Work Text:
I've been led on
To think that we've been
Trying for too long.
Every time we drift
We’re forcing what is wrong,
At last that voice is gone.
Please take your time,
But you've got to know that
I am taking sight.
Oh, you look good
With your patient face and wandering eye.
Don't hold this war inside.
Come back when you can.
Let go, you'll understand.
You've done nothing at all, to make me love you less,
So come back when you can.
You left your home,
You're so far from
Everything you know.
Your big dream is
Crashing down and out your door.
Wake up and dream once more.
Come back when you can.
Let go, you'll understand.
You've done nothing at all to make me love you less,
So come back when you can.
Come back, I'll help you stand.
Let go and hold my hand.
If all you wanted was me, I'd give you nothing less,
So come back when you can.
*****
The bunker had no natural light sources. So while Dean wasn’t planning on waking up past noon, he wasn’t surprised by it either. There was no difference between night and day so sometimes it was easy to get lost in thought, or a book, or a beer, or even just lay in bed and then look at the clock and realize it’s not at all the time that you imagined it being.
That was his excuse and he was going to stick with it.
They’d gotten back home from the hospital the day before, probably around seven o’clock, and both Dean and Sam had both gone to bed as soon as they’d arrived.
The only reason Dean pulled himself off the memory foam mattress was the thought that maybe Sam was awake already. Dean didn’t want to miss out on being the one to make his baby brother his first meal back home.
He got to his feet and stretched. Even though he woke up late he could still feel the weariness that made a home inside the marrow of his bones. It was something he knew he needed to push past, because it wasn’t going to get better with sleep. It was Sam’s soul that was tugging at him, not simple exhaustion.
When he made his way out of his room he passed by Sam’s and peeked through the crack in the door. He couldn’t help the smile when he saw Sam cuddled in the covers, sleeping on his side with his hair sticking up in all directions.
Dean sighed, remembering how much of an improvement it had been —back at the hospital— when Sam stopped sleeping on his back. Weeks ago, while they’d been easing Sam off of his pain meds, his brother had mentioned that simply moving in any shape or form just hurt. He’d said sometimes when he shifted, it felt like all his insides were being stretched uncomfortably. Painfully. Dean remembered grimacing sympathetically at the idea. He’d always tried to help Sam find a comfortable position to sleep in, and it wasn’t easy. But then again, what in the past few months had?
The older Winchester slipped quietly down the hall and after a quick stop to the bathroom, he made his way towards the kitchen. He found Castiel sitting at the table, eating some healthy crap granola bar Sam must’ve bought at some point.
“You certainly slept late.” Cas looked up curiously.
“Yeah, wasn’t planning to. Just sorta happened.” He shrugged, walking over to the fridge.
“Kevin wanted to go out.” Cas said after a moment and when Dean didn’t supply anything else to the conversation, he continued. “We went and picked up groceries. I hope you didn’t have any specific requests.”
Dean grinned when he saw a stocked fridge, and most importantly, cold beers. “I didn’t even think about that, thanks.”
“Kevin told me to steal your wallet, that’s how we paid for everything.” Cas explained.
“Oh did he?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Good to know. I won’t leave my stuff lying around either of you two anytime soon.”
“Would you like help with anything?” The ex-angel got up from his seat, looking over Dean's shoulder as he grabbed ingredients from the fridge.
“Maybe. I’m gonna make us all some breakfast.” He dug through the cabinet, fishing for the correct pot.
“Dean.” Cas frowned, his eyebrows were drawn together and he looked like he was about to reveal some grave news. “It’s well past breakfast.”
“I know that.” Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s why I’m not gonna be making pancakes or anything.”
“What are you going to be making?”
“Chicken Tortilla Soup, it looks like we have all the ingredients. Bobby used to make it for us sometimes when we were kids.” Dean leaned back, looking over his selection of supplies. “I hope it’ll be pretty easy on Sam’s stomach. And I mean he’s been eating hospital food for months, so I bet he’ll just enjoy something that doesn't taste like mush or cardboard, but I want it to be a good first meal back at the bunker, you know?”
Cas studied the ingredients thoughtfully and nodded, something bright and excited in his eyes. “I would like to learn how to cook. I think it would be a good skill to have, and an interesting experience.”
“I can teach you a few things.” The idea alone of a (previous) ‘Angel of the lord’ with KP made Dean chuckle. “Rule number one, do not ever ask Sam for help in the kitchen. He can burn just about anything.”
