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Sam glanced at the crumpled piece of paper taped above the glove box. There was only one line that wasn’t crossed. He couldn’t run away from it anymore. He owed it to Dean. After all this time, he still owed him everything.
**
“That’s it. Twenty-five things to do when we’re old,” Dean proudly announced, holding up the list they had spent the night to make. “So I know you won’t die on me before we’re done.”
Sam snickered but winced right after. He had just gone out of the hospital and his stomach wounds still hurt like hell. Dean had proposed him to write that list to distract him, since he kept waking them both up with his pained wails, but they had ended up taking it quite seriously, weighing (read bickering over) the pros and cons for each proposition.
“When is old?” Sam yawned, already half-asleep, the pain killers finally kicking in.
Dean shrugged. “Dunno. When the world stops trying to destroy itself so we can have some vacation, I guess.”
“That’s gonna take some time.”
“We have time.”
**
The salty wind hit Sam as soon as he got out of the car. It guided him, pushed him lightly, to the shore. There, the sun was drowning in the water in an explosion of orange, purple, pink. It was magnificent. And it was quiet. The wind softly murmured in his ears. It sounded like his brother. Sam sat on the warm sand, took off his shoes and socks and listened to it.
**
“Go to Disneyland…done!”
Dean gleefully crossed the line and Sam collapsed on their bed. He was getting too old for this.
“How many does that make us?”
“Uh…Twenty.”
Sam smiled. They weren’t even sixty years old. “We’re doing good. Maybe we should start planning our twenty-five things to do when we’re old fogeys.”
“Mmh.” Dean stared at the list for a moment before putting it away. He lay down next to Sam, propped up on one elbow. “Sammy?”
“Yeah?”
Dean watched him intently. “If I don’t make it to the end, you’ll have to finish it alone, alright?”
“You’re not going to die, Dean. At least not right now.” Sam really believed that. It was Dean. And Dean couldn’t die.
“Just. Promise you’ll do it?”
“Alright, I promise.” He let his brother nod before nudging him. “And what if I die?”
Dean pulled him close and buried his nose in his hair. “You won’t die, Sammy. I won’t let you.”
**
Sam didn’t think about the run to the hospital barely twenty-four hours later after Dean’s heart had suddenly stopped beating. He let that memory for another sleepless night. For now, he kept in mind the image of Dean’s smiling face and his soft eyes on him.
The wind stopped. It was time.
Sam wiped his tears away, stood up and tried to smile. It was the last time he would be with Dean, so he wanted to be smiling. He pressed the urn against his chest, one last time, and thought about the best memories he had of his brother. It was enough to bring a smile to his face. He moved forward, until the water gently skimmed his toes, and opened the urn.
“Sand between our toes, Dean.”
The ashes flew away then fell into the greeny-blue ocean.
“Sand between our toes.”