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Summary
Sam, Dean, and Castiel have retired from hunting and live together in Wyoming. They're happy.
Series
- Part 1 of Wyoming
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Sometimes, on cool summer nights, Sam and Dean climb into the Impala just to remember what it felt like for the car to be their home. Dean lies across the front seat and Sam lies across the back, their feet braced against the doors, the windows rolled down to let in the air. They swap memories from all stages of their lives: being kids in motel rooms, good times with Dad, early hunting, the years Sam was away at Stanford, sports games and state fairs and roadside holidays from the years they hunted together, the best hunts they ever went on.
Dean tells the same outrageous sex stories Sam's heard a dozen times, and Sam still groans and laughs and squirms in the backseat as if he's hearing them new. Blondes in baseball fields and brunettes in truck beds and phone stalls in redneck pool halls and redheads in the backseat of the car parked on the beach. Threesomes and married women and young widows and single moms. Women who made him breakfast, who washed his clothes, who didn't ask him to call, who left out their last name, who looked good at the bar and not so much the morning after.
Sam tells Dean about all the nights he spent alone in the Impala the four months Dean was in Hell and how he used to draw the constellations on the car ceiling with soft pencils, change them with the sky, talking out loud to Dean as if somehow his brother could hear him. He always retraced the north star, drew it big and bright, the only one that never moves—because if he couldn't raise Dean from the dead, maybe Dean would come home on his own. He just needed a little guidance.
Do you remember that pizza in Mystic, Connecticut? Do you remember that blues bar in Mississippi? Do you remember that pumpkin microbrew in Maine? Do you remember those lies we told in the hospital when you got stabbed in the shoulder? Do you remember that game of pool you hustled at the Roadhouse and the fight afterward and how we thought for a minute we were going to lose? Do you remember getting shoved into that swamp in South Florida and how you couldn't lose the smell for a week? Do you remember that stupid argument we had in '07 and how we didn't speak to each other for two straight weeks and how it was all over when you made me laugh? Do you remember how we used to heat French Dip sandwiches on the car engine when we couldn't find a diner or stop for a kitchen?
Do you remember Dad? Do you remember the crinkles around his eyes when he laughed? Do you remember the way he ordered a drink? Do you remember what he smelled like when he was clean? Do you remember when he could pick us both up at the same time and carry us around? Do you remember that one year when he actually gave us a real Christmas? Do you remember when he taught you how to drive the Impala? Do you remember what he looked like the last time we were all together?
Do you remember Bobby? Do you remember Bobby's house? Do you remember the way his library smelled? Do you remember how drunk we used to get together? Do you remember when we raced each other around the salvage yard in those two fixed-up muscle cars and almost gave him a heart attack? Do you remember when we tried to do Thanksgiving there, for real? Do you remember the way he used to talk shit about us but you could always tell he didn't mean it?
Do you remember Ellen and Jo and Ash? Do you remember Missouri Mosley? And Pamela? And Bela and Henrickson and Chuck? Do you remember Adam? Do you remember Mom in Heaven? Do you remember her ghost?
Then Sam and Dean go quiet again because they're the only ones left alive, and there's no use in saying someone else should've gotten this far in their place. One brother lifts up his hand, and the other takes it in his, over the front seatback. They hold onto each other and know that it was always like this and always will be, until they die for the last time and wake up on their endless two-lane asphalt, heaven not so different from the life they shared.
It's the two of them in this car. Forever and ever.
When he lights candles for his brother, he invokes protection and peace, without knowing who he's asking because God's an absentee father and most of the angels he's met are all uncaring dicks. Nevertheless, Sam just can't help but believe in something or someone, even if he doesn't know what it is. He believes because he needs to feel like someone more powerful than he is, is watching over Dean.