Well, here we are guys! The final installment! It's been a long ride. Hope it doesn't disappoint! Cheers!
~o(Supernatural)o~
Dean felt sick. And it wasn't the pervasive numbness spreading throughout his body. The burning white-hot light had completely consumed his sibling, the entire room becoming lost in the mass of Angel Prison Break. Weakly he called out Sam's name, but it came out as a mere whisper. He broke inside, his core falling into despair…for he could no longer see his brother's face.
No!
His head smacked the dusty floor, his forearm shielding his sight away from the agonizing luminosity. The numbness had spread to his outer extremities and he could feel his body begin to shut down. A certain hum began in his head, an irritable vibrating noise that sometimes you get after a serious hangover.
Soon his vision faded, his world gone silent.
And then he was falling.
Weightless. Disoriented. The last few electrical charges mustered from his brain sparked and fired, and he knew he was inches from death.
He closed his eyes, seeing nothing but the abysmal black void.
Images. Vivid, life-like images stormed through his mind. Depictions of himself. Of Sam. Of his father. Of Bobby. Of the Impala. A perpetual parade of pictures flickering with ludicrous speed like that of a reel tape. Endless.
Was this the whole life flashing before your eyes as the spiny hands of Death grapples you? Damn, not again!
The images suddenly morphed into video-like reels. Memories. He saw again when he and his brother were tiny tikes. They were taking a joyride in their father's Impala on the way towards a new hunt and a new home. Sam stashed away another book down into the floorboard, while he, in the front seat, tossed another magazine over his head, the mag and book neatly falling upon a tower of books and magazines.
Sam and he were kids again, and side-by-side were heading into another school. There was a shy, yet exuberantly happy expression permanently etched onto Sam's face, while he had another infamous scowl. They took the steps, leading up to the big archway of paint-chipped double doors. Dean held the door open for his twelve-year-old brother, before disappearing into the education prison.
He was in a motel room with a pillow over his head. Several loud booming shouts and threats echoed on the outside of the Swiss cheese patterned walls. This was the night before Sam left for Stanford. His father and his brother were at loggerheads again, not at all discussing the prospect of Sam's future. His brother made it very clear he was sick of hunting and was leaving the family. Not two minutes later there was the sound of a door slamming.
He was in New Orleans when he received his father's distress call, prompting him to leave for Stanford.
His large size eleven shoe rammed into the apartment's door cracking it open. Sam's screams echoed from the upstairs. He raced into the bedroom where it was all ablaze. Sam reached for the ceiling. But it was of no use…Jessica was already dead. He pulled his brother off the smoking bed and out of the apartment. They left with Sam saying farewell to the life he had always dreamed of.
They both were bloody, exhausted, and on edge. That slate was all wiped clean when at last the large dark silhouette standing creepily by the window turned out to be their missing Father.
John met them at the car window, and the Family was reunited once more in Colorado.
Their Family shattered. The words "Time of Death, 10:41 a.m." echoed like a busted radio-loop in his head.
Sam's lifeless eyes came to a final close. His body, rigid and pale, was lying on the moth-eaten bedspread, so, so still. Cold crept into Dean's bones, the chill of Cold Oaks settling in. He was nauseous. He was hungry. And he was dying on the inside. But that all vanished when he came back into the room and gave his alive and kicking brother an air-squandering hug.
The clock chimed Midnight.
His hands split open. There was no air. His screams died as avalanches of dirt poured into his mouth. His lungs begged for oxygen that was not there. He climbed and kicked, his body falling steadfast back down under. His foot caught on a curvy root, but he could not scream. There was no air.
Spikes of cold cool oxygen hit his fingers first as they burst out of the ground. Next the spikes drove into his chest, as his head popped out like some mutant daisy, his mouth greedily gulping the musty cabbage-smelling draft.
The tests put under by Bobby, and the not-so-happy reunion with Sam.
Volumes of lightning and hurricane winds drove he and Bobby back. Sparks of ashes and glass showered over the both of them. They each took a step back at the advancing enemy. Castiel then spread his wings wide, the dark shadows taking up the entire width of the aluminum shed.
Cass revealed Lilith's plan for Lucifer and the oncoming Apocalypse.
