Work Text:
Dean had been to plenty of funerals in his day. There hadn't been a body at some of them. Dean had seen wakes that should've been called sleeps, where people came together hoping the guy laying out in the other room wouldn't wake up. He'd been in funeral homes largely after hours, sneaking in to see if someone needed to be killed again. Rufus's was the most normal funeral Dean had been to in a long time, maybe since his mom's.
He didn't often see a hunter laid to rest without a fire to do the heavy lifting, but he'd never been to one without alcohol.
He and Sam waited for Bobby against the car, Sam with his elbows on the roof and Dean just leaning back. Bobby took a swig every so often, taking his time. Dean sure wasn't going to rush him. Sam's hands hung off the edge of the car, one of them right against Dean's arm. Their boots were pressed together, too, and their thighs. Dean could see Sam's smile. It was a little too happy for a graveside service, or whatever you called three underdressed mourners passing around a bottle above a grave so fresh the sod hadn't been replaced yet. But Bobby wasn't watching them, and there wasn't anyone else around, so Dean let it slide. He leaned a little closer to Sam — not enough to be under his arm or anything like that, but the touch wasn't accidental anymore.
This was their third funeral of the week. They'd only torched Samuel in the hopes that it would keep him gone. None of them watched him go up: he didn't deserve that much. They'd gone to the car and looked the other way until the smoke died down. If they didn't need to make sure the fire stayed under control, Dean would've happily left Samuel to his own devices.
They'd burnt Gwen separately, which was a pain in the ass but no one suggested otherwise. She'd been a cool chick and a decent hunter, and she didn't deserve to be burnt with Samuel just because she hadn't realized she was running with a bunch of douchebags.
Sam nudged him and Dean looked up to see Bobby coming their way. Dean pushed off the car and fished out the keys but he didn't step far from Sam. Sam grinned at him, his eyelids lowered enough to make it a smile Bobby did not need to see. Dean returned it, though, he couldn't help himself, before unlocking the door. Sam clapped Bobby on the shoulder and got him installed in the back seat before going around to get in shotgun himself. He smiled at Dean again, this time wholesome enough for the whole family, and again Dean smiled back. He couldn't help himself.
Maybe Gwen had known what kind of men made up her family; maybe they'd wiped each other's slates clean a few times as well.
"Back home, old man?" Dean asked. He looked in the mirror to make sure and catch Bobby's scowl, but he nodded too.
"Might as well," he said. The Johnny Walker was nestled between the door and the side of his leg. Dean put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. He didn't know if Bobby would want music, but house rules were house rules. He turned up the stereo just enough to hear it over the road. Bobby didn't say anything, and when Dean checked the rear-view again, he was looking out the window, his face tight and drawn like the last time they lost Sam.
Samuel hadn't gone out the way Dean wanted him to. Dean wished he hadn't been possessed when Sam got him, that he'd known what was coming and who was giving it to him. He wished they'd done it together, that they'd put a pair of bullets through his head together just liked they'd kicked through the door to get to him. He wished they'd killed him for the shit he'd done, instead of just because something else in his head was trying to kill them.
Sam unrolled his window halfway and turned up the music to compensate. He'd stretched out the way he always did on long rides, feet far apart in the footwell with the box of tapes between his shoes. His arm rested along the back of the seat, with his elbow bent so his hand hung down instead of being stretched out far enough to play with Dean's hair whenever he got an especially touchy-feely urge. Dean glanced at him but this time Sam didn't look back. He had on his thinking face, the frown that meant Dean should expect an argument somewhere in his near future.
Sam didn't like having his mistakes forgiven these days: he wanted to make up for them, too. And okay, Dean got that he was coming off some heavy shit. He understood how far Sam had gone to fix what he'd done. But Sam didn't need to do that forever, for everything. He could bring his circular logic whenever he liked. Dean was ready. It was a good thing Samuel was dead, and if Dean couldn't have done the deed himself, he was glad Sam did it instead. Dean would let Sam worry over it for a while if he wanted — all of it, Samuel's death and all the dirt he'd had on Sam, all the things he watched Sam do without making any effort to help him. But Dean meant what he'd said. If they were making a fresh start, they were doing it all the way.
Dean unrolled his window too, letting in enough air to really fuck up Sam's hair. Sam turned up the stereo further and rolled his eyes at Dean. His fingers brushed against Dean's right shoulder when he stretched his arm along the back of the seat again. Dean kept his gaze on the road, keeping them point back towards the Dakotas, but he smiled, too.