Fic: The End of the Road (The Start of a Journey). SPN. Sam/Dean. PG

Title: The End of the Road (The Start of a Journey)
Author: felisblanco
Pairing:Dean Winchester / Sam Winchester
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3122 words
Summary: Sam is finally in Heaven and Dean couldn't be happier
Author's note: Five years today since Supernatural ended. And it really did have the perfect ending. Sam and Dean together, safe, free, forever. Love it.Anyway, I wrote a coda for the Pilot on the 20th anniversary so I thought I'd do a coda for the finale on its 5th anniversary. It was written in quite a hurry, so keep that in mind. My beta, the ever patient candygramme assured me it was sweet but not too mushy. Thank you, darling. As usual I tinkered with it a bit after she was done, so all errors are mine.
Also available on AO3

They stand silent for a long time, just watching the sunset. Dean’s arm’s gone numb from having to reach up to clutch Sam’s shoulders but that’s alright. The warmth of Sam’s body against his side is comforting, positively blissful. Still, the sky is growing dark and they still haven’t found a place to sleep. Baby will do in a pinch, but Sam looks tired, like he needs a good night’s rest. Dean wonders how long it’s been for him. It was barely a day up here, but Bobby did say time moves differently in Heaven.

He starts pulling away but Sam says, “Not yet,” and so Dean stays, his side warm, his arm numb, his heart so big in his chest he’s surprised his lungs have space to breathe. If they even need to, he doesn’t really know. It’s been a day and he still hasn’t felt the need to eat, or drink or take a piss. And still...

He feels alive, despite all his pains being gone. His broken bones no longer hurt, the tinnitus is gone from his left ear. The arthritis that had started to bother his fingers, the exhaustion that had settled so deep in his tissue it seemed it would never leave, all gone now. He feels light, calm, at home in his own skin in a way he hadn’t since he came back from Hell, not really. (Sometimes he lay awake at night, wondering how much of him was still his, and how much they had to make up to fill in the gaps. And from what? It made his skin crawl.)

He pats Sam’s shoulder, but again Sam says, “Not just yet,” and well, it’s not like they’re in a hurry. They have all the time in the world.

Dean doesn’t think he’s felt this happy since… He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this happy.

All their happy moments – because they were never just his, Sam was always there – were shadowed by what was out there, what could happen, what almost happened, what secrets he was keeping, what lies he’d told, how terrified he was, always. It never went away, that terror, it sat in his bones, seeped into the marrow. From the night he woke up in a veil of smoke, and Dad put baby Sammy in his arms, until he felt himself slipping away that last time, in Sam’s arms.

Knowing he was leaving Sam alone to face whatever dangers still lurked out there, had him more terrified than he’d been in a long, long time. But he hadn’t been scared of dying. No, he was good with that. He’d been pretty sure Jack wouldn’t send him downstairs, and he already knew what his heaven would be like. (Thought he knew. He was wrong. Jack had changed it, and for that Dean is grateful. Even your best moments turn boring if you live through them a billion times. And Dean’s best moments were all tinted with that fear. It wouldn’t have been like this. This is really Heaven. Especially now.)

He looks up at Sam, smiling. Sam is staring at the red horizon; the sun has already disappeared, the vibrant colors are swiftly fading into a dark night that’s settling over them like a blanket. Sam’s eyes are glittering, his mouth quivers. When Dean glances down, he sees Sam’s hands are white-knuckling the railing.

Dean’s smile faulters. He doesn’t know what Sam’s been through. If he lived a year or two or a whole lifetime. If it was a life of continuing horrors or if he managed to find some happiness. A family. Friends. Anything to not make him lonely.

Dean really hopes Sam wasn’t alone. Through life and then… when he died. Thinking of Sammy dying alone makes Dean’s heart hurt. It feels terribly wrong that he wasn’t there to hold his brother’s hand when he slipped away, just like Sam held his. That he wasn’t the last thing Sam saw before closing his eyes. Dean should have been there. He was there all the other times.

“Sam,” he says softly.

