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The sun began to set eventually, but Dean only noticed it when Sam shifted a little, turning to look at Dean. The dimming golden light shone in his eyes and Dean stared dumbly because even he wan't dense enough to miss the utter contentment in that gaze. It took him a second to realise Sam had said something.
"Uh, what- sorry, what?"
Sam chuckled fondly, eyes lowering shyly for a second. "Is Miracle here?"
Dean figured that if he was going to have to share Sam's attention with anyone, their girl was the only acceptable candidate. "Asleep in the car," he said. "Showed up about three hours ago, barked my ear off for the first fifteen minutes." He paused. "I don't know if it's just Heaven-mojo, or if she got smart back on earth, but I swear it sounded like she was trying to say your name."
"She just got that smart," Sam replied promptly. His smile wavered. "Think I might have... Totally lost it without her around."
There was no adequate answer to that so Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder, then reluctantly let go, moving away a little. "So, where do you wanna go?" He made himself ask. "Diner? Find a cabin? Visit a few old friends?"
Sam paused with one hand on the car door, looking over at him with a confused frown. "I- you wanna sneak out of our Heaven? Have you figured out where our boundaries are?"
"Oh. Right, you don't know either." Dean shook his head, grinning. "Jack tore down the walls, Sammy. No private Idahos, no recap of our memories. We're free to move around. Sky's the limit. Literally."
"Wow," Sam breathed out, as they both got in. "Jack... Really did it, huh?" He threw an incredulous smile at Dean. "Guess we raised him right," he joked.
"Nah," Dean said warmly. "That was mostly you and Cas."
There was a visible moment of hesitation. "You seen him around yet?"
"No." Dean shook his head. "Didn't go looking, either."
Sam hummed, then turned to peer into the backseat. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, as Miracle shuffled awake and excited yips filled the car. "No, hey, down, girl."
Miracle huffed, liquid brown eyes almost exasperated, but settled down again with a lick to Sam's outstretched hand.
"So?" Dean prompted. "Where do you wanna go?"
Sam thought about it for a long second, while staring at the amulet that hung from the rearview mirror. Dean's amulet. The real one.
"Let's visit the Roadhouse," he decided. "And maybe... Bobby? Mom and Dad?"
Dean tried not to show his disappointment. Looked like he was about to have to share Sam's attention after all. He'd been hoping to have a little more time alone with him. But he nodded gamely and started the car.
It took them about an hour to reach, the roads probably influenced by Dean's reluctance to be around other people yet. But as the Roadhouse came into view and Sam leaned forward a little with an excited half-smile, Dean felt his own enthusiasm grow.
"There are other people here," Sam observed, looking at the few other cars. "Is- oh my god, Dean, is that... Another 67' Impala?"
"Dad," Dean realized, looking out at the windshield at the gleaming black car that was an exact, newer-looking replica of the one they were sitting in, right down to the plates. "With mom."
They exchanged a look with each other, then glanced at the backseat at the same time.
"Uh, you know they-?"
"Yeah."
"So, you think I was-?"
"Probably."
"And you?"
"I don't wanna find out."
"Good call," Dean agreed.
With only a little trepidation, they stepped in, standing so close together that their hands were brushing with every step. But Sam didn't react to it, so neither did Dean.
John and Mary were the first people they spotted. It was a little like a kick in the gut- Sam took an audibly sharp breath- to see them, huddled in a corner, lost in their conversation. Their dad had an arm around mom's shoulder and was looking at her with what could only be called adoration and mom was talking quietly, but she never looked away from him either.
What really caused a double take was how young they looked, both of them fresh-faced and vibrant in a way Sam and Dean had never seen them.
"Sam! Dean!" A girl's voice rang out.
Everyone in the Roadhouse- everyone they had ever known and loved and lost- turned eyes on them as Jo Harvelle ran forward and nearly leapt at them, arms hooked around both their shoulders. They nearly fell under the force of it, but Sam braced all three of them with a hand on the door, before hugging her back.
There were loud greeting and cheers from all around. Jo let go, only for Mary to appear with John in tow, tears sparkling as the four of them gripped each other a little too tightly. From over his dad's shoulder, Dean saw Pamela and Ellen behind the counter, the former throwing him a lewd wink. Walking further in, Dean was roped into a conversation with Rufus and Ash. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby saying something to Sam that made him nod bashfully.
Everything was perfect, everything how it should be-
Dean felt suffocated anyway, a lifetime of isolation making him claustrophobic to being surrounded, even by people he knew and loved.
So, he escaped into the open air, leaned against the hood of the car- their Baby- and tried to catch his breath.
Then, just like that, something in his chest eased.
"Hey."
He smiled without thought. Soulmates, he thought. My soulmate.
"At least tell me when you need to get some air."
Dean turned his head to watch Sam come to his side. "You looked like you were having fun."
"Yeah, as long as I could see you in the room," Sam huffed, sounding annoyed, but the undertone of fear was stark.
"Sorry," Dean relented easily, nudging his shoulder against Sam.
Sam shook his head, copying Dean's position, one arm pressed against Dean's back, their sides touching. "Where do we go from here?"
Dean tongued his cheek, looking out at the road. "Passed an empty cabin on the way to the bridge before you arrived," he said, carefully casual. "We could... You could probably find one too."
Sam looked shocked, almost edging away from Dean. "You- uh... I thought we were..." He winced at himself, then soldiered on. "I thought we were gonna be together. Do you... Not want to?"
