Disclaimer: The lyrics used are 'Everybody Here Wants You' by Jeff Buckley.

Feedback: Is wonderful and appreciated beyond words.

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this update out. Hopefully when you’ve read it you’ll get why I took my time over it – it’s the final chapter. So all that’s left to say is thank you for all the crazy support you’ve all given this story. It’s been an absolute pleasure to write. I also hope you'll all be happy if I revisit this 'verse in the future. Thanks again!

27. Such a Thing of Wonder

‘I’m a stranger in this town, you’re free with me. And our eyes locked in downcast love I sit here proud.’ – Jeff Buckley.

Dean had often wondered about his relationship with Los Angeles, mainly why the hell he had stayed there, but it was only when he was in bed with Sam that it hit him how weird it was to spend over a year, nearly two whole years of his life, in a city he hated. He did hate it. As much as LA gave him room to spread his arms out, breathe deep, it suffocated him. It crushed him, all the tourists and people who knew him, people who didn’t know him.

It was his relationship with John that had kept him there, tied down like that. It was that it was safe, it was the safest he could be; they had a routine. They conned people out of what seemed like substantial amounts of cash, they fucked on occasion and it was gentle, it was real gentle and numbing. Dean could feel himself getting nostalgic, even lying in Sam’s bed at this indeterminately late hour, with Sam snoring lightly against his ear.
Dean was reaching back into his memories, somewhere he hadn’t thought he could go, and digging – keeping hold of Sam’s hand so he didn’t fall too far into the past, because he had this heavy feeling that that was a possibility. His future was still the most important thing... their future.

Sam’s arms were wrapped around Dean’s waist and he gripped them against him harder, suddenly needing the physical protection from everything. Dean closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. There was absolutely no way he was going to cry again, hopefully never again. He’d cried himself nearly sick all day and now, now when he was perfectly happy, surrounded by Sam in all his Sam-ness, he had less than no reason to shed tears. But there was something heartbreaking about how Sam slept so unsoundly, he kept jerking half-awake, murmuring, “Dean,” and falling back into restless slumber. Dean couldn’t help feeling awful about that, he knew it was the fault of his own disrupted, nightmare filled sleeping patterns. Sam had slept so heavily back in Los Angeles, to the extent where he’d fallen asleep outside Dean’s apartment, just waiting...

Dean lifted his hand and rubbed his necklace thoughtfully. Sam had said that this amulet – the first gift he had ever given Dean – meant ‘protection’ and Dean thought that this was true because ever since he’d worn it someone had always come to his rescue. He wanted to take off the necklace and look at it in closer detail, but at the same time there was a niggling irritation in the back of his head telling him that if he removed it, he’d regret it. Something would happen. In that moment, Dean allowed himself to believe that the whole balance of his world, maybe the whole world, depended on him keeping this gift against his skin.

He wondered if it could protect him from his father.

Dean, go to your room. Go to your room now If Dean was too slow to move he’d know it, it would streak against his vision and then something would come down, the back of a hand. He was normally too slow. Occasionally there was a real beating, with a belt and everything and that was okay because it was like, taking time out. But now Dean knew that if he said it was okay to Sam, then Sam’s face would go tight with horror and he would call Dean his baby again.

Even though Dean was now in possession of more memories than he knew what to do with, the first thing he thought of when he recalled growing up was still the fights, the bruises he had received. He had spent his whole life bruised, trying to cover up the cuts and swelling on his lips with thick lipstick. It was impossible. Dean tensed and then relaxed his muscles slowly so he didn’t tear himself apart. If he saw his dad again, ever, ever again, Dean knew how it would go down. The guy hated him, always had done, and wasn’t exactly shy about expressing it. Dean flinched inside his skin as he remembered the ache in his neck after a particularly bad night. Or was he getting that confused with all the other people who had hurt him, all the other fists that had hit out blindly, catching his cheek, his eye, his neck. Getting punched there made his throat fill with saliva, made him choke. He hated that. Most other kinds of pain, Dean had found he could learn to love, learn to accept as deserved, as his fate, as a gift. But when his neck got stiff he couldn’t move his head, couldn’t work properly... Well, there was no need to worry about that now, was there? Sam would never bruise him, never even think about it. The concept was beyond him.