His body flew through the suite's lattice, crashing into the glass table on the lower terrace. Large angry hands wrapped around his throat, bruising his trachea, and cutting off any and all air-flow. The hands relented, and he stared broken-heartedly into the face of his brother. Sam, deep in frustrations and under the spell of the demon bitch Ruby, peered down with hate at his beaten body. The door slammed.
Lucifer was free.
Sam and he went separate ways.
His first meeting with the archangel Raphael.
Back together, he and Sam were finally freed from the TV. Sam walked out of the Impala, safe and whole. He lit up his zippo, throwing it onto the invisible line of Holy Oil, effectively trapping the Trickster. And surprise, surprise, the Trickster was revealed to be the archangel Gabriel.
Cass's burger binge.
The morning was bright. Empty beer cans decorated the headboard and desk surrounding his bed. He stared openly up at the shotgun's barrel pointed at his head. A gun went off and his brother's bloody corpse lied next to him. Deep shock tore through him and a thousand angry vipers were set loose within his gut at the sight. His rampant feelings grew worse at the feel of a hundred plus buckshot pellets ripping his chest to shreds. He woke up and became officially lost along the road to Heaven.
It was he and his brother, together, standing in front of the slowly degenerating man, formerly known as Lucifer. Sam, pumped up on demon blood, effortlessly killed the demons holding them hostage. The finals words spoken and the entire room filled with a deep penetrating light…where Sam became lost forever.
The barren cemetery in Lawrence came into view. His two brothers Sam and Adam pitted against one another by their parasite Angels, about ready to fight and end the world. Then it happened, right before his eyes: Cass and Bobby's last stand, resulting in their vivid and gruesome deaths. Adam was willed away where he made one last attempt to contact Sam. It failed and his brother nearly pummeled him to death.
However, it worked as Sam finally overcame Lucifer's possession before the killer blow was thrown. He saw it through his one eye. Sammy willed back Lucifer and opened the portal of Hell. And in one swift motion, both of his brothers disappeared into the hole, leaving him alone.
He was no longer falling. His feet had hit something hard. Gazing upward, he noticed something real quickly.
Alone.
He looked around. There was no Cass. No Bobby. No Impala. It was just he in the barren wasteland. Beneath his feet was cracked and dry ground. It was hot. Dreadfully hot. All around him the air undulated, like that of hot air rising up from a propane grill. Any minute he was expecting a mirage to form. Then suddenly a crow flew over his head, cawing loudly. An omen.
This could not be his paradise. If he was dead, then where is his family? Where are his friends? Where's his dream girl? What's happening?
Dean was about to panic. This couldn't be the end. He can't be dying. He can't be alone. Not in death. Not in life. Never!
NOOOOOO!
He sank to his knees and scrunched his eyes closed. This couldn't be. He absolutely refused to think that this was his reward after all he endured.
Something hit him in the forehead.
His eyes opened and he found himself under a vast midnight blue sky. Something else hit him again. It was wet. He wiped the slime off with his hand, learning that it was rain. Another drop smacked the top of his head lightly, whereupon he sat up, learning he had been lying on his side in unkempt grass.
Looking around, his heart sank. He was in the cemetery again. Alone. The two tombstones sat in front of him, as though never touched. As if there wasn't some devastating earthquake where the ground opened up and swallowed them whole. He glanced behind his shoulder seeing the Impala parked in the exact spot he had her.
A bit alarmed, he got to his feet, patting down his arms and legs. They felt real. He pinched his side, wincing at the sharp ache it caused. He was awake. So that means…
Has he been asleep this whole time? Was everything he just endured a dream?
No way!
He kicked the dirt, the tufts of grass becoming entangled around his leather boot. They felt real. The air was chilly. Tasted salty on his tongue. He looked to the sky again. The thousands of little dots danced and twinkled at him, reminding him that he was merely a floating speck of dust compared to the rest of the universe. As if declaring that he was among the other poorest souls on Earth: why is he so important that he should get what he wants? Like he needed the reminder.
It couldn't have been a dream! Getting Sam back. Cass teleporting him into his sibling's deranged catatonic mind. Bobby's house as the arena for the fight match: Winchester vs. Satan's helpers. Everyone dying.