Cas nodded again, looking like he was going to take that information very seriously. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Dean, you’re awake.”
The oldest Winchester turned to see Kevin standing in the doorway. He couldn’t help but smile. “Hey little man, you wanna help us make some breakfast?”
“It’s lunch time.” Kevin smirked back.
“You know what I mean.” Dean waved him off. “Come here and help me cut up the chicken.”
Kevin came over and both him and Cas helped to the best of their abilities. Dean gave Cas instructions and explained the basics on what was going on during the whole process. Dean didn’t realize how much he missed those little moments where they got to simply live life. Something as simple as working together to cook a meal warmed him from the inside out.
It was just missing one thing. One person.
They were just about finished when Dean decided to leave Kevin in charge so he could go wake up Sam. He walked down the halls with a purpose, cracking the door open carefully.
“Sam?” He whispered.
There was no movement coming from the bed, so Dean carefully made his way through the room, being sure to avoid the duffel bag, shoes, and jacket he’d left scattered across the floor the night before. Eventually he made it to the edge of the bed, Sam was still asleep, quietly wrapped in the blankets.
Dean looked around the room at Sam’s bare walls and he remembered the promise that he had made to himself the night before. He would show his brother what a home could really feel like. He wanted to help make Sam’s room truly his, and Dean could picture shelves full of books —not just lore books but the ones Sammy would reread over and over during his childhood—and pictures up on the wall, and notebooks full of writings and journals. There was so much potential, he just had to help Sam see it.
He turned back over to his brother's sleeping form. “Sammy, it’s time to wake up.” Dean brushed a bit of hair out of his face. “Me, Cas, and Kevin made some lunch.”
Sam shifted in his sleep, letting out a deep breath that told Dean that he was waking, but then turned his face further into the pillow.
Dean huffed, trying to hold back a grin. “Sam, it’s time to get up. Or else I’ll eat all your lunch.”
“That’s fine.” Sam mumbled in the pillow. “Five more minutes.”
“Nope, rise and shine. Today's a new day and you are not skipping meals anytime soon, I’m going to personally make sure of that.” Dean leaned forward and started poking him.
Sam gave no reaction until Dean stuck his finger in his brother’s ear, knowing Sam always hated it. Sam jerked away and swatted Dean's hand. “Dude!”
“That’s what you get for not listening.”
Sam turned over and halfway sat up, resting on his elbows with the same morning scowl he used to give when he was six. “Fine, I’ll be in the kitchen in a second, just give me a minute to get ready.”
“Get ready? You got a makeup routine I don’t know about?”
Sam elbowed him. “No, just to wake up and…” He looked down, realizing he was still in the clothes he had been wearing the day before. “To change real quick, I guess.”
“Okay, okay.” Dean sighed. “Do you need any help?”
“Dean.” Sam glared.
Dean just chuckled. He knew he was being a little extra annoying, but he didn’t really have it in him to care. He missed getting to joke around with his baby brother.
“Okay, but if you aren’t down there in five minutes then I’m coming back in here and dragging you out.” Dean said as he walked out of the room, watching as Sam slowly got to his feet, using the wall to help him balance. “Don’t care if you’re butt naked, Kevin's just gonna have to deal with it!” He called behind him as he shut the door.
Dean went back to the kitchen to make sure the kid prophet and the ex-angel hadn’t somehow blown up the kitchen before heading back to Sam’s room. He waited outside the door patiently.
Eventually Sam emerged, opening the door and finding Dean standing awkwardly. “How long have you been standing there?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Long enough, but not the entire time. C’mon man, I’m starving.” Dean gestured towards the kitchen.
They walked side by side for the most part, Sam was only slightly ahead. Dean purposely tried to linger behind to make sure his brother’s balance was all good but Sam stuck to his side. When Dean slowed down then so did he. Their shoulders just barely touched every few steps.
By the time they had gotten to the kitchen Sam seemed to be as steady as ever, walking with his head held high. His shoulders slouched a little bit forwards, making him look a little smaller, although that had been something Sam had done ever since he was a kid.
It didn’t take two seconds for them to arrive in the kitchen before Kevin was on his feet. “Sam!” The kid exclaimed.
“Hey Kevin.” Sam smiled back, but was a little hesitant to actually walk in the room, looking more awkward than anything else. Kevin didn’t even seem to notice, and just like he had with Dean the night before, he leaned over and wrapped his arms tightly around the younger Winchester.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks.” Sam said nervously. “I’m sorry we left you alone for so long.”
