Soon enough, the dinner conversation died down, and the plates were empty. After the leftover food reached the fridge and the plates found their way into the dishwasher, John snagged a few beers and beckoned his boys outside with a tilt of his head. Mary and Jessica had already migrated to the living room, lounging on the sofas.
A gentle breeze greeted them outside, but the humidity retained the day's tepid warmth. The sky had long-since faded to a deep navy, with thousands of stars flickering in cloudless night.
John passed both brothers a beer, popping off the cap of his own, and taking a sip. As Dean and Sam mimicked the motion, he glanced over them, "So, how's hunting been lately?"
Dean leaned against the wicker chair, "Actually, I just finished up a gig with Walt and Roy last week over in Arizona. Some wraith was picking off kids at a few high schools. Knew they had a thing for the crazies, but I guess a teenager's brain isn't all that different." Dean shrugged, then nudged Sam with his foot, "Gotta say: Walt and Roy are good hunters, but I'd take you watching my back over the both of them any day." He looked at Sam sincerely, "Hunting just isn't the same without you, man."
Sam replied with a tight smile, staring at the ground. He couldn't imagine leaving Dean to hunt on his own. At one point, maybe. But not anymore, not after all they'd been through together. Now, he couldn't imagine sitting in an office or a courtroom, knowing Dean was out there fighting who-knows-what. Not that Dean couldn't handle it, but… at least he wasn't hunting alone, Sam supposed.
Dean might have read the thoughts on Sam's face, as he added, "But I get it—you're building something here. Something good." Dean scratched his forehead with the heel of the bottle, then confessed, "Honestly… been kinda thinking about tryin' to find a place around here myself. Maybe join you at the shop fulltime, Dad, if you'd have me."
"Could always use another pair of hands," John smiled, "'Specially ones as good as yours."
"Maybe I'll even find a girl who's dumb enough to put up with me," Dean noted with a chuckling exhale. Sam's gaze couldn't help but flick over Dean's left hand in confirmation. No ring. He wondered if Lisa was… here. Real? She and Ben seemed to make Dean happy, in a way few things could. But he couldn't ask—at least not in front of Dad, without running the risk of revealing his memory incongruence.
Dean's lips curled in a genuine, soft smile, his gaze distant in thought, "Settle down… maybe even have a kid."
Emotion threatened to flood Sam's eyes. Dean deserved it—a life. A family. It was all Sam could hope for. It had kept his feet moving forward when he knew that once the word "yes" fell from his lips, he'd be as good as dead. Dean was a good man, who had given everything for his family. Dean deserved to be happy. Maybe more than anyone. And any kid would be lucky to have him as a father. Sam knew that with utter certainty—his older brother had done more to raise Sam than John had… at least, if any of that was real.
Dean cleared his throat, straightening, "But, honestly, as long as you guys stick around… we've got all we need." Sam met his brother's gaze and reflected his quiet smile.
John considered his sons for a moment and finally smiled, "I know you probably get tired of hearing me say it, but… I'm proud of you boys."
Sam's brow twitched at that. The words echoed in his skull, but their meaning seemed to elude him, their message refusing to sink in.
"Dean," John turned to his eldest, "You're a good man. Always watching out for your brother, for this family. And you're one of the best hunters I've ever seen—even better than your old man."
"Thanks, Dad," Dean's voice was thick with emotion he was clearly trying to subdue, "Means a lot, hearing that from you."
"And Sam," John's gaze slid to his second-born, his eyes glistening, "You've got something special, here. You're so dang smart—you graduated law school, you passed the bar. You know more about monster lore than even the oldest hunters," he huffed a chuckle, "Hell, you're a better hunter 'n me too."
Sam stared, his mind abuzz. His face twisted subconsciously as he struggled with his father's praise. No, this couldn't be him—Sam's father would never say those things. But, hearing it in his father's voice, seeing the words fall from his father's mouth… his chest tightened, and his gaze dropped as he shifted in place, blinking in an attempt to control his blurring vision.
John shook his head with a sad smile, "A father dreams about how his kids lives'll end up. Where they'll be, what they'll do. But this… us all here, together? It's better than I could've ever hoped."
