I haven't forgotten about this last chapter, I promise!

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Enjoy!

Present day,

September 13, 2005

"And so?" Rachel asks, a small smile playing on her lips.

"That's it, that's all she wrote. My life in a nutshell, make sure to copyright it." Dean yawns.

"But what now? What's can we expect from Supernatural in the coming years?"

"More touring, maybe some more albums, we're not stopping if that's what you wanted to know. We'll go until one of us drops dead on stage, my bets are on Gabe. We'll probably keep going if he's the first one down."

"I hear they wanna develop a movie about the band."

"Yeah, but I wish they wouldn't make it some crap biography, they could do something better with it. Like, say Sam and I were demon hunters, saving lives and taking down ghosts. Wouldn't that be cool?"

"I doubt that would catch on. Anyway, what do you want people to take away from this book? From your life story?"

Dean can't help but laugh, he sometimes forgets she's here for business. "Nothing, I don't want them to learn anything from it ."

"No advice for the masses?"

"Fine, you want some advice? Live your life like your travelling from one stadium to another with the car windows rolled down and the radio turned way up."

Rachel wrinkles her nose and quickly flips to the beginning of her notebook. "That's not even an original quote, Dean."

"No, but an old friend told it to me once and I never once forgot it."

"It doesn't even make sense."

"You were the one who wanted advice! I'm not the kind of role model people should be after, Sammy and Charlie have got that covered. After all this time spent with me, I would've thought you'd've picked that up; I'm not Superman, I'm just some bitter old guy who hops up on stage every once and a while."

"You're right, Dean, I have picked some things up. You're arrogant, self-deprecating, and kind of an asshole to everyone, especially those you love the most. But I don't think you're a bad person, that's why I want this book to be published, because people can learn a lot from you." Rachel's little monologue is unrehearsed but seamless. "You've come from so little and you refuse to see how hard you've worked and how much you've accomplished because of it. You're too fricking modest for someone who built from the ground up one of the most respected bands of the last thirty-some years. My advice to you is to appreciate yourself a little more, Mr. Winchester."

Dean gives Rachel a moment to catch her breath as she glares at him across the room. "Aren't you supposed to remain unbiased?"

"I think I'm far past that now."

"Clearly. Are you gonna be okay over there?"

"Yes, let's finish this up so I can get back home and start a smear campaign of you." Rachel brushes her hair out of her eyes and adjusts her posture. "Any last words to round off your epilogue?"

"No, put your little freak out in there, it'll sound better. And that way I can get you out of here before Cas gets home."

"Don't want him contributing?"

"Nope, that's why I've been careful to keep him out of the house this whole time. The last thing I need is you talking to that idiot." Dean grins and his eyes automatically drops to the simple gold band around his finger.

"So I'll end the book with a few blank pages in lieu of anything worthwhile from you." Rachel says and closes her laptop. "Off the record, I'm gonna miss our little chats."

"Same here, I haven't thought this much about my life in a very long time. It'll be so weird to go back to not being pestered about every aspect about it. The peace and quiet will kill me."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I'm sure I can find someone to make sure that doesn't happen."

"You're too kind." Dean leans over to the coffee table and grabs an old leather book from under it and hands it to her. "Here, use anything you like out of it. I made sure to remove all the nudes first, so you don't worry about censoring anything."

Rachel lets it fall open on her lap and carry tucked in each page are dozens of photographs, from the early years of Sam and Deans lives right up to recent concert pictures. "Geez, you kept well documented."

"I like looking back at them, looking at how young and stupid we once were." Dean reaches over and slips a photo of the group out of it's cover; none of tem in it are older than 18 and are all standing and clutching their instruments awkwardly and making a variety of weird faces. Dean's lip twitches as he run a thumb over the picture before flipping it around to show Rachel. "Look at these dorks thinking theyre hot shit."

"They'd be a whole lot cockier if someone told them in a few years they would be just that."

"Maybe, but I don't think they'd ever believe you." He slides the picture back into the book just as the front door opens. Dean turns to glare at Rachel as she turns to smile at him.

"Don't even think about it-"

"Oh this is so great. Sit tight, Dean, I'm gonna write your sequel. 'Dean Winchester: The Castiel Winchester Perspective.'"

"Son of a bitch"

August 15, 1968

"So whatta ya think, Sammy?" Dean lightly strums his guitar, soft enough so it isn't apparent how out of tune it is. He still doesn't know how to tune it but at least he has enough sense to know it sounds like shit.

"'Bout what?" Sam kicks his heels against the side of their porch. Dad's in one of his moods so the boys stay outside long past sunset in hopes that they'll be able to sneak back in once he's gone to bed.

"Our band, idiot. Think we have a shot?"

"No, but I don't think we shouldn't try. I like the idea of us on the road, leaving everything behind." Sam leans back on his elbows so he can get a better view of the sky through the hole in the porch roof.

"So do I. But say we do get famous..."

"No gonna happen, Dean."

"Hypothetically, Sam, don't be such a buzz kill. IF we get famous, promise me we'll still do stuff like this, I don't want to lose this. Or each other for that matter." Dean says.

"None of us are going anywhere. We're a team now; you and me and Gabe and Charlie and Zeke."

"Bunch of assholes is what we are."

"Maybe so, but maybe that's what the world needs. And maybe one day fifty years from now two kids will be sitting on their porch looking at the stars and say to each other 'Hey, if those assholes could do it, so can we.'"

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say, Sammy."

"I know, but it was just a thought."

And so we're reached the end. Thanks again to everyone who read/reviewed/favourited this story. Your words especially were a boost of motivation whenever I was struggling to get through a chapter. This was certainly the longest story I've ever written and it was nice to get so much support through it.

Thank you so much, and I hope this was worth the read, even through the rough bits. :)