Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The house is barely more than a skeleton when Dean first sees it.

Something long forgotten in the middle of nowhere.

Dean stumbles upon it on his way back to the bunker after an easy solo hunt. Somehow he finds himself taking a route he's never driven before and ends up completely lost, far away from any society. Dean doesn't really care, though, (these days he only ever cares about very little things) and so instead of stopping at the side of the road and checking the world wide web for some information about his location he just drives on, taking the nice view in and hoping against all odds that the sights around him might cheer him up at least a tiny bit.

When he spots the house in the corner of his eye, he parks the car before he even realizes what he is doing and stares at it through the passenger's side's window.

He feels stupid and completely silly gazing at an abandoned house like it's holding all the answers of the universe or something, but somehow he can't bring himself to turn away. There is just something that draws him in.

Perhaps it's because despite its messed-up state the house has good bones. Potential.

It doesn't deserve to be left alone to be eaten up by nature.

And it's dumb, but Dean kinda relates to that. He is messed up as well. Messed up for way over six months, back when Cas … well, when he got taken, right in front of Dean's eyes …

Yeah, Dean has not been well and he actually feels like this house looks like.

But beyond all that there is hope and maybe Dean prays that there might be some for himself left as well.

So Dean keeps on looking and gets lost in his own thoughts.

Good thoughts, for a change. He's not thinking about Sam's concerned expression whenever he glances at his brother, he doesn't recall all of Eileen's (so far mostly failed) attempts of brightening his day somewhat, and he most certainly doesn't let his mind stray toward a very specific territory that will most definitely rip his heart apart all over again …

No, instead he wonders how much work it would be to rebuild the house's porch and if the windows are still good enough underneath all the dirt or if they would have to be changed. He considers the surprisingly good looking state of the roof and imagines himself up there, fixing up the few loose shingles he's able to see right now from his perspective. He sees himself giving that house a fresh layer of paint and muses whether a nice white color would be the way to go or whether a more natural tone fitting for the surrounding woods would be best.

He ponders over it all for so long that eventually the sun sets and he finds himself in darkness because there sure as hell is no working streetlamp anywhere close by.

Dean sighs, scolds himself for being so silly and drives off, ignoring the fact that it's much harder to leave than it has any right to be.

---

Dean can't stop thinking about the house.

And so, a week later, he waves goodbye to Sam, telling him some excuse about him having to take a drive to get out of their windowless underground bunker, and heads out before his brother even has a chance to ask a million questions, all originating from a place of concern.

Dean isn't up to answering any of them.

He actually drives around aimlessly for a while, convincing himself that he actually did tell Sam the truth, but rather sooner than later he ends up back at the house again.

It's still standing there, just as the last time, and for a while Dean resumes his apparently favorite activity of staring at it from the inside of his car and imagining all sorts of ridiculous things, like him working on the exterior and calling this place his and whatever else nonsense his brain is capable of coming up with.

Eventually he takes it even a step further as he climbs out of the Impala and walks up to the building. He prods and pokes and looks at the damage of time from a much closer angle and once again he feels absolutely stupid for doing so, but finds himself unable to stop.

That sensation gets even worse when he actually stumbles upon a FOR SALE sign that's been hidden by a bunch of overgrown weed and he quickly shoots a photo of it before he can talk himself out of it.

When he drives back to the bunker at some point (and thanks to google he now knows that the house is just about 40 minutes away which is kinda weird because it feels like a whole different world for some reason) he actually notices a little smile sneaking itself on his face. It's not deliriously happy or any of that, but it might very well be the first one that hasn't been forced since this whole shit show started and Dean takes what he can get at this point.

So if a broken-down house close to collapse is giving his overactive brain a rest for a little while, so be it.

---

That evening he looks up the realtor on the internet and seriously finds the house in question listed right on the bottom of their very long and fancy list.

The photo is clearly older, the house in a much better shape than it is now, and Dean can't help but wonder how long it's been on the market. By the looks of it it actually might have been a couple of decades at this point.

The house itself is ridiculously cheap and the listing is using colorful words just as “charming” and “a lot of potential” and “beautiful safe haven away from the bustle of the daily grind”.

Dean rolls his eyes at all those descriptions, but at the end of the day he actually has to confess that there is a truth to it all and that revelation doesn't let go off him.

---

It takes two days.

Two days of glimpsing back at the realtor's website every chance he's got, like he's a man obsessed. Two days of telling himself over and over that he's being ludicrous, that this is a fucking house and not just some toy he can put in his pocket.

And then he cracks.

He's having a bad day and an even worse night, with unbidden memories hitting him full force at all times, and as he's drowning in misery and alcohol while being tortured by the reminder of Cas' teary eyes and the unsteady waver in his voice when he … when he said … yeah, Dean finds himself desperate to force himself to focus on something else, anything else, and that house has proved itself to be a very effective distraction recently.

So Dean decides then and there, in his dazed state, that he's got a right to live a little, doesn't he? Charlie provided them with a limitless bank account and so far Dean had barely used it for anything but everyday life and a few personal purchases that aren't even worth mentioning.

So why the fuck not buy a house with it, right?

Even if Dean would end up not doing anything with it, too old and tired to deal with the entire mess, the poor abandoned thing would at least have an owner again. It wouldn't be abandoned anymore.

That at least is what Dean tells himself as he, at 2 am in the morning, in a drunken stupor, writes a hopefully eloquent email to the realtor.

---

The realtor gets back to him the very next morning, at 8 am sharp. As though she discovered the email first thing and almost tripped over herself in a hurry to catch up with Dean before he would be able to change his mind.

And the truth is, Dean seriously might've had a change of heart if she would've waited a little longer. But as she calls him at such an early hour (because Dean apparently decided to give her his real phone number, too?) Dean is still a little buzzed and agrees to a viewing later that day. After she made sure three times that he honestly meant the house in question and didn't just get it wrong somehow.

So Dean meets up with her later and she is young and peppy and more than a little enthusiastic as she leads Dean throughout the house.

Like in the listing she is talking about charm and potential and “all this magnificent building needs is a bit of love and care” while Dean only listens halfheartedly and inspects everything in excruciating detail.

He worked construction long enough to know what to look for and despite everything (aka the fact that it's not exactly his own money he's spending) he wants to make sure that he's not falling into some sort of trap. But from the inside the house is just as sturdy as the outside, its good bones keeping it together, and eventually Dean is just unable to not imagine himself bringing it back to its full glory.

The first floor is basically an open space, but thanks to an intelligent design everything has its own special nooks, making it homey in all the right ways. On the second floor there is the master bedroom and two additional rooms that have pretty decent sizes all in all. Only the bathroom is not particularly huge, but it has all the important necessities and enough storage space to fulfill Dean's needs. He doesn't need more.

Furthermore there is a spacious basement, a garage and an attic which is very basic right now, but might easily be transformed into yet another room.

So yes, the potential part of the realtor's description is totally right.

And so, on a nondescript Thursday afternoon, Dean buys a house.

---

He doesn't tell Sam about any of this.

Sure, if he were to look closer at their bank account it might raise some questions, but a) they barely don't have to because Charlie built in so many security measures nothing out of the ordinary could ever happen without them being notified, and b) since additional money is always flowing into the account (also thanks to Charlie) the number changes all the time anyway and Sam probably wouldn't notice anything amiss. Not without further inspection at least.

And so, since Sam has no reason to become suspicious, Dean doesn't tell him a damned thing.

He knows it is weird, but he's just not ready to face any questions just yet. He can't look Sam in the eyes and come up with some explanation if he's barely able to admit it to himself.

He just can't.

Telling Sam that he took one look at this rundown house and found himself relating to it in manners nobody is able to understand sounds absolutely stupid even to his own ears. And he's certainly not ready to see Sam's reaction at the fact that Dean hopes that if he would manage to fix the house he might be able to fix himself as well along the way.

And if both house and man would be fixed and as good as new, maybe everything else would fall into place.

Maybe the house would become a home.

For Dean.

And perhaps someone else by his side.

Someone very particular.

Dean chases those kinds of thoughts off as soon as they start to rise, but they're getting more frequent since he signed the contract.

Because his stupid brain keeps asking him over and over, why buy a house when you don't intend to share it with someone special?

Yeah, that's another question Dean is not ready to answer.

---

Also, the thing is, Sam doesn't know.

He's completely oblivious to the real extent of Dean and Cas' relationship.

Sam might be college smart and an observant guy all around, particularly on cases, but when it comes to Dean he can be as dense as a brick wall. He's got a certain image of his brother in his mind and he barely entertains the possibility that it might mostly be a facade.

It's not really Sam's fault, though. If they would've been allowed to grow up in a normal way, if they would've been siblings and nothing else, then maybe he would've caught up to it one of these days. But as it was Dean ended up not only being Sam's brother but his father and mother, too. And when do kids really know their parents? They form a picture of them in the early years and most of the time they stick to it, deeming it the truth.

So all the macho posturing Dean did for most of his life? Yeah, Sam bought it, at least to a certain degree.

Sure, he could accept Dean's nerdy side, which gradually surfaced since Dad's death, and wasn't too much taken aback by Dean nesting at the bunker and expressing his love for cooking. Those were all things that Dean kept hidden during the first years of their lives, but not that well hidden. He quoted Star Wars at a young age and got experimental with their cooking (more out of necessity than anything else) and Sam certainly picked up on that.

But the fact that Dean might be into guys as well on occasion? That he even might have the ability to fall in fucking love with one?

Yeah, this probably never crossed Sam's mind. He watched Dean flirt with men on cases and saw him basically drooling over Gunner Lawless or whoever else and had reasonable explanations for all of those instances without it shattering the picture of Dean he's got in his head.

Yeah, Sam is freaking clueless, there is no doubt about that.

And of course he gets that Dean is in a tough place right now because at the end of the day Dean didn't make any secret out of it, but Sam doesn't seem to realize that this is about Cas. Not solely, at least. Sam appears to believe that everything is crashing down on Dean at once, that he is currently busy grieving everyone they have ever lost, now that the world is saved and they have a chance at a semi-normal life. He thinks that Dean is hung-up over them all – Cas, yes, but also Mom and Dad and Bobby and Jo and Ellen and whoever else they can think of – and that he's just not coping well with all his regrets and guilt.

And granted, he might have a little point because Dean sure as hell hates the fact that all these people had to die to get them to this point. Of course he misses them all pretty badly and they enter his mind more frequently since Chuck's defeat.

But naturally Cas is a special case …

And Sam doesn't seem to realize that. Not fully.

So why tell him about the house and the fucking midlife crisis Dean is apparently sporting right now when he doesn't even have the whole picture? A picture that Dean is not ready yet to share with him anyway?

Why make Dean's life unnecessarily complicated?

So ultimately he keeps his mouth shut and just hopes that it won't bite him in the ass sooner than later.

---

And so Dean goes to work.

He assesses the damage, makes a plan, gets the necessary supplies and then starts to fix the place up step by step. He doesn't think much, he doesn't overthink much, he's just grateful that the whole process is so time-consuming and distracting that he has barely any chance to dwell on unhappy things. And as an added bonus it's also so physically tiring by the end of the day that he finds himself completely exhausted most nights and he drifts right off to sleep without rolling around in bed hour after hour, unable to find peace. Sure, the nightmares still come more often than not, but at least Dean catches some actual rest in-between and that's clearly something his body desperately needs as he realizes after about a week of that.

Since the house is still a dump so far Dean doesn't stay overnight, but makes daily trips back and forth. Thankfully Sam is on an extended hunt with Eileen that first week and a half, so Dean doesn't have to face any questions about it, but soon enough he will have to come up with some excuse as to why he's away so much.

For now, though, Dean merely enjoys the process in itself. The fact that he's got something to do, something to look forward to.

It doesn't feel entirely hopeless for a change.

He starts with the front porch because it suffered the most from the passage of time and Dean isn't keen on anyone breaking their necks by crashing through the splintered wood before they would have even been able to reach the doorbell. So he gets rid of everything old and broken, reinforces the foundation, cuts new wood panels, measures, lacquers, and eventually fixes.

The whole thing takes time, but Dean is in no rush. The weather is great for early spring, no clouds in sight, and it's nice to work outside. He wants to do it right, not quick.

And so he listens to music and actually feels an urge to sing along more often than not while he drills and hammers and Miracle naps nearby, keeping a close eye on everything, but not with any real intention to get in the middle of things.

It's good.

---

By week two Dean gets company.

He's just in the process of adjusting the last wood panels for the porch when he hears someone approaching from behind. His hackles rise on instinct at first, his hunter days not so long gone that he's forgotten how it works, but he relaxes before even turning around, calmed by the fact that Miracle is not alarmed at all at the slightest by the newcomer. On the contrary, the dog begins to whine happily, his tail wagging as he jumps to his feet.

Dean heaves a sigh and whirls around, totally expecting to find himself confronted with Sam. Dean turned off the GPS on his phone, but Sam is smart and when he's determined enough to track someone down, he does.

Maybe he came back to the bunker earlier than Dean thought and noticed his brother's absence. And as the certified worrywart he started to look for Dean right away.

Yeah, Dean undoubtedly anticipates seeing Sam standing right there.

It's not, though.

It's Jack.

Dean is so taken aback by the sight that for a moment he seriously considers that he's dreaming. That the hours outside in the sun are making him hallucinate.

It's reasonable enough.

They haven't seen the kid since Chuck's end. Haven't heard from him. Just nothing.

He merely dashed off, all those powers of the universe ripping him away. He probably existed in several dimensions at once, not having the time or energy to even remember those two dead-beat hunters who helped raise him for a day and a half.

Not that Dean really blames him. It wasn't rainbows and sunshine by a mile, so why not take the chance to forget about it, at least for a while?

