Dean stretched out in the shade in the back of the non-descript four-door sedan and wiggled his bare feet as he sipped his soda. “Are you sure this is where Sam said to meet him?” he asked for the fourth time glancing straight up through the window at the faded and broken motel sign.

Sitting sideways behind the wheel with her feet out on the ground, Ellen continued to work the tangles out of her hair. “Yes, Dean, this is the place. He said he’ll be here by noon. It’s only eleven thirty. Relax.”

When she turned to look at him he sat up and lifted her chin, running his thumb along her bruised cheek in silent apology. “I can’t believe you stole such tiny shoes for me.”

“Well I’m sorry I misjudged your size, darlin’. You know what they say, ‘big feet, big…’”

“Hey!” Dean plopped back in the seat and pouted until he heard a familiar roar. “There he is,” he announced. He shoved his feet back into the hated sneakers and scooted out of the car.

The Impala tore around the corner and screeched to a halt. Sam bailed out and rushed over.

“Sammy,” Dean greeted happily, his arms wide open only to be met with a fist in the face. He landed on his butt in the dust.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sam yelled as he towered over him.

“Sam!” Ellen dropped down beside Dean and glared up at Sam.

“The fuck!?” Dean rubbed his jaw and stared in disbelief.

“You almost ruined everything. Do you know how hard we worked to get you back?” Sam reached down and hauled Dean up by the now dry scrub top to wrap him in a bear hug. “Don’t ever do that again. And no more deals with demons. Ever!”

Dean exchanged a mystified look with Ellen but held on as Sam tried to hug the stuffing out of him. “I’m sorry?” Dean offered before pulling back. “Actually, I’m not. What did I do?”

“You don’t remember?” Sam held out an arm to Ellen and she stepped in for a brief hug as well.

“Dude, the last thing I remember some old guy was singing about blue birds or some shit.”

“You don’t remember sending Hendricksen’s passengers packing?”

“I did?” Dean asked with a huge grin. “I rock.”

“Hell didn’t take the edge off of his ego,” Ellen said with a smirk.

Sam eyed him cautiously. “So you don’t remember the pit?”

“Not a thing.”

“And you’re all right physically.”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Dean proclaimed, raising his fists and bouncing like a boxer. “Wanna go a round, tough guy?”

Sam bobbed and weaved before pulling him in for another hug.

Dean went willingly, patting his baby brother on the back. “I don’t even have a scar. Although I may be crippled from the infant sized shoes Ellen crammed me into.”

“Oh get over it, Tiny Tim,” Ellen huffed as she slammed the back car door. “Take your brother,” she told Sam. “I’m going home.”

“Thanks for everything,” Sam told her. He kissed her on the cheek and hugged her again. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Dean kissed her other cheek. “I’ll thank you properly later,” he purred with a dirty wink.

“Stay away from my daughter,” Ellen told him, pointing a finger at him as she got into the rental. “I’ve got to check out of my motel then take this hunk of junk back to the airport.”

“Do you want to ride back with us?” Sam offered.

“Not a chance in Hell,” Ellen replied with an evil grin as she held up one of Dean’s phony credit cards that Bobby had given her. “I deserve a first class ticket, courtesy of Mr. Nate K. Cole.”

“Hey, that’s my new one,” Dean yelled after her. He huffed to himself as she drove out of sight then turned his attention to the Impala. “Oh baby, it’s good to see you. Even if you do need a bath.”

“Forgive me, I’ve been busy,” Sam grumbled for show as Dean lovingly caressed the car before slipping into the driver’s seat. “Are you okay to drive?” Sam asked.

“I’m in better shape now than I was when I left. Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Fine. Give me my phone. Did you keep it charged?”

“Yes.” Sam held out his hand for the keys and Dean stared at him for a second before comprehending.

Dean tugged the keys out of the ignition and got out to open the trunk himself. “I better not find any panties in here,” he joked.

Sam rolled his eyes as he followed, remembering to take Dean’s amulet from around his own neck. He waited until Dean was digging through the trunk to dangle it in front of his face. “Who are you calling?”

“Thanks.” Dean grabbed the string and pulled it on over his head before resuming his search for his cell phone. “The FBI.”

Sam shook his head as if he hadn’t heard that right. “What?”

“Yeah. Gideon is gonna freak,” Dean laughed.

“You can’t call the FBI.”

“Why not? Here it is.” He held up the phone in triumph only to have Sam pluck it from his fingers. “What are you doing?”

“You’re dead.”

“Not anymore. Duh.”

“Dean, you died in the arms of an FBI agent. You don’t get any more dead than that. They just took you off of the most wanted list, you dummy.”

“Look, I told this one that I’d prove there’s more out there than can be explained by science. Bitch.”

“Jerk. You are not calling to rub it in.”

“They were decent to me,” Dean tried to explain. “I just don’t want to leave ‘em hanging I guess. Look, man, they cared, okay?”

“Yeah. That’s the vibe I got from Gideon,” Sam agreed.

Dean pursed his lips worriedly. “You… ah, you talked to Gideon?”

“Don’t worry, he told me how brave you were when the time came.”

“You didn’t believe him?” Dean asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. Dammit, I knew he couldn’t pull it off. Give me the phone.”

“No.” Sam moved away and held it high over his head.

“Don’t make me climb you,” Dean threatened as he stared up at the cell.

“Just listen to me for a minute.”

“What?”

“Give it a month.”

“Dude…” Dean made a grab for the phone which Sam easily kept out of his reach. “You got ape arms, you know that?”

“If you still want to call in a month we’ll work something out. Something that won’t land you in jail. Deal?”

