A/N: At last the final chapter. We'll start with what became of Dean.
Howlround (Chapter XIII: Postlude)
Timeline: Somewhere and Nowhere
Like ice in a whiskey glass, like snow in summer, like sugar in a coffee cup, from his soles to his spiky hair, Dean melts.
Into the Milky Way, into the universe, into the nothingness, he melts completely away.
Soon there is nothing left of him, nothing but fragments of memory, images, shadows, nothing but dreams.
Dean's dreams, that is, as he lies on his belly, cuddled up alone on his memory-foam mattress, snug under a fluffy duck-down comforter, back home in Kansas. He dreams of everything he wants, everything he fears, everything he needs.
His brother Sam.
Scratching his left ear, Dean turns over onto his back and lets an arm fall over his eyes. It's 3am and the muted sound coming from his TV barely reaches him. Blurry colours flicker around his master bedroom, dappling the walls. He groans, not quite awake, lips mouthing words that flutter through his head.
"Sam... What...? Don't... No... Sammy."
At quarter after 3 the unwatched movie ends, the TV falls silent, the room darkens and Dean drifts back into deeper slumber, mercifully dreamless.
At eight o'clock he drags his mussy head out of bed, drawn by a craving for black coffee and ice cream.
~O~
Timeline: Near Lawrence KA - Two months from today
Streaking across the sky, a small dark mass of cold heat hurtles toward the Earth. It embeds itself in a haystack on farmland right outside Lawrence where it smoulders, giving off a foul black smoke.
Seconds later a short dapper man pushes his way out of the stack. Taking a small clothesbrush from his pocket, he brushes down his dark suit, pausing once or twice to extract the odd stray whisp of straw from here and there.
"Bloody fly-by-wire," he grouches.
Crowley has finally made it back to Earth from some kind of spacy postmortem way station on Venus, where he spent several eons mulling over the events at Huge Attraction and how he could meddle. He has now returned two Earth months later to put his ideas into action.
He heads for the campus of the University of Kansas.
~O~
Timeline: Port Arthur, Tasmania - Today
In a messy basement garage in Tasmania, knee-deep in discarded takeout containers and dirty laundry, two teenage death metal fans get the shock of their gloomy young lives. Doped out of their minds on locoweed, they didn't really expect the ritual they found on the net would do anything much, let alone conjure four living, breathing people out of the ether. In snowsuits no less.
Sam steps out of the chalk circle, half carrying Turner, followed by Ellen and Singer. He waves away fumes with his free hand and glances around.
"Where is this exactly?"
The taller kid, an acned youth, mumbles, "It's my dad's place," then giggles feebly.
Sam glares at him. "Dude, I mean where as in what town, what country, what, uh, date."
"P-Port Arthur, Australia," stutters the shorter kid, in a sullen tone. "Today, yeah?"
This one might be a girl, but it is hard to tell in all that heavy black eye-makeup and with its dirty bangs hanging down over its face. Sam scowls, kicking at their smouldering offerings, a few KFC bones and a bunch of herbs.
"Who told you to do this?"
The kids look at each other. "It's, uh, it's from the Dead Monkeys' fan site," explains the short one.
"Yeah, you play their first album backward, right? And you write down the instructions," adds the tall one. "It's cool, man."
Amateurs! Sam laughs dryly. "OK, you two listen good. You were lucky this time, guys. But you do NOT try this again. You hear? Next time you could get more than you can handle."
The two kids nod weakly in unison. This grumpy guy is already more than they expected to deal with.
Sam holds out his hand. "Phone."
The shorter youth fumbles in the pocket of its hoodie and brings out a smartphone encrusted with plastic spangles and hands it over. Sam hits the switch that opens the garage door and the survivors stagger out into the night. Inside, the kids stand in dumb silence for a moment.
"What just happened?" asks one.
The other one shakes its head. "Dude, I dunno but this weed is definitely bad-ass."
Outside in the street. "What now?" Singer asks Sam.
