Ten Things Dean Winchester is Thankful for

Sam. Like it was ever going to be anyone other than Sam, with his cat-wide yawns and his bitchface and the way he snuffles in his sleep, leaning up against the door of the Impala. The way he eats salad and gets all shiny-eyed at sad movies and sneers at people (Dean) who mispronounce words like "assuage" when they (Dean) say stupid words like that at all. Just—Sam.

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Pie, because it's never going to get better than pie, and this is the perfect time of year for that.

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The way chicks bite their lower lip when they're turned on. Yeah.

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Baby, because she's perfect and she's always there for him, purring like a cat down the highway, hood warm under his spine in the summer air when he stretches out on her and hooks his heels on the front grille. She's his girl and he loves her, he's always loved her. (She never leaves him.)

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The box of pictures that the lady in Lawrence who has the old house gave them. Because Dad had only a couple pictures and he kept them like sacred talismans in his journal. And Dean could only remember Mom's face from those pictures after a while, just those few angles—not her face in profile or the way she looked when she was serious. And the pictures from the box were so much more, so many new memories…it brought it all back, and Dean is so thankful (even though it hurt like—well, like a mother).

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He's got one of Bobby's old hats on the peg in the entryway, and it catches his eye sometimes and yeah—he's damn grateful for the time they had with Bobby. Dad was Dad, but Bobby filled in the spaces Dad left empty.

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Zeppelin. Nobody gets it like Zeppelin, all that gorgeous, angry guitar and reckless words—those are traveling songs, fighting songs. His.

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Redheads. Damn, if Dean doesn't love himself a good redhead.

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The Bunker is pretty awesome, so much bigger and safer and more theirs than any of the thousand ugly motel rooms ever were. They've got their own rooms, and everything, just like Sam always used to bitch about. Dean misses the security of being able to know that his brother's safe by just glancing over at the next bed, but if Sam's happy, he's happy because—

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Sam. It's obvious, isn't it? Like it was ever going to be about anyone other than Sam.