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Dean opened his eyes and was in Bobby’s house. He blinked a few times, wondering what had happened. Bobby’s house was a bombed-out shell. Bobby was dead. What was he doing here? The floor creaked and he spun around. It was Death, with his pale, waxy skin and his weird affinity for pickle chips.
“No.” Dean croaked. “What’s going on? Am I dead?”
“Not quite.” Death said. “But you’re getting there.”
“Why am I here?” Dean asked, gesturing around the kitchen.
“Your mind supplied the place. It’s where you feel safe, I’d say.” Death sounded bored and didn’t seem to notice the emotion his statement brought up in Dean.
“Why didn’t Tessa come to get me?” Dean had always assumed it would be Tessa. She was the one who’d come before and had been cheated out of taking him.
“I wanted to come personally.” Death smiled a thin smile and the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stood up. “For such a famous frequent flyer.” He cocked his head suddenly. “Oh, the angel is trying so hard. It’s almost tragic.”
“Cas? He’s okay?” Dean felt a rush of relief. The last thing he remembered was Cas falling to his knees, blood trailing out of his nose and mouth, almost crushed with the weight of the foreign grace and the Mark of Cain he’d taken from Dean’s arm.
“Not really.” Death said with a shrug, and Dean’s breath caught in his chest. “He was already so weak from the grace he stole, and taking that mark off you all but killed him. He’s trying rather valiantly to heal you, but he has nothing left to give.”
“Is he—” Dean had to stop to steady his voice. “Is he going to die?”
“No, he’ll live. He’ll just be human again.”
“I have to go back!” Dean burst out. “If Cas is gonna be human, he’ll need me.”
“Didn’t he do fine on his own when he was human before?” Death asked silkily, an eyebrow raised, knowing it would take the wind out of Dean’s sails. Dean thought of that blue vest, the nametag that read Steve, Cas living in a back room of a gas station, for crying out loud. He would probably be with that woman, Nora. She’d been dumb before, asking Cas to babysit instead of going on a date with him, but she’d realize how great Cas was and try to be with him, Dean was sure. How could she not?
“No, but…” Dean stopped. Cas hadn’t been happy in those days. But he’d been getting used to it. Maybe he’d be happier without Dean.
“You can come with us, you know.” The voice was familiar and Dean felt his jaw tighten automatically. He turned and saw his parents standing there. His mother was smiling but his father was frowning.
“Come with you?” Dean echoed.
“You have a choice, Dean.” Mary told him, and her voice was so gentle Dean started to cry. He didn’t even feel embarrassed. “You can go back or you can come with us. Come home with us.”
“You didn’t do you job, anyway.” John said, that too-familiar harsh voice making Dean’s shoulders stiffen. “You didn’t take care of Sammy like I told you to.”
“Yes, I did!” Dean protested, like he was fifteen and absolutely had salted the bones already but John didn’t believe him.
“How many times have you let him die?” John shot back. “How many times has he done something stupid and gotten hurt because you didn’t keep track of him?”
“I tried.” Dean hung his head. “It’s all I ever wanted.”
“You might as well come back with us.” John shrugged. “Sammy can’t get into any more trouble on his own than he did with you and if you're dead already we want you with us.”
“Dad—”
“Dean, come home with us.” Mary smiled and Dean felt himself wavering. He wanted so badly to go home with them. To go back with his mother and stay with her. And his dad was right—what good was he doing down there anyway? He couldn’t protect Sam, he couldn’t protect Cas, what was the point?
“You shut you fool mouth, John Winchester.” Bobby growled, and Dean spun around again to find Bobby behind him.
“Bobby!” Dean cried, and he didn’t feel the same hesitation to throw his arms around Bobby the way he had with his parents. Bobby squeezed him tight and Dean smelled whiskey and leather and motor oil and he shut his eyes and breathed it in, suddenly nine years old again and throwing the baseball around.
“You’ve worked hard, boy.” Bobby told him. “If you came with us, it wouldn’t be giving up. It’d be a nice rest. You deserve a rest.”
“But?” Dean asked. He could hear it in Bobby’s voice.
“But you got plenty to do down there.” Bobby jerked his chin toward the window and Dean looked out to see Cas on his knees, still bleeding, holding Dean’s head in his lap and trying furiously to call up some grace. His eyes were wet and Dean’s throat tightened.
“He’s crying.” He whispered.
“Course he’s crying, you idjit.” Bobby rolled his eyes. “You’re dying underneath him.”
“You’re going to leave us to go back for him?” John asked, and Dean heard everything he’d feared in his father’s voice. John Winchester did not tolerate men he said acted like women, and that included loving another man.
“He needs me.” Dean said weakly. “Sam needs me.”
“Dean, they’re grown-ups.” Mary laid a hand on his arm and Dean wanted to hold it there forever. “It’s time they took care of themselves.”
“But…” Dean looked at Cas again, saw him running his bloody hands through his hair, anguished, making it stand up the way it used to when Dean had first met him. “But Cas.”
“He can live without you.” Bobby admitted. “So can Sam. But they’d both sure rather have you there.”
Dean put his hands on the top of his head, trying to think, trying to figure out what to do. His mom was there, asking him to come with her. His dad was reminding him of all the reasons he should go with them. But everything Bobby was saying made sense, too.
“It’s your choice if you want to come with us.” John said, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder and then fading away.
“Yes. Your choice if you want to come home.” Mary told him, squeezing his fingers in her own before disappearing as well. Dean could feel tears on his face and he tried to blink them away, tried to be the good soldier for his father.