Dean sighed and looked pensively down the road. “Yeah, okay. One month.” Before Sam could respond Dean tackled him, laughing as they rolled around in the dirt until he came up with the phone. He patted Sam on the belly. “It’s good to be home.”

---

One month later

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Bobby complained when he caught Sam spying on Dean from the kitchen window. Again. “What’s wrong now?”

“He remembers,” Sam stated matter-of-factly.

“He says he don’t.”

“He’s lying. What do you see out there?”

Bobby sighed and pulled the curtain back, not especially stealthily to watch Dean rolling around in the grass wrestling with the dog. “I see that damn brother of yours ruining a perfectly good watch dog.” He watched for another minute then harrumphed and took a seat at the table.

“Yeah. Does that seem like Dean to you?” Sam turned to lean against the sink. “He spends all his time outside playing with the dog and touching the grass and the trees, watching the clouds roll by… I haven’t seen him drunk once, Bobby. Not even to celebrate. And he smiles. A lot. It’s creepy.”

“Sam. He got a second chance. Maybe he just wants to make the most of it.”

“But he still wakes up screaming in the middle of the night in a pool of his own sweat. And he won’t go near an open flame, not even your barbeque pit.”

“That could just be a subconscious reaction.”

“I’m telling you, he remembers. He remembers being in Hell and he remembers coming out of it,” Sam insisted

“Even if he does,” Bobby advised sagely, “You’ve got to let him be. It’s his thing, not yours. If he wants to share it with you he will in his own good time. He’s probably still processing what happened.”

“He’s trying to protect me.”

“Well let him. Now hush up, our reformed pyromaniac is coming up the steps.”

Sam turned to look at the screen door. It opened and slammed shut and Dean wandered past them to the refrigerator to get a bottle of beer. Dried grass fluttered along behind him as it fell from his clothes and hair.

“It’s time to make that call, Sammy.”

“Dean…”

“No argument, my thirty days is up,” Dean said before twisting the top off and taking a long pull. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”

“Those six words strike terror into my heart.”

“I promise to stay dead, at least as far as the FBI is concerned. But I’m gonna need your help.”

---

The next day

The team trudged in from a long week on the road but they’d caught their killer. A win they’d desperately needed. It was late and they murmured their good-byes as they drifted off in different directions.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Morgan greeted as an exuberant Garcia bounded into the room. “What are you doing here so…” his question was cut off as she jumped into his arms for a big hug.

“You are the best! I loved my flower and I couldn’t believe you did that because I didn’t think you’d even remember. I knew Reid would and probably Gideon but I didn’t think you would. So thank you!”

“Whoa!” Morgan exclaimed as he pulled back far enough to see her face. “Say what?”

Garcia beamed up at him. “Don’t even act like you don’t know.”

“I have no idea,” Morgan said. “What flower?”

“Yeah, right. The sunflower you sent me yesterday, my big lump of brown sugar.”

“Yesterday? Why would I…” he sent a questioning look to Reid who was sorting through a week’s worth of mail on his desk.

“Yesterday was a month since Dean was killed,” Reid supplied softly.

“Right.” Morgan winced. “Sorry, baby girl, it wasn’t me.”

“Oh.” Garcia frowned as if she hadn’t even considered any one else then looked to Reid.

“It wasn’t me, either,” Reid confirmed. “What makes you think it had to do with Dean?”

“The card.” Garcia pulled a tiny envelope out of her pocket.

Morgan took it from her and slipped the card out. “To ‘Sunny’ Garcia to brighten your day,” he read.

“Gideon?” Reid asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Morgan said.

“It had to one of you,” Garcia insisted. “Nobody ever called me Sunny but Dean.”

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Morgan told her, pocketing the card. “Go home, it’s late.”

“Okay,” Garcia gave in, a little disappointed. “Hotch maybe?”

“Who knows?”

“Night, guys.”

“Good night.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Morgan shared a look with Reid as she left. “What?” Morgan asked.

Reid held up a card from his own desk. “It’s a gift subscription to ‘Guns and Ammo’ from an anonymous benefactor. It’s post marked three weeks ago. You didn’t…”

“No. I didn’t.”

There was a pause while Reid considered this. “You don’t think…”

“No,” Morgan said firmly. “I don’t.”

A little shrug as he got back to his mail suggested Reid wasn’t so sure.

“Hey Reid?”

“Yes?”

“We do need to get to the range sometime this week.”

Reid grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

---

Gideon was tired. In fact he’d been tired for a while and it didn’t have anything to do with the long hours they’d been putting in. He turned on the lamp on his desk and left the overhead off. He reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out the tie he kept there. He placed it next to his keyboard and smoothed it out, running his finger over the spot of dried blood. A month and a day had passed. It was time to let it go. Still, he couldn’t quite throw it in the trashcan so he let it lie there and reached over to check his office voicemail.

He put on his glasses and made a few notes as one mundane message after another played. It was always like this whenever they’d been gone for more than a couple of days. Some of the more self-important ones droned on and on and Gideon wished there was a time limit. Laying down his pen and taking off his glasses he rubbed his eyes and let the last few play without really listening.

When the tenth out of fourteen began he looked at the phone in confusion then his eyes went wide. He glanced around to see who might be playing a joke but this was not even remotely funny. No one had been close enough. No one had even heard but Hotchner and Hotch was far above such a juvenile, mean spirited prank.

A knot formed in his chest the size of his fist. His eyes began to sting so he clenched them tight, but a single tear managed to escape and slide down his cheek. It struck him suddenly that Dean had kept his word. Somehow he knew, knew it to the depths of his soul, that Dean was all right, wherever he was. The veil of grief lifted leaving him with an emerging sense of peace.

“…tomorrow when the world is free…” he sang softly as the music faded away.

The End