"Now we get our asses to a freakin' hospital."
Sam dials the emergency number 000 and they wait for an ambulance.
~O~
Timeline: Royal Hobart Hospital, Hobart, Tasmania
Several weeks pass before Sam finally gets to set foot on Kansan dirt again. The team first have to spend a little time under observation at the Royal Hobart Hospital. Having checked in Turner and Singer, Ellen insists she and Sam have thorough health checks also.
"We gotta make doubly sure we didn't schlep over anything... nasty."
Sam has to agree and he goes along because otherwise she would have him hunted down by the CDC before he can get back to the Sunflower State.
Singer and Turner are booked in for a while longer. Though rallying now, Turner is still under specialist care and his old friend Singer remains stationed at his bedside. Nonetheless he manages a weak smile and a joke before Sam takes off for the airport.
"Gonna get me the number of a hot nurse before you go, huh Sam?" he asks, with a toothy grin. "Those ice maidens in ICU could use a little more heat."
"Sure," chuckles Singer. "Like you could handle a hottie right now, old man."
Turning to Sam he continues, "And remember me to your brother when he gets back from wherever. We got him to thank for our lives. And maybe more that us, I'd guess."
Luckily neither Singer nor Turner saw much of Dean's exit from Antarctica. Sam nods and shakes both their hands before slipping out the door, duffel bag on his shoulder, air tickets home safely in his pocket. The university have signed off on all their expenses.
On the plane home he ponders the cover story he and Ellen cooked up for the authorities.
The story is, while taking their regular deep samples they struck a dangerously unstable methane bubble under the ice-sheet. Sadly Campbell, Walker, Walt and Roy didn't survive the initial blast. Turner and Singer were injured by fragments of exploding equipment. Ellen was able to get the bullet out of Turner's chest wound back on the station and Singer's was a through and through so their explanation didn't look too screwy.
As this was right about the time their radio went down, the survivors couldn't raise help and were forced to flee the Antarctic base in an inflatable boat with an improvised engine. They claimed the make-believe vessel foundered someplace right off of the Tasmanian coast and Sam and Ellen were able to swim ashore towing the two sick guys.
It was hardly credible horse-puckey but who was going to question it? The four of them did make it back to civilization somehow. The truth was even harder to swallow. Luckily, the Tasmania Police gave them a wave through or they could all have been in deep doo-doo. The local press even praised them as plucky survivors. If only they knew exactly HOW plucky they all were.
Before waving him off on the first hop of his long journey home, Ellen pressed a kiss to Sam's cheek.
"Say hi to your brother for me," she whispered. "We owe him."
The university has communicated with their emergency contacts already, but Sam hasn't actually spoken with his brother yet.
Given the mystery of Dean's recent supposedly classified activities, Ellen can only guess what secret military or government agency he might be working for. This once she doesn't feel her peacenik credentials oblige her to spill the beans on his activities. She is just deeply grateful he was there for them.
"Guess no one will ever know what REALLY happened out there," she comments, meaningfully. "Or what he did for us."
"I will," responds Sam.
It certainly isn't anything HE will ever forget.
~O~
Timeline: Winchester residence - Two months from today
Sam stands on Dean's front porch several minutes wondering what kind of reception he will get when he rings the doorbell. The last time he stood in this exact place things didn't go the way he expected. Has anything changed this time around? Is Carmen still in residence? Sam guesses he can work around the chick but what about Dean? How does he feel about Sam?
He knows how Dean hurt after the Antarctic 'incident' went down, first time around. The version where Sam didn't survive. The poor jerk was crazy, broken and reckless enough to throw away his own life on a mad dash through time. That Dean had two years and more of regret to set aside their differences, to see exactly how unimportant their petty quarrels really were compared to what they had together as brothers.
But what will the Dean who never went through it all have to say? Will he still be cranky and pissed at Sam for deserting him without a word? Was this Dean able to forgive?