Sam winces. “Not just yet. Please.” His voice shakes. Tears trip over his eyelashes and run down his cheeks. He looks the same age as he was when Dean died, maybe even younger. Being released of your earthly pains will do that. A celestial rejuvenation. But Sam’s voice, the look in his eyes…

Dean lets his arm slip down to Sam’s waist, maintaining contact the whole way. He uses his other hand to gently loosen Sam’s grip on the railing, then takes Sam’s right hand in his left, squeezing before tugging it, turning Sam towards him. Sam closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. A sigh so heavy his shoulders shudder and slump.

“Sammy,” Dean starts, wanting to tell him everything is alright now, there’s no need to worry about anything, but that’s as far as he gets before Sam says, “Is it time?”

Dean blinks. “Time?”

“To go.”

Sam opens his eyes. They’re still wet with tears, but he looks calmer. Resigned. Even happy. Not as happy as he should be, and Dean feels a flicker of unease, a tightening knot in his chest. Maybe this wasn’t what Sam was expecting. Maybe Dean wasn’t who Sam expected to greet him. In however many years he lived on, maybe he loved and lost someone he’d been looking forward to seeing again. More than Dean.

“I’m ready,” Sam says, taking a deep breath as he squares his shoulders. He looks at Dean and smiles, like his heart is breaking. “Thank you. Thank you for… giving me this moment. I’ve missed him so much. I–” Sam’s voice breaks. He looks away. “I loved him so much. God! And I never even told him.” He wipes at his eyes, his hand trembling. “I’m sorry. I am ready. I can go now.”

Ah. Dean breathes out as he finally connects the dots.

“Sammy,” he says, keeping his voice calm and steady. “Listen to me. You don’t have to go anywhere. This is it, man. This is Heaven. And I’m me, not… whatever you think I am. I promise.”

Sam blinks his eyes open. His brow knots. He looks around, like he’s noticing his surroundings for the first time, or perhaps seeing them for what they are, instead of what he thought they were.

“Heaven?” he asks, sounding doubtful. “But…”

Dean takes Sam’s face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. “Sammy, I promise you. I swear.” His smile softens as he gazes into Sam’s still bewildered eyes. “Sam, you’re here. We’re here. End of the road, dude. This is it. Heaven. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam says slowly, brow still knotted, that fold in his forehead that Dean always wants to iron out with his thumb. He keeps looking at Dean as if he expects him to suddenly vanish. His gaze shifts, over Dean’s shoulder, to Baby who stands waiting for them, gleaming sides reflecting the last colors of the evening sky.

“She’s here,” he says, sounding puzzled. “But she was back, back…” He blinks, like Dean’s words are finally registering. “On Earth.” He glances around, then looks back at Dean. “Dean?”

Dean grins. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Dean,” Sam repeats, voice thick but still like he doesn’t quite believe it. Like it might be a trick. Dean wonders how many times Sam had a dream like this, only for Dean to be gone, the moment Sam woke up.

“Sam, it’s me. It’s really me. I promise.”

Dean wants to pull Sam in and hug the hell out of him, but Sam looks so fragile, like he’s a breath away from breaking. So instead he palms Sam’s neck, tugging him down until their foreheads are pressed together. Like they were, in the very last moment Dean remembers.

“It’s you and me, Sammy. Here. Safe. Forever.”

“In Heaven.” Sam breathes slowly, his giant nose, still wet with tears, close enough to rub against Dean’s. “Together. You and me.”

Sam’s breath on Dean’s face feels too intimate, too dangerous, even now. Even here. Maybe especially here. After all, here is forever. He can’t screw that up. Dean lets his hand slip from Sam’s neck and down to his chest, tilting his head awkwardly back so he can look into Sam’s face. Sam’s eyes are still closed, his head hanging, body swaying forward as if he’s missing Dean’s head to rest against.

“Or whoever you want,” Dean tells him, rather reluctantly. “They’re all here. Mom, Dad, Bobby, even Cas. Everyone we ever lost, everyone you lost after I was gone. Jack made this place one big heaven for everyone. So, if you want, we can go find them. I haven’t yet, I’ve just been…” He pauses, but what’s the point in lying? “Driving around, waiting for you.”