No, it was too real.
He pinched himself again. And sure enough, the area was red and inflamed.
"Oh My God!" he cursed, screaming. "God dammit!"
It couldn't be. Not when it had been so real—felt so real—that he had gotten his brother back. Now for his vision to be taken away. It was unfair!
"Screw you!" he lashed again to the sky and stormed off back to his baby- back to his miserable life where he had yet to put back the pieces-back to a life believing his kid brother was rotting in Hell. He opened the door to the Impala, pausing briefly. And for the first time ever, he didn't want to get back into his car.
A large crack suddenly had him turn around.
And then it was as if it were on replay. The ground began to quake. The Impala bounced raggedly off her rims. Lightning struck and the magnificent Cyprus was aflame.
It was the same. And suddenly Dean knew what he had to do.
Instantly he dashed for the graves where once again the ground sunk in, opening up to a hole. He completed a baseball players' slide and dove his hands into the aperture.
A dirty hot hand latched onto his. Pulling with strength that could match Hercules, he tugged and soon the hand became an arm, leading to that of a shoulder and a head. Grimy long hair was in the way, obscuring most of what looked to be his brother's face.
"Come on Sammy. I gotcha. I gotcha," Dean said through clenched teeth.
Most of Sam's upper half slid out onto the patch of grass. He huffed and puffed, his face shrewd in concentration.
"You're good. Come on. Pull yourself up. I've gotcha," he continued to encourage, wrapping an arm around Sam's naked shoulders. He was almost out.
But something wasn't right.
A negative nauseous pang sprouted in his gut. It grew bigger the more Sam struggled to get out of the hole. He looked down and froze, staring at Sam's lower half. His eyes grew wide, his insides screaming in horror.
There was no body, no flesh, nor skin, just charred bones. His lower half consisted of a blackened purple skeletal pelvic region along with long dinosaur-like legs.
Dean's mouth hung open, his jaw-line slick with saliva. What the Hell? I don't remember this ever happening.
Sam chuckled.
The nausea Dean felt tripled. It wasn't Sam's laugh. This wasn't his brother.
"What's the matter Dean? Don't like what you see?" Sam said. He lifted his head and Dean bucked back. Sam's eyes glowed wickedly, a shiny florescence he was sure to have seen only on the Twilight Zone.
"Oegh…" Words escaped him.
"That's right," Sam grinned. "I'm back…and now I'm here to take you with me."
And with hair-triggering speed, the monster suddenly lunged for Dean's hand, gripping it tight, and pulled him into the flickering hole.
The End.
~o(Supernatural)o~
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Now come on! Did you really think I'd end it there?
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~o(Supernatural)o~
"NO!" Dean screamed awake, his body jackknifing into a sitting position. His eyes were wide, swiveling frantic in their sockets, his mind scattered in all directions. Sweat trickled in rivulets along his clammy skin, soaking into his eyes, making them burn. "Sammy!"
"Easy." A strong hand gently pushed on his chest, guiding him back onto some hard mattress. Instinctively, like that of a child in need of cooing, Dean allowed whomever to do so.
"You were dreaming," the voice said.
Huh?
Dean regained his composure and gazed up into the face of Cass. He breathed a sigh of relief. Never in his life had he been so happy to see the nerd. "You're alive!"
He shot up from the bed again, "Oh my God Cass. Lucifer. Lucifer's…He's out," he began to ramble wildly, "He's…he's out. He's back. Sammy…holy shit Sammy. He's gone. Lucifer took him. Shit, Sam! He's dead. Wait! We're dead too! Ohhhh, we're dead! We died! Bobby—"
Cass clamped a hand over his mouth, ceasing his rambling. The angel peered at him with soft eyes. "Easy Dean. You were just dreaming." He let go of his mouth.
Dean shook his head. "No. No, it happened. I saw it happen. We were attacked by…by…everything. Bobby's house is wrecked. Bobby was stabbed. I saw it. Hell, you were stabbed. And Sammy…"
"Is asleep. And if you don't keep your voice down, you're going to wake him up," the Angel informed him.