“You get to choose, boy.” Bobby’s voice was softer than usual. “And if you come with us, I sure won’t be sad to have you there.”
“But?” Dean asked again, because he could always tell when Bobby had more to say.
“But I want you to think about what you want.” Bobby ignored the regular protocol of a hand on Dean’s shoulder and pulled him in for another tight hug. “Not what your daddy wants you to do. Not what you think’s best for Sam and Cas. Do what’s best for Dean.”
“But Bobby, I don’t know what to do.” Dean’s voice was small, almost childlike, and Bobby sighed. He was starting to fade away, slower than John and Mary had.
“I can’t tell you what to do.” Bobby said. “It’s your choice.” Dean was getting sick of that phrase.
“Do you have to go?” The question slipped out of Dean’s mouth and he felt a little embarrassed, but Bobby’s face, faint as the image was, was soft.
“I wish I could stay with you.” Bobby told him. “But I gotta go so you can make your choice.” Bobby was gone completely then, but Dean heard one last thing from his voice: “I’m gonna be selfish and tell you I want you to live, boy. Live and be happy. We’ll all still be here when you come in forty years.”
“Well?” Death asked. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He thought of his parents, thought of his mother’s soft smile and welcoming eyes, thought of all the conversations he could have with her that he hadn’t gotten to have before. He thought of swapping hunting stories with his father and impressing him. He thought of drinking a beer with Bobby, fixing some kind of heavenly car. He thought of Jo and Ellen and Ash, thought of the laughter and lightness he’d feel if he didn’t have the world crushing down on him.
He opened his eyes and his mouth at the same time and saw a flash of blue as Cas looked skyward. He saw Cas’s lips moving and realized Cas was praying. Cas was gasping, screaming out to the sky for any of his brothers or sisters to come help him. He saw Sam run into the room and skitter to a stop at the sight before him, drop to his knees and grab one of Dean’s hands, saw Sam’s lips form just one word—Dean.
Dean was trapped, unsure what to do. He wanted to go with his parents and Bobby, but he didn’t want to leave Sam and Cas. But he was so tired. He’d been fighting so long. Bobby had said Dean deserved a rest.
“Make your choice, Dean.” Death said, sounding annoyed. “Now.”
As Dean opened his mouth again, ready to say the words, he heard Cas’s voice through the window. “Please, Dean.” Cas’s voice said, and it was strangled and anxious, and Dean’s open mouth supplied the world in his head at the sound.
“Cas.” Dean said, not even thinking, not really realizing he’d spoken aloud.
“Alright.” Death shrugged.
“Wait, what?” Dean asked. But his tongue wasn’t working; it was heavy in his mouth, and everything hurt, and he was sprawled on his back but there was pressure on his hand and his head was being held up off the floor.
“Please, please.” Cas was chanting. “Dean, please.”
“Come on, Dean.” Sam added. “You gotta wake up.”
Dean wrenched his eyelids open and saw Cas’s baby blues floating far above him. Seeing Dean’s eyes open made Cas gasp and lean down, closer to Dean.
“Dean!” He breathed and Dean felt it against his face.
“Dean?” Sam asked frantically, crushing Dean’s hand.
“Hi.” Dean could barely get the word out, because his chest was full of fire and his teeth hurt and his throat felt raw, like he’d been screaming. Sam laughed shakily and sank back, dropping his face to his hands in relief, but Cas was clutching tighter onto Dean’s hair and lowered his head enough that he could look upside-down into Dean’s face.
“Dean.” Cas repeated. “Dean, Dean.” It seemed to be the only word he could say.
“Cas.” Dean’s voice cracked and the word burned out of his throat, but he got it out. Cas was almost completely bent in half at this point, nose-to-nose with Dean, and the anxiousness hadn’t quite left his eyes. It hurt Dean’s chest even more to see it, so he stretched the last centimeter between them with his lips and pressed a kiss to Cas’s mouth, upside-down, Spiderman style. Now Cas looked surprised instead of anxious and Dean let his head loll on Cas’s leg.
“’S better.” Dean murmured. He was so tired. “Happy.” He wasn’t really making sense but Cas’s lips were quirked into a little smile and he leaned down and so, so gently touched their lips together again. It was hardly even a kiss, just a ghost of Cas’s lips on his, but Dean sighed happily, his eyelids starting to flutter, and he heard Sam chuckling a little.
“Bobby said be happy.” Dean wasn’t sure if he was trying to justify his actions or if he just wanted them to know he’d seen Bobby.
“What?” Sam laughed, sounding half-delirious, and Dean weakly flapped a hand. He couldn’t explain it now.
“Human?” He asked Cas, and Cas’s eyes fell away from Dean’s face for the first time as he nodded. Dean raised a hand experimentally, testing out whether he could move it, and when it responded to his brain he let it fall between Cas’s shoulder blades.
“Stay.” He said, and he fisted his hand into Cas’s trench coat. “Please stay.”
“I won’t leave.” Cas promised softly, and Dean made a happy noise in the back of his throat, letting his eyes close. As Cas and Sam pulled him upright and took him to his baby—he let a hand trail over her hood appraisingly as they carried him to the backseat—he realized he was happy. He wasn’t sure he’d meant to make the choice to come back to them, but as Sam fussed with his legs to make sure he was comfortable and Cas slid into the backseat to hold Dean’s head in his lap, Dean knew he’d made the right choice—not for anyone else, but for himself.