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He was sitting in the bunker, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Eyes lingering on the letters carved into the table, his mind flooded with memories. Happy moments he spent with people whose names adorned the table. His family. Three initials and two names. People he cared about and would do anything for.
But then his eyes traveled to the seven-letter name, the one he carved there himself. The memories turned sour immediately, just like the taste in his mouth. He gulped down the whiskey, hoping it would wash the taste away. But the burning sensation of alcohol only made it worse. Reaching out, his fingers ran over the letters as a knot formed in his stomach. Even now, he still couldn't forgive himself.
As he continued to wallow in regret, he felt a change. Something in his surroundings wasn't as before. There was a presence in the room, other than him. And when he turned around, he couldn't believe his eyes.
The person standing in the archway held up his hand in a greeting, a gesture oddly specific to him. "Hello," he said, a genuine smile on his face.
"Jack?" he let out, stunned. "What are you...?" he started, but soon realized something was different. Jack, he once knew, was gone. Or most of him was. Jack that was standing in front of him now looked peaceful, all-knowing. But he lacked the light-heartedness of the kid he once was. There was still energy of novelty and compassion around him, but there was also an aura of wisdom and infinity. One that spread all around him, infiltrating every molecule of his surrounding.
"I've felt a disturbance in Heaven, so I came to see what it was," Jack said, his face turning into a sorrowful mask. "I can't say I'm surprised that the disturbance is coming from you, Dean."
Dean frowned, his mind racing. "What disturbance? What the hell are you talking about?"
He stood up from the table, walking around it to get closer to Jack.
"You," Jack said. "You're not as you should be."
Huffing a laugh, Dean leaned back against the table, crossing his arms at his chest. "Well, thanks for the honesty, kiddo. Tell me something I don't know."
Jack's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the former hunter. "You misunderstand me, Dean. This, here," he said, gesturing all around. "You're supposed to be happy here. At peace."
His eyes landed on Dean again, giving him a long and thoughtful look.
"Yet there's guilt in you. A regret." Jack tilted his head, almost as if he was trying to decipher the emotions oozing from Dean. "A longing." He finished. "There's a piece missing. Your Heaven, Dean. It's incomplete."
Dean swallowed hard, clenching his jaw. "What are you trying to say?"
"You know," Jack replied, a meaningful look in his eyes. "You wanted to ask for it when we saw each other the last time. But you didn't."
Dean licked his lips, clearing his throat. "So, what now? It doesn't matter anymore, does it? He's back anyway."
He stood up, making his way over to the bottle of whiskey. Picking up the empty glass, he poured a copious amount of alcohol in it and gulped it down in one long swig.
"Yet you still regret the way you parted." Jack's voice sounded in his ears. "You still have an unfinished business with him."
Dean huffed another laugh, and this time it came out more broken. His shoulders tensed as he felt his chest tightening.
"He made his point, didn't he? He clearly doesn't want to see me. Otherwise, he'd be here."
"He doesn't know yet," Jack said, his voice low.
Dean turned around, facing Jack again. The part of him hoped to see the signs of lying on his face. But Jack's expression was honest. And Dean thought that the kid couldn't probably lie, even if he wanted to.
"It doesn't matter," Dean shook his head then, averting his gaze. Maybe it was better this way.
"It matters if you want it to," Jack said, his voice leveled.
"What do you want me to do, then?" Dean looked Jack in the eyes, defiant.
Jack's eyes narrowed, his head tilting to the side again. For a moment, Dean saw the reflection of the confused little kid he once knew. A kid whose name was amongst the other's, carved into the table in front of him.
"I can't tell you what to do," Jack said. "But know this. What you're feeling, it's not going away. Not here. Not until you resolve it. So choose. Whether you want to spend eternity in regret. Or... whether you want to face your fears, Dean."
Closing his eyes, Dean took a deep breath. His throat closed, and even if he wanted to say something, he wouldn't be able to. Swallowing again, he opened his eyes and felt them watering by unwanted tears.
"It's... I feel like I missed my chance, Jack," his voice cracked as he spoke, his stomach twisting in knots. "I missed so damn much. If I only knew sooner..."
"This doesn't have to be the end," Jack's voice pierced through Dean's thick self-deprecating words. "Quite the contrary, Dean," he continued. "This could be the new beginning for you. You only need to ask."
Dean's heart was beating fast, its pumping audible in his ears. His chest was so tight he felt like he couldn't breathe. Could it really be this simple? He thought. But then, why was it so hard?
Jack's features turned even softer, a knowing, compassionate smile on his face. "It's up to you, Dean."