That struck him. "What?" he turned to where Cass pointed, and there he was. It was Sam lying in the bed next to him on his side sound asleep. "But…" Dean was stumped. "But Lucifer…"
"Is not here. He's still down below where he belongs."
"Bobby…"
"Downstairs cooking."
"But his house?"
"Still the same way it was when we first arrived here."
"Which was—"
"Last night. You've been asleep since then. Only just a few short hours ago you started having nightmares. Nearly woke up the whole house."
Nodding was all Dean could think to do. He couldn't take his eyes off his brother. Sam seemed, well, normal. He wasn't pale and clammy, under the effect of Lucifer's poison. He wasn't having a difficult time breathing. He wasn't catatonic. And he wasn't some partial evil skeleton intent on taking him back to Hell.
He was…well, fine!
Dean unfurled the covers off of his boxer-clad legs and hustled over to his brother's side. He sat down and immediately placed a hand on Sam's head. He was real. He wasn't a figment this time. Sam's deep breaths rose and fell evenly and Dean felt his heart re-inflate.
"He's real Dean." Cass came over and stood in front of the iron foot-stand. "He came back all in one piece, but exhausted. So don't worry too much if he happens to be asleep for a couple of days."
Dean smiled. "Note taken." The angel knew his protectiveness all too well…it was scary!
Cass turned to leave.
"So, all of it?" Dean called out. "All of it was a dream. The monsters. Your buddy Raph? All of it was some friggin' dream?"
"Yes. It was just a dream, I assure you," came the automatic response.
"So…so we're all good now. Nothing's arming up to come after us?"
Cass laughed. "Arming up? Dean, whatever could have given you that idea?"
Dean shrugged, thinking back to what Cass had told him when Sam first popped into his arms. "Huh, but that's something."
"What?"
He tapped his chin. "I could've sworn we put Sam into his own room last night."
Cass pursed his lips and shrugged, continuing on out the door and into the hallway.
~o(Supernatural)o~
The smell of roasting bacon had already wafted up the staircase. Bobby hummed merrily, adorned in his "Kiss the Cook" apron, cooking away. The happy expression that his boys were home, together, was all too bright to miss.
Strolling past the kitchen, Cass gave the chef a friendly wave exiting out to the front porch. He had to walk fast. The smell was aggravating to his senses.
Outside, the warm summer air hit him like a splash of warm water. It was humid and dry, not at all appealing for vacationers. There was a gentle breeze, but it failed in damping the humidity.
Sitting at the corner of the baby-blue porch, on the first step, was a man. Dressed in a denim jacket and slacks and glasses, the man sat overlooking the Salvage Yard with a peaceful placidity. A tall bottle of Jack Daniels hung in his one of his hands, the bottle barely sipped.
Cass came to the edge of the first step, also staring out into the yard. Quietly, he acknowledged, "Father."
The man scoffed, running a hand through his curly dark locks. "Please Cass…Father's too much. Just call me Chuck."
"Oh right, Chuck?" Cass was hesitant. "You sure came in the nick of time. Forgive me, but I was a bit worried that you might not have shown."
"Don't beat yourself up there Cass. I haven't been too reliable in the past, now haven't I?" Chuck peered up at him through big blue eyes, "But, well, what can I say? Better in the nick of time than no time. Dean wouldn't have liked to see me, I'm sure."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that. He believes all that has happened was just a dream. But I guess he wouldn't have minded if some other power" –he slyly glanced down at the measly writer- "was to play."
"Wouldn't we all? You can sit down too. You also had it rough."
The angel did as was told and took a seat on the opposite side of the step. There the two celestial beings continued to admire the several run-down and fragments of rusted metal, observing the work of Nature's mercy.
Eventually Cass asked, "Nobody knows a thing about what happened here?"
"Nope. And that's probably a good thing too."
"And of the witch? Wouldn't she have seen you?"
"Eh, she'll wake up tomorrow feeling pretty human, with, I'm sure, one mother of a hangover. But she'll be fine. To her, I'm merely her dream boy," Chuck glanced at him from under his square-rimmed glasses. "Ya did good. Much better than I had originally given you credit for. I know it was hard in having to lie to your friends. It was a bitch, but necessary. Everything came together as planned," he faced the front and muttered, "It always does."
