#SPN300 and SPN Fanfic

So, those of my USA/Canada #SPNFamily friends will already have had the chance to watch the #SPN300 episode of Supernatural called ‘Lebanon’.

I haven’t watched it in full yet, but what I do know, is that #JDM, or Jeffery Dean Morgan, makes a guest appearance as John Winchester- whether he’s dead, alive, a ghost, a demon, or a messenger from heaven; I have no clue. However, when I heard about this episode I wrote a piece of fanfic, about how I could see the show finally end in the natural course of time. Not everyone will like it, but, I wrote this for me. And my #WaywardSisters

The End

‘The Gambler’ by Kenny Rogers was playing on the background on an old fashioned radio. Bobby sat on his rocking chair, slowly rocking up and down, a glass of whiskey in his hand. This was Bobby version 1.0, the Bobby they’d grown up with. John Winchester sat on a sofa, flipping through an old tome. Sam was the first to wake, shaking his head to chase away the cobwebs, his salt and pepper hair almosy a match for Dean’s, silver, short style, though Sammy’s was longer, wavier, like the salon advert it was.

“Dean! Dean!”

“Sammy?” Dean asked, voice hoarse, “where are we?”

As always, no matter how many times they died, the Winchester brothers looked for each other the second they came round; be it heaven or hell.

Doesn’t smell like hell, Dean thought.

“Boys,” Bobby called, drawing their attention.

Though they were hardly boys anymore.

Dean had just turned seventy, his younger brother sixty-six. Dean scoped the room they were in, to get his bearings. Tried to draw a gun that wasn’t there. If Bobby, their Bobby was here, then that meant …

“You’re dead boys, get over it quick, my shot needs a refill.”

Dean gaped, glanced at Sammy. Yeah, even at their age, he was still ‘Sammy’, little brother.

“Where’s the screaming, and the demons, and the torture? What is this?”

“Sit down boys,” John ordered, closing the book he’d been reading. They scrambled for two spare rocking chairs, the only seats that seemed right for them. In the background, the song carried on.

Sam was quiet, contemplative, scanning the old room, that looked kinda familiar. Dean grabbed the whiskey bottle from a sideboard, topped up Bobby’s glass, then filled two more. One for him, one for his brother.

“Okay,” Dean said, nodding at his Dad to continue. “How bad is it?”

Bobby snorted and John laughed too.

The brothers exchanged confused glances.“You’ve done your time, boys,” John said. “It’s over.”

“Yeah,” Bobby added between swigs, “you’re gonna grow old and crotchety here with us. You’re in heaven ya idjits.”

“Heaven,” Sam whispered, shock written on his face.Even now, after all the battles they’d fought, he still believed.

But he just hadn’t thought it was possible.

“Put ya feet up,” John said, “ya Mom won’t be here for a few years yet.”

“But, we’ve still got work ta do,” Dean growled, jumping up.

“Sit down boy!” John answered.

“Yeah, the girls can take it from here,” Bobby added.

Bewildered, in awe, Dean sat back down. The boys – as they would always be known to Bobby and John – shared a moment of understanding.

It was time to relax, to dream of good things, to forget the horrors, the deaths, the losses.Finally, they were home.

Their work was done.

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