaming nightmares that left both of them shaken. So it's nice to have this in and of itself, not caused by something negative.

Dean is careful not to shift or move too much, but he registers a few minutes after he wakes that Sam's probably been awake this whole time. His breathing is a steady expansion and release against Dean's arms, but not as deep and calm as it gets in sleep.

Seems like Dean isn't the only one taking solace in the peace of their current position.

The room is a comfortable temperature now and dawn light filters in, making the eggshell blue walls look cool and calming.

On a whim, Dean shifts so that he can gently brush Sam's hair away from his face. Still too damn long, at least that didn't change. Sam stirs at the touch and twists to look up at Dean, who smiles down at him.

He's hit with such a sudden sense of deja vu that it nearly takes the breath from his chest. A little Sam, in this same motel, looking up at him in the same way, blankets piled on top of both of them into a cocoon as they waited for the sun to rise. He'd fit more comfortably in Dean's arms then, but his eyes have always been the same. Curious, calculating, maybe just a bit happy to find that it's Dean he's looking at.

"Sleep alright?" Dean asks quietly, hesitant to break the state they've found themselves in. Almost like if he speaks too loudly or moves too suddenly, the facade will shatter around them.

Sam nods, dislodging some of his hair back into his face. He looks rested, at least, and it's always comforting to look at him and not see bruises and cuts marring his features.

"Good," Dean says with a soft smile. He gently extricates his arms from around Sam and suppresses a wince at the immediate pins and needles in his right hand, which was bent at a weird angle and pinned all night. How the hell he even gets that sensation up here is a whole other mystery, but he'll worry about that some other time. Something to ask Cas and Jack about, maybe. Any other annoying parts of being human that they keep in heaven despite not having a physical body?

"You think this place has coffee?" Dean asks and shakes out his hand as Sam props himself up against the headboard and yawns.

"It'll probably show up if you want it to," Sam states like it's so freaking obvious and doesn't violate all the laws of physics.

Dean nudges him with his elbow. "Use the force with me then, hm? Let's see if we can blip some caffeine into existence."

Sam smirks at his antics and shakes his head.

Dean keeps his mind trained on hot coffee as he makes his way over to the kitchenette and begins rummaging around in the cabinets. Lo and behold, there's a small machine waiting to be used and a bag of coffee grounds—definitely not wonderful but desperate times, desperate measures—sitting next to two mugs on the bottom shelf. He can't remember if they were there last night and decides that right now he doesn't really care.

He gets the machine up and running and within a few minutes, coffee starts to slowly drip into the first mug. Dean leans against the counter as Sam stretches, gets out of bed, and heads for the door.

"You're not serious about running every day even up here, are you?" Dean asks and raises an eyebrow.

Dean half expects a witty retort back, but is surprised to find that Sam seems to think about Dean's question. He alternates legs as he stands on one and bends the other back at the knee. Then he curls his fingers like he did the day before. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, something unintentional and just for Sam itself, it seems, as he realizes something. "I just might," he says simply, and looks truly happy to do so.

Dean is trying to figure out how he should broach a question about Sam's physical state at the end of his life but gets interrupted when he notices the first coffee mug is almost full. He swaps it out for a second one as Sam steps outside, probably enjoying the fresh forest air. He doesn't get much further than the door though; Dean can still see him in the doorway.

"Coffee's comin' dude, hold your horses." The machine is percolating slowly, but the smell is still enough to wake him up.

"Dean? I think you should see this."

Of course, that wakes him up even more than the coffee, and he leaves the second mug to fill in favor of seeing what Sam's staring at. He comes up behind him and looks over his shoulder and—

"Holy crap," he breathes out, mouth hanging open of its own accord as his eyes take in the scene before him.

Gone is the forest of trees and asphalt parking lot. The Impala is still there, but now she sits on a dirt lot next to a fire pit and a pair of lawn chairs. Where the dirt ends, the Grand Canyon spans before them in the grandest of vistas. The red of the canyon walls is unmistakable, but with the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, the rocks are tinged in blue. The horizon seems to be every warm hue imaginable until it blends seamlessly with a blue sky dotted with small, puffy clouds. When Dean squints, he can just barely make out the Colorado River at the very bottom, a perfectly reflective silver strip.

He can't remember the last time he's seen so many colors in one place.

When he steals a glance to Sam beside him, he sees that his brother's mouth is also open, eyes wide as he takes everything in.

Dean completely forgets about the metaphysics of their changed environment and squeezes past Sam so he can get a better look. Small stones and pieces of dirt stick to his socks as he walks to the canyon's edge and looks down.

He then promptly takes a step back because wow is it a long way down and he'd really not like to find out what happens if he takes a header off a cliff in heaven. Sam finally comes up to join him and they stand shoulder to shoulder, not even daring to blink.

"I always hoped it would be like this," Dean finds himself saying. He'd imagined the sheer majesty of it dozens of times over the years, but never managed to see it in person. Always bigger fish to fry or some civilian to rescue. Never enough time to appreciate the wonders of the world they'd died to save.