"Still I can't even begin to contemplate had Lucifer freed himself from his human host. Sam held on strong. A lot longer than I imagined anyone could hold on," Cass said.
"That's because that boy is a fighter. Always has been," Chuck placed the bottle down on the step, "That and his brother was with him. Dean, in his own way, does have a knack of persuasion."
Cass laughed. "That he does. Oh," he pulled out the talisman from his pocket. "I think this belongs to you. Just as you said it would, it served a purpose."
"Thanks," Chuck took the golden hilt, and then tapped it on his hand as if something was on his mind. "Cass," he spoke unevenly, "I gotta tell you I grieve for Raphael." And with a flick of the hand, the talisman faded away into the fabric of his denim jacket.
Cass bowed his head in shame. "I'm sorry Father. If I had any other choice…"
"I know. I know. You felt that there wasn't a choice, I understand. And I'm sorry that it came down to that. He was lost in his own way. But he's better now. Back where he belongs where others can keep an eye on him. He'll soon come to understand that power isn't everything, and the little guys can always outmatch the Top Guns. I mean seriously, didn't he watch the fight between David and Goliath?" Chuck chuckled. "Hymph, must've slipped his mind."
"So what now?"
Chuck sighed. "Guess it's time to go home. I need to have a little sit-down with Michael and Lucifer. Your brothers and I have a little powwow that is long overdue."
"So they're home now? Back in Heaven?"
"Yes. But do not be troubled. They know well than to dick around. I think they've finally come to that understanding."
"Mind me asking why did you wait so long to pull him out."
"You mean Sam?"
"Yes."
There was another long sigh. "Well, it all came down on Lucifer, I'm afraid. There was a lesson to be learned and he finally learned it. I was against the idea of Sam battling it out for all those centuries, but in the end it was Sam that Lucifer needed. He was the light at the end of Lucifer's dark tunnel. And at long last, he saw that…Besides, I couldn't handle hearing Dean cry like a baby anymore. Had to at least give him a piece of candy, right?"
Cass snorted. "Too right. So…"
"So?"
"The link. The link forged between Lucifer and Sam, it is broken?"
"Yes, it's broken. They are both free of each other."
"What broke it?"
Chuck sent him another sly glance. "I think you're more curious in knowing what created it."
Cass childishly nodded his head.
"Poor Sam. For a long time, he had been badly blinded by his own hatred and anger to really see. Lucifer goaded him and he fell for the trap."
"Did this happen before they fell into the pit?"
"Yes. It happened directly after Sam had committed to Lucifer. They both killed a group of demons. Some of which Sam saw that had been a part of his life. And through his anger, the link was fortified," Chuck cast his eyes down to the steps, as though saddened. But he held his head up high afterward. "But it was broken, once they both accepted one another. And that's where I stepped in."
"I see."
Chuck smiled. "All right. Gotta go now Cass. Unfortunately I have a lot of straightening up to do upstairs. That's what happens when you take a long vacation."
Cass said nothing, watching him rise up off the porch. Chuck turned around and handed him the bottle. "Here give this to you know who. He'll appreciate it this time. And also Cass, just remember there's a lesson in all this."
The angel became puzzled. "What lesson?"
"Eh, I'll let you figure it out. Get some rest. Dean's awake now and crankier than ever, so you're going to need it." He took off, heading down the long gravel driveway, whistling Joan Osborne's One of Us. A patch of sunlight broke through the cloudy cover and Chuck was gone.
Cass smirked, feeling the weight of the heavy burden lift from his shoulders. And now he could feel within his heart a new purpose. His mission was over. Except now it was time for a new one. He hadn't the slightest clue of what it could be, but that was part of the grand scheme of things, he supposed. He immediately stood up, whiskey bottle in hand, and went back inside.
~o(Supernatural)o~
Lisa's angry voice filled up the entire living room quarters. Dean held the phone as far away from his ear as possible, but the decibels the woman produced could've compared to that of a Ted Nugent concert.
After a couple of weeks, he had put in the call first thing that morning; in hopes of giving the love of his life the message it'll be a few more days. Only now with the way Lisa was driving the stake, he'd doubt if he would be allowed to come back home.