Dean trusted that. But he didn’t trust that everyone else would see the change. It wasn’t written on his skin that he was protected by Sam, was it? It should have been; it felt like it was burnt deep, in a good, painless way. Dean stifled a moan. He was getting spoiled again, he was getting used to a life without bruises, without scratches or blood. He believed that Sam would shelter him from anything. And no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, his heart wouldn’t quit believing all these fairytale promises of a better life.

He had already left his life behind. It couldn’t get worse.

It can always get worse, something told Dean and he tried to stop that voice by being the selfish bastard he knew he was, and waking Sam up.

“Sam,” he whispered.

Sam’s eyes opened straight away. “Dean? Did you dream?”
”I haven’t been to sleep yet.” Taking in his surroundings properly, Dean realized it was that deep, deep dark just before the sun came up and he had been thinking about nothing in particular for too long; no wonder he was chewing himself up. “I slept too much today. I just...” It sounded so pathetic. “I didn’t want to have to listen to myself much more. Is that bad?”

“No,” Sam shook his head against the pillow, eyes nearly sliding shut before he reached up and rubbed them to keep himself awake, “tell me what you’ve been thinking.” It was touching how he spoke so gently, he spoke like he cared about every random thought in Dean’s head.

“You want to know?”

“I always do.”

Dean smiled and pressed his face against Sam, inhaling his scent, his aura. “I was just thinkin’ about... it’s kinda dumb of me. I was wondering if I did go home, if I saw my dad... I think he’d just want to mess me up.”

“What’cha mean?”

“He was really violent, you know, they both were. But he... hated me. He hated me so much.” He felt better now Sam was awake, even kind of sleepy. If Sam was watching him then nothing could come out of the shadows, no one could crawl out from under the bed and snatch at his legs, pull him down where he belonged. And under the bed was where he felt safe. It didn’t make sense. The shadows hid where he needed to hide, because he was all darkness... No. Sam says I’m not. “You know, sometimes putting on makeup is a necessity,” he muttered, “freakin’ ugly bruises.”

“I won’t let that happen again,” Sam smiled faintly, as if he was remembering something sweet and not talking about something horrible, “no one’s going to touch you like that ever again.”

“Yeah...”

“I’m gonna always stand in front of you.”

Dean thought he was maybe the only person in the world who would understand what that meant – that Sam would always block the painful things that were coming his way; or at least try to. Dean pressed his head to Sam’s chest and sighed. Sam was so big and cosy; he was a family all by himself. He was Dean’s family. Once again Dean found his mind wandering distantly to cold Christmases and hot lazy days. “Feels weird,” he murmured.

“What does?”

Dean contemplated this, tried to put his finger on it, but all he could really reply, all that explained it all, was; “Feeling.”

Feeling anything at all still felt weird to him, it was still foreign territory to look at Sam and get the warm glow in his chest, the deep swelling love that bordered on dumb, unseeing adoration for the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally, and yet now Dean could foresee a time when it might not be that way. He could believe that sometime in the future he might look at Sam and feel this love and not be shocked by it.

By morning, Sam felt a lot more rested, but his joints creaked when he stretched – lying all tangled up with Dean was comfortable in sleep but upon waking it just hurt, but it was completely worth it. Sleeping in his clothes wasn’t a genius idea, either, and yet he could remember how exhausted he had suddenly been last night, how Dean had gripped him as if they’d never part, as if parting was impossible, even to do something like putting on pyjamas. But he didn’t wake up next to Dean; he woke up on his own, the bed empty and still warm, he was surrounded by the scent of sleeping bodies. It didn’t panic him. Sam just worked the kinks out of his muscles and then stared around the room.

Dean was sitting on the floor, repainting his nails with a frown of concentration. He had piled the photographs he’d pushed off the bed the previous night neatly next to him. Something about that reminded Sam of the time he had gone down to Dean’s apartment and found it tidy to a degree he’d found a little worrying and not at all representative of Dean as a person. Dean was beautiful, he was smart, but he was not very tidy. Sam propped himself up on his elbow silently and smiled to himself. He imagined Dean padding down the hall to get his nail polish – electric blue, Sam noted with a bit of amusement – and coming straight back, not really leaving. It made him feel safe deep down, knowing that Dean could go anywhere and yet came back to him, because that was how they belonged.

“Good morning,” Sam whispered.

“Morning,” Dean replied and finished up, turning to look at him, smiling, “you like it?” He held up his hands.

Sam pretended like it needed some thought and then said, “Looks good.”

“New colour for a new day.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sam felt the silence coming on before it hit, and then he just lay and looked at Dean looking at him.