As Sam's finger hovers over the bell push, the door is suddenly snatched open from inside.
"Dude, you gonna stand out there all day catching rays?" demands his brother, sharply.
"I- I-" stammers Sam.
But then Dean pulls his kid brother into a big bear hug, right on the step.
"Jeez, it's been too long, Sammy. Don't you EVER walk out on me again. You hear?"
Sam relaxes into his big brother's almost too tight embrace. Great. Dean isn't angry with him.
He chuckles. "Don't worry, man. Never gonna do that again. I'm home, Dean. Home for good."
Dean closes his eyes for a second. This is the one thing he has ever prayed for and the one thing he could never admit to wanting without sounding like an over-controlling surrogate parent. After a long moment, he slaps Sam on the back and releases him.
"Awesome," he pronounces then turns and heads in the kitchen. "You hungry?"
Sam is a little dazed by his reception. Dean isn't normally this way. After their last meeting, he has got to be at least a little mad with him. And here he is offering him love in the form of food, like an Italian grandmother.
He follows his brother inside. "Whaddya think? I haven't eaten a REAL meal since-"
"Since I fixed you one," finishes Dean with a chuckle.
Sam smiles. "Right."
Dean yanks open his fridge and begins to pull out packages of food. He points at the kitchen table with the end of a breakfast sausage.
"Take a load off, why don't ya."
Sam pulls up a chair, plunks his ass and sighs. It is so GOOD to be back.
Dean turns up the heat under a big frypan and begins to rustle Sam up a satisfying grease-fest, something he has always loved doing for his kid brother. He continues chatting to Sam over his shoulder as he pushes things around in the pan.
"Got your update. Sounds like you musta had Lady Luck on your side this time. Hell of a thing that fire. Hope they treated you OK in that Aussie hospital. Maybe you should go get yourself a check up with a real American-"
"No, no," Sam interrupts him. "I've seen enough of hospitals and doctors, Dean. I'm fine. Could use a little R&R maybe. That's all"
When a plate piled high with meat is deposited in front of him, Sam smiles. This is why he isn't EXACTLY a vegetarian. Sometimes he has to eat close to a whole animal to placate Dean. And after everything, Dean deserves to be placated. He dives in.
"Good, huh? That little lot'll sort you out but good."
Dean grins as he sits down across from him, chomping on a sausage that didn't make it out of the pan in good shape.
Sam swallows his mouthful before replying. "Awesome. Uh, love you, bro."
Dean tenses. That was unexpected. He has never really known how he is meant to respond to THAT word from his kid brother. They are two grown men, for God's sake, not sappy teen chicks. The big guy knows better than to try it too often, but sometimes he slips one by to catch Dean unawares.
He clears his throat. "Backacha, Sammy." Good save.
After a few moments of mutual chewing, Dean clears his throat again.
"Here's a dumb thing. When I got your first email from the hospital in Hobart..."
Sam nods, his mouth full again. "Saying I'd be back stateside a little earlier than expected, what with the methane explosion at the ice-station and having to evacuate and all, sure."
Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
"It gave me kinduva, uh, deja vu tingle. For one second I thought... See, I'd been having these weird-ass dreams..."
Sam drops his knife and fork on his plate. "Dreams? You had dreams? About me?"
"Well... nightmares, kinda. Messed-up night-sweats with snow and- and fire, would you believe it? And there were freakin' ice-monsters and crazy crap like that. Bottom line, I dreamed those things they..." He takes a deep breath. "Dreamed they got you, Sam. I tell you, gonna ditch the booze. It's screwing with my head."
Sam takes a breath. What Dean is talking about sounds all too familiar. But how did he know?
"So you guessed that email was gonna be bad news, huh?"
"The worst, Sammy. Said it was dumb."
Were these some of the shadows Dean said his friend Kevin speculated about? It was probably too much to expect, after everything Dean went through, it wouldn't leave at least a little dark residue.
"No, Dean. It's not dumb."