Now, however, Jack seems intent on reconnecting as he first bends down to greet Miracle enthusiastically and then turns his gaze towards Dean.

For a very long moment they just look at each other, not a word being spoken, not a muscle twitching. It kinda reminds Dean of all the endless staring matches he had with Cas over the years and that thought makes him tingle.

In the end Jack smiles, raises his hand and waves in that dorky way of his that is so fucking endearing that Dean was never able to resist it, even back in the day when he fiercely tried to convince himself that he hated the boy.

“Hello,” Jack says, sounding so casual as though they'd just seen each other this morning. As though he is not literal God right there, the fate of the cosmos in his hands.

Dean chews his bottom lip and doesn't know what to do.

One part of him, a surprisingly strong one, wants to rush right over to him and pull Jack in the tightest hug since the invention of hugs. He wants to grip tightly and never let go, ever. He wants to feel the kid, wants to feel him alive, wants to make sure he's alright.

It's such a parental urge it almost takes Dean's breath away.

But he also can't help but think about all the things that went down between them. Not the nice things like the fishing and cooking lessons, of course, but the nasty memories which haunt Dean to this very day. He suddenly feels so overwhelmed and ashamed and running away actually seems like a reasonable reaction right now. He seriously considers just whirling around and rushing off, Jack solely a little dot in the distance.

In the end he does neither. He merely stays frozen on his mostly finished front porch and doesn't move.

“You bought a house,” Jack eventually says as he walks up to the porch.

Dean narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Have you been spying on me?”

Jack nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders. “I'm just keeping an eye out every so often.”

Dean huffs, but he finds that he kinda likes the thought of Jack checking up on him. It means that he still cares.

“It's nice,” Jack states. And when Dean looks at him in confusion, he adds. “The house, it's nice.”

“It's a dump right now, kid,” Dean can't help but grumble.

Jack keeps the sunshine plastered to his face. “Maybe. But it will be beautiful.”

Dean frowns. “Is that you, looking into the future or something?”

“No,” Jack objects. “I just know. You're good at fixing things.”

Yeah, THINGS, Dean thinks. Relationships, not so much.

He keeps those thoughts to himself, though, and instead acknowledges Jack's statement with a dismissive scoff.

“So, where have you been all this time?” he asks, trying to sound casual even though everything inside him is brimming.

“Everywhere,” Jack answers, his smile never faltering. “Just everywhere.”

Dean blinks, not really sure how to react to that.

Jack, in the meantime, squares his shoulder, as though he's bracing himself for impact. “Listen, I'm really sorry that I didn't come back sooner –”

“Jack –” Dean cuts in, not eager to hear an apology that doesn't need to be voiced in the first place.

Jack, however, goes on. “I'm sorry. It was just – so overwhelming, you can't even imagine. Everything out there is so big and before I even knew what was happening I was lost, dragged into a thousand different directions. Space, galaxies, universes – I've seen it all.”

The kid is right, Dean can't even imagine.

“Damn, that sounds … that sounds like a lot,” he states.

“It was,” Jack agrees with a fierce nod. “And it felt like a millisecond at best, but when I returned suddenly months have passed –”

“It's fine, Jack,” Dean assures him. “This can't have been easy, all of a sudden having all that power. I'm just glad you're okay.” He pauses for a moment and then wonders, “You are okay, right?”

“Yes,” Jack confirms and he's telling the truth, that much Dean can say, but there is also a little hitch in his voice which makes Dean perk up.

Yeah, Jack is okay, but there is more to the story.

However, Dean doesn't feel like he has the right to pry. Instead he steps down the few steps off his porch and finally gathers enough courage to pull Jack into a hug.

He gives Jack enough time to realize what is happening and make up his own mind if he wants this to begin with or not, but when he doesn't draw back, even seems to lean in a bit while Dean raises his arms, Dean chases off the demons in his head and wraps the kid into his arms.

And Jack might be God and he might be almighty, but he still feels just like a young boy.

“Glad you're back, kid,” Dean mutters and he means it with everything he's got.

Chapter Text

They hug for way longer than society dictates.

As soon as Dean's got Jack in his arms he finds himself unable to let go. It feels like both his body and brain are demanding to make up for all the times they didn't hug in the past and Dean realizes soon enough that he's got a lot of catching up to do.

Jack holds on just as tightly, either because he shares the sentiment or because he merely wants to placate Dean in his time of need. Dean can't really tell and at this point he actually doesn't even care anymore.

So they keep on standing like that in the bright afternoon sunlight, right in front of the house Dean bought since he might very well be a little bit crazy and unstable, with nobody there to judge but Miracle who seems clearly put out after a while that not a single soul is paying him any attention.

That is what ultimately makes Dean and Jack break apart: Miracle forcibly squeezing himself between them, apparently eager to participate in some capacity.

Jack chuckles at the dog's antics and bends down once more to scratch Miracle's ears.

Meanwhile Dean straightens his flannel and tries desperately to chase off all those tumbling emotions within his chest without it being too obvious.

“Um, you hanging around for a while?” he eventually asks, feeling more awkward than the one time Bobby walked in on him during his personal alone time back in the days. “'Coz if you do … uh, you want a soda?”

He gestures vaguely at his portable cooler that holds all his beverages and food he needs for the day because he sure as hell isn't ready to trust the flimsy electricity in the house just yet to plug in some sort of refrigerator. Not without an expert checking everything to its bones first.

Jack glances at the cooler and for a second a little frown shows up on his forehead that looks so much like Cas that it makes Dean wonder once again how there was ever a time he actually was able to fool himself to believe that Jack could be anyone else but Cas' son.

Yeah, the depths of his denial surely had been uncanny.

“Do you have watermelon soda?” Jack asks, intrigue in his tone now.

And Dean can't help but roll his eyes while some of the weight pressing on his shoulders seems to slide off at the sound of that innocent and so very familiar question.

“You're a weirdo,” Dean tells him, not for the first time in their lives. “But yeah, I've got it.”

It's an obscure brand that tastes quite horrible in Dean's opinion, but Jack grew obsessed with it pretty quickly and it became a staple in the bunker's fridge before they even knew it.

And yeah, Dean has been carrying a few bottles back and forth with him to the construction site the whole time. Because even though he told himself that Jack wouldn't show up anytime soon, he just couldn't bear the mere possibility of the kid ending up disappointed at the lack of any stupid watermelon soda.

But here they are now and the smile that splits Jack's face as he learns that Dean is indeed carrying his favorite kind has certainly been worth the extra space in his cooler.

They end up on the stairs of the porch, with Miracle happily lying down by their feet. Everything seems stupidly peaceful – the sun is shining, the birds are chirping cheerfully and some bees are buzzing nearby, collecting their pollen –, but Dean is unable to relax. He finds himself tense all over, with Jack right next to him, and he hates that feeling with every fiber of his being.

“So …” he eventually raises his voice after many minutes of strained silence (at least from Dean’s point of view, Jack seems content to just roam his gaze around lazily). “How … are things?”

Jack blinks at him, either puzzled by the question itself or the weird tone in Dean’s voice.

“I mean, how is being God treating ya?” Dean elaborates.

Jack stays quiet for a moment longer and Dean is just bracing himself to go into further detail when the boy answers, “It’s … a lot.”

Dean figures.

He’s still not sure how he is supposed to feel about this whole thing. Of course he is proud of Jack for standing up like that and taking on this new responsibility. The fate of the world is at the palm of his hands and instead of setting everything on fire, like you’d imagine if you gave a toddler that kind of authority, things seem to have settled. Neither Heaven nor Hell are bothering them, the supernatural appears to have tamed down in general and there are reports of excessive rainbow sightings all over the planet, even at places where such things normally don’t really happen.

Yeah, so far Jack hasn’t messed up. On the contrary, he looks calm, serene.

At the same time, though, Dean can’t help but be saddened by it. Jack deserves peace, deserves to be the child he never was (and if that’s not something Dean can relate to, then he doesn’t know what is), and deep down Dean has always wished that for him.

He knows that Cas would feel the same way – proud and sad – and that makes the whole thing even worse.

At the end of the day, however, he can only offer support.

“You know, whenever it feels like it’s getting too much,” Dean says, looking right into Jack’s eyes, “you’re always welcome here, you know that, right? With me and Sam. You can pop by any time.”

A little smile tugs at the corners of Jack’s mouth.

“I mean, you also don’t need a reason,” Dean adds. “Even when everything is going great, you can totally come by. And stay, if you want.”

Stay.

Dean never said this enough to the people he cares about. It felt too much like an obligation, like he was putting pressure on them, but now he can’t help but remember the hurt in Cas’ tone when he told Dean in Purgatory, “You didn’t ask me to stay.” and Dean started to realize that there is much more to it than his own selfish needs.

This time it certainly gets a smile out of Jack. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean grunts as he nudges the boy’s shoulder in acknowledgment.

“So you bought a house,” Jack points out, glancing around. “Why did you do that? Don’t you like the bunker anymore?”

That feels like a little stab to the heart.

“I love the bunker,” Dean insists because it’s nothing but the truth. “It’s been my home for many years. But I’m not so sure I wanna grow old in it, you know?”

Jack mulls that over carefully in his head for a while before he nods. “I see. The bunker is ultimately a place of hunting, of the supernatural. You don’t want to necessarily surround yourself with all these reminders after you have retired.”

“I’m not retired yet,” Dean is quick to clarify, even though deep down it kinda feels like he truly is. He hasn’t actively searched for hunts for weeks now and the mere thought of doing that right now actually makes his throat close up in a very uncomfortable manner. “I guess … I guess I just wanted a change. And something with windows to look forward to.”

Jack nods like he understands, but Dean can totally see on his face that he’s still having many questions. He doesn’t ask any of them, though. Not yet, at least.

Instead he suddenly blurts out, as though it’s been weighing on his person the entire time and just needs to break free now, “I’m sorry I left.”

Dean blinks, a little overwhelmed by the little outburst. “Jack …”

“It was just a lot and Amara was in my head and …” Jack sighs, once again just looking like a little kid. “But I’m sorry that I simply left like you didn’t matter. That I only told you I’d be hands-off from now on and not even gave you further explanations. I mean, you were asking … asking about Castiel … and I just …”

He lowers his head, the vulnerability in his voice at the mention of Cas’ name so palpable it actually physically hurts.

Dean bites his bottom lip, wants to reassure the boy that everything is alright, that it’s fine, but just as it always happens when Cas brushes his mind, too many emotions roar back to life inside of Dean and he finds himself incapable of speaking. Sometimes it reminds him so much of the time after his mom’s (first) death when he found himself unable to say anything for months that it literally scares him.

So instead of forcing (and probably failing) to get his vocal chords back to work, Dean reaches out and squeezes Jack’s wrist in a manner he hopes to be reassuring.

“I tried to …” Jack goes on, a heaviness in his features that seems far too big for a four-year-old. “Castiel, I tried to … but the Empty, it doesn’t …”

Dean squeezes him some more.

To know that the kid actually tried, it’s more than he can say.

Of course Dean has questions, wants to know exactly what Jack attempted and if there maybe is a way for them to work together to actually get Cas out of that place, for real. After all, they’re Winchesters and they always beat the odds, no matter how dire it might look. But right now Dean still can’t speak and Jack looks like he’s not up for deeper explanations either, so they continue to sit there on the porch and drink their sodas in silence.

It's tense and quiet and that certainly is, without any doubt, the patented Winchester way.

---

At some point Jack starts to play with Miracle like he isn't just literal God who has a million more important things to do and Dean resumes his work at the porch again. He doesn't get much done because his gaze always slips toward his companions, something warm tugging at his heartstrings seeing both boy and dog so happy and careless, but he doesn't let that deter him. He has more than enough time to get the house back on track, a few wasted hours won't make much difference.

Sometime later Jack shows up next to him and says, “I could help you if you want. With the house, I mean.”

Dean can easily picture that. Jack just snapping his finger once and the house repairing itself in a manner of milliseconds. The prospect is actually tempting, especially when Dean thinks about the huge amount of work still waiting for him, but at the same time it feels so wrong his insides churn.

“Yeah, um, thanks,” he mutters, lowering his gaze. “But, uh, this is something I have to do by myself, y'know? With my own hands and all that.”

Instead of disappointment there is only a smile on Jack's features. “I understand,” he says. “Castiel taught me that humans sometimes have this strong need for accomplishment, not only for the thing itself but also for their personal peace of mind.”

Dean feels his throat closing up again.

“Like the one time we made pizza from scratch,” Jack goes on, now a big grin on his face at the memory. “It would've been easier to just order some, but it felt so much better making it ourselves.”

Dean remembers that day.

The flour exploded in the kitchen, Cas managed to get tomato sauce everywhere on his body, and Jack somehow read the recipe wrong and their dough grew to the size of a big, angry cat.

It was a good day.

“I was just wondering if I could help you with the house, the human way,” Jack says with a shrug that is not as nonchalant as he tries it to be. “Put a few nails in, paint some walls …”

Dean listens up. “You wanna help me?”

“Sure,” Jack answers. “I've never done anything like this before. It might be fun to experience for myself.” And then he adds, when Dean stays silent for too long, “Only if you want, of course. I would understand if you'd rather do this all alone –”

“No, no,” Dean cuts in, the thought of Jack disappearing again after this conversation and not returning for a very long time suddenly too much to bear. “It's okay, you can help. I wouldn't mind the company.”

Jack beams at him and that's settled then.

---

And so it comes that Dean teaches God on this now lightly cloudy afternoon how to hammer a nail into wood.

It's certainly not the strangest thing he has ever done.

But it comes close.

---

They meet up again the next day and the day after that.

They didn't make any official plans, but somehow they obviously had some sort of unspoken mutual agreement, and Dean can't say he terribly minds.

