They were in West Virginia when Dean had mere hours until his death.
Sam sat on the edge of his bed, hands linked, head dropped and tears settled in his eyes.
"We never went to the Grand Canyon."
Dean blinked, "Doesn't matter Sam."
Sam lifted his head to glare, "It does. You wanted to and we never went. I should have forced us to go…Stop hunting for five damn minutes and let you enjoy-"
Dean sat opposite his brother and rested an awkward hand on his Sam's shaking knee.
He'd made a promise to himself to not stop hunting. It was something he had to do, for the world, for Sam. So he pushed, and pushed, and hunted every evil son of a bitch he could find. Not once stopping to enjoy the world spinning around him.
"We did good. We did our jobs and no matter what that's got to count for something." Dean patted heavily. "We did our jobs." He repeated, knowing all the while it meant more to him then it did for Sam.
Sam who didn't want to do his job, Sam who just wanted his brother.
Sam glared across the distances of the bed to stare, tears falling carelessly from his eyes.
"Why? Why did you make us keeping going like there's-"
"Like there's no tomorrow?" Dean smirked. "Because there ain't. This is all we've got, Sammy, this, the job, is all we've ever had. And I'll rather go out doing what I was born to do then whining and crying like some pansy ass."
"Is that what you think I'm doing? Whining?" Sam snapped, angry despite his pain.
Dean shrugged, keeping his hand tight on Sam's knee.
"Well I don't care if I am whining. And you're wrong, we weren't born hunters. We weren't even raised to be hunters. We did what we had to survive. That's all this has ever been about."
Dean swallowed back a bit of fear as a faint howling reached his ears.
Sam somber, eyes drying immediately, filling with fear.
"How can I hear it?" He whispered, shooting Dean a panicked stare.
Dean moves his hand from Sam's leg and stood up, he sat back down beside his brother. His shoulder's brushing against Sam's.
"I don't know." But he did. He may not know all the details but he did know if the positions were reserved, he'd be able to hear them as well. It's all about the level of connections they shared.
Shoulder to shoulder, side to side, thigh to thigh, they listened again to the hollowing hounds.
Sam chocked on a sob, his body wavering with all his attempts to remain calm. Dean slipped his arm around his brother waist, tugging him even closer. Searching his warm as much as giving him comfort.
Dean always loved that about them. The give and take, it was always perfect.
"I'm sorry we never went to the Grand Canyon."
Dean felt himself smile. It was a gentle smile, it was a smile from his childhood, it was a smile that he always used to give Sam.
Dean turned his head to face his brother, ignoring the slowly disbanding tension, forgetting all but the colour in his Sammy's eyes.
At first it's a surprise for them both. He hadn't met to do it. He'd wanted to, sure, of course. But he hadn't actually meant to kiss his brother, he'd resisted all these years, guess it the end it was all for nothing.
But then a strange thing happens. Stranger then zombies, ghost and all manners of the undead. It isn't awkward. It isn't uncomfortable. It's the oppisate of both those feelings. It's right and comfortable.
And it's returned.
Before Dean can pull his brother closer to deep the kiss, Sam's doing it for him. Yanking his head forward, sliding his hands around his body. Holding him steady, holding him against him.
Sam's mouth moves against his. Desperate and hungry, sad and scared. Dean recognizes them as much as he knows he feels them.
When Sam pulls back for air Dean clasps a hand around the back of Sam's neck, holding him tight. Dean rests his forehead against his brother's; he opens his eyes and stares.
He smiles when he sees no regret and knows his eyes show none either.
"That was my Grand Canyon, Sammy."