Dean opened his mouth to deflect, a glib retort ready on his tongue. Then he changed his mind. "I always want you with me," he muttered, looking down at his boots with intense focus.
After a momentary pause, he heard Sam take a deep breath. "You're an idiot," he stated, fond as always. "Come on. Let's go home."
Home was a two-bedroom cabin with a forest for a backyard and a front porch, a bookshelf with both their favorites books and movies, and a small kitchen.
Routine was something they settled into with ease, the same way they'd settled in at the bunker.
Sometimes, Dean thought maybe Sam would miss it. Hell, sometimes he expected himself to miss it.
But it never came. Sure, the bunker had been home, but- and Dean really should start feeling embarrassed about how fucking cheesy his internal thought process was- Sam was here. Sam was happy. Dean didn't want anything else.
"Dean, she's not allowed in the kitchen!" Sam exclaimed, for the tenth time.
Dean shrugged. "She's your dog, you brought her home, you teach her."
"She loves you more."
"Damn right." Dean grinned down at Miracle, who sat on her haunches by his feet. "You're a clever girl, aren't ya? Sucking up to me means extra treats." Just to demonstrate, he dipped a spoon into the soup and fed it to her.
"You better wash that before anything else," Sam warned, though he was definitely stifling a smile.
Dean scoffed. "Dude, I'm not a heathen."
"Says you."
"Is it, I don't know, weird, or something, that I kinda miss Cas?"
Dean looked up at him thoughtfully. "I don't know. I don't know even know if I miss him." He paused. "But I don't think it's wrong. He was your friend."
Sam tilted his head. "He was your friend too."
Dean lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. "I thought so. Now, if I think about him... I wonder if I ever really knew him at all. I mean..." He trailed off.
Sam didn't meet his eyes. "I knew." He sighed, but didn't elaborate. "I always knew."
Dean thought he got it anyway and hope felt beautiful.
"Dean?"
"Hmm?"
"I named my son after you."
They were lying in Sam's bed together, staring sleepily at the credits rolling on the TV screen.
Dean rolled over, ignoring how the pillows smelled like Sam's shampoo, and faced him. "Why'd you do that?" Sam hadn't talked much about his life after Dean had died and Dean was happy to listen if he wanted to share now.
Sam turned too. "Nothing else seemed to fit. Miracle helped me stay sane, but DJ... He saved me. And you'd done that so many times..." He gave a shaky smile. "Nothing else fit," he said again.
"Tell me something about him," Dean requested.
"He's not great with patience," Sam said after a moment. "Except when he's learning something. He's quick at picking stuff up. I think he got that from me."
"Nerd," Dean mouthed exaggeratedly.
"Shut up," Sam laughed quietly. "He knows less about fixing cars than I do-"
"No," Dean groaned, turning his face into the pillow.
"-but he loves classic rock," Sam went on.
Dean pretended to consider. "Alright, that evens it out." His voice was muffled in the pillow.
Sam's hand on his cheek startled him. He blinked his eyes open, a little dumbstruck at how close Sam suddenly seemed.
"Dean," Sam breathed out, fingers curling and grazing over Dean's stubble.
"Yeah?" Dean's voice was shaky.
For a second, it looked like Sam was going to... Then he swallowed and closed his eyes. "I missed you," he mumbled weakly.
Disappointment and relief mixed up. Dean exhaled heavily. Without saying a word, he scooted closer, till their noses were almost touching. He lifted Sam's hand from his face, then linked their fingers together.
Sam opened his eyes again, looked at him a little balefully, almost sheepish. "What happened to no chick-flick moments?" It was a half-hearted attempt at lightening the mood, made redundant by the reverence in his tone and the sweet tilt to his lips.
"You happened," Dean replied, just as quiet. "You've been slowly tricking me into breaking that rule our whole lives."
Sam bit his lip, faking deep thought. "Younger sibling's prerogative."
"Big words," Dean muttered, eyes flicking to his mouth.
Sam waited for a second. "Dean..."
"Yeah?"
He sighed. "Nothing. We should go to sleep."
"Yeah." But he made no attempt to get up, no movement that would lead him to out of Sam's bed and back to his own room.
They fell asleep like that, hands entwined and breathing each other in.
"You know, it's Heaven, Dean," Sam yelled from the porch. "You don't actually have to cook."
"And you don't need to drive to our grandfather's house to borrow book."
A pause. "Okay, I see your point," Sam conceded. "Maybe I should get you an apron."
"Dude." Dean scowled. "Not your housewife."
"A pink one with frills," Sam went on, as Dean turned off the gas and joined him outside. "One that says Kiss The Cook, or something."
Dean rolled his eyes, standing besides Sam, both of them leaning against the railing. "And I repeat: not your fucking housewife."
Sam laughed, bright and easy, and Dean smiled automatically, never able to get enough of the sound. His own beer finished, Sam reached around Dean to steal his bottle, then left his arm there, curled around Dean's waist.
Dean didn't even consider protesting, just leaned into Sam's side. He felt Sam's cheeks on top of his head, lifting in a smile.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Can I kiss you?"
A stupid question, because Dean couldn't remember a time when he didn't want Sam closer in every way- from holding a toddler's hand tightly in the streets to stop him from running off, to gripping the back of an angry teenager's jacket in a hug at bus station, to cradling a lifeless form to his chest, to the urge to crawl inside his brother's heart and make an irremovable room for himself there, to own him, mind and body and soul.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy."
It wasn't earth shattering, no fireworks erupted, the world didn't stop turning.
But Sam kissed him and Dean had never felt more at peace.