Granted, their relationship is still far from perfect and they masterfully manage to avoid any important topics that might even scratch the surface about all their issues by talking about basically anything else at length, but at the same time it's nice to have someone else with him who isn't nagging him constantly.

Dean loves Sam, he really does, but the idiot does have a tendency to urge people to open up about their feelings on his timetable, not their own. That someone might just need a little more time to wrap their head around things barely occurs to him.

So yeah, Dean would rather bite his foot off now than have a heart-to-heart about Cas with his little brother. But maybe in a few months? Or years?

Sure, Dean can vaguely imagine being close to ready then. But right now it would rip a fucking hole into his chest and leave him an utter mess. Unfortunately Sam can't really see that.

Jack, however, doesn't force anything on Dean. It's obvious that he's not eager to talk about Cas and his failure to get him out of the Empty either – not yet at least – and so they two can easily spend the day without mentioning the angel even once.

Sure, it's not healthy in the long run, but Jack seems to need the time and distraction just as much as Dean and the hunter is more than willing to offer it to him.

---

It's on the third day of them working together when Jack suddenly looks up from his task – rummaging through the garage to determine whether everything scattered around there, left behind by the previous owners, is junk or whether some of it may be useful – and announces, “Sam is back at the bunker.”

Dean pauses as well.

He knew that Sam and Eileen made plans to return today or tomorrow at the latest, so it's not much of a surprise. He even sent them a text earlier that morning, telling them that he was out and they shouldn't worry if he wasn't back by the time they arrived.

And of course he's happy to have them back, safe and sound. Nobody got hurt on that hunt, or worse, and they managed to make some useful contacts for the future along the way.

Yet Dean can't help but be a bit put out because from now on his daily trips to the house might become much more difficult with Sam being on his case the whole time.

“Well then.” Dean straightens his back, feeling a bit like he's bracing himself for battle. “We shouldn't let him wait for long.”

Before he can ask even more questions, Dean doesn't say.

He glances at Jack and notices the kid glimpsing not so subtly toward the Impala. Dean doesn't know if he's wondering whether he would be allowed to drive the car again or whether he would have permission to drive along at all, and somehow that uncertainty settles weirdly in the hunter's stomach. They both still feel out of tune on a lot of things.

“You've seen Sam since …?” Dean asks then because at the end of the day that seems to be vital information.

Jack stares at him and once again it feels like it's piercing right through Dean's skin. “I only have been with you so far.”

Dean has no clue how to react to that, if he should be pleased or not, so ultimately he just nods and doesn't dwell on it.

“Sam's gonna be happy to see you then.”

---

Sam is happy.

Overly thrilled even.

It's obvious he's having annoying and intrusive questions which are just waiting on the tip of his tongue when he watches Dean walk through the door, but that instantly vanishes as he suddenly spots Jack behind his brother. Suddenly there is excitement and hugs and many, many hours of catching up about things on both ends.

Somewhere along the way Dean remembers that he basically didn't tell Jack to keep the house and everything it entails to himself, but the kid seems to know without having been told, not mentioning his true activities even once and instead vaguely painting a picture of Dean and Jack spending some time together the last few days by driving around and enjoying nature, with Miracle in tow.

It's technically not a lie because they have been in nature and have been driving (at least towards the bunker), so Jack obviously doesn't feel too bad about telling it and Dean doesn't feel too guilty about having the boy do it in the first place.

Sam still remains a bit suspicious, though, but then he gets quickly distracted by the next topic of conversation – Eileen giddily asking Jack if he's been as far as the Milky Way – and it seems to be forgotten.

Dean leans back for the rest of the night, sips on his beer and lets his family's chatter wash over him.

And for a while he can actually fool himself into thinking that everything is alright in the world.

Chapter Text

Dean can't sleep that night.

Too much on his mind, as it's more often than not these days. And he just knows that he will have terrible nightmares if he were to try to fall asleep anyway. So why bother waking up in a drench and sobbing over the pictures in his head when he can indulge in the joys of insomnia instead?

He finds himself in the bunker's library and stares at the back of the books there.

The books he has gotten quite familiar with in the last couple of months.

Whenever he wasn't caught up in some drunken stupor he rummaged through those books, looking for any kind of information on The Empty. He knew that Sam was doing the same, probably even more efficiently than Dean could ever be, but Dean was unable to leave it all to his brother. He needed to do something.

They stopped about a month ago because they had to admit to themselves that there was absolutely nothing to find.

The Men of Letters had no information apart from a few vague mentions in some obscure, ancient texts that didn't deliver anything useful. Dean read it over and over, even crawled into the tiniest corners long forgotten, desperate for some answer. For a little flicker of hope.

Hell, at some point he even contacted the British chapter, begged them for support. And obviously he was pathetic enough that they actually made an effort, but so far Dean hasn't heard anything but negative news from them.

The same with all the other contacts the Winchesters put onto the case. Next to powerful enemies they also have made many friends and allies over the years and the brothers were determined to use it all. The hunters and witches and specialists and even the Queen of Hell herself.

But so far, nothing.

Dean isn't really surprised because in real life, without Godly interference, you normally don't just stumble upon a convenient spell that would be the solution to all your problems. No, in real life you research for months or years or even a lifetime and you never find what you're looking for.

Never.

It's cruel and harsh and exactly what Dean has been expecting from this whole operation. He knew right from the start that it would only bring him more heartbreak.

And he went in anyway. Because even the smallest chance of getting Cas out of that godforsaken place was enough to keep him going. Sure, with a bottle in the hand and crippling sleep deprivation, but Dean never claimed to be perfect anyway.

He scoffs at himself and heads for the liquor cabinet before he can talk himself out of it. In the last week he hasn't drunken much because home renovations and drunkenness don't mix too well – and he surely doesn't want to die from falling off his roof anytime soon –, but now, with the bunker's useless books staring back at him as though they're mocking him, he just doesn't see any reason to keep it at bay.

It will help him to forget. To numb the pain. And maybe even make him drowsy enough that he can slip back into a dreamless sleep.

Two glasses in of a whiskey Dean can't remember purchasing and which might very well be some of Crowley's stash he left behind so many moons ago, Dean finds himself with company in the form of a four-year-old God.

He grits his teeth when Jack stops beside him.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and considers for a moment to feign sleep. To slump deeper into his armchair and try to pretend that his consciousness isn't present. He is not in the mood for any sort of conversation or even pity.

Jack, to his benefit, seems to sense Dean's particular temper and doesn't approach the Winchester. Instead he studies the books for a while before grabbing one, either at random or because it's seriously interesting to him. He sits down on an armchair a couple of paces away and browses through the book, without glancing at Dean even once.

And so they spend the next fifteen minutes until Dean can't take it anymore. He looks at the boy who seems so innocent and is so very powerful and Dean is unable to ignore the fact anymore that he might very well be the answer to their prayers.

But his voice is betraying him again and instead of saying something of substance, instead of making his case somehow, Dean simply croaks, “… the Empty …”

It's not much, but it's all he's getting out right now.

Apparently it's enough, though.

Jack lowers his book as his expression turns into something so utterly miserable Dean actually starts to regret ever opening his mouth.

“I tried,” Jack whispers. “It was actually the first thing I attempted after … well, after I got a grasp of things again.” He shakes his head, his eyes shining with tears. “But it's not like you can just knock on some door and demand an audience. Finding the entity that rules The Empty might have actually been the hardest thing I have ever done. And when I ultimately succeeded …”

He ducks his head, looking so utterly defeated.

“There is a reason Chuck barely dealt with it all,” Jack explains. “The Empty is seriously out of anyone's jurisdiction and I didn't have anything to bargain with. On the contrary, it was still pretty pissed about the chaos I caused by making the bomb explode inside of it, remember?”

It appears like a lifetime ago and Dean actually forgot about the entire thing after everything that went down afterwards, but yeah, he can't imagine that the entity would be too happy about it. After all, it obviously held a grudge long enough that it decided to make Cas suffer for waking it up that one time.

“It's all so hard to explain,” Jack sighs. “The Empty is there and it is not and therefore it's difficult to speak with it at all. And … and it wasn't receptive to my demands and then my pleas … it actually took quite pleasure from my desperation.”

Dean clenches his hands into fists at the image of that thing being entertained by Jack's misery.

“Eventually it put pictures in my head …” Jack goes on, his voice very quiet now. “Pictures of releasing all the demons and angels back to earth …” He falls silent for a very long moment before he adds, his tone unsteady, “It was a warning, Dean. It told me to back off, otherwise the consequences would have been catastrophic.”

Dean feels sick.

Sick from the booze, sick from the prospect of Jack having to face all of this alone, sick by the Empty for playing with all their emotions like that.

And sick at himself for entertaining the mere possibility of not giving a damn and risking dooming the entire world at the chance of getting Cas back.

It's solely a fleeting second, but it's enough to make him pause.

They already have done enough damage by putting their own needs above everyone else's, though. If Dean would seriously do such a thing, Cas would never forgive him for that anyway.

Dean would never, either.

“I'm so sorry …” Jack breathes again. “I'm sorry … I tried …”

Before Dean even knows it he heaves himself from the armchair, walks over to the kid (only on slightly wobbly legs) and kneels down beside him to pat his knee in a hopefully reassuring manner.

“It's okay, kid …” he eventually manages to rasp, after many minutes of building up to it. “… you did good …”

Jack offers him a watery smile, making it more than obvious that he doesn't believe Dean, but that he appreciates the sentiment anyway.

---

The next morning at breakfast Jack is a bit more chipper again.

While silently nursing not the worst hangover he ever had (thankfully) and just sipping on his coffee, Dean watches Jack animatedly talk about some of the things he encountered during his travels while Sam and Eileen, just like the night before, listen rapidly.

It's indeed riveting stuff, but Dean doesn't have the capacity to grasp even half of it, so he barely tries at all.

Instead he looks at the boy and sees the smile on his face and the bags underneath his eyes and the sadness deep within and realizes that Jack does have to do a lot of healing himself.

Neither of them is anywhere near the ballpark of 'okay'.

And yeah, that's fine. After everything they have been through, it would have been a fucking miracle if they would have been.

Maybe they all need some therapy after this. A really good cry and some kumbaya. Perhaps even a healing group hug.

It sounds ridiculous to Dean and at the same time not so ridiculous at all.

He is just in the middle of imagining lying on some couch and telling a complete stranger about his messed up life while, to his own surprise, not totally hating the idea, when he suddenly picks up Jack saying, “… and I want to change Heaven as well.”

Dean blinks himself out of his reverie and stares at the kid, just in the time to hear Sam wonder, “You want to change it? How?”

“I don't know yet,” Jack admits. “But it can't really remain as it is now. I mean, reliving your nicest memories is a good enough concept for a moment or two, but for all eternity? Heaven should be more open, people should be able to share.” He falls quiet for a minute and looks at them all. “Don't you think?”

He's actually asking them for some sort of permission and Dean suddenly remembers that Jack might still view them as father figures, even after all this time. It might sound absurd, with Dean and Sam just being normal humans regularly struck down by the common cold and Jack being the almighty power of the cosmos, but here they are.

Jack wants their input. Their opinion.

And somehow this means more to Dean than he could ever put into words.

So he finds himself responding, with a somewhat raspy voice, “Yeah, you're right …”

Jack turns towards him and something like gratitude flickers over his features for a moment.

Also Sam is eager to jump on board. “It's a great idea, Jack. People should have the chance to make their Heaven whatever they want it to be.”

Free will.

Even in the afterlife.

Jack nods. “If they want to be with all their loved ones, so be it. If they rather just want to stay in their earth memories, so be it. And if they want to do both or nothing of that at all, I'm sure they will find some way too.”

It sounds a bit like anarchy and Dean can't help a smirk as he thinks about the remaining angels up in Heaven reacting to that change.

“I was thinking about changing Purgatory as well,” Jack goes on and Dean ends up perking even more at that.

Pictures of that gritty, ruthless place pop up in front of his inner eye right away.

“Chuck just made it easy on himself by putting every single 'monster' in there,” Jack says and he's using his air-quotes in exactly the same way Cas used to do and somehow that sight makes Dean choke up so hard he almost has to excuse himself. “But it's not that simple, is it? I have met several so-called monsters who don't deserve to end up there.”

Dean thinks of Benny because of course he does. But he also thinks of Garth and his wife and kids. None of them should ever have to go to a place like the current Purgatory.

“Some should get a chance to go to Heaven as well,” Jack says. “While others … well, I don't really have a plan yet, but the afterlife shouldn't be a constant battle, should it? Even 'monsters' deserve some form of peace. Lots of them just acted on instinct.”

Dean isn't really sure whether he can completely share the sentiment since he sure as hell met many sons of bitches who took far too much pleasure bringing misery to humankind, but at the same time Jack isn't entirely wrong either.

However, he agrees that things have to change in that place. Mainly because Dean always got the impression that Chuck created it that way because he wanted some quick entertainment if he ever got bored. What's more amusing for a God than watching some creatures ripping each other apart in a fight for survival? A fight for survival after they have already been dead. How pointless it all seems now.

“And …” Sam says and then immediately stops himself as he casts a wary glance at Dean. He seems to debate for a second to keep his mouth shut, but in the end he squares his shoulders and asks Jack, “And what about The Empty?”

Dean tenses up, but he doesn't freak out, as Sam obviously figured he might.

It probably helped that Dean already scratched the issue with Jack last night. Otherwise he actually might have reacted somewhat differently, although he can't really say how.

Jack, at least, doesn't look any less happy to go over this again. “The Empty is a being of its own,” he says. “It was here before even Chuck arrived and he didn't have an awful lot of influence on it. Basically he was just able to use it as … as, well, as a resting place for … well, he probably was just able to use it like that because The Empty was asleep at the time and didn't really mind either way. I think it might even draw some strength from all the angels and demons there, therefore it wasn't really against it all and allowed Chuck to do his thing.” Jack presses his lips into a thin line. “But any drastic changes? No, that won't work.”