Dean rolled his eyes from side to side. “I was thinking about calling Ellen.”

“She said to give it a few days.”

“I know what she said,” Dean was looking at his nails now and he was scowling, “but I don’t want to wait a few days. I don’t need to.” He lifted his head slowly and smiled falsely. “I think she thought I was gonna be a lot more messed up than I am... about what happened. I’m fine with it. It’s nice to know.”

Sam nodded and smiled back. “Okay.”

“Don’t say okay like that. I’m not lying.”

This surprised Sam, how quickly Dean’s eyes changed; they flashed dark at him, as if he was really being mean. Sam kept a smile on his face because he wanted to show that he was on Dean’s side all the way. “I’m not saying okay like that. I was just saying okay. We’ll do whatever you feel comfortable doing.”

Dean’s steely gaze melted. “Sorry. I snapped.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’m... I think I remembered something,” he moved his hands, flexed them, “Blue.”

“Blue?” Sam frowned and tried to recall if he was meant to understand what this meant to Dean. “What’s blue?”

“Not like the colour,” Dean smiled dazzlingly, “well, yeah like the colour. But I can remember getting called that. Some woman... I think she was my teacher. She called me Dean Blue.” His smile fell into a smirk. “I think that’s ironic, or something. Like blue devils.”

“What’s a blue devil?”

“This shitty doctor I went to after I met John, that’s what this guy called my depression,” he put on a slightly falsetto voice, “Oh, Dean, have those blue devils been knocking on your door again? I’d be sitting there, scratching the scars on my wrists, and he’d be speaking like a freakin’ mystic.”

Sam nodded along with this. He loved getting these insights into Dean’s past, loved gathering up the scraps of Dean and putting them together in his head, like a slide show. Even the parts that scared Sam so much, that made him angrier than he’d ever been, the parts that brought him close to crying, he wanted to know every single thing he could. “So you think that might be your name, maybe?” He tested it out. “Dean Blue.”

“Maybe,” Dean rolled his eyes, “but who’s actually called that? Except, obviously, porn stars.” He flicked his fingers in Sam’s direction. “That’s why I did this, so I’d remember. Blue for Blue or whatever – but now you’ll keep it for me? You’ll remember for me?” He put his hands flat on the floor and tapped them against the carpet. “I don’t know how that’s gonna help anything, me remember that.”

“It could.” Sam was eternally optimistic about this. He wanted for Dean to have his whole life stitched together so perfectly and if that was impossible, he wanted it to be at least bearable. But he was looking forward to it being better than bearable; he was looking forward to it being joyful and wonderful. “And when you remember where you grew up, that’ll make it even easier, won’t it?” He grinned reassuringly. “Then you’ll remember everything. And that’s good.”

Dean looked decidedly vague. “Is it?”

“Don’t you think it is?”

“I don’t know. I keep thinking I was better before,” he shrugged, “when there was still that... air of mystery. I couldn’t dance now, Sam. I’d be all open, everything all over the place. The only thing I’m good for now is loving you. So you can’t leave me now.”

“Good.” He decided not to say how much he didn’t agree with this. Dean was good for so much, he could do anything he wanted; anything. Sam was sure that he would, too.

“You sound like you mean that.”

“I do. I’ve always meant everything.”

For a second, Dean looked quivery, all his lines blurred like some great masterpiece left out in the rain, left where all his colours could run together and create a gasoline puddle rainbow, and then he jumped up and landed on the bed next to Sam, all excitable, his sudden energy infectious and overwhelming. “Then it’s good, I guess. If you’re always gonna let me love you.”

“I’m not letting you love me, I’m grateful,” Sam held Dean against him, face to face, nice and close, “you’re so brave, Dean. You know how brave you are? You’re like... like this big hero.”

Dean blushed and glanced down between them. Sam could see something running through his head; he could see it in the way Dean’s eyes flickered. But he didn’t ask any questions, because Dean would tell it all, the whole story, all the thoughts he hadn’t yet spoken, when he was ready. That was when everything would happen, everything. Sometimes, Sam just knew things like this without discussing it or even thinking it too deeply, it was like he’d known Dean forever. On the other hand, it took a lot of thought for Sam to make himself truly believe they’d known each other for less than a month. Dean smiled unsurely and addressed Sam while gazing downwards; “Then how come I’m always the one who needs saving?”