"You know Gary called me at the break of dawn and told me you had been officially let go. No third or fourth chances this time. You know how hard it is to find another mechanics job around here. The next closest place there is about an hour from here! An hour Dean!"
"I'm sorry sweetheart. I really am. I've just had some personal issues…"
"That's all you have Dean, is nothing but personal issues. You know, I can't keep doing this. Worrying if you're going to come home in a drunken state every night, or with blood on your jacket from another fight. I can't. I can't do that to my son."
"It won't happen again, I swear."
"Oh really? How many times have you sworn that to me? And guess what, it keeps happening."
"Lisa…"
"No Dean. I've had enough. You keep obsessing over your brother now and its—"
Dean cut her off quick. "I found Sam."
"What?"
"Yeah, I found him."
"You told me he was dead."
"He was…well, not anymore. Well…it's hard to explain."
"So is he dead, or isn't he?"
"He was dead, but now he's back. It's a miracle—"
"You know Dean, this is what I'm talking about. I can't trust you anymore. You gone so far over the edge, I don't know what to think anymore. First you tell me Sam is dead and now he's not. I don't even know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just say you believe me."
There was a grand minute of total silence on the other end. And Dean knew instantly that this convo was over. "I'm sorry Dean, I don't. Don't bother coming back. If you're not going to be a good, trusting, and hardworking father figure for Ben, then I won't have any of it. I'm sorry. I really am. But this has gotta stop."
"Lisa, I'm…"
"No. Goodbye Dean." And the line went silent.
Dean sighed, placing the phone back on the receiver. Deep down, he knew Lisa would come to that decision. As of late, he really hadn't been the doting father he thought he could be. His mind was in someplace else entirely. Hopefully, and he had his heart set on it, it would change. He loved the family he became so close to. It was the guilt that was driving him mad. But now, that Sam was back, that guilt no longer was present. He could get his life back on track…at least he prayed it would.
Inside the kitchen, two cups of steaming cocoa sat waiting. Taking up the two cups, he brought them outside. On the swing stationed on the porch was his brother, wrapped up in a warm wool blanket, gazing out into the yard. He didn't think Sam would need the blanket, as it being the end of summer, but he looked real comfortable. So Dean said nothing.
There was a lot of metal clanging and racket, followed by a lot of mild cursing. Dean looked and saw the source of Sam's stare: Bobby was working on an old Ford truck. Ah, no wonder he's having trouble. Nothing beats a Chevy!
Taking a seat on the opposite side of the swing, Dean handed the cup to his brother, who took it gratefully. He still was a bit pale, exhaustion clear in all of his features. But he knew Sam fought to stay awake. The kid only had been awake maybe a few hours since he came back from the grave.
"You know, I don't remember this bench-swing being here," Sam spoke up.
"S'probably because Bobby recently put it up. I tease him all the time now that he should set up his own garden and contact the agent for the Garden Tours. Good money, I hear."
"Yeah, well, he has changed. I don't think I've seen him yet with his old ballcap."
"Uh huh. I want to say he burned it."
"Everything go okay with Lisa?" Sam asked.
Dean took a sip from the cup, wincing as the scalding liquid burnt his tongue. "Eh, um, yeah. She's cool. Everything's a-okay."
Sam nodded. "I'm sorry Dean. I knew you really liked her."
Dean couldn't help but shake his head. Even back from the dead, his kid brother knew him so well. "Yeah, well, it was good while it lasted, but I knew it wasn't going to last much longer. But that's my usual relationship with most women, I guess."
"Don't be too hard on yourself. You always did have a way of scaring them off," Sam joked.
"Oh ha ha, bitch."
"You totally opened yourself up for that one, jerk."
Dean shrugged. "It's probably true," he took another sip, gingerly lapping the top of his mouth.
"Hey Dean?"
"Yeah."
"Something I've been wanting to know—"
"No, I don't have Herpes," Dean cut him off.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just kidding. You were saying."
Sam gave a short laugh that developed into a small cough. "Okay…um. It's just, um, just curious…how hard did you try…try to get me out…after I fell in."
"Wow, that was a mouthful. You shouldn't talk too fast Sammy, it can give you colic," Dean countered jokingly.