Sam opens his mouth, obviously so many more questions on his mind, but after a side glance at Dean he stays quiet.

For now.

And Dean gets it. Despite everything that has been said and done he still feels like there is something they could do, something they haven't even thought of yet.

Something to save Cas.

They seriously don't have enough information to make a proper assessment. Maybe the answer is even ridiculously simple and they just don't see it because the whole concept of The Empty is too alien to them.

So yeah, Dean still has so many questions, too, and that probably won't ever stop.

But it also hurts to dig deeper and deeper and find nothing at all besides hopelessness. At some point you just can't take it anymore without breaking apart completely.

And Dean isn't there yet because at the end of the day he bought a fucking house on a whim and daydreams about sharing it with Cas more often than not, like the idiot he is, but he also knows that it won't take much more for him to be ripped apart at the seams. It might very well be just one more, tiny setback and he would be lost for good.

So Sam remains cautious around him and Dean hates and appreciates it in equal amounts.

In the end he simply looks down into his coffee, pretending like the dark beverage is the most fascinating thing he has seen in days, and listens to Sam clumsily changing the subject.

Everything trails off into the distance again and the only thing he feels is the warmth of the cup in his hand and Eileen squeezing his knee in a soothing manner under the table.

Chapter Text

For the next few days Dean stays at the bunker, but soon enough the itch to get out of there hits him again.

Everywhere he turns he is assaulted by painful memories – and not just Cas (even though he is the most prominent), but also Kevin's corpse lying on the floor and Mom walking through the corridors and Charlie geeking out over some Men of Letters invention – and Dean feels like he is suffocating.

And so, on the fourth day, when Jack ends up leaving to take care of some business that seems too complex for any human to comprehend, Dean heads out for the house again while only making a vague excuse at Sam about needing some fresh air and the road.

And he does so the next day and the day after that.

It works kinda well for the rest of the week, but Sam's suspicions grow the more time passes, to no one's surprise, and rather sooner than later Dean finds his brother waiting with the Impala just when he's about to head out once more.

“Where are you going?” Sam asks. He's obviously trying for casual, but he is far too tense for that.

Dean throws his duffle bag in the trunk and opens the door to the backseat to let Miracle in. The dog, by now used to the whole process, just hops in, with his tail wagging excitedly.

“I told you,” Dean grumbles when he's about to reach for the front door and ends up intercepted by Sam's stupidly large body. “I'm just out and about, Sammy …”

As expected Sam is not satisfied with that answer. “And that requires you to turn off your GPS?”

Dean scoffs. “You're way too nosy for your own good –”

“I learned that from you,” Sam quips back and unfortunately Dean doesn't have a retort for that since it's certainly true enough. If their roles would have been reversed, Dean wouldn't have let it slide either.

Nonetheless, Dean clenches his jaw. “Sam –”

“Listen, so far I didn't bother you,” Sam says, like that is some great sacrifice Dean better appreciates. “You didn't come back home drunk or bruised or even bloody. So you're neither drinking yourself to death in some bar nor going on some reckless hunts all by yourself like a complete idiot.”

Dean pulls a face. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Of course he isn't totally wrong, though. Dean unfortunately remembers the last time Cas got killed right in front of his eyes, how out of control he got in a short amount of time. He became self-destructive and even somewhat suicidal and Sam undoubtedly has some foundation to worry now too.

“I also technically know that you're not doing something stupid 'cause otherwise you wouldn't take the dog with you,” Sam rightfully points out.

Dean indeed would never jeopardize Miracle in any way by heading out for something incredibly dumb that might leave the dog all alone and stranded.

“Eileen told me to let it be,” Sam says, his teeth gritted like he can't really believe his girlfriend would veto him on this. “But, man, please, just give me something.”

On instinct Dean's walls come up again and he just wants to brush the whole thing off. To leave Sam hanging and act like none of it matters. Hell, normally siblings aren't in each other's pockets like that close to their forties and maybe it's time they become proper adults.

But when he glances back at Sam, Dean sees the naked concern there and can't help but deflate right away.

It wouldn't be fair to leave his brother in such an unknown state.

Sam's well-being, physically as well as mentally, has always been one of Dean's priorities in life and that hasn't changed a bit since.

And so he decides to both tell the truth and lie.

“I've got a job,” Dean says.

And watches Sam blinking, clearly stunned by those words. “What?”

Dean shrugs, aiming for nonchalant. “Construction,” he specifies. “Whenever I'm out, I'm working.”

Of course it's somewhat a lie because nobody hired him to do that, but at the same time it's not because he sure as hell is doing construction all day when he's out.

He doesn't do it in some stranger's home, though, but his own.

Not that Sam needs to know that little detail yet.

Who, as it looks like, needs a moment to process this new information. Whatever he expected his brother to confess, it obviously wasn't this.

In the end he asks, “Why didn't you just tell me?”

“'Coz you get weird about stuff like this,” Dean defends himself. “I didn't want any of your grand speeches about independence and whatnot.”

“Dean –”

“Listen, dude,” Dean cuts in quickly, “it was a spur-of-the-moment opportunity. I grabbed it because I thought it might be a good thing or at least a healthier distraction and output than hanging around the bunker all day, feeling sorry for myself. And I took Miracle with me since nobody was around taking care of him first and now he is just a staple at the construction site, okay? We're both safe, there is nothing supernatural going on whatsoever – well, apart from the few times Jack popped in, of course –”

Sam looks up at that. “Jack was there, too?”

“A few times,” Dean admits. “He's not bad with a hammer.”

“He was helping you?”

“A little,” Dean says. And then adds, somewhat defensive, when Sam continues to stare at him, “What? Everything was perfectly safe, man. Besides, he's literally God, it's not like something dropping on his head could kill him –”

Not that it could have done before either.

Sam, at least, tries to wrap this around his head somehow. And ultimately he smiles, “It's good that you're spending some time with Jack. He needs it, even though he doesn't say it.”

Dean doesn't know how to reply to that, so he just mumbles something incoherently and leaves it with that.

“And look, it's a good thing,” Sam emphasizes. “It's good that you …”

That you randomly bought a house in the middle of nowhere?

That you're renovating it with your own two hands day and night until you nearly keel over from exhaustion?

That you're continuing to fantasize about sharing that home one day with your very dead best friend?

Yeah, Dean is pretty sure Sam isn't about to say any of that.

“It's good that I'm being normal for once?” Dean helps his brother out instead.

Sam squirms on the spot, obviously not completely comfortable with that choice of words. “I wouldn't say normal,” he backpedals. “I mean, what even is normal in the grand scheme of things anyway –?”

Dean pulls a face. “Don't get philosophical with me, please. I don't wanna punch you in the nose.”

“I'm just sayin', I know you had a tough time recently,” Sam says and then quickly adds, “We both had. And it's nice to see that you're …”

Once again he trails off, apparently realizing that he can't really say anything without inadvertently offending Dean along the way.

Yeah, Dean knows that Sam is happy he doesn't drink himself to death or jumps into one dangerous hunt after another, without any care for his own life. He is relieved that Dean is at least trying to do something healthy with his feelings and grief. And he is obviously afraid that Dean nonetheless might shatter any second now, hence the caution.

“And you're wondering why I didn't tell you anything,” Dean grumbles. “Look at you, you're being weird again.”

Sam pouts in the exact same way he has done since he was two years old and didn't get the toy he wanted. “I'm not weird,” he insists.

“You are, man.” Dean scoffs. “You're trying too much, dude. Relax a little.”

Sam glares at him, but nevertheless some of his tense muscles actually seem to loosen after those words.

“Let's just not make a big deal out of the whole thing, okay?” Dean proposes. “That's what I want, nothing else.”

Sam chews on his bottom lip, that simple request clearly some major challenge for him, and Dean already starts to brace himself for another argument. It seems kinda stupid now how they just can't let each other be, but at the same time this is how they grew up and such things are hard to shake.

In the end, though, Sam deflates and that's maybe a sign that they did manage to change after all over the course of the last few years.

“Okay, you're right,” he agrees with a heavy sigh. “Congratulations on the new job.”

And that's it.

No further questions, no visible suspicion.

Dean is very aware that Sam still worries underneath it all, but for now it's nice to not have a pestering brother on your back.

“Just, can you do me a favor?” Sam asks. “Can you turn your GPS back on?” When Dean narrows his eyes warningly at him, he quickly elaborates, “I promise I will not come around or anything. I swear on everything I hold dear. I just … I'd just feel better to have your location if some kind of emergency would ever occur.”

Dean hesitates for a moment longer, but ultimately he has to confess that it's not an unreasonable appeal. And so he nods and turns his GPS back on right in front of Sam.

“If I see your ass anywhere near that construction site, I will disown you and set all your books on fire, you hear me?” he can't help but threaten nonetheless, for good measure.

Sam, who certainly knows that Dean is at least partially serious, nods in agreement. “Don't worry, man. This is just a precaution.”

Dean nods with a grunt, from his side of things the topic now over and done with, and shoves Sam to the side to finally climb into the Impala and drive off.

This time Sam doesn't stop him but just waves goodbye like a goddamn normal person and Dean starts to tentatively believe that everything might be alright in the end.

---

And so time flies by.

Dean heads out five to six times a week to work on the house. At first the progress is slow and barely visible, but when another month or two pass by it actually begins to look semi decent. The front porch turns out sturdy, the walls and floors get renewed, the stairs end up fixed and as soon as the plumbing is finished Dean dares to shop for nice tiles and actually make interior design plans.

The plumbing itself, as well as the electricity and the roof (which had been far more damaged than Dean first realized) find themselves fixed courtesy to Jack, with a single snap of his fingers. Dean contemplated it for a while, kinda feeling bad for misusing the kid's powers in such a way, but Jack offered eagerly and since Dean felt reluctant to hire a bunch of experts to fix all these problems and have the house be a construction site for a very long time in the process, he finally relented.

Now he's rather glad because Jack made sure to do an extra good job and now Dean can actually tell people that God blessed his house in a non-joking manner.

Nonetheless, Jack also paid him regular visits to help with the repairs in a typical human way. Dean showed him how to lay floorboards and how spackling works. While the boy soaked it all in as though Dean was teaching him the wonders of the world.

At the same time Jack kept his mouth shut about the whole truth around Sam. Dean doesn't really know whether the kid just read his mind somehow (a bit of a troubling image) and decided to simply go along with it to not make Dean uncomfortable or whether he merely assumes the entire thing might be some sort of surprise for Sam. Either way, Dean is grateful that he doesn't have to force Jack to lie for him because he isn't sure if he actually would have been capable of requesting such a thing from the boy.

(And if you're paying close enough attention Jack never outright lies to Sam either. He nods along to the parts that are true and evades anything else. It seems to work for him.)

Sam, on his part, surely can't help but ask some questions here and there about Dean's new “job”, but thankfully they are mostly generic enough that Dean can talk himself out of it with some believable half-truths. Sam obviously seems hesitant to pry too much, afraid that he might push Dean away again by being too nosy.

Besides, he actually appears to come to the conclusion that Dean is doing a lot better and therefore decides to take a step back and let things play out. Dean can't really agree to that at first because getting out of bed in the morning, with pictures of his nightmares fresh in his mind, has been quite a hardship and more often than not he would have rather drunk himself senseless and sob and scream into his pillow.

But over time he indeed notices a change in himself as well. The bags underneath his eyes reduce, his skin stops looking so pale and blotchy, and there is actually some glow on his face again. He showers regularly, he puts on clean clothes and he tries to remember to eat three meals per day. He even puts some veggies in his diet because he realizes it's giving him more energy to work on the house.

(Not that he tells Sam any of this, of course.)

But yeah, he isn't the shell of a man he used to be and Dean almost feels happy about it.

---

Naturally that doesn't mean he is cured and over everything that has happened to him.

Sometimes he still has bad days.

And occasionally even terrible ones.

Days where he just wakes up with dread filling every part of his body. Days where he barely manages to get out of bed without a bottle of booze in his system. Days when he can't function at all and simply wants to curl up into a ball, lie in some corner and drown in darkness.

Yeah, those days suck.

---

He's got one of those days about three months into his little project.

He startles awake in a sweat close to midnight, the pictures of Cas looking at him with tears in his eyes and whispering those words that floored Dean in more than one way only to be swallowed up by black goo the very next second so utterly fresh in his head. Dean actually starts to fucking sob because he can't keep it in anymore and doesn't stop for a very long time.

Afterwards he heads for the booze in the bunker's stash and finds himself drinking in the kitchen at ass-o'clock at night, without any limit in mind. Logically he knows he should keep it down because he has some plans for the house the next day which require a lot of concentration and patience, but whenever he puts the whiskey down his insides revolt and urge him to keep on going instead.

Jack walks in on him, though, before Dean even has a chance to get completely wasted.

It doesn't change the fact, however, that Dean is overly emotional and overwhelmed and sleep deprived and therefore his filter nearly nonexistent.

Because instead of continuing the art of avoiding any serious subjects of conversation, Dean ends up blurting out, “Why are you even here?”

Jack halts right where he is and just stares at Dean.

“Why are you here?” Dean repeats, his words somewhat slurred by all the emotions boiling up inside of him. “How can you even stand lookin' at me?”

Jack's expression morphs into something sympathetic. “Dean …”

“No!” Dean cuts in, not in the mood to hear any stupid excuses that wouldn't make sense to any sane person anyway. “I'm – fuck, Jack – I'm an asshole … a pointed a fucking gun at you, I nearly killed you – how can you still be here –?”