Sam just nods along, too enraptured for words. Eventually, Dean retrieves their coffees, which are still steaming hot, and they relax into the lawn chairs outside and watch the sun rise.

When Dean declares that his thighs are going numb from sitting so long, they walk around the canyon's edge. The sun is warm on their skin, but not hot enough to burn. Around noon, the refrigerator provides them with ingredients for sandwiches, and they eat them outside while playing a round of go fish. The sunset later that day is just as spectacular as the sunrise that morning, with the red rocks seeming to glow as if molten hot as the sun begins to disappear behind the horizon. Dean tosses Sam a bag of marshmallows for him to skewer and sets about getting the graham crackers and chocolate ready.

"It's burning," Sam says when Dean holds his marshmallow over the fire so close a flame ignites.

Dean pulls it out, blows on it to extinguish the flame, and sticks it right back in. "So?"

Sam is holding his marshmallow higher over the fire, rotating his skewer slowly so it cooks evenly. "So it'll taste like charcoal."

"Delicious charcoal," Dean corrects and grins at him. The marshmallow hisses as another fire ignites and Dean again blows it out. When it's sufficiently blackened, he pops it between two slabs of chocolate and two graham crackers and goes to town. It's practically divine. He can't remember the last time he had a s'mores.

Sam's marshmallow finally starts drooping after going light brown all over the edges and Sam makes it to his graham cracker just in time before it slides off the stick entirely.

"Cutting it a little close there," Dean ribs. His didn't have time to go all soft in the center and risk falling into the fire, so obviously his cooking method is superior. Of course, his words are a little muddled from all the marshmallow in his mouth, but given Sam's halfhearted bitch-face, he got the gist.

They eat in contented peace and watch the colors of the sky change. Gradually the warm hues give way to a cool blue that fades to darkness. When the stars appear, they're spectacular.

Sam's craning his neck to take them all in, but Dean can't take his eyes off him. "You think these are the real stars?" Sam asks.

Dean just shrugs. There's sticky marshmallow residue on his fingers but he doesn't want to go inside to wash it off. "Kinda cool to think maybe we're closer to them, up here," he muses aloud. He pinches his fingers together and pulls them apart absentmindedly.

"What do you make of all this? Really?" Sam tears his gaze away from the stars to look at Dean. If he finds anything strange about Dean staring at him, he doesn't comment on it.

Dean takes a deep breath in and sighs it out. There's a little smoke in the air from their fire pit, not much more than glowing embers now. "Better than it was before," he says honestly. "Sure, the scenery moving and the things appearing will probably take some getting used to but…not bad. What about you? Those gears of yours have been grinding all night, I can practically hear 'em. Lay it on me." He waves a hand towards himself.

Sam smiles and shifts forward in his chair, balancing his forearms on his knees. He's got a watch on—one Dean recognizes with an ache in his heart as one he used to own, the one he had gone into the barn wearing—but Dean can't read the time. Can't remember if it's ever even shown a time. He could look to his own watch to confirm, but it doesn't seem important, not like this is.

Sam fixes his gaze, and that alone lets Dean know he's right—Sam has definitely been mulling this over all day long. "What if heaven is just what we need it to be?" Sam eventually says. A thesis laid out at Dean's feet, and oh man is it a big one.

Dean thinks about the Impala and the open road and the changing scenery. The motel and the temperature and hell, even the bridge where he felt like he just needed to pull over. Like the energy shifted and something was coming that he needed to be there for. That something, of course, being Sam, which is what everything has always boiled down to. Being there for his little brother.

Maybe Sam isn't so far off the mark after all.

"Maybe," he agrees after a few moments of genuine thought. Sam seems to appreciate it, since he doesn't roll his eyes like he so often does after one of Dean's brush off responses. But he still feels like he needs more, like he needs to make Sam understand that the only reason why he's okay with any of this is because Sam's back with him. He'd have driven down heaven's highway until eternity ended if Sam hadn't shown up. Happy in his Baby, of course, with the wind whipping through her interior, but never truly content.

He wipes his fingers on his jeans, getting small pills of fabric stuck to the melted sugar on his fingertips. "I've got everything I need," Dean says, not even cringing at how sappy it is because it's true. He looks directly at Sam as he says it, hoping just that will be enough to get his message across without him having to recite a whole monologue. "Everything else is extra."

Sam breaks into a smile then. The dying glow of the embers dances in the small tears that form in his eyes. "Me too."

Dean grins back at him. Same page then, as always.

Night falls around them and the cloudless sky is lit only by stars and a silver crescent moon that slowly begins to rise.

"Think there are shooting stars up here?" Dean asks. It's partially rhetorical; all these questions are, since neither of them actually know a single thing about how the physics—or lack thereof—of this place work.

"No clue. But we've got time to watch and find out."

Dean is perfectly content with that answer.

Later, when it starts to get chilly, Sam will build up the fire and Dean will retrieve their jackets from inside and they'll try to determine if this night sky is the same one they sat under for countless nights back on Earth.

For now, they listen to the faint breeze through the canyon and relax in each other's presence.