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Part one: musingsarmymagic.deviantart.co…
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Part four: musingsarmymagic.deviantart.co…

"Mom?"

You glance up from the pan you're scrubbing to meet Hope's green eyes. As always, you see Dean in them. You cast a forlorn glance at the picture that rests on the marble countertop, the glare of the sun glinting on the metal frame. It was back from a hunt in the early days of your partnership with the Winchesters; a poltergeist wreaking havoc on some poor family in Nevada. Dean has his arm around your waist and you're leaning against him with the open road in the background. It practically symbolized your entire life after he entered it...and a reminder of when he left it, you note, feeling pain much like a dull knife in your chest area. "Yes, dear?"

"Tell me about him," Hope says, hope--no pun intended--lacing her voice. You nearly drop the pan you're washing. Hastily, you drop your gaze to the grimy dish and scrub it with renewed vigor.

"Your father," you confirm. Hope nods. Slowly, with a shaky breath, you turn off the water and set down the pan, drying your hands. "Well, he was a traveling salesman--we moved around lots, and--"

"Not the crap story," Hope interrupts. Your mask of indifference crumbles as she looks at you, guilt and sympathy apparent in her eyes. "I'm sorry--I let you go all these years thinking I didn't remember," she cleared her throat. "But I do. Some of it, I mean. Uncle Cas came the night he died...then we were at a warehouse...Dad was there..."

Your eyes fill with tears at the distant memory still as clear as freshly-cleaned glass. "Y-You remember..." you whisper. Sniffling, you walk over to the dining room table and motion for Hope to take a seat. She hesitantly sinks down in the chair next to yours. "Your father, he was a great man. I can't tell you everything--there are things that we...things that HE...didn't want you to know. But he was a hero." A wry smile creeps across your face. "He stopped evil people from hurting civilians."

"Like a superhero?" Hope glances down at her Avengers T-shirt. You bought it for her on her fifteenth birthday.

"Exactly like a superhero," you agree reminiscently. "Well, the night he died...one of the bad guys got him." You feel the tears coming on. It's like ripping off a bandaid to find a festered wound beneath, infected and utterly, undeniably agonizing. "He got hurt pretty badly. I...I held him while he died. His last words...they were, 'Goodbye, beautiful'. He always called me that..." You brush back the waterworks threatening to spill. "Do you remember how he used to play with you? He was always so proud of you," you manage a smile at your beautiful daughter. "You look so much like him." A faint smile crosses her lips as she brushes her dusty blonde hair behind her ear. The light from the kitchen window highlights her freckles; she truly does look exactly like her father.

"I remember some of it," she answers quietly. "He used to sing me to sleep whenever he was home at my bedtime."

"Hey Jude," you both say simultaneously.

That's what sends you spiraling down memory lane, crashing through all the good times at bad. You see your first kiss, your wedding, Dean's disbelieving expression as he held the baby...Dean's bloody form as he choked out his final words with complete and utter love for you...

And you cry. You sob. Your face falls in your hands and you finally let it all out, all the pain, emotion, desperation you've locked away for so long. You miss him...you want him back...you love him...a thousand times you tried to deal with the crossroad demons to get him back, but they wouldn't take your soul for payment. Only Hope's. He'd never forgive you for giving up your own, but you thought he might actually kill you if you gave up his child, and you couldn't bring yourself to do it anyway.

In a single, fleeting moment, everything changes. The scent of your favorite casserole fades to the familiar scent of Baby's interior. Hope's gentle, small hand rubbing your back becomes a stronger, firmer hand shaking your shoulder. Your eyes fly open to meet brilliant green ones that look just like...Dean's...not to mention a face that looks just like Dean's...

"Dean..." You reach out and press your hand to his cheek, half convinced you're hallucinating. He feels as real as he did back before...before everything. A twinge of pain courses through you.

"Hey, beautiful," he sighs, his voice gruff with grogginess. "You fell asleep out there on Baby's hood. Brought ya in here. Didn't want the engine to wake you. S'almost mornin'."

Suddenly, like a brick wall, the realization hits you. You're back at that night, the night you confessed your fear of losing him, the night you made your wish. Had it all...could it all have been...a dream?

"Oh--Oh Dean," you throw your arms around him. The leather of the Impala's back seat squeaks beneath you as you sit up and press your lips to his. "I love you so much...so much..." Pain and relief rush through you in a bittersweet mix as you run your fingers through his messy hair and cling to the familiar, worn fabric of his leather jacket. "I love you..."

"I love you too, darling," he murmurs soothingly, stroking your hair. "Did you have a nightmare or somethin'?"

"Something like that," you murmur, burying your face into his shoulder and taking in the scent that smells so much like home. "I'm just so glad you're here..."

"I'll always be here, beautiful," he grins at you, brushing his hand against your cheek and pulling you close. You spend the rest of the night like that, laying in the back of the Impala and toying with each other's hands, curled up together.

It would be perfect, but unfortunately, you not notice Dean pull out and admire a small black box from his pocket with something very shiny inside when he thinks you had once again drifted off.

But it was just a dream, right?

Just a dream...