Sam blinked, slowly rising into consciousness. He sat up on his bed and looked around, surprised to find himself in control of his actions for the first time in two days. Everything rushed back in startling clarity, including the events that lead up to his freedom. "Uh, Dean?"
"Morning, sleepyhead."
Sam turned toward the small kitchen to see Dean sitting at the table, his eyes roving over a newspaper. "Um…"
"So, how much do you remember?"
Sam gulped and slid off the bed, walking over to the table to sit across from his brother. "I woke up two days ago to find myself staring at you. I wasn't in control, I couldn't do anything about it, but," he lowered his voice, "I wasn't scared. It wasn't like that time with Meg. It felt different. It's hard to explain, but back then I felt cold, like I would never be happy again."
"Like a Dementor attack," Dean observed, glancing up from his paper.
"What?"
"You know, Dementors. Harry Potter? They're the guardians of-"
"I know what they are, Dean. I'm just surprised you do."
"What? I can't read?"
"Not children's books." Dean scowled and turned back to the paper. "Anyway," Sam continued, "this time was different. It was warm, and I felt safe and comfortable. Like I felt back at Stanford with Jess," he paused as a pained look crossed his brother's face, "or like when we were kids and dad left us alone together and you took care of me." He waited for a smile before continuing with his story. "I knew. Somehow, I knew. And she knew that I knew, and… I dunno, it was like we were talking, off and on all day, and she told me what she was doing and why she was here. She told me she wouldn't be able to stay long."
"Wait," Dean said slowly, looking back over the paper at his brother, "you mean…?"
Yeah," Sam nodded excitedly, smiling wide, "yeah. It was really her. It was mom."
Dean nodded. "I thought I was going crazy, missing something that obvious."
"What do you mean?"
The older man chuckled. "I actually thought I'd been wrong that first day. Thought maybe it was that demon the whole time."
"No, you were right. It was mom."
"What about today?"
Sam lowered his eyes, looking down at his hands, which were sitting on the table in front of him. "Today it was like Meg. I was awake, and it was cold, and the Dementors were attacking." He grinned half-heartedly. "And then she tried to get you to back out of your deal, told you mom was gonna stay with you, and I tried to warn you, but I couldn't. She was too strong."
"No harm done," Dean shrugged, his eyes back on the paper, "I figured it out."
"For a minute there, I wasn't entirely sure you would," Sammy admitted.
"Well I did. You're welcome."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, thanks. So, um, was it as awkward for you as it was for me?"
Dean set the paper down at looked at his brother, his face stoic. "Was what awkward?"
"You know that whole first day. Mom was kinda touchy-feely, wasn't she?"
"Yes, she was," Dean nodded.
The brothers sat at the kitchen table for a while, staring, each daring the other to say it first. Finally, Sam stood up and headed to the bathroom. "Gotta shower," he muttered, "maybe brush my teeth."
"I saw fireworks," Dean said suddenly, stopping Sam in his tracks.
"What?" the younger asked, turning to stare at him.
Dean nodded. "I saw fireworks. And I heard angels sing."
"What are you talking about?" Sammy asked, edging toward the bathroom.
"I think you know," Dean grinned, wagging his eyebrows.
"Uh… not really."
"You can't fight love," Dean shouted after him as Sam finally made it to the bathroom and slammed the door. He smiled to himself, knowing that things were back to normal, that the next day they would be out on the road again, saving people and hunting things. Together.
From the bathroom, he heard Sam gargling, and laughed.
So, any final thoughts on the story now that it's done?