His gaze turned back to Sam, his expression etched with solemn sorrow, "After what that demon did to you… I never… we never knew if you'd pull through. But here you are—you're safe, you've got a beautiful wife who loves you more than anything, and you haven't had an episode in years."
Sam glanced to Dean, whose face pulled faintly in pain at that remark. His older brother tried to conceal his dropped gaze by gulping down another draught of beer. Sam's eyes flicked back to John to gauge whether he noticed, but he seemed preoccupied with trying to wrestle his own emotions.
"Anyway," John sniffed, wiping a hand over his beard as he recomposed himself, "Just wanted to say: I'm proud of you two."
Dean met Sam's gaze, but his face didn't share the distrust, the uncertainty.
"Thanks, Dad," Dean repeated on behalf of them both, then his eyes flicked back up to Sam's, "I'm, uh… I'm proud of us too."
Sam couldn't bring himself to speak. Instead, he quietly scuffed his foot on the cement as he bit his lip. This couldn't be real… could it?
Dean took another swig, then cleared his throat, clearly trying to shift the conversation, "Hey, I might have a lead on a vamp nest a few hours out. Rudy called—seemed to think there's at least six or seven of them out there, maybe more. I could use the help, if either of you wanted in."
John snorted a laugh, "Your mom would kill me if I let you go alone." Dean opened his mouth, but John interrupted before he could even speak, "Rudy doesn't count."
Dean paused, then tilted his head as though to agree: fair enough.
"I'll let Mary know—she'll probably want in, too. We could head there tomorrow evening. Shouldn't take long to clear the nest, if we already know where they're holed up."
"Sam?" Dean took another long sip of his beer, eyeing his brother.
Sam smiled, "I'll… run it by Jessica tonight."
"Awesome. I'll let Rudy know we have it covered, then." Dean finished off his beer, "They won't know what hit 'em."
John chuckled, glancing back toward the house, "Think it's about time we get out of your hair. I'm sure you and Jessica have plans tonight."
Right… our anniversary… which I didn't remember. Sam bit his lip, but assured himself that Jessica would understand. As excuses went, his couldn't be the worst—either this wasn't real, or he had truly lost his mind. Maybe the two weren't mutually exclusive, either.
"You guys still good with me crashing at home tonight?" Dean looked toward John, finishing off his beer.
John shook his head amusedly, "You don't need to ask, son—you boys are always welcome."
Dean's lips curled, "Careful, Dad, you might regret that."
John laughed again, then moved towards Sam with his arms outstretched and wrapped him up in an embrace.
"Happy anniversary, son." His father squeezed him tight, patting him on the back. "I meant what I said—I'm proud of you, Sammy."
At one point in his life, Sam never would have thought his next words would leave his mouth, but as his eyes squeezed shut, they seemed to slip out on their own, "I missed you, Dad."
John withdrew from the hug, still holding Sam's shoulders as concern flicked across his face. But before Sam could even decide to concoct a cover, a smile reclaimed John's face and he clapped Sam's arm, "You were hitting the booze a little hard before we got here, huh?" At the brief flash of confusion that crossed Sam's expression, John reassured, his grin still plastered, "I saw the beers in the kitchen. Don't worry, I won't tell your mother."
Sam merely nodded, and John started for the door. Dean hung back, and a glance signaled Sam to do the same.
A few seconds after the door closed, Dean asked, "You going to be okay?"
"Yeah… yeah, I uh…" Sam met his gaze, "I think so." And, for once, he thought it might be true.
Dean smiled softly, still scanning over his brother. "Well… I'm not far, if you need anything—anything at all. Seriously, just call."
Sam scratched the back of his head, dropping his gaze, "Got it… thanks, Dean."
After a moment's consideration, Dean seemed to surrender and pulled him into a hug, "It'll come back, Sammy. You're gonna be fine."
Again, Sam nodded, though perhaps this time not as sure of the former, "I know."
"Good," Dean approved, then opened the door and led the way inside.
