violence, reference to spn-level-explored suicidal thoughts, references to offscreen sex.
November in the Blue Ridge Mountains of South Carolina is beautiful, Dean thinks. As he drives the four of them up the mountain to Michael's cabin, he hums Take Me Home, Country Roads, the dirt and gravel crunching under Baby's tires. He's not ecstatic about how dirty she'll get after another trip like this, so Dean might have to clean her up again when they get back. He doesn't mind it though. Taking care of Baby is something he loves to do.
It's just over two weeks until Thanksgiving, which under normal circumstances Dean wouldn't exactly care about, but Sam had called Jody and the girls to invite them to the bunker for the occasion, promising that Dean would do all the cooking–which, fuck you, Sam.
Rowena opted not to come with them for this little trip, and she's cooped up in the bunker with The Book of the Cursed, busy translating. She texts them updates occasionally, messages like, "I cannot believe this underground fortress doesn't have a jacuzzi. You boys should think about investing..." and "The next ingredient in this spell is... quite complicated. I'll keep digging. The runes are strange, I'll have to wait for feathers to come back. There is still much to be decoded."
Dean's been in plenty of forests in his life, but the woodsy area around Michael's cabin is kinda... nice. The slight breeze whistling through the trees as they shiver, golden leaves falling to the ground and crunching under Dean's boots as they walk from the car to the porch. The trail to the cabin is muddled down, tampered to the ground by Michael's repetitive footsteps. They were here two months ago, and yet, there's so much evidence that the being who lives here cares.
A birdhouse hangs from the tree near the porch, handmade. Dean can see the soft feathery heads of robins poking through the carved hole in the little house. He tries to imagine the fearsome archangel peering down at the wood, carving away, nailing and gluing the pieces together, brows furrowed in concentration. Dean's throat tightens at the mental image. Of Michael wearing Adam's corpse, and caring so much about the things that Adam did. Dean wonders if he has a tv to watch Star Wars on. Maybe if Michael agrees, Dean will find him a cheap one and hook him up to some streaming sites.
In another life, Dean would've liked something like this. Escaping to the middle of nowhere, no hunts, no monsters, no stress of saving the world. He would've liked it, he thinks, the peacefulness of it all.
The wooden steps creak under Dean's boots, the thuds of their rubber soles growing louder as the four of them shuffle onto the porch. There's new furniture around it. A small table with rings of liquid stains, a rocking chair with a pile of little wood shavings underneath it. The shavings flutter across the porch under the slight breeze. An angel blade lies forgotten in a leather square of cloth on the seat of the chair. Next to it is a wooden figurine of a standing bear with a baseball cap on.
Again, Dean tries to imagine heaven's most fearsome weapon, using an angel blade to carve a wooden figurine wearing a baseball hat. Something in Dean's gut curdles like spoiled milk at the image, and he wonders if the rest of heaven thought it was just as despairing watching Cas shed his halo and angelic dignity for Dean.
Dean bites his lip, turning away from the rocking chair as Sam knocks on the door.
Michael opens the door, and Dean hardly recognizes him. His beard has grown out almost to the neck of his stained, red flannel. A dirty brown jacket covers his shoulders, and his jeans have wood shavings sticking to the loose threads at the knees.
"I heard you all coming when you turned onto the dirt road." Michael says, in lieu of greeting. "Tea's ready."
The five of them sit around Michael's living room again, and Michael this time, looks slightly amused to see them. The room has been slightly arranged since the last time they were here, there's more seating, so Dean's not squeezed so uncomfortably between Sam and Eileen this time. Cas takes the rocking chair again, this time the wobbling doesn't take him off guard, and he uses his toes to sway in the chair. Dean sits in a newly added wooden armchair by himself while Sam and Eileen take the couch. There are several wooden chairs actually, all new.
YOU ARE READING
The Soul Burns Brighter Than The Sun
FanfictionDean's sitting at the kitchen table with Sam when his phone rings. Jody's name flashes across the screen and he considers not picking up, but Sam's there, and he'd start asking questions if he left the call alone. It's not like Dean doesn't want to...