He grabs his elder brother's right hand and holds it tight in his two big paws, making Dean even more uncomfortable.
"Man, things happened down there, bad things, worse than you know."
"Yeah? Dean looks concerned.
"I could have died back there. But you got me through."
"Me?" Dean sounds sceptical. "What did I do?"
What didn't he do? Sam doesn't know where to start. Not yet anyway. Dean is beginning to wonder whether his brother isn't more stressed out from his experiences than he first thought.
"You gave me strength, Dean. You always have. Because you're a truly awesome brother."
OK, so THIS Dean didn't build and steal a Time Machine to travel back, fight hand to hand with a bunch of scheming demons and save his ass from certain death. But he WOULD. Sam knows that now. Any doubts he has ever had about how much his brother loves him are gone for good.
"Dude, that second bedroom had better be free because I'm moving in."
Dean grins. "Sammy, it's all yours."
Sam lets go Dean's hand and returns to his meal with renewed gusto. The elder Winchester watches him fondly for a moment before commenting.
"Guess it WAS the booze gave me the nightmares. But then again I did kinda pass out in the middle of a Kurt Russell DVD marathon that one time."
~O~
One evening a demon walks into a bar in the student quarter of town. He strolls past a heavyset guy in a Springsteen shirt and jerks a thumb. The guy slides from his barstool and silently slopes off with his beer. The demon hitches himself up onto his vacated stool and smiles at the dejected young Asian-American man clutching an almost empty beer glass in the next seat.
He points out a certain malt behind the bar and tells the barkeep, "And another for the kid."
Kevin smiles at him weakly as the bartender serves them their drinks.
"Thought I'd find you here," says the demon.
Kevin's brow wrinkles quizzically. "Do I know you?"
The new arrival chuckles, extending a hand.
"The name's Crowley. I'm here to propose a deal, Kevin. I hear you're a struggling inventor and I wanna throw a big wad of dosh your way."
Kevin scrutinizes this stranger suspiciously. "Who put you up to this? My mom?"
Crowley laughs. "Mrs. Tran is a redoubtable woman, Kevin, but no. This is a genuine offer. For reasons of my own, I'd like to finance your clever little project."
Kevin regards him doubtfully for a moment.
"So it doesn't bother you my invention is based off of this?"
He pulls the long, slim box containing his angel feather from his pocket. He opens the lid and thrusts it at his prospective investor.
Crowley eyes the box greedily. "Throughout the history of man, many of his greatest innovations have come from far less, Kevin my boy."
Smiling, he takes the box, lifts out the glimmering feather and twirls it in his fingers, admiring its scintillating colours.
Suddenly the thing bursts into plumes of blue flame, and in an instant is reduced to nothing more than a pile of silvery ash on the bar.
Pfft!
"Bugger!" growls the demon, pulling a big white hanky from his pocket to wipe his fingers.
Crowley should have known the big G wasn't about to let a demon get his hands on angel mojo. He really should have gotten a minion to retrieve the feather. The look on his face makes Kevin begin to titter tipsily.
He should be angry or disappointed or something. But over the last few months, he has come to hate that damned angel feather. Why did he let his mother talk him into messing with it in the first place? He is a serious scientist, damn it. Well, now it has gone and with it months of research. Maybe he should have stuck with mathematics. He knew where he was with bi-quadratic polynomials. He begins to laugh out loud.
Time travel sucks anyway. Who in their right mind would even want to hop around in time? They would have to be some nut crazy for fame, or wealth, or maybe revenge? Why would Kevin want to help a wackjob like that? If there IS someone out there with a nobler purpose, Kevin has yet to hear about it.
He gets to his wobbly feet, unable to speak for laughing, and totters out of the building.
Crowley watches him go with a raised eyebrow.
"Goddamn angels," he mutters darkly, then snaps his fingers and... vanishes.
Poof!
The End
A/N: That's it, friends. I hope you enjoyed my story. Thanks, everyone, for your reviews, favourites and follows.