“In Heaven,” Sam says slowly. He lifts his head, blinking his eyes skywards, and takes a deep breath, his chest expanding, like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in a very long time. It straightens his back, broadens his shoulders.

Oh, there he is, Dean’s baby brother. Tall and big and beautiful.

“You and me. In Heaven!” Sam laughs, loud and bright and choked, as if his throat is filled with tears. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Dean grins at him. “You need me to say the magic word?”

Sam’s gaze snaps back, bright eyes glittering with hope.

“Well, Poughkeepsie it is, because this is all real.” Dean extends his arm, swiping a half circle. “This bridge, the road, the mountains and that glorious sunset.” He smiles, his cheeks starting to ache from being so damn happy. “You and Baby and even me, all real.”

Sam gazes at him, his whole face lit up like it’s glowing. Dean glances up, and sure, there it is, a full moon, providing the perfect lighting. A big full moon, and a million stars, and Dean doesn’t even wonder how it’s possible or where they come from. It’s Jack’s Heaven, and Jack always loved the sky.

Dean drops his gaze back down to find Sam’s eyes gone wide, his cheeks sporting pink spots, the way he hasn’t blushed since he left his twenties behind.

“What?”

“I told you… I didn’t know it was you, earlier. I said, I, I… Shit.” Sam looks mortified. He closes his eyes and his breathing picks up, fast and shallow.

Dean raises his eyebrows. He has to wind back and replay Sam’s words in his mind; he was too heartbroken earlier by Sam’s obvious grief to really listen to what he was saying. Something about missing him and…

Oh.

Oh.

Ah.

Well… Damn. Dean chuckles, his heart quietly picking up speed.

“Oh that? Hey, me too. C’mon,” he says softly when Sam squeezes his eyes tighter, shaking his head. “Sammy. I already said it, didn’t I? Back then.” He grabs Sam’s hand, pulling it to his chest. “‘I love you so much, baby brother.’ Remember? Said it, meant it, should have told you much earlier.”

He laughs, looking away as he feels his face heat up, even if Sam still won’t look at him. “Might have gotten real awkward though, which is why you save that kinda stuff for your last breath. Not that I was thinking about that, wasn’t thinking much of anything, brain was more or less gone by then. Just knew I had to tell you because…” He stops, pressing his lips together as he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. “Well, just ‘cause.”

Sam’s hand spasms under his. His fingers flatten to cover half of Dean’s chest, pressing warm and strong over his heart, as if to feel it beat. Might be. Last time he did, he probably felt it slow down and stop.

“I said it back.”

Dean looks up, but Sam still has his eyes closed. He looks pained, like he, too, is reliving their last moment.

“Not when it mattered, and I regretted that for the rest of my life. But so many times after. Over your pyre, your grave, at night in the Bunker and then after I left. Whenever I felt alone. And I did… God, Dean, I was so alone.”

Sam swallows and opens his eyes. When he looks at Dean it’s with a kind of wonder in his eyes. “And then I wasn’t. Had a son, named him after you.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. What?

Sam chuckles, but he still looks sad. “Sometimes I wonder if I did it just so I could say your name out loud again. But he bears it well. He’s a great kid. Well, adult now.”

Sam blinks, moonlight glittering in his eyes. “Shit. Here I am, happier than I’ve been since…” He drags a hand down his face, wiping his tears. “And meanwhile Dean Jr’s down there, taking care of everything. Poor kid. We never used to own much, you and I. And now I have– had a whole house full of crap.”

Sam suddenly stills, his eyes going wide. “Oh shit, he’s gonna find my journal.”

“Hunting journal? You didn’t tell him?”

“No, no, I told him. This was… personal.” Sam groans. “Oh jeez. He’s gonna need therapy for years.”

“Oh. Oh!” Dean tries to find something to say that isn’t crass or inappropriate, but... “Was I at least still hot? Like, my early twenties?”

And there it is. Spoken out loud. No ambiguity. No ‘Maybe we’re talking about something completely different because I would never!’ It’s the moment of truth and Dean’s about to shit his damn pants when Sam blushes and looks away and then glances up with the most beautiful little grin.

“Some. But not all. I kinda prefer the later look. Grey hairs and dad bod.”

“Hey!”

