Fic: Seven Rows of Seven (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Chapter 7 of 7
Back to Chapter 6
~*~Epilogue~*~
**Six Years Later**
It’s after they’ve finished their first Thanksgiving dinner in the bunker, they’ve said goodbye to Bobby, Jody and the girls, washed the dishes together, and put away the small amount of leftovers that Dean asks Sam to go for a walk. Sam doesn’t answer at first, it’s an unexpected question, one that he isn’t used to Dean asking. Finally he nods and watches the nervous smile that Dean tries to hide. That kind of smile is even stranger along with the whole walk-after-dinner thing, but he decides to carry on, puts his jacket, scarf, gloves and hat on and waits at the top of the stairs for Dean. He watches from above as Dean walks across the main room, fiddling with his winter weather accessories. Sam can never get his brother to wear all of them at once and he’s given up trying. But Dean has the whole outfit on, so he must be expecting a long walk.
The cold evening wind pulls the door out of Sam’s hand, hitting the tunnel entrance with a loud bang. Dean follows behind him and struggles to close it against the wind, Sam leans in and pushes. They get it closed and locked and head out onto the gravel road. The snow has melted during the day, but there are still some piles of it along the edges of the trees. The sun is low on the horizon, nearing mid-winter every day now. The darkest time of the year somehow always feels the most hopeful. Sam thinks about saying something about that, but Dean interrupts him when he grabs Sam’s hand and veers off the road towards a nearby clump of trees.
Sam is about to ask what the hell they’re doing traipsing along the edge of one of the fallow cornfields when Dean puts a gloved finger up to shush him. Sam darts his eyes around looking carefully to see what might be putting them in danger, but Dean tugs at his hand to keep him moving. They’re under a grouping of trees which Sam now sees is planted in an almost perfect circle. They must have been planted, there’s no way the trees would grow that way naturally, unless…he sees it then, in the clearing at the center of the trees. A small movement of darting lights, irregular and beautiful, turning slowly in a circle over a brilliant green mound of grass. Everything else has died from the snow and cold, so the green grass seems to vibrate with extra life.
One would think the last thing either of them would like to ever encounter again is any sort of Fae, but the sheer beauty of it is too much to ignore. Sam squeezes Dean’s hand in response to this beautiful sight. Dean looks up at him with a responding smile that makes it to his eyes, crinkling the corners up in those beautiful wrinkles. Sam loves those signs of age beyond reason, evidence that his brother’s long-held assumption he’d die young continues to be wrong. Sam doesn’t count all the interruptions in the life Dean’s been living, because they don’t add up to much in the end.
Dean lets go of his hand to dig in his coat pocket. He brings out a small bottle of honey, some shiny new Sacajawea dollar coins, a package of tobacco and a few cookies, bending down, he arranges them in a neat pile at the base of a tree. Sam watches him make this offering with a relieved smile. Of course Dean is covering all the bases. After their experiences with the fairies, making an offering of thanks is probably a good idea if they’re going to keep living around here.
Dean stands up, takes his hand again and tugs him over to some rocks where they sit down, legs and hips and shoulders pressed together. Both of them remain silent and watch the dancing lights, which are obviously some sort of fairy kin. Sam assumes Dean checked this out already for danger and tries his best to relax. He realizes how deeply glad he is that both of them have been touched by the Fae so they’re able to see this beautiful sight. He feels it deep in his repaired soul that they deserve this bit of beauty and peace. After everything they’ve done, all they’ve sacrificed, they’re still here together and no one could ask for any greater boon than that.
~The End~
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~*~Epilogue~*~
**Six Years Later**
It’s after they’ve finished their first Thanksgiving dinner in the bunker, they’ve said goodbye to Bobby, Jody and the girls, washed the dishes together, and put away the small amount of leftovers that Dean asks Sam to go for a walk. Sam doesn’t answer at first, it’s an unexpected question, one that he isn’t used to Dean asking. Finally he nods and watches the nervous smile that Dean tries to hide. That kind of smile is even stranger along with the whole walk-after-dinner thing, but he decides to carry on, puts his jacket, scarf, gloves and hat on and waits at the top of the stairs for Dean. He watches from above as Dean walks across the main room, fiddling with his winter weather accessories. Sam can never get his brother to wear all of them at once and he’s given up trying. But Dean has the whole outfit on, so he must be expecting a long walk.
The cold evening wind pulls the door out of Sam’s hand, hitting the tunnel entrance with a loud bang. Dean follows behind him and struggles to close it against the wind, Sam leans in and pushes. They get it closed and locked and head out onto the gravel road. The snow has melted during the day, but there are still some piles of it along the edges of the trees. The sun is low on the horizon, nearing mid-winter every day now. The darkest time of the year somehow always feels the most hopeful. Sam thinks about saying something about that, but Dean interrupts him when he grabs Sam’s hand and veers off the road towards a nearby clump of trees.
Sam is about to ask what the hell they’re doing traipsing along the edge of one of the fallow cornfields when Dean puts a gloved finger up to shush him. Sam darts his eyes around looking carefully to see what might be putting them in danger, but Dean tugs at his hand to keep him moving. They’re under a grouping of trees which Sam now sees is planted in an almost perfect circle. They must have been planted, there’s no way the trees would grow that way naturally, unless…he sees it then, in the clearing at the center of the trees. A small movement of darting lights, irregular and beautiful, turning slowly in a circle over a brilliant green mound of grass. Everything else has died from the snow and cold, so the green grass seems to vibrate with extra life.
One would think the last thing either of them would like to ever encounter again is any sort of Fae, but the sheer beauty of it is too much to ignore. Sam squeezes Dean’s hand in response to this beautiful sight. Dean looks up at him with a responding smile that makes it to his eyes, crinkling the corners up in those beautiful wrinkles. Sam loves those signs of age beyond reason, evidence that his brother’s long-held assumption he’d die young continues to be wrong. Sam doesn’t count all the interruptions in the life Dean’s been living, because they don’t add up to much in the end.
Dean lets go of his hand to dig in his coat pocket. He brings out a small bottle of honey, some shiny new Sacajawea dollar coins, a package of tobacco and a few cookies, bending down, he arranges them in a neat pile at the base of a tree. Sam watches him make this offering with a relieved smile. Of course Dean is covering all the bases. After their experiences with the fairies, making an offering of thanks is probably a good idea if they’re going to keep living around here.
Dean stands up, takes his hand again and tugs him over to some rocks where they sit down, legs and hips and shoulders pressed together. Both of them remain silent and watch the dancing lights, which are obviously some sort of fairy kin. Sam assumes Dean checked this out already for danger and tries his best to relax. He realizes how deeply glad he is that both of them have been touched by the Fae so they’re able to see this beautiful sight. He feels it deep in his repaired soul that they deserve this bit of beauty and peace. After everything they’ve done, all they’ve sacrificed, they’re still here together and no one could ask for any greater boon than that.
~The End~
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