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Dean nods at the nurse who rings him out, the electric door opening with a quiet buzz that echoes loudly in the hospital corridor. It's an unusual time to leave, but everyone—including his psychiatrist—thought it better if he took a walk. Even shrinks have a place for romance in their heart as it seems. Or she's worried that he might return but this time to the morgue if he can't find a reason to live.
Dean isn't so sure if it is a good idea. Who in their right mind would see him like this and think, 'Yeah I wanna hit that'?
His soulmate, of course. But the concept is still strange. Even after seeing his little brother Sam find his, especially knowing that his parents were—for Dean Winchester, soulmates are a two-edged sword. He ditched his own several times, the countdown on his wrist jumping back whenever his father sent him on a job, a mugger stole his purse or when he was admitted to the psychiatric hospital after his last futile attempt to make the countdown stop and set himself and his soulmate free.
It seemed to be the lesser evil. They would never know the bullet they dodged, would probably mourn his early demise. But Dean knows better. He's a fuck-up. The darkness inside him is all-consuming, no matter how winsome he smiles, how good he can hide his true feelings behind jokes and flirts.
His soulmate is either just as screwed up as him or will try to save him for the rest of their life. No matter who they are, they deserve better.
Dean pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans and raises his shoulders. It's gotten cold while he stayed here, his jacket no shield against the autumn breeze.
Maybe he should just go back and sit down in the hospital lobby, letting this chance to meet his soulmate pass like so many times before.
Because Dean not only missed them due to factors out of his control. No. He also ditched his soulmate several times, turning corners until the timer on his wrist ran backwards, adding seconds, then minutes instead of counting them down.
But Sammy saw his usually well-hidden timer when he visited him in hospital, the cuts already healed well enough to decipher the numbers again. He had promised him to get better, to meet his soulmate, let himself heal and be loved, and all the other bullshit one tells their sibling even though all one wants is to vanish from the face of the earth.
But Dean is tired, even too tired to run away from destiny. Maybe, he could take a quick look, show his soulmate what a basket case he is, and then, they could turn and find someone better. It's not as if soulmates are the only option in the dating scene. Many are with people who destiny didn't choose for them nowadays. If it's a good match, the soulmate marks fade over time and the relationship is safe, even if one might run into the person who once wore a matching timer on their wrist.
Dean doesn't know where to go, so he heads home. Charlie is probably already in bed or cuddling with her soulmate on the sofa. She'd deserve that. Especially after the crap of her finding him. Maybe he should call and ask if he's still welcome in their apartment or if he finally managed to turn her against him.
His feet carry him without proper thought through the night. He doesn't look at his wrist. What good would it do to him? Maybe he'll just walk past his soulmate in a crowd. Maybe they'll run into him like in one of those chick flicks. Maybe they'll see his hollow cheeks and empty eyes and make themself scarce.
He walks and walks through familiar streets, wondering if it truly is like in the movies. Sam said he knew it was her the moment their eyes met. Dean's mom had told him that it had felt as if Cupid himself had shot an arrow through both their hearts.
What if this is a mistake? What if they see him, fall heads over heels and then, he'll break their heart?
It's not that Dean doesn't want to be happy. It's not that everything is shit in his life. There's just this shadow layering itself over everything until the sun loses its warmth and light.
It's his brain chemistry, he knows that. But when it's all too much, when a joke of a friend hits the wrong way, or when he hasn't eaten in days, when his boss has one of his fits—so much as a side glance can be the last straw that breaks the camel's back and pushes Dean into the darkness.
He's high-functioning, though. At least his shrink had said so. He gets up in the morning and ready for work. He goes LARPing with Charlie and hunting with Benny. He calls Sam every other Saturday and volunteers at the soup kitchen. He can't remember when he last enjoyed any of it, but he goes through the motions until it's too much, and then…
He doesn't want to think about it. Shame and sorrow always fill him with a strange mix of longing and regret. He's here to take a step and choose life, love, happiness. It's way too abstract, but that is hope, too.