Sam gave a light punch to his shoulder. "Dick."
Dean laughed. "I know. But uh, to answer your question, uh…I didn't," he looked into Sam's dull eyes and begged forgiveness. "I'm sorry Sammy, I didn't try. After," he roughly swallowed the lump in his throat, "after that…day. I went straight to Lisa's just as you promised."
For a split-second, he was terrified to look back at his brother. Horrified in that his brother might scold him or disown him or something. So it came as a surprise when Sam gave a mighty smile and said, "Good. I'm glad you finally listened to me for once." Sam sighed. And it wasn't a sigh of regret or anger; it was an honest-to-God sigh of relief. Dean felt elated in hearing it.
He leaned further into the wooden benchswing. "Say Sammy, do you have even the slightest clue on how you got out?"
Sam slowly shook his head. "No. I've been thinking about that myself…but then, I haven't been thinking too hard. I'm grateful. What does Cass think?"
"Eh, he says he's looking into it, but not much luck. Though sometimes I get the feeling he already knows."
"Really? And he won't just say."
"Nope. He's a stubborn ass, worse than you sometimes."
Sam let out a weak chuckle. "I don't know about that. I can be a hard ass."
"Can be?" Dean raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. "How about 'is'."
Sam agreed, shrugging. "Yeah," and he took a sip.
"Sammy," Dean was a bit hesitant in saying, "I'm going to ask you something, and if you don't want to answer me that's fine, but—"
"You want to know what I faced down there," Sam finished, "Down in Hell."
Dean deadpanned. It was frightening how much his brother really knew him. "Yeah. Or rather how much do you remember?"
"Not much," Sam cocked his head to the side. "But I get the feeling that it was for a very long time. How long have I been gone Dean?"
Dean went quiet, real quiet. He had been contemplating about how best to let Sam know. The blunt way was always an option, but maybe it wasn't the best.
"Dean? How long?" Sam emphasized.
Dean let out a great sigh. Guess it came down to the blunt way. "Three years…well, almost three." He swallowed down the next big lump in his throat. He could tell from the non-response that Sam was a little shocked.
Sam blew out a puff of air, taking another sip from his mug. "Three years. Wow."
"Yeah. And it's been Hell for all of us."
"Tell me about it, Bobby's house is clean for crying out loud!" They both let out a small laugh.
"So you don't remember a thing?"
"No."
"Good, that's good. But let me tell ya Sammy, and it's because I love you. They will come," Sam looked deeply at him, almost in worry. "The memories won't come at first…but they will come. Don't be scared. You know you have me to talk to when they do. Don't forget that."
Sam gave a heart-warming smile. "Thanks Dean, I won't."
And then that was it, they both looked out over the patio, watching Bobby slave away under the bed of metal. Simultaneously the two Winchesters took a deep breath; glad to be out, to be free, glad to be themselves again…glad to be a family again. It had been a long hard road, and for once they could see the end of it.
"So what now?" Sam asked.
"That's a good question."
"No hunting?"
"No hunting," Dean emphasized with pleasure.
"Good answer."
"Tell ya one thing we're doing first."
"What's that?"
Dean smirked, sending him that infamous side-glare that meant he had something really insane on his mind. And very curtly, he said, "Bunny Ranch."
Sam threw back a laugh. "Now we're talking."
…
Little did the boys know that the entire getaway of the sex on legs affair was shut down due to several deaths connected to a local haunting.
Let the hunting commence!
The End…for real!
Okey dokey. That's it, Folks! Yeah, the question remains if Chuck actually was the Man Upstairs. But in this, he was! I like to keep it simple…sometimes. Plus, if I had offended anyone about personifying God, the Creator, yada yada, then I apologize. I understand how some people feel about using the Christian God as a character, so I wanted to take that into consideration. No offense was intended.
If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!
Now that we're finally over, it's time to head back to my other story, which there will be an update very shortly. Also, I want to thank everyone who stuck with me for all these infrequent updates. I'm truly sorry for that. Plus I want to give a mighty appreciative thank you for all those who reviewed, favorited, alerted, the whole nine yards. Without you guys, I might not have finished this story. Hope you enjoyed and take care!
See ya soon! Tina ;P