Jam Session

Art by Blakravell at DeviantArt. Visit their gallery here.

Jam Session

A Supernatural story by Jennie @DeanIsntFine

Well, it wasn't bacon. But it was always going to be something, wasn't it? And sooner rather than later. He'd had a good run. No use crying about it now. As Dean nursed a lukewarm PBR at the bar in Harvelle's, he thought, all in all, he was happy to be there. There were far worse places to be spending eternity. The roadhouse was quiet now... and smelled exactly the same. Dean smiled a wry smile and took another sip of beer. He heard the bell over the door ring, and in walked Chuck -- worn jeans, Converses and a raglan T. Dean raised his can in greeting. "Chuck! Love what you've done with the place." Chuck regarded him with a sad smile and slid onto the stool next to Dean's. "How you holding up, Dean?" Dean looked sidelong at God and laughed, admittedly a little angry, with a side of bitter. "Oh, aces, Chuck. Aces. All you can drink, great tunes on the juke? Home, sweet home." Chuck looked around, then took a sip from the can that had materialized in front of him. "You know, this is just a starting point. A blank slate. You can make it whatever you want." "What I want..." Dean sighed deeply. "Yeah, never really been much good at that." They sat and sipped in silence. Chuck, of course, could see into Dean's soul, saw what Dean couldn't. He knew what stood between Dean and peace. "Sam's gonna be OK, you know," Chuck said, shooting for nonchalant. "In fact, he's gonna be great." Dean looked over, daring to let hope wash over his heart. "Really?" Chuck laughed, and almost said, "You remember who I am, right?" Instead, God said, "Trust me. I got this." *** Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was God's presence, but after a few cans of PBR had piled up on the bar, some of the weight had left Dean's shoulders, and he felt... not happy, but content. Chuck decided to try again. "Think back to the last time you were happy... when you thought things could maybe, you know, work out." Dean thought of Sonny's Home for Boys. Thought of sitting in the sun by the front window, playing -- or trying to play -- guitar with Robin. He smiled and told Chuck: "I thought I could be a rock star. Rock star, and a car guy on the side." Chuck smiled back and considered his own love affair with music. Humanity's greatest creation. Then he snapped his fingers. Dean looked over, confused. Chuck gestured toward Harvelle's makeshift stage, where a stool and a beat-up acoustic guitar waited. "Why don't you give it a try?" God said. And Dean sang. *** Ramblers in the wilderness, we can’t find what we need We get a little restless from the searching Get a little worn down in between Like a bull chasing the matador is the man left to his own schemes Everybody needs someone beside 'em shining like a lighthouse from the sea.
*** Sam trudges up the bunker stairs, weighed down by a backpack and two large duffels. He looks back over his shoulder one last time, then shuts off the lights. The heavy door thuds behind him. *** Brother, let me be your shelter Never leave you all alone I can be the one you call When you’re low Brother, let me be your fortress When the night winds are driving on Be the one to light the way Bring you home. *** Sam stands in front of the blackboard, smiling as he presides over the end-of-day chaos. The kids in Mr. Winchester's eighth-grade English class swirl around him, chattering, dropping their assignments on his desk before they leave for the day. Sun streams through the open blinds. Sam packs the papers and his laptop into his briefcase, then tosses what remains of his lunchtime salad into the trash. He heads to the parking lot, where Baby is waiting for the drive home. *** Face down in the desert now, there’s a cage locked around my heart I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were Now my hands can’t reach that far I ain’t made for a rivalry, I could never take the world alone I know that in my weakness I am stronger It’s your love that brings me home. *** Sam pulls into the driveway of a tidy cottage. His twins, never fail, have heard Baby's throaty rumble and rush out the front door to tackle him. He picks up both, a boy and a girl, and twirls them around a few times in the yard. Kids and dad all have beautiful hair, and it streams out as they spin, catching the late-afternoon sun. In the doorway, Sam sees Melissa, leaning on the jamb, smiling her crooked smile. With a kid under each arm, and briefcase in hand, he kisses his wife, and heads inside to start dinner. *** Brother, let me be your shelter Never leave you all alone I can be the one you call When you’re low Brother, let me be your fortress When the night winds are driving on Be the one to light the way Bring you home. *** It's bedtime, probably too long past actually, and Sam snuggles in, reading to the twins. They're working their way through "The Hobbit" now, entranced by the spell Tolkien weaves. Later on, when they're old enough, Sam will read to them from his journal. He'll spin the tale of a real-life hero, the bravest of all -- their Uncle Dean. *** Brother, let me be your shelter Never leave you all alone I can be the one you call When you’re low Brother, let me be your fortress When the night winds are driving on Be the one to light the way Bring you home. ***

Art by Esther-Viola at DeviantArt. Visit their gallery here.

Sam sits at the dining room table, grading papers. It's late, too late, but he can't focus on his students' essays on "The Outsiders." His mind goes, as always, to the box sitting on the sideboard, to the memories it contains. He walks over to the box, lifts the lid, and thumbs through the photos of his brother: a guileless boy with a sunshine smile; a fearless young hunter with a give 'em hell attitude; a burdened man who had been to hell and back, and back again. Sam looks up to see Melissa leaning in the doorway, this time with a worried, yet knowing, look. She tells him it's time to come to bed. He smiles and nods, and tucks the photos safely away. He taps the lid of the box, then takes a few short steps into the warm embrace of his wife. *** Brother, let me be your shelter Never leave you all alone I can be the one you call When you’re low Brother, let me be your fortress When the night winds are driving on Be the one to light the way Bring you home. *** Ramping up for the fifth chorus, or was it the 500th? Time was fluid here. But for Dean, the playing was coming easier... he felt the freedom of it. As Chuck took his turn at the mic, Dean looked around at the Harvelle's crowd, saw Jo behind the bar with her dad, mixing up her latest killer cocktail. She threw back her head and laughed at something Bill whispered in her ear, and her hips swayed to the beat. At the other mic, Donna sang harmony, beaming at Gabriel, who was plucking away gamely at his bass. Maybe that rugaru had proved too fast for her, but here, the sheriff of Stillwater always kept perfect time. She was coming out of her shell, learning to let her light shine. Maybe they were becoming who they were meant to be. Screw that, Dean thought as he refocused on his playing and returned to the mic, getting ready for the tricky chord changes that wound down the song. We're becoming who we choose to be. Isn't that what heaven is?