His wrist shows there are only three minutes left, and his heart beats a little bit faster. Is it excitement? Fear? Anticipation? He doesn't know. All he knows is that he wants this to be over. One way or another.
He wonders what his soulmate might feel right now when a quiet sob catches his attention. He stops on the pavement and looks around. It takes him a moment to see the little boy looking up at the adults that pass by, ignoring him. Tears stream over his reddened cheeks.
Dean walks closer and squats down in front of him. He smiles at the kid. He always had a way with children.
"Hey, I'm Dean. Did you lose your mother?"
The boy shakes his head and cries even harder.
"Your father?"
The little boy nods.
"Where did you see him last?" Dean asks.
"He… he," the boy hiccups, "was next to me and then I saw this dog and…"
"Where was that?"
The boy shrugs, and new fat tears run over his face.
"It's alright. We'll find him. My name is Dean. What's yours?"
"Jack," the boy snivels.
"We'll find your daddy, Jack. Don't you worry. Is it okay if I pick you up? Maybe you can spot him from above. I'm sure he's already looking for you."
"Okay," Jack says and brushes his tears away with his mittens.
Dean heaves him onto his shoulders. "What does your dad look like, Jack?" he asks when the boy is seated safely.
"Sh-short hair, and he always wears a coat."
Okay, not really helpful in the middle of autumn, but well.
"What's his name, Jack?"
"Castiel."
Dean furrows his brow. Strange name, but whatever.
"Here's the plan, Jack. You call your dad as loud as you can, and then I call his name. He'll hear us. You'll see."
They do just that. Dean's mind wanders to the time he lost Sammy at a fair. He was only twelve but he felt like he was breaking apart until he had found his brother again. The poor man must be out of his mind with fear.
"Jack!" comes a shout from behind. Dean's heart pounds against his ribcage. Oh thank god!
"Daddy!" Jack calls and already tries to get off Dean's shoulders.
"Slow down, buddy. You'll fall," Dean chuckles as he helps him down. As soon as his feet touch the ground, the boy starts running and flies into his father's arms.
Dean watches the happy reunion and smiles. It's the second since he left the hospital. Maybe, the meds are working after all.
"Thank you so much for helping my son," Castiel says, Jack clinging to his side.
"Sure thing. It's nothing." It's everything. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, Dean has felt useful. "Happy you found each other again."
"I was distracted by someone asking for directions, I thought it was… Nevermind. Thanks again."
"Thank you, Dean," Jack says and stretches out his left hand. Dean shakes it, chuckling.
"You're welcome," he says. He's pulling back his hand when the grip of Jack's tightens.
"Look, Daddy. Dean has the same clock as you."
Dean freezes and stares at his wrist. The scars distort the digits a little, but they are clear as day. 00:00:00:00:00:00. His hands start trembling. Jack and Castiel are the only people he interacted with in the last minutes, and Jack is way too young to carry a soulmate mark.
Slowly, Dean raises his head to meet Castiel's gaze. Sparkling eyes welcome him matched with a radiant smile.
"I've waited so long for you," Castiel breathes, his eyes glazing over with tears.
Dean swallows hard. "Sorry," is all he manages.
There is a wedding band on Castiel's left ring finger, and the little boy is proof of a good life well lived.
"Sorry that I ran into you. I'm sure Jack's mom is waiting for you, two. I won't… I'm already gone," he says and turns, not without looking at Castiel's timer. It's a wonder it hasn't faded yet. A mistake of nature, likely. Just like his whole frigging life.
"Dean! Wait!" Castiel calls but the blood rushing through Dean's ears is louder.
A mistake. Not that he had ever heard of anything like it. But a mistake it must be. A beautiful man like Castiel shouldn't be burdened with someone like him.
Why did he leave the hospital? Why didn't he keep an eye on his timer? Now he knows what he misses out on. And as much as he's still convinced that his soulmate deserves better—and obviously has it better—knowing that he could have had him if he hadn't been such a coward throughout all these years stings.
The boy is maybe four or five. Dean's been avoiding his soulmate for the better part of a decade. They could…
A hand closes around his arm and a softly spoken 'Dean' makes him stop.