Jack presses his lips into a thin line. “Dean –”

“I don't deserve forgiveness,” Dean makes himself clear, the thought that has always been festering in the back of his mind finally blurting out. “I don't deserve forgiveness for any of the shit I've done to you –”

I don't deserve forgiveness for being just like my own father, Dean thinks and almost sobs once more, here and now.

Jack, meanwhile, lowers his gaze. “I am the one who doesn't deserve forgiveness,” he insists. “I … I didn't … Mary …”

He obviously can't say it out loud, his voice thick with yet unshed tears.

He suddenly looks exactly his age. Just a little kid.

On instinct Dean wants to rush up to him and yank him into his arms, but his feet don't move. The circumstances of his mom's (second) death are still rattling him to his core and he realizes now that he's barely dealt with any of this in an even remotely healthy manner. No, he just reverted to anger and violence and despair, and eventually so much shit was going down with Chuck and everything that none of it suddenly seemed important anymore.

But fuck it, it was his mom.

Of course it is important even now.

“I don't blame you,” Dean finally croaks, his voice close to giving out. He feels it coming again, the blockade within him that keeps him from speaking, but this time he fights it with everything he's got. He can't be rendered mute for hours or even days once more, not now!

No, they need to have this conversation this instant because he's not sure he will ever be able to pick it up a second time somewhere in the future and he doesn't want it to keep on standing between them like a menacing wall keeping them apart for the rest of their lives and beyond.

Dean glances at the whiskey in his hand and convinces himself he is drunk enough to get through this. Even though it couldn't be further from the truth.

“I don't blame you,” Dean whispers again, his tone unsteady, yet not failing. “And at the same time I do blame you. And myself.”

Jack frowns at him and he looks so much like Cas at that moment Dean nearly wants to throw himself out of the closest window.

“You had no soul, kid,” Dean reminds him with a sigh. “And I … I know it messes with you. I've seen it with Sam, the idiot didn't care about anything. It wasn't his fault, though. So how can it be yours?”

Jack clenches his hands into fists. “But Sam didn't kill any innocent people, did he?”

Dean rubs his temples. “Not to my knowledge, no,” he admits. “But trust me, he wouldn't have had shed a single tear if he would have accidentally offed someone. He had turned into a stupidly ruthless hunter during that time and it would have been so easy for him to hurt or even kill someone back then. It's probably more a miracle than anything else that he actually didn't.” Dean squeezes his eyes shut at all those memories coming back to him. “Fuck, he almost killed Bobby back then. Deliberately. And that man was like a frigging father to both of us.”

It's apparent that Jack actually didn't know about the latter, the surprise and pain on his features more than real.

“It wasn't Sam's fault back then,” Dean presses through his gritted teeth. “As it wasn't yours either. But a part of myself wants it to be your fault so badly 'coz the alternative … well, then I've gotta blame myself for mom's death and I don't know if I can endure any more self-loathing at this point –”

“How can it be your fault?” Jack asks and he sounds genuinely confused.

“'Cause I'm the one who let Michael in,” Dean reminds him harshly. “I'm the one who –” He stops and clenches his hands into fists so fiercely his nails dig uncomfortably into his palm. “And if I'm not busy blaming you or myself, then I just look at someone else. At Sam. At Mom herself. At … fuck, at Cas …”

It's so damned hard to admit, but back then Dean hated the whole frigging world and everyone in it, it feels like.

Jack assesses him for a moment, his expression as unreadable as the ones of his father used to be more often than not. It hurts to see and Dean feels his throat tightening again at the sight.

“Maybe we should both start to blame the person actually responsible for all of this,” Jack suggests in the end.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Chuck,” he whispers.

Of course it would be easy to blame the author. The one who actually decided to have Dean's mother killed by his quasi kid just for the drama value. Just to make Dean's life more miserable, by killing people off he cares about.

There was no reason or rhyme behind this, merely a writer's desire to add some unnecessary and cruel shock effect to his story.

“I want to blame him,” Dean confesses then, his gaze lowered as he finds himself unable again to look into Jack's eyes. “But if I fault him for Mom's death, then … I have to admit that he's responsible for a lot of other fucked-up stuff, too. And I don't wanna find excuses for myself … for pointing a fucking gun at you …”

Jack makes a little sound in the back of his throat before he steps closer. Slow and cautious, like he's approaching a skittish animal.

“Castiel once told me that you have a remarkable tendency of putting the world's weight on your shoulders and I learned early on that he was right,” Jack tells him, a sad smile on his lips. “As I'm seeing it now.”

“Jack –”

“You believe yourself to be the villain of the story,” Jack cuts in quickly. “You seem to forget, though, that you were not the only one. Remember that Sam went along with your plan? Granted, he wasn't happy about it, as you weren't probably either, but he didn't try to stop you. And even Castiel suggested at some point that it would be better for everybody's safety if I would be locked in The Cage.” Jack inhales deeply, his vibrant eyes staring deep into Dean's soul. “You were not the only one, Dean. Damn, even I begged you in the end to kill me, didn't I? Because I thought you were right about ending my existence. I managed to kill Mary – a woman I actually cared very deeply about, even in my soulless state I remembered that – and who knows what else I could have done?”

Dean falls silent while tears prick uncomfortably behind his eyes.

“The situation back then was – as you always so eloquently say – fucked up,” Jack summarizes. “And I'm not saying I don't still have some nightmares about that Box or the gun you pointed at me –”

Dean's chest churns. “Jack –”

“But do you know what I also recall, more than anything?” Jack interrupts yet again. “That the gun's safety was on the whole time.”

Dean gulps.

Stares.

And doesn't know what to say.

“You were the one who taught me about gun safety in the first place, so I know,” Jack says wistfully. “The whole time you pointed the gun at me it wasn't actually ready to fire. Your head might have tried to convince you that Chuck was right about killing me, but your heart clearly wasn't in it. And ultimately it won.”

Dean feels a single tear dripping down his cheek.

It burns so badly he nearly flinches.

“I just want us to be okay, Dean,” Jack goes on and he suddenly sounds so much like a pleading kid that it rips Dean apart. “I don't want to be scared or angry anymore. I have seen the entire universe and beyond and I don't feel the desire to hang onto Chuck's crimes and let it destroy our relationship further. He's done enough damage, don't you think?” Jack tilts his head just like his dad used to. “He shouldn't get the satisfaction of winning after all, should he?”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line.

Of course it's not that easy, of course there is too much fucked up between them to mend it with just one single conversation, but Dean has to admit that the kid has a point. Chuck has been eager to destroy their unique and rocky relationship to the point of no return and if Dean would allow to let all the shit eat him up in the end, Chuck would inevitably win.

So if it needs to be spite for Dean to get over it all, so be it.

Ultimately he can't say it out loud, though, because once again his vocal chords start to fail him. So he simply nods and hopes it will be enough.

Jack smiles easily, like he knows exactly what's going on inside of Dean (and perhaps he truly does), before he steps closer and asks, as innocently as the toddler he actually is, “Can I have another watermelon soda?”

Normally Dean would have much to say about sugar so late at night, but since his throat doesn't work and he isn't eager to have some sort of argument via sign language (even though Eileen has been teaching him a lot in the last few months), he grabs into the fridge, gets that damned soda out and when he's giving it to Jack it almost feels like a peace offering, as stupid as that sounds.

And when Jack takes it with a bright grin on his face, Dean's heart just feels a little bit lighter.

Chapter Text

It gets better between Dean and Jack after that.

Granted, they have slowly become more at ease with each other over the course of the last few months, with renovating a house together and whatnot, but more often than not Dean still felt either awkward or another million things – some good, some bad – around Jack and he never managed to reach full calmness. All the crap between them, all the stuff they didn't really dare to voice, had been standing in their way, making everything uncomfortable most of the time.

And yeah, they're not magically healed yet. Too much shit has happened in the last couple of years and Dean fears that it will never be completely okay again. But instead of dwelling over it and letting it eat him alive from the inside, Dean is ready to accept that fact.

Jack was basically designed to be difficult for Dean to deal with, as sick as that may sound. Chuck had a good time seeing Dean squirm and suffer from the day Jack was born. There was so much going on there, so much to handle, and Dean never had a reputation to act overly maturely if needed.

Chuck put Jack into the story so that Dean could feel torn and conflicted, that he could love the boy and hate him and blame him for Cas' or Mary's death and whatever else you can think of.

And even though Chuck is beaten and it feels great leaving all of this behind, Dean knows that his and Jack's relationship will always remain a challenging one. Dean can never be the loving and doting father type for him, not after all the shit that has happened, and yeah, that's fine. He can be a friend and advisor and sure, maybe occasionally a father figure, and that's good too. In the grand scheme of things it doesn't need to be overly complicated.

And it's freeing, for both of them, to finally admit to that.

---

The house renovations progress more and more.

So much, in fact, that at some point an end is actually in sight and Dean has no idea how to feel about that. On the one hand it would be great to finally finish such a massive project, but on the other hand he can barely fathom what to do with himself afterwards.

Go back to drowning in misery and alcohol? Fill his days with bleakness? Or maybe indeed look for a legit job and renovate other people's houses for good money and, most importantly, a good distraction?

Dean doesn't exactly know and it scares him a little bit.

---

“I have to get you a housewarming gift soon,” Jack says one sunny afternoon when Dean is just busy taking the measurements in one of the rooms so that he can check if the seemingly barely used kitchen some people merely an hour down the road are selling over the internet would fit into the room or not.

“What …?” Dean mumbles halfheartedly while writing down yet another number, feeling more and more confident that his plan will work out fine.

“A housewarming gift,” Jack repeats and this time Dean finally looks up.

“Kid, you don't have to get me anything,” he says with a little smile, touched by the boy's eagerness.

“But it is tradition,” Jack points out. “I did my research and –”

“Yeah, you're right,” Dean cuts him off, chuckling. “I think so, at least. Not that I'm any expert on these sorts of things. But I guess I heard it before, yeah.” He shrugs. “But Jack, you of all people don't have to give me anything. You helped such a great deal with the house that I am the one who actually needs to give you like all the gifts in the world.”

Dean knows that it doesn't actually work like that, that family sticks together and helps each other out without any expectation for compensation (besides food and drinks and maybe a hug or two), but once again he's having a bit of a hard time convincing his brain of that.

Besides, Jack does deserve some gifts.

He's spent too many birthdays and Christmases without.

However, the kid seems eager to follow this very human tradition. “I have the perfect gift in mind, actually.”

Dean laughs.

Whatever. If it makes Jack happy like that …

And so he says, “Okay, kid. Knock yourself out.”

He goes back to measuring the wall and by the end of the day he has forgotten all about it.

---

There are still several small construction sites in the house and around it (Dean hasn't even started with the garden or the garage), but the majority is actually finished and looks real damned good, if he dares to say so himself, when he begins to look for furniture.

Originally he just planned to go to IKEA or whatever and burn more money on their limitless card, but then he couldn't help remembering a conversation he once had with Cas about a million years ago. At the time the angel had been fascinated with secondhand stuff in all shapes and forms, with the idea of giving something another chance. And yeah, back then Cas probably could relate to that in many, sometimes twisted ways, but he also generally liked the concept of filling your home with items which have a longer history than many of the things in the furniture stores.

And so Dean started to scour the internet. That's how he found the kitchen which, apart from a few adjustments (and a new coat of paint), fit perfectly in his room. And after that he searched further and further.

Soon enough he found the most comfortable couch set, including two matching armchairs, and all they needed was a little deep cleaning. Also tracking down some shelves for the living room, kitchen and basically anywhere else in the house didn't turn out much of a hardship. He even got a sturdy bed for a reasonable price.

Sure, all of it takes some time and effort, but when Dean begins to fill his house with more and more items over the course of the following weeks it actually starts to feel like an actual home.

---

But whenever he passes the master bedroom and sees the lonely bed standing in there, only waiting for Dean and no one else, that feeling dims a lot.

Can it ever be a home without the right people in it?

Dean doubts it.

And yet he continues to work and fill the house with all kinds of stuff, hoping against hope that everything will be alright eventually.

---

It's a few days later when Sam suddenly announces over breakfast, “So, there will be some hunters staying with us next week.”

Dean barely looks up from his cereal. It's nice to get a heads-up for a change, but hunters have been going in and out of the bunker for months now, Sam more than eager to build up a proper network and use the Men of Letters facilities to create some sort of safe haven for everyone who needs it. He's also been talking about reopening the other chapter houses across the country sooner than later recently and Dean certainly thinks it's a good idea.

Hunting alone, with no backup to speak of, can be a hard and lonely business. So if the Winchesters can use their knowledge and resources to make it a little less difficult for all the hunters out there, it's only a plus.

So yeah, many hunters have been hanging around the bunker for a while now. And while at the beginning it had made Dean somewhat uncomfortable to have so many strangers around him, he came to terms with the whole thing. Most likely also due to the fact that he's got a fallback now, a house that only belongs to him and no one else. He still loves the bunker and calls it home, just like the Impala, but he is not so sure it's the home anymore for him.

Therefore it's easier to accept all those hunters walking down the hallways and eating his food.

(Sam is at least sensible enough to not give Cas' room to anyone else. Dean isn't really certain what he would have done under such circumstances.)

Dean eyes his brother again, wondering why Sam brings up this special charge of hunters scheduled for next week particularly. He barely asks Dean's permission at this point, very aware that he mostly just gets a disinterested shrug in response anyway.

“Is there something special about those hunters?” Dean wonders warily.

“No, nothing,” Sam says. Innocently. Way too innocently.

Dean narrows his eyes. “What is it, Sammy?”

“Nothing,” Sam insists. “It's just … Melissa is with them, okay? Melissa Tyler. You remember her?”