Kevin let Sam go and shrugged. “It’s okay. You guys were dealing with a lot, I get it. Besides, it gave me a lot of time to think. I think I needed some time to myself. Without the constant looming pressure of having to translate, that is.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t all bad, then.” Sam grimaced. “Still sorry though.”
Dean cut them off before anyone could say anything more. “Okay, that’s enough of that— let’s eat some food! Breakfast, lunch, whatever you wanna call it, it’s all ready to go.”
“What are we having?” Sam asked.
“Dean says it’s called Chicken Tortilla Soup.” Castiel informed. “Though I didn’t see him put any Tortillas in it.”
“Like Bobby’s?” Sam’s eyes lit up, looking to Dean for answers.
“Yup. Tried to make it like he used to. It’s probably only kind of similar, it’s been too long and I couldn’t remember everything that was in it.”
“Smells amazing.” Sam said as he took a bowl and spoon from Kevin who was passing them out.
Dean’s heart swelled at the sight of his brother’s dimples. He hadn’t seen them in so long.
They sat around and ate lunch for a while, each person was able to get as much as they wanted, Cas even got thirds. Even after they were done they just enjoyed each other’s company. The four of them sat for hours, talking.
The situation with the angels came up at one point, Kevin wanting to know more of what had even happened. Cas explained in detail his side of the story, and Dean was ashamed to admit that even though they’d stayed together for weeks, he never even thought to ask the ex-angel what had actually gone down. He knew the basics, but that was about it.
It seemed everyone wanted to know what the plan was. Or what it should be. They all bounced around ideas but eventually Dean had to cut them off. They still needed time to recover. They were in no condition to start picking fights with angels or go head on with Metatron or Abaddon, let alone both at the same time.
They had only just arrived home. They were all alive and well, they needed to celebrate that. That on its own was a big win.
So instead the conversation shifted to Cas and all of the things he needed to try and do now that he was human. Some things he probably could’ve done as an angel, but that didn’t seem to matter. The lighter conversation helped.
As they were wrapping things up and Kevin and Cas both left chatting up a storm, Dean pulled Sam off to the side. “Wanna help with dishes?” He asked as they piled all the dirty bowls into the sink.
Sam’s eyes widened a little in surprise but nodded nonetheless. Dean didn’t blame him, they had their own unspoken assigned chores in the bunker. It wasn’t on purpose, it just happened over time. Sam cleaned the library and Dean cleaned the garage. Sam did trash and Dean always did dishes. Granted, he was usually the only one to use the kitchen, and no matter what Dean cooked Sam didn’t end up eating it half the time.
They stood by the sink together, Dean washing each dish and Sam drying them and putting them away. Every now and then the younger Winchester had to ask where something belonged.
“You really think it’s a good idea to put off this whole angel thing?” Sam asked quietly.
Dean sighed, knowing the question would be coming. “It probably isn’t, but we don’t really have a choice man. We’re in no condition to rush into a fight.”
Sam avoided eye contact. “It’s cause of me, right?”
“What?”
“That you don’t wanna make a move. It’s because of me.” Sam clarified. He was quiet for a second, most likely trying to figure out the best way to continue. “I’m okay though, I swear. And if you really are that worried then I can stay behind and you or Kevin or Cas can try and figure this thing out. We don’t have to all be sidelined because of me. People still need saving, Dean.”
“It’s not… well, yes that’s part of it but that’s not the whole reason why.” Dean frowned, scrubbing a little too hard on a particularly dirty pan and then leaned back with a sigh. “Sammy, you took a huge hit. I know you’re feeling better, but it’s gonna take a while for you to get back to 100% again. And this fight is gonna need us to be at our best, we can’t keep walking into fire unprepared. And then with Cas human now we don’t have any backup healing mojo, with him it won’t be Angel against Angel, it’ll be Angel against amateur-human. He’s still figuring out how to brush his teeth, I don’t think it’s a good idea to have him out there quite yet. And I don’t want to force Kevin into this anymore than we have to.”
“So what about you?”
“I’m just gonna lay low and keep an eye on you.” Dean shrugged. “The Doctor said to and to go get checked out if anything at all goes wrong and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. I’m not testing our luck Sam, not again.”
Sam put away the last spoon. “Okay.”
And Dean felt his shoulders sagging with relief that Sam wasn’t going to fight with him on this one.
“We’ll keep our eyes open but we’re gonna stay low until we come up with a plan. An actual good one, that’s preferably not risky as hell.” Dean said. “Just for now. Okay?”