“This isn’t how people normally react after recalling even one of the things that you remembered yesterday,” Ellen folded her hands and smiled at Dean, “not that there’s a set way you should act. But I’m not sure it’s wise to be carrying on like this, to want to dig deeper straight away.”

Dean was prepared for this. When he’d called Ellen and asked if he could go see her, ranting quietly on the phone about being called Blue, she’d sounded surprised but hadn’t put him off. He guessed that half the people she saw were suicidal addicts, so she couldn’t really risk him opening his veins up or downing sleeping pills with gin because she hadn’t agreed to see him. “I don’t do things normally,” he said with steady flatness.

“I can see that.”

“I just want to get this over with,” Dean pressed the damp palms of his hands together and thought of Sam waiting outside for him, no doubt looking all anxious, “I want to remember so I can... Sam thinks I’m going to want to see my parents. I don’t know, maybe. But that’s not why I want to know. I need to figure out where I’m from. I can’t just... be.”

“Do you think you’ll want to see your parents?” Ellen asked.

Dean tilted his head and looked at her. “No idea. I got nothin’ to say to them. I got no questions to ask. But there’s... something. Like an itch. And I keep thinkin’ that if I went and saw them, they wouldn’t be as bad as I’m remembering. I want to forgive them and stop being so fucked up and angry every time I think about ‘em... but I can’t figure out what they did wrong.” He waved a hand. “I know they kicked me out and didn’t listen to me. And they were both pretty goddamn hands on with me. But I...I want somethin’ more solid to be mad about. Now, don’t go talking to me about how anger’s self-destructive. I think I’ve been doing a fine job of destroying myself even without gettin’ angry.”

“I think you’re doing a fine job of saving yourself.”

“That’s Sam’s doing, not mine,” Dean felt a big, idiotic smile spreading across his face when he said Sam’s name, felt that flush of love that was even warmer now he’d quit denying it, “he’s the one pulling me through all this crap.”

Ellen nodded and studied his expression. “What is it exactly that you wanted to talk to me about, Dean?” She didn’t say it in a pushy, I’m in a hurry, way – just like she was trying to get the root of why he felt the need to be there with her. Dean swallowed and scratched his elbow to distract himself.

“I wanted to know,” he said slowly, “whether I could be from Los Angeles.”

“I don’t follow.”

He had been expecting this, too. Dean had always thought that he wasn’t native to LA, that the place loathed him. But he hated his parents, too, that didn’t mean he didn’t have a connection to them. It was difficult for Dean to keep all this new information in his head, his history, his home, his name, but talking it over made it easier. “That place. I hate it. But I’ve been through and through it and I keep thinkin’ it’s like my home. I think that’s where I came from. I think...” He frowned as faint memory came closer. “Somewhere in me, something remembered that. Does that make any kinda sense?”

“It does,” she leant forward and kept her eyes on him, “that’s not unlikely.”

“It’s not unlikely? How does that help me? The whole point of this,” Dean gripped the arms of the chair like he had the previous day, keeping himself steady, “is for me to know, not to come up with a bunch of possible lives. I need to know.”

Ellen looked up at the ceiling. “Dean, if you want to be sure, you’re going to have to look into it. Nowadays it’s easier to track people down. If you really need to figure out who you were...then you just have to keep digging.” It scared Dean that he’d thought the exact same thing. That was happening a lot recently; maybe it meant he was becoming more normal, more of a real human being. Or maybe it just meant he was adapting himself to suit other people, which he had done his whole life, trying so hard to fit in so people wouldn’t notice how much he stood out naturally, how his whole being thrummed with, as Sam would put it, how special he was.

“Dean Blue from Los Angeles meets Sam Towne from Kansas,” he giggled to himself, “that sounds like the beginning of a low budget porno movie.” He knew exactly what Sam would say to that; word for word he could hear that sweet voice, empty of anything bad, saying: That sounds like the beginning of a love story.

Sam spent about thirty minutes kicking around outside Ellen’s office before Dean came back out. It wasn’t like the other times, like yesterday when Sam had been at his side or the day before when Dean had clung to him, silent and looking like everything was too much. When Dean walked out into the sun drenched hall this time, it was with a smile and he slipped his hand into Sam’s so easily it was beautiful. He closed the door behind himself, calling a soft goodbye to Ellen without explaining anything, giving anything away.

“So now we have a plan,” he said to Sam enigmatically, “you wanna split now? We could go get Jess, hang out.”

