Last Request

“Sam.” The name fell easily from Dean’s lips, and it felt tart and sweet alike on his tongue. Hadn’t spoken that name with such love since he’d held a happy, living Sam in his arms again. Before he left Dean alone. When Sam kissed him it was gentle, delicate even, and it tastes like tears, but it’s /Sam/, and that’s all Dean could ever hope for. And he gets it now. Takes a quick glance at the shadows against the wall, and smiles sadly. If someone asked Dean what he pictured as his perfect heaven while he was alive to think about it, he probably would’ve said a strip of road and the Impala, Sammy by his side, Mom and Dad in a house of their own, the roadhouse and Bobby’s all in eyeshot, everyone they’ve ever loved and lost in close view, but now, now he got it. This was where he was supposed to be. With Sam, and only Sam, because wasn’t that how it had always been?