Sam nodded reluctantly. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea, but I get it.”
As they put up the last of the dishes, Castiel came walking into the kitchen with an extremely confused expression.
“What?” Dean had to ask.
“Well,” Cas frowned thoughtfully. “l informed Kevin that Metatron gave me the knowledge of the media he had consumed. For some reason he doesn’t seem to think that it’s the same thing as watching the movie itself.”
Dean blinked, being taken completely off-guard. “What movie?”
“Any movie.”
“Well I hate to break it to you Cas but I think Kevin’s right.” Dean chuckled. “Looks like we’re just gonna have to sit down and give you the full experience.”
They spent their afternoon eating popcorn and watching as much as they could of the Extended Lord of the Rings movies. When Dean suggested they watch the theatrical version Kevin (and Sam) nearly bit his head off.
While Dean could agree they were great movies, after they were five hours deep into the trilogy, and only on the second movie, he just had to get up and do something else. He informed the rest of them that he’d be making dinner for everyone so they could continue their binge and thankfully they let him get up and stretch his legs.
He loved movies, he did, and he’d take any excuse for a movie night, but he was never really great at sitting still. Especially not for long periods of time. That’s why he was hardly ever in the passenger seat of the Impala. It was too boring. At least when he was driving he was doing something.
As he wandered down the hall towards the kitchen he passed by their bedrooms, right as he walked by Sam’s he took a step back and peered inside. He promised himself he would help Sam decorate his room. Maybe he could surprise him? He could do it while Sam was distracted, put a few things here and there, see what his brother thought of it.
Dean smiled to himself. Yeah, maybe that’d work.
He still needed to make dinner, but later he could come back. They still had a whole other movie to watch.
Still, he stepped in the room, hoping to get some ideas flowing while he started cooking. He took in the bare walls and small desk. There was definitely potential. There was space for more books and shelves and maybe some pictures or some cool looking —non deadly, that was very important— Men of Letters artifacts.
As he looked around he let out a huff of surprise. It was all pretty tidy. The books were in order, papers piled neatly, the only thing that wasn’t was the stuff on the floor that Dean had dropped everywhere the night before, uncaring because he was tired. Dean didn’t think Sam’s room was usually this clean, but he could’ve been wrong.
As his gaze brushed over the room one last time he noticed an envelope sitting on the desk.
Dean stepped closer out of curiosity but stopped short when he saw what was written across the front.
‘Dean.’
Huh.
He looked back towards the doorway as if expecting Sam to suddenly be there watching him. No one was there, obviously. They were all still watching the movie.
Well… it was addressed to him after all.
Dean picked up the envelope. Even though it was technically the same as any other piece of mail, something about his brother’s unusually shaky, sloppy writing made it feel so much heavier in his hands.
It wasn’t sealed, so it wasn’t like Sam would notice if he just took a peek. He opened it up, sliding the paper out.
The second he read the first sentence though, his heart leapt into his throat. A sudden rush of lightheadedness made him move to sit on the bed.
Dear Dean,
I hope you’ll eventually find this note after… well, just after.
Oh.
It was that kind of letter.
At that moment he couldn’t bring himself to read any more of it, but he couldn’t put it away either. He read over the first line again, making sure he’d read it correctly.
‘well, just after.’
He felt like he was going to be sick.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know, he did. After what had happened in the hospital, there was no way he couldn’t. But to know that Sam was barely hanging on by a thread —even before he was hospitalized— hurt Dean more than he could ever put into words.
—When these trials are over, I imagine you’ll be digging through my stuff, well I’d say like you always do but I suppose it won’t be because of your normal nosiness.
Dean wondered if he should feel any better that the note wasn’t just a straight up suicide note. Even though it kind of was. It was a goodbye note because Sam was going on a suicide mission, that’s what it was.
Sam really did know the trials were going to kill him. He knew. And he had written Dean a note for after it was finished.
—won’t be because of your normal nosiness. It’ll be to take inventory. To decide what you want to keep and what should be thrown out. Either that or you’ll keep everything the same, you won’t touch a thing and my room will end up looking exactly the same when you’re done with it. Like I never left.
And what the hell? How was he supposed to react? What was even a proper response? Half of him wanted to storm into the other room and demand Sam explain, demand Sam to stop giving up, demand Sam to stop trying to get himself killed, because if Sam died then so would Dean.
But before he did anything he needed to finish the letter, he knew he did. He needed the full picture, but that terrified him. Dean took a deep breath and continued.
