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Dean Winchester

In a Million Memories: After saving the world over and over again, Dean finally deserves to live in it. And he wants to. He's earned it. But things are never as simple as that for a Winchester, and if he wants the apple pie life, he's going to have to fight for it, harder than he's ever fought before.

And a Million More (Part II of IAMM): Approximately ten years later... or, Dean looks back on his life since retiring from the family business, as his 50th birthday approaches.

By Anastasie Denholm

Nightmares are nothing new for Dean Winchester. They’re a job hazard really. Blood, death. His. Of those he loves. Loneliness. Rejection and negligence and resentment and lost time and betrayal. They’re all there. And death. So much death.

So jerking awake from dying isn’t anything new for him, though the plastic heaven is a new touch. But that morning, as the sun rises outside the bunker, and his alarm shakes him awake, he doesn’t forget it. That morning, Dean makes a decision. Because he knows. He knows that if he doesn’t get out soon, he never would. He’d end up like one of those nightmares.

So he goes for a drive. One last ride in his beloved car. He says goodbye to the car that’s been his home since he was four. And he says goodbye to the bunker that’s been as close to a house as he’s ever had. And he packs his bag and looks at the papers on his desk. He packs the polaroid camera he’d found in one of the old rooms and he says goodbye to the only family he has left. Because he knows now that to go after the life he wants, the things he wants, he has to leave everything and everyone he’s known behind. At least for a little while. And he’s okay with that.

He gets on that motorcycle, and he rides off into the sunset, the road winding and curving.

Dean visits the Grand Canyon, and he visits the winter carnival, where he sees ice sculptures and eats maple syrup on snow. On one of his days there, he even takes a polar bear plunge. He visits all the places he wanted to, but never got to. At least, not without death and carnage looming. Sometimes, he just drives, enjoying the view and the wind and the freedom.

And eventually, he wants a home. A home of his own, so he finds that too, the little cottage hidden in that quiet valley with its quiet people. And he sleeps with a gun under his bed and a devil’s trap in front of his door, but there’s peace in knowing that it isn’t always his job to fix the world anymore. Doesn't mean he has to be careless about it though, so the gun and the knife and the holy water and the sigils stay. And then he meets her, and it isn’t enough. He no longer wants to continue looking over his shoulder, waiting for some monster to show up. So he does what he’s always done; he works on the case, except this case is his life. And he looks and he looks, and he finds something that really only Dean Winchester could. It takes longer to find everything he needs though, but he does that too. On midnight on his forty-second birthday, he puts his plan in action and suddenly, he feels born anew. Finally free. He spends his birthday alone, with a cupcake from the bakery, but he doesn’t mind. Because the day, it’s his, and this time, he isn’t wondering if anyone will remember or care. Because he remembers and he cares. And that is the enough. More than enough. He’s happy.

He knows that one day, he’ll be summoned to save the world again, because of course he will. He’s been told as much. He can shake everything else, but he can’t shake that. He’s Dean Winchester and he made a promise, after all. But this time, the responsibility comes of his own volition, so he doesn’t mind. And it doesn’t change that now there’s safety and contentment and he’s his own.

And he looks at her, and sees her without thinking of all the dangers he’d be putting her in just by that simple interaction. And she sees him too. And when she does, he’s hers too. And she’s his, and for once, it isn’t a burden to belong. One day, he tells her the truth of his life, and she’s still there.

When it comes time for spring cleaning, he does that happily, though there isn’t much to clean in the home he hasn’t lived very long in just yet. And he goes to the beach and he realizes that it might be time to put some roots down, that he might finally be safe to, so he buys a car. He calls about that job, and for once, things seem to be going his way, because they call him back and offer him the job. He starts and finally believes that he isn’t just the brawn, isn’t good just for hunting. He can do so much more. And then winter falls, and he’s happy sitting by the fireplace playing his guitar and he’s happy shoveling snow, because he’s never really had to do that before. And for the first time at the beginning of a new year, he makes a list of resolutions.

His forty-third birthday is different than the previous. There are people now that he knows, neighbors, coworkers, friends. Family. So they invite them over for dinner, on the Sunday before, because it is a weeknight, after all. But a weeknight doesn’t mean he’s not going to have pie on his birthday, thank you very much. So after the guests leave, and he should be in bed, he walks downstairs to get the pie he’d been saving just for them, for when the clock signals the start of the next day and he’s officially another year older. That fact now feels like a reassurance, a promise. And he finds it; a pan of cherry pie, right where he had left it, still warm. He picks it up, balances a pint of vanilla ice cream under his arm, two spoons in hand. And just as he reaches out to grab a plate, he sees it. A simple box, tucked in behind other things. His curiosity gets the better of him and he puts down the food in his hands and opens the box.

Inside, there’s a leather bound album of sorts. He opens it and sees photos, the photos he’s been taking on his polaroid camera. He flips through, almost feeling bad for ruining the surprise, but too intrigued by her notes and decorations and comments, too warm from the feeling where his heart is, to stop. And he reaches the page where photos taken just hours before are. She must’ve taken those. And then he sees the blank page that follows and the ones that follow that. Pages upon blank pages. Just waiting to be filled.

And as he tucks the album back into its hiding place, heading up the stairs with his pie in hand, the clock strikes midnight and he thinks that he couldn’t have asked for a better gift for his birthday.

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I've worked on this for so long, it almost feels weird having it out there. But it's worth it, because Dean deserves all the nice stories!

All Day, Indigo, RM 💭💌

Hectic, Indigo, RM 💙🤎

tokyo, mono., RM