Dean will let his brother get away with pretty much anything right now, but he did not have a dad bod! Maybe a little softer around the middle. Went up a size after he hit thirty-five, not that Sam needs to know that. Sam, who sized down, easing up on his manic body building after he got his soul back. Partly because he ate less, more because he didn’t care as much anymore. They both changed.

They grew older. Something Dean never anticipated. Sam older than him, which is just… unfathomable. Dean just can’t imagine it. Even now, looking at Sam… His face may have changed but gazing into Sam’s eyes, to Dean he might as well be eighteen. Maybe twenty. Twenty-five. But an old man? No. Not Dean’s little brother. He just can’t see it.

But a father…

Sam never was very comfortable with kids, but Dean knows his brother. He will have learned. And it’s different when it’s your own. Dean did his best with Ben, and later Jack, but they never felt like family. Not like Sam. So he knows Sam made damn sure to give his son the best childhood he could. Everything Sam always wanted and never had. A home, stability, safety. Unconditional love. Endless support. And hopefully great tales of the coolest uncle that ever lived.

He's been quiet too long, but Sam doesn’t seem put out or worried. He’s just watching Dean, like he’s quietly cataloging every inch of his face, comparing it to the Dean he remembers. Dean hopes he doesn’t disappoint. It’s been decades, apparently. He knows firsthand how harshly reality can topple memory off its pedestal.

“Son, huh?” he says, putting the other part of their conversation on hold for now. He’s still adjusting to the shift, what it means. And they’ve got time. “Wow. So, how… how many years did you get?”

A shadow passes over Sam’s face. “Too many without you. Not enough with him. Never got to see any grandkids. I think maybe he was dating someone, before he came home to take care of me. But he never said, and I never asked. Should have, was just too… Well, I was dying. Barely knew my own name at the end. He’s gay. My son. Dean.”

Sam glances up, clearly checking Dean’s reaction, and Dean almost laughs. They were talking about incest a minute ago. C’mon, Sam!

“Bet he scores more ass than you ever did. Almost as much as his cool uncle. Eh, eh? Am I right?”

He winks, and nudges, and wiggles his eyebrows and Sam laughs, just like Dean knew he would. Laughs and tells Dean he’s gross and to please not talk about his son like that. His son. Dean. Wow!

It’s starting to cool, now the sun has disappeared. Not really cold but a bit nippy, like it’s early autumn, which fits with the glimpses of bright yellow and red amongst the green foliage Dean saw on his drive. He wonders what the winters are like up here. If there are winters. It’s obviously not perpetual summer, but maybe it’s just like this. Somewhere in between. He looks forward to finding out.

He pulls the keys from his pocket, their shape familiar like home in his hand. “We should get going, find a place to stay,” he says, nudging Sam with his shoulder. “I’m thinking warm fire, a glass of whiskey, and a bed that can take two grown men.” He glances upwards, although he has no idea where to look, now they’re already in Heaven. “You hear that, Jack?”

“Dean!” Sam hisses, but he’s laughing. Giggling almost. Dean can’t remember hearing his brother giggle since he was thirteen and just talking about boobs made him blush like a school girl. “He’s God. You can’t just…”

Sam stops, eyes widening. “Oh God, he’s gonna know.”

Dean freezes, a kneejerk reaction after decades of keeping his feelings a secret, but he relaxes almost as quickly. They’re dead. So, fuck it. He’s not gonna let a kid tell him who he can or can’t be with. Even if that kid is God.

“He probably already does,” Dean says, as he thinks of it. “Remember? ‘I’m in the rain and dust and…’ whatever he said. A part of us, I remember that bit because it felt a bit…” He grimaces. “Chances are he’s already seen us jerk off.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that,” Sam groans.

“Besides,” Dean says as he grabs hold of the front of Sam’s hoodie and swings him around, backing him up against the Impala. “We haven’t even kissed yet.”

Sam looks down at him. He’s smiling, his eyes so soft, Dean’s insides feel like they’re melting.

“Well, we better do something about that,” Sam says. And then he takes Dean’s face gently in his hands, leans down and kisses him.

Dean was wrong. This. This is Heaven.

fin