—I tried to at least clean up before I left. It took a while, but only because I’ve started getting tired a lot quicker recently. Besides that, it wasn’t too hard. I mean I’ve never been much of a collector. Anytime I managed to have anything with sentimental value, it always ended up getting forgotten in a motel, thrown out by dad, or gone up in flames. Anyways, I know there isn’t much to clean out, but I still hope it isn’t too much of an inconvenience.
Inconvenience? Too much of an inconvenience to clean up his would-be dead little brother’s stuff? Hell no.
Sam’s unusually clean room made sense now, and he wished it didn’t.
The longer he stared at the pages the more his eyes started to water, his heart beating way too fast in his chest.
I just wanted to leave a note. I hope this will give you a little bit of closure and won’t rub salt in the wound.
Our lives have always felt like a battle. I didn’t realize it until now, but everything has been manipulated or twisted in some way. Now that I’m at the end of it all and I look back, I don’t think I’ve lived much of a life worth living, and I don’t think I ever could have, even if I wanted to. At this point I don’t really think I’d even know how. Ever since the Cage I don’t think a day has passed where I’m not looking over my shoulder or praying for some sort of relief to an eternal state of fear. So don’t feel bad about this, Dean. It’s not like I’m throwing my life away, I’m not going to be missing much.
Sam had never told him that before. He didn’t talk about the Cage, and Dean had never mustered up the strength to ask. Even if he did, he knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer. Dean could never blame Sam for that. He hadn’t been very talkative after hell either. They’d had one conversation and then they’d dropped it entirely. The only information that Dean had been able to force out of him was back when Sam was actively hallucinating and half out of his mind and it was essential that Dean knew what was going on. Even then it all seemed like jumbled madness that didn't make much sense.
To know it was still eating at him, causing him so much grief after all these years wasn’t surprising but it was still hard to hear. Dean still woke up from nightmares every now and then but he wasn’t on the edge of his seat. He’d beaten his demons for the most part, aside from the occasional bad day.
I think you can figure out a way to have something great though. It might take a while, but I think you’ll figure it out. Without me weighing you down, or dad barking orders at you, I think you’ll find a life of your own. A real one. Either working with cars, or being a firefighter, or even if you just stay a Hunter, I’m sure there’s something better out there for you than this. Being stuck with me.
There it was. Sam making it all about someone else in his own suicide note.
So anyways, I wrote this letter to say goodbye. I know I’ve disappointed you in a lot of ways throughout my life, but I hope in the end you’ll be proud of me for doing the right thing. I know you’ll be upset at first, but I’m at peace with it, I really am. I’m ready. I just thought it was important for you to know that because I don’t want you dooming yourself to try and bring me back. So this is my goodbye. Thank you for always taking care of me and always putting me first. You were always there for me when I needed it, and you’ll never know how much that has meant to me. Even if we both had a pretty crappy life, I’m just happy I was fortunate enough to have you as a brother.
-Sam
Something dripped onto the page, making a little wet splotch on Sam’s unsteady signature at the end— hardly able to write the note at all because he had been weak enough and shaky enough by the end of everything that using a pen or pencil must have been a challenge—and that was how he realized he was crying. He took in an uneven breath and tried not to break down like a teenage girl in a bathroom stall.
Dean thought he understood. He thought he knew everything about Sam, so what the hell?
They needed to talk. He knew they technically already had, that Sam had written that letter before the events of the church, before the hospital, before everything, but for some reason it felt like a completely new discovery altogether. That Sam knew.
“Dean?”
He looked up to find Sam standing in the doorway, and Dean’s heart nearly stopped. He was just thinking about having a conversation but now? Give him a little time to prepare, geez.
“What are you-?” Sam looked confused at first, but as soon as he saw what was in Dean’s hand his face drained of color.
And suddenly Dean felt like a father who’d just found a skin mag under his teenage son’s bed. Well at least that would’ve been amusing, but this…
Sam stood in the doorway with his mouth open, like he was struggling to find the words to explain. They were at a standstill, no one wanting to speak first.
“I-“ Sam stuttered. “Did you read it?”
Dean nodded.
Sam just stared at him with wide eyes for a minute. “You- that was before I left to finish the trials. That’s not-“
“Do you still feel like this?” Dean interrupted, getting to his feet and marching over to his brother.
Sam pressed his lips together, clearly thinking his words over very carefully. “Some of it. Not all.”
“Which parts?”