He lifted his hand again, a sign of farewell. "Goodbye. We won't see each other again."
And as Dean blinked, Jack vanished, leaving him all alone.
*****
It was hours later, and Dean was still sitting in the bunker, gulping one glass of whiskey after another. At least that's how it felt. Time passed differently in here. And not just time. Even though Dean must have drunk two entire bottles by this point, it still wasn't affecting him. Not the way he wanted to, at least. He felt a pleasant buzz in his insides, but that was about it.
This existence of his differed from the one back on Earth. He couldn't starve or die of dehydration, even if he didn't eat or drink anything for months. He wouldn't even need to sleep if he didn't want to. And so he couldn't get drunk either—something he found annoying at this point.
But of course, he couldn't get his Heaven in order. Of course, he was the one that created a disturbance in here. It seemed like his life sentence, to mess up everything he touched. So why should he stop after death?
Jack made it sound so easy. Call him and ask. That's all you have to do. And you could be happy forever. Easy, right? But Dean was still reluctant to do so. Because how could he ask anything of him when he let him rot in the Empty for months on end? After he let him die and never even tried to bring him back?
"No," Dean shook his head, gulping down another glass. "I'm not worthy of him. I don't deserve it."
And so he stood up again and put the empty glass on the table. He spent one last look at the seven-letter name, his chest tightening. Palming the keys in his pocket, Dean decided. It was easier to run away than to face his fears. So he turned and walked away from the memories of his family, the bunker, his home, and from everything that reminded him of the lost chances he missed.
*****
Dean didn't know how long he was driving, and he didn't care. He didn't know where he was going either. He just did the only thing that always helped him to clear his head. Only it wasn't helping now. No matter how long he drove, no matter how far, the thoughts of the angel always came back. The longing for something he was blind towards before was creating an aching in his chest, filling his mind with regret. So when Dean concluded that it was pointless to carry on, he stopped. And the place he stopped was serene. It was a bridge in the middle of the woods, with a running stream under it. The surrounding area was quiet, something that Dean appreciated. So he got out of the car and walked towards the bridge, looking into the distance. Maybe this could help him clear his head a bit. At least that's what he was hoping for.
And for a moment, he succeeded. The peacefulness of the place washed away the stains on his mind. And as he focused on the stream under his feet, he started to feel lighter. But then everything changed when he heard it—an unmistakable sound of flapping wings.
"Dean?" a confused, familiar voice sounded behind him, and Dean froze. He wasn't able to move. Because part of him was afraid that this was just his imagination. And if he turned around, the only thing he'd see would be his car, parked in the middle of the bridge. So Dean closed his eyes instead, shutting them tight, and wished this was true.
"Cas," he breathed out. "Are you... really here?"
"Yes," the voice sounded, and Dean's chest clenched.
"But, you," Castiel said, his voice filled with sadness. "You shouldn't be here, Dean. Not yet."
Dean opened his eyes and smirked lightly. He shook his head, huffing out: "Doesn't matter. I made my peace with dying."
And it was the truth. Dean knew he was too far gone to ever find genuine happiness in life. And even though he experienced the fleeting moments of it, he knew it would never last long.
And he was tired. Tired of hunting, fighting, sometimes even tired of living. So he welcomed death with open arms when it came for him the last time.
Dean found the strength to turn around, coming face to face with Castiel. Blue eyes met with him, blue eyes he thought he'd never see again. A silence stretched between the two of them; the only sounds were the leaves rustling and the water gurgling.
Dean wanted to say something. But there were so many things unsaid between them, he didn't know where to start. It felt like an ax was hanging over his head. One wrong move, the wrong word, and this could all crumble apart. Castiel would leave, and he would never see him again. He still wasn't sure why he showed up in the first place, now of all times. But he was here, in front of him. And Dean was afraid he was going to screw it up again.
"So... you and Jack," he said, choosing to start vague, "you've done all this?"
Castiel's eyes were hesitant, looking at Dean with caution. He nodded, almost an imperceivable motion.
"Guess it took a long time, huh?" Dean smirked, trying to appear easy-going.
"Yes," Castiel said, his eyes watching Dean with careful calculation. He seemed like he didn't know what to expect from him. And Dean felt the same.
"That's why you never showed?" Dean asked, trying not to sound accusatory. Knowing Castiel was alive for most of the time made him glad. He wanted better for him than sleeping an endless sleep in the Empty, dreaming about his biggest failures. But the knowledge he was alive and never visited them... him... it gutted Dean too.
"I," Castiel started, his eyes averting. He shifted his weight nervously, clearing his throat. "There was a reason I didn't show, Dean."