Vaguely, if Dean is honest with himself. He recalls ridiculously wavy hair and a frightening collection of daggers in her possession.

“Well, she has recently been thinking about getting out of the game, you know?” Sam explains, trying for casual and missing by a whole continent. “And I wondered, since you have been kinda semi-retired as well – well, I just thought that maybe you could show her the ropes a bit. Tell her how civilian life is treating you and all that.” Sam bats his eyelashes at him. “I already told her about it and she thinks it's a great idea. If you're up for it, of course.”

Dean studies his brother some more.

And he suddenly remembers that Melissa is also a quite attractive woman. He barely registered it back then, too caught up in another situation with Cas at the time to notice anything or anyone else, but it is slowly coming back to him now.

“Sammy,” he says then while making no effort to hide the dangerous hitch in his tone. “What is this about?”

“It's nothing,” Sam states again.

Innocently.

Dean rolls his eyes and groans, “Are you trying to set me up or something?”

“No,” Sam is quick to object.

“Are you sure?” Dean grumbles. “'Coz it sounds a hella lot like you're playing matchmaker. Bad matchmaker.”

Sam pulls the corners of his mouth down, apparently insulted enough by Dean's accusation that he forgets to play dumb on the matter.

In the end, after Dean glares at him some more, basically drilling a hole into his head, Sam slumps his shoulders in defeat.

“I'm not trying to set you up,” he makes himself clear and he actually sounds genuine about it. “Melissa could really use some advice and you were the first person I thought of who might be able to help her. That's the truth, I swear.”

Dean believes him.

“But,” Sam adds, hesitantly, “Melissa is also very keen on the idea of spending time with you and I know your type …”

No, you do not, Dean can't help but think. You so do not.

He doesn't say any of that, though. Instead he asks, “So what? You thought a little hookup would get me out of my funk?”

He scowls. He knows that sometimes Sam has a certain perspective that doesn't mesh well with reality, but it's actually a little hurtful that he might think so little of Dean. That he truly believes that a bit of fun in the sheets would make Dean his former self again.

As though it's that easy.

Thankfully Sam is able to save his reputation by clarifying, “I'm not talking about a hookup, Dean. I'm talking about a connection.”

Dean folds his arms across his chest and beckons his brother to elaborate.

“I'm not, like, imagining you dating and marrying this woman some day or whatever,” Sam says with a huff. “I mean, okay, she is great and I think you actually have a lot in common, so it wouldn't be totally out of the ballpark. And you can deny it for the rest of your life, but I know you want something like this, something normal with a white-picket fence …”

Yes, I do, Dean agrees in his head. But not with anybody else but …

He can't even bring himself to finish that thought.

“However, this is not about that,” Sam goes on. “I just think that connecting with other people, in any way you deem right, would be good for you. You're just hanging around here or going to work and it doesn't seem like you made any friends there … besides, even if you did, it helps just talking with someone who understands the life …”

And so he keeps talking, about shared experiences and whatnot, and ultimately Dean only agrees to show Melissa around just to shut him up.

Sam is annoyingly gleeful about his little success for the rest of the day anyway.

---

It's actually indeed kinda nice, talking with Melissa.

At first she is a bit flirty, clearly hoping for something more than an exchange of stories, but she quickly recognizes Dean being not receptive to it at all and tones it down. Thankfully she doesn't seem disappointed or resentful but rather understanding. Obviously she can tell that he isn't ready and is gracious enough not to ask any questions about it but instead roll with it.

So it gets nice after that.

Talking with someone how difficult it is to get out of the life, how sometimes you believe you will never be able to do that, how it's haunting your waking and sleeping hours – it's not exactly therapeutic because it sure as hell would need more than that, but it feels good in its own manner.

Melissa seems to share the sentiment, according to the way her tense muscles relax more and more the longer they talk.

By the end of it she can't help but wonder, though, “You lost someone, didn't you?”

I lost a lot of people, Dean thinks.

But naturally his mind instantly drifts to Cas first.

“Yes,” he answers.

She just nods and doesn't say anything else. No empty platitudes or stupid promises about things one day getting better.

Dean wonders if she acts out of experience.

Considering that a hunter's life is usually one of violence and loss, it's not so far off.

“Sometimes you just have to keep on living, right?” she sighs.

Dean doesn't want to reply at first, but he feels comfortable enough around her to confess, “Well, he sacrificed himself so that I could do just that, so I guess I have no other choice.”

Melissa just pats his knee and then steals his beer.

And as he starts to wrestle with her and actually laughs once or twice about the absurdity of it all, he finds himself a little grateful that Sam arranged this.

Even though he would rather die than ever admitting that to him.

---

It's about a week later, with him painting the hallway on the second floor of his house, when he hears footsteps downstairs. He tenses up for a moment, his hunter instincts always alive, but when he hears Miracle whining happily at the new arrival he just knows that it's Jack and he relaxes instantly.

“Dean?” the kid calls into the house a second later.

“Up here,” Dean answers, resuming his work.

Instead of sprinting up the stairs, though, as Dean would have suspected, Jack remains right where he is and shouts, “I've got your housewarming gift for you here!”

Dean rolls his eyes and finds himself smiling softly.

The boy is truly something else.

Before he can come up with a reply, however, another voice next to Jack's suddenly says, “Housewarming gift? Jack, is that really what you have been telling him?”

Dean freezes at the sound of that voice.

Forgets to breathe.

And somewhere along the way the paintbrush slips out of his hand and drops to the floor, spraying white paint everywhere, including Dean's pants and shirt.

He barely notices.

He just listens, to the voices downstairs …

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Jack is saying, the cheer in his tone vibrating through the air.

The other person, however, sighs heavily. “Please tell me that you at least gave him some sort of heads-up.”

Jack stays quiet for a second longer before getting defensive again. “Well, I wanted it to be a surprise …”

Dean's feet start to move.

While his brain remains nonfunctional, his body obviously is determined to act.

He basically flies down the stairs, two or sometimes three steps at the time.

He finds Jack in the living room, Miracle sitting by his side, wagging his tail excitedly and letting himself be scratched behind the ear.

And right next to both of them …

Dean only sees the trench coat and gasps in shock.

Once again he can't breathe or think or move …

While Jack spreads his arm in a ta-da gesture and exclaims happily, “Surprise!”

Chapter Text

Dean stares at Cas.

Cas stares back at him.

And for very long minutes they don't do anything else.

The world might crumble into dust around them and Dean wouldn't even notice. No, it's just those eyes he had hoped so desperately to see again and yet at the same time never imagined to be met with once more …

It's so much and not enough …

Eventually, though, Cas ends up glimpsing at Jack. Just briefly, before sweeping back to Dean, but the gesture interrupts their contact just enough to make Dean blink and give him a moment to collect his thoughts.

“So you didn't tell him about me,” Cas says to the kid. “Jack, I think you should have given him some kind of warning. Look at him.”

Dean can't even picture what he must look like right now.

Probably like a man close to a heart attack.

Jack lowers his head, clearly chastised by his father's words. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes. “But I wasn't sure if it would work and I didn't want to get his hopes up for nothing –”

While he sighs, apparently quite conflicted, Dean directs his attention to the boy because right now this seems easier than looking at the angel who might or might not be a ghost at this point.

He looks at Jack, his emotions running rampant inside of him, and the urge to grab the kid, to shake the truth out of him, is nearly overwhelming. But Dean also feels his throat closing up again and he knows that he won't get a word out of himself now, not even if he would force himself with violence to do so.

Thankfully Cas appears to know exactly what is going on in Dean's mind and he is quick to explain, “Jack didn't make a deal, Dean. He … well, he came to an understanding with The Empty.”

Jack nods eagerly. “Yes, please, don't worry. Nobody traded their life for someone else.”

Dean raises his brow, urging him to go on, and while Jack reacts puzzled at the gesture, obviously not really sure what it could mean, Cas, of course, understands perfectly.

“At the end of the day The Empty is a simple being,” the angel says. “The whole time it didn't want to do anything else but sleep. But first I interrupted its peace and then Jack when he made everything explode …” Cas sighs. “It didn't have a moment of rest since all of this happened and for an entity that has been sleeping since before the beginning of time that's probably quite a lot to deal with.”

“So I offered to bring it back to sleep,” Jack announces with a smile. “For good.”

And then he suddenly leaps into an elaborate and very thorough explanation that is too much for Dean's brain to comprehend and he flinches in pain when a powerful headache makes itself known. He actually stumbles a bit and only the fact that Cas pops up next to him and gently holds him upright by grabbing his arm keeps him from toppling over.

Dean gapes at him with wide eyes.

Cas returns the gaze for a minute before he says, “Jack, would you leave us alone for a moment? Dean and I have much to discuss, I gather.”

Jack, thankfully, doesn't make much of a fuss. He just exclaims giddily, “C'mon, Miracle, let's play outside!” and soon kid and dog are rushing out of the door. As though this is a completely normal situation and not one of the most fucked-up moments of Dean's life.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Cas proposes, his voice soft, as he begins to lead Dean towards the couch.

But Dean finds himself recoiling, the thought of making himself comfortable suddenly too much to bear. Everything seems too much to bear.

He just keeps on staring at Cas and feels tears burn in his eyes, ready to spill out, and he barely knows what to do with himself and where to even turn to and what to think and feel …

Yes, it's not the first time Cas came back from the dead, as messed-up as that is.

Usually there is a hug and a good tap on the back and Dean trying to be subtle as he is following the angel around like a lost puppy for the next few days or weeks.

But now? Everything is different.

Cas sacrificed himself … after saying all those things …

And Dean is supposed to be normal about this? Just pull Cas into a hug, tell him how happy he is to have his best friend back and then go about his day as though barely anything changed while discreetly following every of Cas' movements with his eyes?

Dean can't do it anymore.

He just can't.

The thought of going back to his old patterns impossible right now.

“You have created a lovely home,” Cas suddenly says, still grasping onto Dean's arm while letting his gaze wander over their surroundings. “Jack told me all about it, I hope you don't mind.”

Dean blinks at him.

SERIOUSLY? he basically screams in his mind because his throat still refuses to cooperate. YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT THE GODDAMNED HOUSE? NOW?

Cas looks at him.

“Yes,” he says softly. “I figured that a change of topic might calm you down a bit.”

Dean gapes at him, completely rattled.

Are you reading my mind? he asks, too shell-shocked about this to know how to deal with this.

Not a single muscle in Cas' face twitches as he states, “Yes and no.”

Dean just makes a noise in the back of his throat that is rather pathetic.

“I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable,” Cas says with a sigh. “The ability to read minds is something I have always possessed, but usually don't use too often because it's invasive and, frankly, just downright rude. Your thoughts are your own and nobody should be privy to that.”

Dean grinds his teeth, not really sure what to make of this. Technically he has known all that for a long time now, but somehow he regularly manages to forget Cas' true powers and finds himself startled whenever he is reminded of them again.

“In my defense, though,” Cas goes on, “you have been screaming at me so loudly just now that it was basically a prayer, focused directly on me. And I don't have a tendency to block those out.”

Right.

Prayers.

Dean blushes at the thought of his mind being so mighty pissed that it forgot any reason or rhyme and just went for it.

“You can keep praying to me, if that is easier for you to communicate,” Cas offers.

He doesn't need an explanation. He doesn't wonder why Dean would yell at him in his head and not spit the words directly into his face.

Because he knows. He knows that Dean had a hard time talking after his mother's death as a kid and obviously he is also very aware that Dean has the same difficulties once more right now.

He knows because he's an angel who rebuilt Dean's body up after dragging him out of Hell. And he also knows because he is Dean's best friend and once upon a time, on a quiet evening just for the two of them, the former hunter told his angel all about it. Confessing to it for the very first time and feeling somehow lighter afterwards, especially when Cas only reacted with gentle understanding.

“You're also welcome to punch me in the face and then storm off,” Cas suggests and it's obvious that he is only half joking.

Dean arches his brow.

Cas sighs. “I know that you're angry with me, Dean.”

And yes, Dean is.

Yes, he is confused and shocked and elated and happier than he could ever imagine. But he is also furious beyond measure and somehow, like so many times before in his life, it's so much simpler to fixate on that specific emotion than on any of the others.

Damn right I am, he growls back.

Cas doesn't seem surprised in the slightest. “You have every right to feel that way –”

You should have said something sooner, Dean cuts in. And when Cas' eyes widen at that, Dean flushes and is quick to elaborate, About your deal … with The Empty. You should've said something sooner.

Cas slumps his shoulders. “It wouldn't have made much of a difference …”

Dean can't help but roll his eyes.

“With Jack's life on the line it was too dangerous,” Cas insists and it's clear by the tone of his voice that he has been practicing to say just that for God knows how long. He's probably been preparing to defend his choice for months now and Dean just hates everything about that. “I couldn't risk irritating The Empty and making it back down on its deal in the process. Jack doesn't deserve to be there –”

But you do? Dean snaps.

“Despite his immense powers Jack is just a very young child,” Cas reminds him. “It wouldn't have been fair to him to cut his life so short –”

And it's true, of course it's true, and Dean isn't here to deny that in any way. Jack deserves to live his life for all eternity, if he so wishes.

It doesn't change the fact, though, that Cas threw his own existence away far too easily.

Dean presses his lips tightly together. We could've helped you nonetheless … there is always a way …

Cas' features soften at that and Dean suddenly recognizes what that expression means: 'I love you for trying, even though it's hopeless.'

Dean's throat tightens even more as he realizes how many years Cas has been looking at him like that.

YEARS.

Damn, how long has this been going on?

How blind has Dean been?

He starts to sway on the spot once more and this time he allows Cas to lead him to the nearby couch. Dean sits down slowly and feels himself sighing in relief on instinct as he sinks into the comfortable cushions. This sofa was truly the best choice he ever made for the house.