“Do I still mean or do I not mean anymore? Because I don’t even remember most of what I wrote, that was months ago, Dean. Not to mention I was half out of my mind with the fever.” Sam could hold his ground when he wanted, Dean had to hand it to him.
“Both.” Dean said bitterly. “We can go through sentence by sentence if you want.”
“Dean, you weren’t meant to read that. That was for after I was gone. It was supposed to help.”
“In what world would this ever be helpful?” Dean couldn’t help but raise his voice. “I find out my little brother was on his own private suicide mission and this is supposed to help?”
He closed his eyes, trying to keep himself from shouting any more than he already had. This was not the time to get into a fight, but he wasn’t lashing out because he was angry, it was because he was scared. Sam was scaring the hell out of him recently.
“Sorry.” Sam was looking down at his feet. “I was just trying to give you some closure.”
Dean was so overwhelmed with emotions that he didn’t trust himself to speak anymore. He knew it’d just hurt Sam more and that was the last thing his little brother needed.
Instead Dean stepped forward and pulled Sam towards him, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He hugged Sam with brutal desperation. It was rough and the knot in his chest was painful but it was better than taking a swing.
“I can’t lose you, Sammy.” Dean choked out. “I know I can say a lot of messed up stuff but please don’t give up on me.”
He could feel Sam gently raise his arms and accept the embrace, returning the hug with sincerity. “It’s okay. I’m okay now.” Sam muttered around Dean’s flannel. “Maybe I’m not perfect, but I’m better than I was. I swear.”
Dean pulled away so that he could look Sam in the eyes. See if he was telling the truth. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “I wrote that letter months ago, Dean.”
“You said you still meant some of it.”
“I do.”
Dean’s heart sank. “What parts?”
Sam let his gaze drift around the room, avoiding eye contact. “I said that I thought that you could find a life of your own. Without me. And I still mean that.” Dean opened his mouth to argue but Sam cut him off. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to go and get myself killed, I just mean that even if I’m alive, you can find your own life without having to constantly look after me.”
“I’ll be looking out for you till the day I die.” Dean huffed, offended that Sam would word it in that way.
It got Sam to crack a small smile. “Thank you.” He said. “Really, Dean, I mean it. Thank you for always looking out for me.”
Dean pulled Sam into another hug. “That’s my job, little brother.”
*****
Dean stepped back with a sigh, taking one long look at his hard work. The five dollar painting from the thrift store filled up a lot of the wall space behind Sam’s bed, so that alone made it look a lot less empty.
It was a painting of some old cabin in the woods with a dog sleeping on the porch and mountains far out in the background. It wasn’t necessarily Dean’s taste but there hadn’t been a whole lot of options and he’d told Sam he needed to pick something. He was pretty sure Sam had picked it because the dog looked a little bit like Rumsfeld, Bobby’s old dog that they’d grown up playing with, and was probably the reason why Sam had always begged their dad for a puppy.
Sam was organizing all of the things that were cluttered along the ledge on the left side of the room that they used as a shelf. He had tons of books from the library and he was making his way through on an insane range of topics.
His nightstands still only had lamps and an alarm clock but Sam’s dresser now had an arrangement of framed photos. There was one of both of them and Bobby, one of Sam and Jess, and a photo of their mother and father back when they had first gotten married.
Dean had brought in a coat stand. Had told Sam to hang up some of his jackets and to actually put some of his clothes in the drawers of his dresser.
It was surprising but also… not so surprising that Sam had never done any of those things. He had always lived within the constraints of “will this fit in my duffle bag?” So if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, why keep it? It was kind of sad. They never got the luxury of buying souvenirs just for fun or keeping childhood stuffed animals— not that they’d want to, they were obviously grown men— or simply just trying to find things to put on a shelf to make it look nice.
But now they did.
Now they had a home that was more than just four walls, a ceiling, and four wheels (no offense to Baby, she would always be their true home) but now they actually had beds and a kitchen and even a garage and library. And they would wreck things and they would leave coffee rings on the wooden tables and crack the sink and carve their initials into the place because they lived here.
They weren’t leaving anytime soon, they were there to stay and even if they left on a hunt and never came back someone someday would find the place and they would stumble across their bedrooms and know that Sam and Dean had existed. That someone else had lived here.
Dean wanted Sam to know what a home could truly look like. He didn’t know if he was succeeding or not, he didn’t even know if he really knew what it looked like either, but he thought he was doing pretty good at it so far.
They were filling up the place, spreading out and getting comfortable, because they weren’t leaving anytime soon. Neither of them.