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Epilogue.
There are two stocky, no-nonsense women drinking antique Coronas in the booth by the door when the kid walks in, making this officially their busiest night since opening.
"Dude," Dean says. "We're cool. We're like a happening spot. We're legitimate business owners."
Sam rolls his eyes and sips from a can of Tab they found in the back closet next to a bag of pork rinds with a pull-date from 1982. "Pillars of the community. Sure they'll give us the key to the city as soon as they're through with the paperwork." Dean punches Sam in the arm. Sam grins till his cheeks hurt.
The young man is standing in front of the bar, staring at Sam. Dean doesn't like it when people stare at Sam. Sam watches Dean's hand casually drifting to rest under the bar where the shotgun is. "I'd ask you for ID," Dean says mildly, "but I'm pretty sure you were a glimmer in the long-haul trucker's eye the last time anyone was issuing government ID. I can hook you up with a grape Fanta. It's a 1995, good vintage."
Sam wishes Dean wouldn't insult people's parentage, particularly since most people's parents are dead these days.
The kid visibly shakes his head as he snaps out of it. "Sorry. I came because I heard a rumor. Wow."
Dean stiffens. He doesn't like it when people hear whispers and come to try to shoot Sam in the back when he turns around to pour their drinks, either. Sam watches Dean's hand curling tighter around the shotgun and jostles him warningly with a knee. The kid's young, swimming in a coat three sizes too big for him, oughta be at some college party, or dragging all his laundry home over break to use his parents' washer. Sam leans over the bar, tries to look non-terrifying. "What can we help you with?"
"Actually, I've got something for you." When the kid reaches into his coat pocket, Sam's afraid Dean'll shoot him, but the kid produces a harmless scrap of paper. A photo. He hands it to Sam. "I thought you'd want this back."
By the time Sam breaks out of his trance, the kid's gone.
"What is it?" Dean asks suspiciously.
"I don't know," Sam says, handing the snapshot over. "I don't remember it."
Sam watches Dean take in the photo, bites his lip at the softening of Dean's facial expression. Dean looks up suddenly. "Where'd that guy get this?"
Sam shrugs. "Don't know. Glad he gave it back. I like it." Sam takes the picture back, lovingly straightening its dogeared edges. "We look happy."
Dean wraps his arms around Sam's waist from behind as Sam turns to face the back of the bar. "We're happy now."
Sam smiles broadly as he tucks the snapshot into the frame of the mirror that spans the wall behind dusty whiskey bottles. "There."
In the photograph, a garish monument looms with styrofoam solemnity in a grassy field. A man, young and momentarily untroubled, smiles bashfully. There's a sun in the sky, and a bird perched on the Welcome to Foamhenge sign. And there are two brothers, together.
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Date: 2010-07-08 01:49 am (UTC)Thanks so much for sharing.
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Date: 2010-07-14 02:39 am (UTC)Re: lovely story
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Date: 2010-07-08 03:49 am (UTC)I was an hour late to work this morning because I made the mistake of opening this fic. And then after working eleven hours, the first thing I did when I got home was re-open it to where I'd left off. And read it through to the end.
I normally don't enjoy post-apocalyptic stories because, well, sad. But despite the sadness in this fic, the love so strongly overwhelmed it. Loved this.
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Date: 2010-07-14 02:51 am (UTC)Thank you, and thank you so much for letting me know your thoughts!
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Date: 2010-07-08 04:57 am (UTC)The epilogue was the perfect, perfect touch, having the boy return the photo. You may have broken my heart but it was so very much worth it.
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Date: 2010-07-08 09:10 pm (UTC)EHEM. Anyway, forgive the blathering but this is just TOO. FUCKING. GOOD. Your writing -- it's just, god. It's succint and beautiful and perfect, and you write paragraphs that make me choke back tears and then choke back a laugh in the next line, and, god, you write the most beautiful Sam and Dean ever. I am so glad, so glad Dean finally got what he always wanted, and that Sam did, too... because he's Sam, and he's still THERE, but maybe if he really remembered everything he wouldn't be there anymore, you know? Sometimes wounds run too deep.
And, god -- I'm gonna ramble a bit more, sorry, but, yeah, the bleakness of this world suddenly shot through with hope reminded me a lot of McCarthy's The Road, because of this one line in that book that goes "All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes." This story felt like that, it's the best way I have to explain it.
So, yeah, just. SUBLIME. Thank you.
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Date: 2010-07-20 06:00 pm (UTC)Thank you, dude! This just made me BEAM. And thank you for the flattering comparison!
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Date: 2010-07-09 12:39 am (UTC)awesome, awesome fic. thanks so much for this :)
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Date: 2010-07-09 01:43 am (UTC)God, this story took my breath away. There was not a single section where my heart wasn’t either breaking or being filled with joy—fuck, sometimes both were happening to me at once. Every bit of Sam’s recovery just killed me—and how he remembers his life in the seconds between saying ‘yes’ and Lucifer taking over, but yet never remembers those moments again? Jesus fuck, women, you’ve gutted me. It’s a small balm to my heart, however, that Dean remembers for him—Sam’s defensive shoulders, his wiggling toes, Dean tying his shoes. (They’re such vivid, specific memories, and they served to completely ground me in Dean’s perspective.) I loved how Dean interpreted this Sam’s actions through the lens of his younger self, and how that knowledge still applied, how even this Sam, without his memories, was so obviously and completely himself.
Your writing is always so visual, so tactile—I could see the destroyed Detroit, a wasted, abandoned Sam, a child in a too-big coat. I could see Dean shaking with his twine-wrapped cardboard box. I could see and hear Dean trampling through the snow, could feel the cold air, could see him grinning at the sky. I could see Sam lying back on their bar counter, could see Dean spitting out a spoiled pickled egg. All of those details make the worlds in your stories so very real to me, and god, I love how you do that.
On top of all of that, every detail just explodes with the love that runs between Sam and Dean. Every. Single. Fucking. Detail. I love your world-building, sure, and your characterizations are awesome, but you just nail that aspect which makes Supernatural so compelling—the earth-shattering love between the boys. Just, god, I love your writing so much it burns me.
Um, shorter version: I am your flailing fangirl. *g*
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Date: 2010-07-20 06:06 pm (UTC)Really, I don't know what to say - it's such a treat to read about which bits stood out for you. Thank you for such delightful feedback.
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