Cas seems to share the sentiment as he takes place next to Dean – though with a respectable distance between them – and comments instantly on its comfort in that absolutely genuine tone of his.

Dean listens to him complimenting first the couch and then the rest of the house and wishes he wouldn't be so distracted by everything that has been going on because he sure as hell would have enjoyed getting all flustered by Cas' praise, he just knows it. As it is now, though, he barely even registers it, his mind too preoccupied to appreciate the angel's words.

You're an idiot, Dean then says just as Cas is in the middle of rambling about the kitchen's color. And an ass!

Cas lowers his head. “I know.”

You SON OF A BITCH, Dean adds because how could he not?

“Considering that Chuck is my sole parent, I actually agree with you,” Cas states matter-of-fact.

Dean curses the guy for almost making him laugh out loud at that. How dare he be funny when Dean just wants to hit him extra hard?

Do you even realize …? Dean can't bring himself to end that thought at first, his emotions clenching his chest so fiercely it physically hurts. He takes another minute to clarify, … do you even know … what you did … to me …?

Cas looks even more remorseful, his features crestfallen. “I knew that my decision would hurt you,” he admits. “After all, you're a good man and I was aware that you cared about me. So believe me, if I had seen any other choice at that moment back in the bunker, I would have taken it. But there was none and I did what I had to do to make sure you would survive.”

Dean feels his eyes burn, but he can't look away from Cas.

“However, back then I didn't … well, I wasn't able to comprehend the impact this would have on you,” Cas confesses, the guilt in his voice palpable. “Yes, I expected you to be sad and to grieve, but overall I assumed you would recover and live a long and happy life afterwards. That is the reason I was capable of feeling happiness at that moment in the first place. If I had known … if I had known this would pain you so much, The Empty wouldn't have come for me. Your misery could never be my happiness.”

Fuck, Dean wants to punch him and hug him and maybe cry a little (a lot) and in the end he does none of that.

How is he supposed to react to this?

“But Jack …” Cas heaves a weary sigh. “Jack told me how much this is still haunting you and … I'm so sorry for causing you pain, Dean. That was never my intention.”

Dean wants to scream.

He wants to be pissed.

He also wants to sympathize and empathize.

He wants a lot of things.

In the end he just looks out of the closest window and notices Jack and Miracle playing somewhere in the distance, the kid throwing a stick and the dog enthusiastically rushing after it. Dean watches them for a while and feels the tension slowly drain out of his body.

Cas remains patient and quiet the whole time.

I'd like to be angry with you, Dean eventually confesses, his gaze still locked outside. But that'd be too easy, wouldn't it?

Far too easy.

'Coz I have a tendency to forget sometimes that you're an angel …, Dean adds while anxiously fumbling with his fingers, … and I'm not talking about your powers and that stuff but – but the way you were raised, y'know? … Chuck practically designed most of you lot to think that you're expendable, especially when you don't have a higher purpose and all shit.

Dean had a lot of time to think in the last few months and eventually he couldn't help but analyze everything with a fine-toothed comb, particularly that is the complexity of angels in general.

Y'know, I always got a little butt-hurt when you never stayed around, Dean continues with a wistful smile on his face. When you'd … y'know, rather go out there to deal with Heaven business or hunting monsters instead of hanging around the bunker for a while. And yeah, I know – in parts that's my fault, for never asking you to stay, for not trying harder to make you understand that it's your home too … for …

Dean makes a little noise that almost sounds like a sob.

But it's not only that, right? Dean clenches his hands into fists. You were searching for a purpose, weren't you? You NEEDED one. 'Coz this is the way you were created.

Dean still doesn't dare to look at the angel, but considering that Cas doesn't protest speaks volumes.

And I didn't see that, Dean adds. I didn't understand it … I told myself that this is just how angels act – how YOU act – and I tried to accept that. He laughs at himself then. I didn't do a very good job of it, though.

Oh no, he remembers very well how much he sulked whenever Cas fucked off again to God knows where, without much else than a quick goodbye.

“Dean …” Cas whispers, his tone pained.

Dean isn't finished yet, however.

You needed a purpose, Dean insists. You wanted to be useful … But somehow you never found the right thing, not for your angel brain at least … and somewhere along the way you deemed yourself expendable. So ultimately, when you could offer your own life for Jack and me …

Cas took the chance.

Without hesitation, no doubt.

I can't even blame you 'cause that would make me the biggest hypocrite, Dean scoffs. But I'm so sorry for not seeing it sooner … for just thinking you had yourself integrated with humanity in all the important ways even though you technically still can't order a simple cheeseburger without being weird about it and missing like twenty social cues in a row … I just – well, I was stupid enough to believe that over a decade here with us mere humans would have been enough, but it wasn't, was it? How could it have been when you're like a billion years old?? Your time with us is only a little blip on your radar –

“You're so much more than a blip,” Cas cuts in. “So much more!”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut for a second, all the feelings inside of him too much.

At the end of the day this is still all Chuck's fault. He designed most of the angels to be his little drones. His servants. He didn't deem them even worthy enough to create them a Heaven of their own but instead dumped them all into an endless nothingness as soon as they had served their purpose.

He never really cared for them and that made them barely care for themselves along the way.

Dean knows how it is to grow up with a shitty father like that. Who makes you feel like you're either a weapon, a means to an end or a nuisance. Granted, in the grand scheme of things John Winchester surely managed to show his kids some love here and there, just enough for Dean to believe that he didn't hate them, but of course it's easy even for a man like John to look like a better father than Chuck. It doesn't make it any better, though.

Cas never really knew love for the longest time, at least not firsthand. And when he came into Dean's life, Dean was already so damaged – by his father's upbringing, by Hell, by absolutely everything – that he could barely show Cas any affection, apart from a nudge on the shoulder and maybe the occasional hug. He was taught that it was a weakness to be too overly affectionate, especially with another man, and therefore he kept his distance.

Cas needed someone to show him the ropes, though. Because without Heaven on his side he was an angel without a purpose and that probably fucked him up even more than Dean ever realized.

Dean rubs his temples and curses himself for being so blind for what feels the millionth time.

That spurs Cas back into action.

“You look exhausted, Dean,” he points out, concern wavering in his tone. “You need some rest.”

Dean shakes his head, on the verge of protesting.

There is so much more he has to say. So much more he has to apologize for and so much more he has to yell at Cas for.

Hell, they haven't even hugged yet.

What is a reunion without a proper hug?

But then the thought of pulling Cas into his arms sounds so completely tiring he doesn't know what to do with it. He wants to revel in the experience, wants to feel it all, but he knows that he would barely be able to stay conscious for it now. He suddenly feels so utterly drained he just could just drop here and now, without any fanfare.

The abrupt sight of Cas has made Dean realize how utterly tense and on edge he had been for months since his death and it's all crushing down on him at once. It feels like the worst adrenaline crash he has ever experienced.

So yes, when Cas says Dean needs some rest he, as always, has a good point.

Therefore Dean nods, accepting defeat.

But instead of walking up the stairs and climbing into his bed which he technically hasn't really christened yet, he just plop to the side and sprawls himself over the couch. He touches Cas' thigh in the process by accident, but neither he nor the angel flinch back from the contact.

On the contrary, Cas stays where he is while he reaches for a nearby blanket and spreads it over Dean's body.

Dean has a millisecond to feel stupid about the whole thing – falling asleep in the middle of the day, during such an important moment no less –, but then his eyelids already start to droop and he imagines some fingers carefully brushing through his hair.

For the record, he slurs, more asleep than awake already, you don't need a purpose, Cas. From now on you can be the laziest bastard, for all I care … You deserve it …

Cas just chuckles in response.

And Dean manages to croak a very weak, “Cas ...” before he drifts off.

Chapter Text

When Dean eventually wakes up, he feels refreshed.

Because this is apparently what a few hours without nightmares can do to you. Who would have thought?

He stays a while just where he is, contently drifting back and forth between sleep and consciousness, but eventually he manages to open his eyes just enough to realize that it has become dark outside in the meantime. Dean blinks, just taking it all in and not being ready to process that information just yet.

Eventually, though, his memories set in and he quickly sits upwards while his gaze frantically roams through the room.

Desperately searching for the angel.

Trying to make sure that this wasn't a dream.

Thankfully Cas hasn't gone very far, probably knowing well enough that Dean would need all the reassurances as soon as he woke up. The angel is standing at the kitchen counter, just in Dean's line of sight, and is currently putting something on a platter Dean had purchased at a flea market just last week.

Dean stares at him for a while, trying to gather his thoughts and failing miserably.

He's been dreaming about this moment. About Cas coming back, yes, but also about the angel just standing in the house which Dean built and moving around like he has never done anything else in his life. About him being content and familiar with his surroundings, like it's actually a home for him.

Dean watches Cas handling the cutlery like it's second nature and Dean is pretty sure he has never seen anything more mesmerizing.

He gulps and looks for way too long, like a creep with a very weird fetish.

At some point Cas glances up from his task and smiles easily at Dean, not at all surprised to find the Winchester awake. He most likely sensed Dean watching him the whole time and decided to allow the human to catch up with everything on his own terms.

“Jack brought some pie over,” Cas explains, gesturing at the platter in front of him. “I figured that you might need it.”

Dean briefly glimpses at the pie in question – apple with extra cinnamon, by the looks and smell of it – before his gaze instantly switches back to the angel. He can't look away for good.

Cas, meanwhile, actually starts to get a little awkward under that scrutiny because he fidgets somewhat as he points back at the fridge. “Or would you rather prefer something with more substance?” he wonders. “I could make you a sandwich if you like. You didn't have much perishable around, but I told Jack to bring some things as well, in case you needed it –”

There he is, being considerate like the bastard he is.

Dean doesn't hesitate anymore.

Cas just came back from the dead and the least he deserves to get is a goddamned hug.

And so Dean rises from the couch, still a bit wobbly, yet determined enough to ignore all that, and strides up to the angel like a man on a mission. Cas' eyes actually widen a little and he looks as if he expects some sort of fist fight coming his way now. Instead of backing down, though, he stays right where he is, obviously allowing Dean to do anything he pleases.

Dean once again rolls his eyes at so much martyrism before reaching out to Cas and yanking him forward. The angel, as always, tames his power down enough for Dean to manhandle him with ease and stumbles right into the other one's arms.

Dean doesn't think. He doesn't overthink.

He doesn't dwell on those last words Cas spoke to him before The Empty took him and the implication of it all.

No, instead he just focuses on the fact that he just got his best friend back, after this time actually truly believing they would never see each other again, and that needs to be celebrated.

Dean makes the embrace as tight as he can manage with his weak human muscles and he exhales in relief when he buries his face in Cas' neck. The angel smells like a thousand different things, as though he's just come back from flying through countless countries at once and is still carrying all those colorful scents around with him, and Dean feels his eyes sting again as he once more realizes that he almost lost this for good.

Cas remains stiff at first, apparently still anticipating some sort of punch or whatever. But soon enough he melts into the hug and when his strong arms wrap around Dean's torso, Dean suddenly knows what real warmth and safety feels like.

“Hello Dean …” Cas whispers the words the Winchester has been so desperate to hear, an amused chuckle in his voice.

Dean pushes himself even deeper into the embrace.

“Heya Cas,” he croaks, his throat still having some trouble working properly, but trying its best anyway. Dean takes what he can get.

And so they stay like this.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

The whole thing passes the line of acceptable quickly enough and Dean doesn't give a damn. He just wants to hold Cas and be held in return and live in this moment forever.

Is that seriously too much to ask?

Cas at least seems to agree as well because he doesn't show any indication of wanting to wiggle out of the embrace anytime soon.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and feels the tension that built up inside him in the last few months slowly but gradually draining out of his body.

“… you're a self-sacrificing idiot …” he mumbles into Cas' skin at some point.

Cas reacts by tightening his grip. “Yes, I know,” he says dutifully. “We have established that.”

Dean doesn't stop there, however, and for the next couple of minutes he calls Cas all sorts of things. Moron, dumbass, son of a bitch, bastard, stupid – you name it.

Cas takes it all, without complaint.

And they probably would've remained like this for many hours more if Dean's stomach wouldn't have started to growl at some point, spurred on by the delicious smell of the pie on the counter. Nonetheless, Dean tries to ignore it at first, telling himself that holding onto Cas is much more important than quenching a bit of hunger. But he also can't shake the realization that this is the first time in almost a year he's actually feeling some serious appetite instead of the low-key thing he has been dealing with since Cas' death.

Food had mostly been a necessity Dean was forced to endure in order to not to starve. Some days even were so bad that he had to set himself an alarm to remember to eat something.

Not many things have been appetizing to him.

But this pie right now? It suddenly looks like the most delicious meal ever.

Suddenly Dean feels like anything might be the most delicious meal right now. Even some fucking rabbit food.

“You should eat,” Cas urges. “Jack got it fresh from the bakery, the pie is still a little warm.”

That sounds amazing.

Nonetheless he hesitates for a couple of moments more, the urge to cling to Cas still the most prominent emotion he's feeling right now.

Only when Cas gently places his hand on Dean's lower back and whispers reassuringly, “I won't go far, I promise”, obviously once again known too well what's going on in the Winchester's head, Dean finally takes a step back and turns at least some of his attention to the pie in question.

“I even have some ice cream if you want,” Cas announces grandly. As if this is the most important thing he has ever uttered in his life.

Damn, Dean loves him like crazy.

And so, only a few minutes later, he finds himself deeply in Pie Heaven, with the warm pastry and the cold vanilla ice cream melting on his tongue to absolute perfection. Cas just watches him for a while with that fond expression of his, even lets himself get talked into taking a few bites as well, before eventually his eyes begin to drift over everything in their vicinity.