“Um...” Sam blinked and tried to put it all together in his head. Dean’s eyes were bright and for a moment he was worried that this was an act. Even the brief flash of this thought came as a surprise simply because he knew that in the past this wouldn’t have even occurred to him, it wouldn’t have entered his mind that Dean might possibly be putting on a front for his benefit. But, Sam figured this was normal, it was like... growing up. He wanted to shudder. If growing up meant he was going to get all suspicious about people he loved, he’d rather it just not happen.

But it was worth it, he conceded, because Dean was there with him and he was smiling.

“I came up with this plan for myself. Pretty soon,” Dean carried on, looking unconcerned with Sam’s almost total lack of response, “I’m going to start looking into my parents, who they were. Are. I want to know where I came from, so I can tell you, so that you can know. It’s only fair, since you brought me here. Since you brought me home.” He cleared his throat and pulled Sam along down the hall. “I’d really like for us to live together, just us, someday. Not tomorrow or anything but... what do you think?”

Sam thought that would be amazing; to be alone with Dean and not have to worry about anyone walking in, not have to think about how his family would react to what they were doing. He could see everything spreading out in front of him, red carpet-like, the future in all its golden glory – mornings waking up warm and naked, his skin melting against Dean’s, going to work and coming home to find Dean already there, waiting, lying on the couch looking like the embodiment of the best dream Sam had ever experienced. The possibility of moving too fast for Dean did come into his head, but he could see in Dean’s face, in how clear his eyes had become, that he was just about as committed as Sam.

“Sam?” Dean squinted at him and he realized he wasn’t speaking. “Am I going too fast for you? God... I keep forgetting how young you are. You just...”

“I’m not that young. And you’re not going too fast. I was thinking about it,” Sam disconnected their fingers and put his arm around Dean instead, “I was just thinking how good it’d be. What we’d do.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he lowered his voice, “Oh, yeah?”

It took Sam a little while to understand what was being implied and then he smiled as wide as he could. “Yeah...” Okay, so maybe he couldn’t help considering that if they actually did manage to live together in some new place – although financially he knew this was impossible – it would be a new, clean location, somewhere untouched by either of their pasts. And then maybe Dean would be ready. Sam felt happiness filling up his throat and he squeezed Dean’s neck. “We’re gonna have to do some saving up.”

Grimacing, Dean agreed, “That’s a given.”

“I have some savings, though, from the couple of summer jobs I did and birthday money and...”

“And that’s yours, I’m guessing for you to go to college with.”

“But I don’t want to do that,” Sam said calmly, “I want to move in with you and be with you and just... all that.”

“You’d rather work crappy jobs the rest of your life than actually go get an education, just to be with me sooner?” Dean asked and there was such an undeniable sound of disbelief and wonder in his voice that Sam felt guilty, even though he couldn’t figure out why, if there was even a reason for it. Sensibly, he knew that there had never been any doubting this, that he would do whatever it took for them to be together, no matter how strange it seemed, but he could now understand why Dean had been awkward about coming to Lawrence, unsure about how Sam’s feelings would change when he was back here, in this familiar place, with familiar people to make him see what his real life was. And because of that, chills ran through Sam when he thought of the possibility of Dean rediscovering his own roots. Then he simply reminded himself that this love was their love and that their love was the most unchangeable thing ever felt in the history of all feelings and especially deep, true love.

Sam didn’t lose his smile, he just said, “I’d do anything to be with you.”

This appeared to be enough, as little as it seemed to Sam, because Dean looked reassured, if a tiny bit sad around the edges of his smile. “Same goes for me,” he murmured contentedly, lifting his hand to hold Sam’s arm around him, as they stepped out into the heat of the day.

Jessica’s expression was full of fast blooming flowers and sunlight when they met her two hours later. She sat on the sidewalk, tapping out an unsteady beat with her feet, looking at nothing. It seemed like such a blissfully ordinary thing to do, Dean thought, meeting up with a friend just to spend time together, just to hang out. It was actually kind of awesome.

“Hey!” Jess sprang up when she saw them coming. “How are you guys? You will never guess what happened to me yesterday. It was just the worst thing. Our electricity got cut off. My dad forgot to pay the bill. Mom’s going to kill him when I tell her. And I had to call up the company, get them to hook us back up, pay the bill, everything.” She struck a pose, hand on hip. “See? Look at this. This is a woman’s work right here. When I’m at college in the fall, everyone’s going to think I’m super-capable.”