John had already made his way to the living room, and Mary and Jessica were hugging their goodbyes. His mother's eyes landed on him, and she extracted herself from the embrace and approached Sam. She wrapped her arms around him, looking up into his face, "You know we're not far." He smiled back in response, and she brushed his cheek with her thumb, "Happy anniversary, Sammy."
"Thanks, Mom." His heart panged as she pulled away and started for the door, while Dad and Dean again congratulated and exchanged farewells with Jessica.
He felt like a kindergartener on the first day of school—when he didn't want Dean and Dad to leave him alone in a room of strangers. Because who knew if he'd ever see them again? Sam wanted to trust that they'd be together again tomorrow—for the vampire hunt—but he couldn't help the fear lurking in his bones. He just got his family back… he wasn't ready to lose them.
"Drive safe!" Jessica called as his parents filed out with Dean behind them.
He waved from the doorway, "I'll swing by tomorrow afternoon to pick you up. You better be ready to go when I get here—you know how Mom gets. All the vamps'll be dead by the time we arrive."
Jessica cast Sam a sidelong glance, clearly in question, but her expression remained light.
"See you tomorrow, Dean." Sam replied with a single wave, praying it was true.
Dean grinned as he pulled the door shut behind him and winked, "Have fun, you two."
A sudden stillness seemed to overtake the house with just the two of them inside, and Jessica turned to Sam with a cocked eyebrow. "You've got a hunt tomorrow?"
"Is that okay?"
"Of course it's okay." She closed the distance between them, concern weaving lines across her face, "But are you sure you're up for that?"
Sam raised his shoulders slightly, "I don't know, honestly, I just… I think it'll be good… y'know?" Good to hunt again, good to have an excuse to be with his family again. Maybe a run-of-the-mill vampire hunt could help prove this was all real.
"Okay," she acquiesced, draping her arms over his shoulders, "Just be careful."
"I will be," he promised, gazing down into her enchanting, dark eyes. "Thank you… for tonight."
Her smile was gentle, "It was nice having them over. I'm glad we did it."
"Me too." Sam gently nudged aside a strand of curly, blonde hair from her face, "I'm sorry I forgot… today." Spending the night worrying about her amnesiac husband couldn't have been Jessica's idea of a fifth anniversary celebration.
A cheeky smile worked over her mouth, "I guess I can forgive you—just this once." Her fingers tickled the back of his neck in a light brush, "Actually… I have an idea about how you can make it up to me."
"Oh?" He slid an arm around her shoulder, drawing her closer. When a mere inch separated them, he breathed in her safe, vanilla scent, gazing at her with half-lidded eyes. Then she pulled his head down to hers until their lips met. His eyes closed, and he steadied himself with one hand on the back of her head, his fingers entangling themselves in her hair, and the other between her shoulders, guiding her ever closer.
Was any of this real?
Her touch was lightning on his neck, dancing across his skin.
Curse him, he wanted it to be.
He slid his hand down her back, even as her fingers flirted with his hair.
Should he be fighting against this? Focusing on finding proof that all this was—or wasn't—reality?
She parted their lips, perhaps to breathe, their foreheads still sustaining the connection. He found he too needed air, but his lungs seemed to struggle to draw a breath this near to her.
But… to what end? He had no leads, no next steps, nowhere to start. And what if… what if his family was right? What if this was real?
Her perfect eyes flicked back up to lock onto his, and he thought his heart might stop.
Her index finger traced his jawline, gliding toward his chin. Every atom within him leaned into her touch, aching against the cruel, teasing pause.
She whispered, her voice warm and soft like a spring sun after the longest winter, "Meet me upstairs."
With that, she pulled away, leaving him listing forward into the space she had graced as she disappeared up the stairs.
Right now, it didn't matter what was real. Right now, all he wanted to do was love his wife.
After a pause, as though his shell-shocked body couldn't remember how to function, he blinked, staring up in the direction she had darted. Then, his feet were in motion, hastening up the stairs after her. Heart hammering in his skull, he slowed when he reached the landing and slowly started down the hallway. His eyes flicked over the discarded blouse on the floor, and his lips tweaked.
The door was cracked open, with amber-golden light flooding into the dark hallway. With a subconscious, heavy inhale, Sam slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind him.