"Don't," he croaks, not even knowing what he is asking for.
"It's not what it looks like," Castiel states.
Dean breathes heavily as the hand loosens its grip and tender fingers skim down to his wrist, gently brushing over old and new scars.
"Oh, love. What have you done to yourself?"
It's heart-shattering, unnerving. Dean wants to cry.
"What happened to you?" Jack asks.
Dean pulls his arm away and his sleeves over his wrist.
"It's nothing, Jack. Sometimes, people do stupid things," Dean says, not daring to look at Castiel. He's not sure if the stupid thing is trying to kill himself or not managing to go through with it.
"Sometimes, Jack, people are hurting so much inside that the pain needs an outlet. There are better ways than hurting oneself, but sometimes, it seems to be the only option," Castiel explains. Dean wonders if Castiel knows from first-hand experience what he is talking about. He can't imagine, but people never understood how he could cut himself. He always seemed so put together and strong.
"When I hurt, I drink Daddy's hot chocolate, and I feel much, much better. It has little marshmallows in it," Jack says. "Do you want some?"
Dean huffs a laugh, but before he can decline the invitation, Castiel chimes in.
"That's a great idea, Jack. I think we all need one after this scare. I was so worried about you. I'm so glad that Dean found you and kept you safe." He looks at Dean with a close-lipped smile and hope in his eyes.
Dean's heart aches. Oh, how he wants to say 'yes'. But…
"You sure your wife won't mind?" he asks, hoping to pull Castiel back into reality. Dean won't destroy a family. He's not more important than Jack's joy. The kid still has a shot at a happy life.
"Mommy died after my birth. She married Daddy in the hospital chapel."
Dean's heart breaks for the little boy. He knows how it is to grow up without a mother.
"I'm so sorry, Jack."
The boy looks up at his father and smiles brightly. "But now, Daddy has you, right? You're his soulmate. You two will live happily ever after."
The two men chuckle. It's a nice thought for sure.
"So…. Hot chocolate?" Castiel asks, hope pulsating in every syllable.
Dean bites the inside of his cheek and pulls himself together.
"I'm freezing," he says. "Nothing better than a hot chocolate to warm up."
Turns out, he wouldn't need a hot drink for that, though. Castiel's smile warms him from the inside out.
***
"Does he always fall asleep so quickly? I needed ages to put Sam to bed."
Castiel chuckles. "He's always been a good sleeper."
"He's a sweet boy," Dean says and swings the tea towel over his shoulder.
"Thank you. He's my pride and joy," Castiel says and looks around his kitchen. "You needn't do the dishes, Dean."
"You cooked. It was the least I could do."
They fall silent for a long moment. Dean chews his bottom lip and frowns as he looks through the kitchen window out into the night.
"You have a wonderful life, Cass. I… I bring chaos and darkness wherever I go. I get it if you… Jack deserves…" Dean rambles.
"A father who, one day, may marry out of love and not for custody of the son of his dying friend. And his father deserves to be with his soulmate. If his soulmate wants to, of course," Castiel says and steps closer.
Tentatively, he runs his fingers over the lines on Dean's wrist.
"Some people wear their scars on their skin. Some carry them hidden in their souls. But scars don't define us. They show us where we're coming from, what we survived. How we loved and how we suffered. They don't decide our fate. We do."
Dean looks at him with vulnerable eyes. "I'm broken, Cass."
"Then, let's be broken together and build a beautiful mosaic out of the shards of our pasts."
Dean swallows hard. "You… you really wanna try."
"You sound surprised, Dean. Why wouldn't I?"
"You don't know me, man."
Castiel huffs a laugh. "I know everything I need. And the rest, we make up as we go."
Dean nods and quirks a lopsided smile. "Yeah. Sounds like a plan."
He leans his forehead against Castiel's and takes a deep breath. "Thanks for waiting," he breathes.
Castiel brushes his lips over Dean's and smiles. "Welcome home, Dean," he whispers, and everything falls into place.