Part of Dean wanted to stop him, to tell him it didn't matter. Because he was here now. And they could be together if only Dean would have the courage to ask. And that part of him believed it. But the other part, the one telling him he wasn't worthy of Castiel, he didn't deserve him, kept him silent. Kept him frozen in the place, unable to move. It was the part that believed Castiel didn't show simply because he deemed him unworthy too. So he stood there, silently waiting for Castiel's explanation, even though he dreaded it.
And Castiel continued: "I wanted to let you know I'm alive, Dean," he said, meeting his gaze with Dean's. "But then I saw you and Sam. Living a life you always deserved. Free from destiny's burden."
A small smile appeared on his lips, and his eyes softened. "Going to a pie festival. Having a dog... you were happy, Dean. And I knew...," Castiel's voice faltered for a moment, the angel taking a deep breath, "I knew that if I show up at your doorstep, I'll bring all that you've got rid of back with me. I knew it would be only a matter of time when something would screw up again. You said it yourself. I'm always the thing that goes wrong."
"Don't say that, Cas," Dean shook his head, reaching towards Castiel. But he stopped midway, letting his hand hang in the air. He wanted to touch Castiel, comfort him. But he was also afraid that if he touched him, the angel would disappear. Dean still wasn't 100% sure Castiel was really here. That he wasn't just a figment of his imagination.
Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "You were happy, Dean. And I didn't want to ruin that."
Dean wanted to protest, say something in his defense. But something was telling him Castiel wasn't finished. So he swallowed his words and waited, listening to what the angel had to say.
And when Castiel opened his eyes, Dean could see the sadness returning to them. But there was also something else—a resignation.
"I also knew," Castiel said, almost whispering, "after what I said to you... part of me knew that even if I came back, it wouldn't be the same. Coming back to you, Dean, being near you, knowing I can't have what I wanted... an everyday reminder... I couldn't do it. I... wasn't strong enough. So I stayed here. Moved on... as I should have a long time ago."
"Cas," Dean breathed out, finally able to move his legs. He stepped closer to the angel, stopping at arm's reach.
"Cas, I," Dean started, swallowing the lump in his throat. His heart was beating so fast, he felt like it was going to jump out of his chest. His stomach was twisting and turning, emotions mixing in him, one with the other. "I never... you never gave me a chance to say my part," he said. "Right before you died... I-I couldn't say anything. I'm so sorry, Cas. But... what you said... it was all so sudden. I... didn't know what to say."
Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm his beating heart. He tried to keep his eyes on Castiel as they filled with tears.
"I was questioning myself for so long, Cas. Knowing about Chuck. I... didn't know what was real and what wasn't."
Dean swallowed hard again, making another conscious step towards Castiel. He knew this was his chance. And Castiel deserved to hear the truth. The angel spoke his truth the moment before he died. And now it was Dean's turn to speak his.
"When Chuck became human... when we defeated him... things became clearer, you know? I felt better, knowing that I do what I do because I want to. Not because someone wrote it. Feeling the things I do because they're true, not imagined by a deranged writer."
Dean's vision was blurry from the tears streaming down his cheeks. And he felt like it was hard to breathe. But he was determined to see this to the end. Because when he came this far, he couldn't turn around and run.
"It felt purer, Cas." Dean continued. "But it also felt... overwhelming. So when I had a chance to ask Jack, I... couldn't. Even though I wanted to. God, how I wanted to," he huffed a laugh, sniffling through his tears. "But at that moment, all I could think of was... I don't deserve it. I did nothing extraordinary. All I ever did was because Chuck wrote it. So... who was I to ask God to bring someone back to me? Who was I to ask anything... of God?"
Dean couldn't control the tears anymore. He let them stream down his face freely, like the water that was flowing under the bridge. And he reached out, finally finding the courage to grab Castiel's hand in his.
"But I know now," he said, smiling through tears. "I know that I love you, Cas. I have for so long. And… I'm so sorry it took me dying to realize that. But… I want you to stay here with me. If you'll have me."
Castiel's eyes closed, and he leaned into Dean's touch. He was quiet, his features unreadable. The moment felt like an eternity. But Dean could stay like this forever if this meant yes.
Then Castiel's eyes opened, and Dean was again looking into the vast blue ocean. A genuine smile appeared on Castiel's face, filling it with happiness again.
"Of course, Dean. I'd love to stay with you."
Dean broke into a goofy grin, leaning in to kiss Castiel on the lips. And he couldn't believe he hasn't dared to do this before. Because it felt like the most right thing in the world.