There was something about Jess that made Dean smile, it was her lightness, her youth, how nothing had touched that yet. He could see why she and Sam got along so well, and understood why he liked her so much himself.

She exhaled in a burst and carried on, “Listen to me; I’m talking too much again. Will you tell me how you are already?”

“We’re,” Dean looked at Sam to checking he was okay answering for both of them, and Sam just smiled at him, “we’re great.”

Jess’s eyes filled with questions but all she said was, “That’s so nice, I’m happy too, then. Seriously though, when the lights went out... I thought: Okay, the worst thing has officially happened to me. I wanted to call you, Sam, but I figured you’d be out having fun or something.”

Sam looked uncomfortable, whispering, “Well...uh...”

“Yep,” Dean took mercy on him and said, “We were out most of yesterday. Sorry we missed your crisis.”

Throwing her head back dramatically, Jess said, “I barely survived,” and then burst out laughing, “It was funny... everyone was really nice about it.” It was enjoyable, in a weird way, to listen to Jessica talking about yesterday and the relatively normal things that had happened to her. It made it seem like yesterday had actually taken place, because Dean kept feeling like it was a dream, like he couldn’t have possibly remembered all those events and still be standing, still be smiling in any way that was close to being real. “Okay,” Jess clapped her hands, “did you guys say something about taking me out for lunch?”

“I just want to make a call first,” Dean motioned to the payphone they had arranged to meet Jess by, “then we’ll go get you whatever you want to eat. Just to say thanks for having us at your place.”

“My pleasure,” she said graciously, and then added, “but it’ll be my pleasure to eat food I’m not paying for, too. As long as we’re done by five, I have this sort of thing tonight and I don’t want to be late. It’s important I’m not late and you know me, I’m genetically predisposed to lateness...”

“Is it a date?” Dean teased lightly.

Jess shrugged and smiled mysteriously and didn’t say anything. She just titled her hand in a way that told him it was fifty-fifty and Dean found himself wondered if she was going to the band practice Meg had mentioned having when they were at the breakfast table that morning.

He didn’t bring it up, though. That would have been really inappropriate, with Sam there and everything.

Dean turned to Sam and kissed him once on the mouth, very quickly, before letting go and heading for the payphone. Jess still went ‘ew’ but it made them all laugh and, as utterly cheesy as that felt to Dean, it made him realize that he was part of something, he had friends he could talk to and smile with and understand and who would understand him right back. Sure, Jess didn’t know everything about him but Dean felt that one day he might be able to tell her.

It was easier this time, to dial, to not hold his breath and pray for the phone call to be received.

But when it was, he was still relieved. He stood with his back to the giggling of Sam and Jess.

“Dean?” John’s voice fizzled in the heat of a bad connection.

Dean waited for it to get a little better before saying, “How’d you know it was me this time?”

“Because it’s always you – what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. That’s why I’m calling. Absolutely nothing’s wrong.” He couldn’t stop smiling as he realized how true that was. He was simply calling to say that life was going great. “You don’t need to... worry about me. If you were.”

John was silent and then he said, “You think I’d worry ‘bout you? What gives you that impression?” But he said it in a way that clearly told Dean he was relieved, happy even. “You spend all your time on the phone to me and that boy of yours is gonna start showing his green monster.”

My boy... “I don’t think Sam has one,” Dean said and then, breathing deep, murmured quickly and firmly, “he knows I’ve only got eyes for one person.”

“That may be the most disgusting thing you’ve ever said.”

Dean chuckled and said, “That’s the way the wind’s blowing these days. How’s life in the big city?”

“Ah... more of the same old crap. People coming people going, things got harder after you left. Your pretty face was worth a helluva lot to me, y’know.” There was a note of regret that hurt Dean, that made him feel bad for leaving, but he turned and saw Sam’s smile and couldn’t feel bad for long. John didn’t dwell on this for too long either and for that Dean was grateful. “Still...I guess I don’t even need to ask you how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing...” Dean took another breath and looked at Sam, rocking back on his heels and squeezing Jessica’s arm to get her attention. She laughed and slapped his arm playfully in return. He acted all hurt and looked towards Dean, pulling an injured, sad face. Dean did the same back and mockingly blew a kiss. Sam caught it in his hand and put it in the pocket of his jeans. He smiled ecstatically and Jess rolled her eyes at their display. To John, all those many miles away, Dean said quietly and completely truthfully, “I’m doing a lot better.”

End