“The house has turned out very beautiful,” Cas says. “You have done a breathtaking job.”

Usually Dean would have brushed him off with a weak excuse and then told him to shut up, but now he is only capable of blushing and feeling stupidly pleased by the praise.

“It is a true home,” Cas goes on. “You and Sam will be very happy here, I can already tell.”

Dean looks up from his pie and frowns.

“Sam won't be living here,” he blurts out, like this is a given.

To be fair, he hadn't made any concrete plans yet, hadn't even really decided whether he wanted his brother to stay or not up until that very moment, but as soon as he heard Cas make that (very reasonable) assumption Dean all of a sudden knows that this isn't the way he wants things to go.

He loves Sam, yes, and Dean is eager to have him over as often as possible, even under the threat of violence if necessary, but they both have their own lives now and those don't involve being in each other's pockets 24/7 anymore.

Cas, however, looks rather surprised by Dean's decision. “Oh,” he says, blinking. “I'm sorry, I just assumed …”

“There are three rooms upstairs,” Dean finds himself saying. “One is a guest room that will most likely be occupied by Sam more often than not, yes. The other one is for Jack, whenever he is around –”

Cas' features impossibly soften at that.

“And, well, the master bedroom …” Dean trails off and flushes.

He built that bedroom with a specific person in mind. Had been dreaming about sharing this ridiculously large bed with someone very special.

And now that person is standing across from him, not having a single clue about any of that.

Dean's throat starts to close up once again, but this time he fights it with all his might. In the past he was too cowardly to say something. Able to fool himself that it was futile anyway, that Cas as an angel couldn't feel the same way.

Now, however?

Now Cas put all the cards on the table. And yeah, he appears content enough with the situation as it is and probably wouldn't even raise an eyebrow if Dean were to decide to never speak or even mention the whole thing again. In the past the Winchester most likely would have taken him up on that unspoken offer quickly enough.

But this isn't like all those other missed chances. There is no second-guessing, no doubting.

Granted, only because Cas got all emotional on him doesn't automatically mean he wants to move in and enjoy a white-picket fence anytime soon, but Dean can't afford to not show his own cards anymore either. He just knows he would regret it for the rest of his life.

“The master bedroom is … for you …” Dean whispers, “… and me … if that's okay.”

Cas stares at him, clearly bewildered, and for a moment it actually seems like he is wondering if Dean is proposing some sort of switching system.

Idiot.

“What you said … to me … at the bunker … with Billie at the door …” Dean says in a shaky voice and then adds in his head, I'm not mad at you for what you said to me. I'm pissed because of your timing.

Cas' face does something very complicated Dean isn't able to decipher. It seems like the angel himself doesn't really appear to know how to react to this.

“You just don't say all this shit to a guy – and then die!” Dean points out, his hands trembling as he clenches them into fists.

Cas' shoulders sag. “Dean …”

“You just don't, Cas,” Dean presses through his teeth, with all the willpower he has left. “I didn't … I didn't even have a chance to say anything back. I just …”

I'm not good at this, Cas, he continues in a prayer. I should tell you a million things, but I can't 'coz words are sometimes such a bitch for me. Especially when there is so much on the line. He presses his lips tightly together and forces himself to look into Cas' piercing blue eyes. I wanna tell you so much … but instead I'm going way overboard and building you a house instead …

Cas' head snaps up instantly at that.

“For … me?” he asks.

He sounds so small all of a sudden. So vulnerable.

Dean wants to pull him into another hug and never let him go so very badly.

But instead he urges himself to get this over with first. Cas deserves to learn the whole truth, as stupid as it may sound.

“I stumbled upon this house, just a broken shell, and I –” He shakes his head, still a little in disbelief about his own actions. “I guess I saw myself in it, as dumb as that is, but I also saw all the potential and I … suddenly I started dreaming about sharing this house with you and then … then I bought it and I didn't tell Sam anything about it because I'm pretty sure he would've declared me insane or something and he still doesn't know, by the way –”

And yeah, I renovated it, he goes on. Jack helped a lot too and … yeah, the whole time I wanted to share it with you … I even made grand plans about the garden 'cause I figured you would like a vegetable garden or something – or maybe even one of those bee houses or whatever they're called and –

He trails off, even his head incapable of keeping his thoughts straight anymore.

Looks like this is all he will get out today. Hopefully it was enough to get the point across.

Dean stays quiet, bracing himself for what is to come.

At first there is nothing but silence. Cas doesn't move, doesn't even blink, he just gapes at Dean like he is asking himself if this is all real. If this isn't just a very vivid dream.

Before Dean even knows what he is doing he reaches over the counter and loosely wraps his hand around the angel's wrist, squeezing it lightly. Reassuring him that, no, this isn't a dream or an illusion or whatever else his mind might come up with.

Cas' gaze intensifies at the gesture.

And then he suddenly walks around the counter, so quickly he must have used some angelic help to move with such speed, and Dean sees himself crowded into a corner.

He doesn't really mind, even though his heart nearly leaps out of his chest at the abrupt proximity between them.

They have been close before, sometimes even intimately so, but never like this. It's not only Cas' face mere inches from his but his entire body leaning into Dean, like he can't help himself. Like they're being pulled together like magnets.

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?” Cas asks, almost urgently. His hopes are apparently up and he wants Dean to be fast to either confirm them or crush him completely.

Dean's throat stops working again.

And so he prays, You thought that you couldn't have the one thing you want. But that's not true ... He heaves a deep breath. You had me for years, Cas …

Cas' entire demeanor changes significantly with those words.

As though he is melting somehow.

And Dean has barely any chance to process it before Cas utterly invades his personal space. Suddenly there is a body sprawled over him, a hand in his hair and lips very fleetingly grazing his own.

Dean nearly loses his mind.

“I hope I'm not misinterpreting …” Cas breathes.

Dean gets rid of the last inch between them.

Dean has pictured this moment probably a million times and he was fairly sure he came up with every scenario there could be in his mind over the years and yet he somehow completely underestimated the sensation of it all. Yeah, sure, he expected kissing Cas to feel amazing, mind-blowing, life-changing, etc., but nonetheless he finds himself absolutely unprepared for the reality of it now.

He feels everything.

Cas’ lips on his. The angel’s body pressed against his. Fingers hesitantly tangling with Dean’s strands. The kitchen counter digging into his back. The breeze sweeping in from the open window and brushing over Dean’s skin.

It’s so much that he almost loses his balance and only Cas’ arms wrapped around his waist keep him upright.

Dean sighs into Cas’ mouth, happy and overwhelmed, and allows himself to get carried away. To press a bit further, to deepen the experience cautiously and to just feel.

He can’t say how much time passes.

Seconds? Minutes? Maybe an hour or two?

Either way, when Cas eventually draws back a little and Dean can’t help but whine pathetically but also suck in a whole bunch of oxygen because he apparently got rather lightheaded somewhere along the way without him really noticing, it seriously doesn’t seem like enough time. But then Dean looks into Cas’ lively eyes which appear to spark with something new and he remembers that time is on their side now.

He doesn’t need to cling onto this so desperately, out of fear he might lose it again the next second like he lost so many people before just when he gave himself permission to be happy for once.

Cas is here and he looks amazing in their kitchen and even though Dean still has so many things to say and also has so many questions, he just grins, drops another brief kiss onto those inviting lips and then turns back to the pie since his stomach is still insistent on growling constantly and ruining the mood.

It’s perfect.

---

They share some of the pie.

And in between they kiss some more because Dean is quickly getting addicted to it all. Thankfully Cas seems right there with him and so they share cinnamony kisses more often than not until the slice of pie is gone.

Eventually they drift back to the couch, with Cas holding Dean's hand like they’re a pair of lovesick teenagers or something (which does not make Dean blush!), and he lets his gaze drift over his surroundings once more.

“I can’t say it enough, this is remarkable,” he praises. “This seriously feels like you.” And when he notices Dean staring at him like a fucking weirdo, he smiles, a little uneasily, and clarifies, “Like us?”

It’s a question because despite everything he still isn’t sure. Most likely he is just as hesitant as Dean to acknowledge that something good might finally have come their way.

“If you want it …” Dean mumbles, with his throat starting to contract again.

Cas pauses for a moment.

It’s merely seconds, but for Dean it feels like half a lifetime and he notices his heart plummeting as it looks like Cas is bracing himself to let Dean down.

“I want to help Jack,” he then says and he actually sounds like he expects Dean to make a fuss over this. “He is so young and he has been burdened with so much and – I want to help him reorganize Heaven and Purgatory and deal with the situation with The Empty, of course …”

Dean holds his breath.

“But,” Cas adds then, a gentle expression on his face, “I don’t want this to be my life either. Because this,” he gestures around, at the house and also at Dean, “this feels right. Maybe one day it will even feel like something I deserve.”

“You deserve it!” Dean insists.

Cas smiles at him. “I think I actually have to overcome some personal issues first before I can truly believe that. But I want that. More than anything.”

Dean finds himself breathing again.

“Sooo …?”

“I’m going to help Jack,” Cas decides. “But, like I said, I don’t want this to become my entire existence. My purpose, as you so eloquently put it earlier.” He squeezes Dean’s fingers reassuringly. “I want to come back here by the end of the day. And wake up with you in the morning.”

At the latter he actually flushes a little and for an angel who never breaks a sweat this is truly such a unique sight Dean seriously considers taking a picture to remember it for all eternity.

“So … you want the whole Heaven thing to be your day job?” Dean wonders.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, obviously eager about the comparison. “With reasonable hours and weekends and vacation time …”

Dean smirks. “Sounds like a plan, buddy.”

Maybe, when the entire renovation process is over, Dean will get himself a job of his own as well. Nothing fancy, perhaps just part-time work at a garage or something. It doesn’t sound very glamorous, but it would also be a completely new adventure for him and that might be worth pursuing.

However, just as he begins to daydream about them being a ridiculously normal couple with jobs and whatnot, he is hit with a memory and he finds himself asking, “Whatever happened with The Empty? I didn’t really get it when Jack was explaining the entire thing …”

How did they get Cas out of the place without allegedly nobody selling their soul or bringing another apocalypse along the way?

Dean had been too shell-shocked by Cas’ return to listen to any of Jack’s rambles and therefore he barely knows what even happened. Did the kid do something stupid? Did he risk everything for this? Does Dean need to ground him now?

“Jack proposed the idea of reorganizing basically everything,” Cas explains. “He deemed Chuck’s old concept flawed and I wholeheartedly agree with him on that. We don’t have any detailed plans yet, but we’re considering making Purgatory a peaceful place for everything supernatural, including angels and demons. With some individuals maybe even getting the chance to ascend to Heaven. While others might even go to Hell.” Cas tilts his head. “There is still much to discuss on the matter, of course. So many details to work out. But The Empty was keen enough on the mere prospect of finally getting rid of all the angels and demons again that it quickly gave in to Jack’s one and only requirement.”

“Your release,” Dean realizes.

Damn.

The kid surely knows how to negotiate.

For a second there Dean feels a bit hurt that Jack didn’t come to him for advice on this, but soon enough he recalls the boy saying that he didn’t want to get Dean’s hopes up only to see them crushed afterwards. And yes, it would have shattered Dean, no question, if he would have made all these plans with Jack and in the end The Empty would have refused.

So it’s probably for the best that Jack dealt with it alone.

(Or perhaps even with Amara’s help? Dean isn’t really sure about this all and so far he didn’t dare to ask.)

“So … you’re out?” Dean asks, staring imploringly at Cas. “For good?”

“Yes,” Cas confirms. “The Empty seems to be irrevocably sick of any angels for all eternity. I highly doubt it would want to deal with me or any other living being ever again.”

Those are the words Dean wanted to hear.

He reacts with a brilliant grin before leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss onto the angel’s lips.

“Then I guess we can be lame and normal for a change, yeah?” Dean suggests. “Just some dudes with their jobs who regularly fight about whose turn it is to take the trash out and all that other regular people stuff.”

Cas smiles against Dean's lips and whispers, “That sounds absolutely perfect to me.”

Chapter Text

“It's lopsided.”

Cas' voice is deep and gravelly as he looks at the picture Dean just nailed onto the wall of their living room mere seconds ago.

“It's not,” Dean objects, putting his hammer aside. “I measured it and everything.”

Cas doesn't seem satisfied by that answer. “On the left side it's 0.5 millimeters too low –”

“Speak American to me, dude.”

Cas rolls his eyes and simply states, “It's lopsided.”

Dean huffs and he knows he should be annoyed by it, but instead he deems it the greatest moment of his life.

Because bickering over such mundane things with Cas instead of fighting apocalypses? Yeah, this is the dream Dean has been waiting for for such a long time.

He grins widely and before Cas even has a chance to wiggle himself out of it Dean has grabbed him by the waist and pulled closer. He digs his fingers deeply into the soft material of the sweater Cas borrowed from Dean’s wardrobe this morning as he maneuvers the angel towards the wall behind him.

“Dean –” Cas complains with a sigh, even though he probably isn’t too opposed to such treatment considering he’s got all the power in the world to stop this mere human at any time. Instead he allows Dean to move him around to his own liking and the amused twinkle in his eyes surely speaks volumes.

“You’re such a finicky bastard,” Dean whispers affectionately.

Cas purses his lips. “I was just pointing out a small error of judgment –”

“We haven’t even officially moved in yet and you’re already taking over everything,” Dean says, laughing.

He simply loves that the angel is all in on the project. It’s only been four days since his return and he is already acting like he’s been involved with the whole thing since the very beginning.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little control freak?” Dean teases.

Cas merely pouts, apparently not eager to apologize for his behavior anytime soon.

And if Dean is being honest with himself he truly doesn’t want him to.

He finds himself chuckling as he leans in, connecting their lips in a soft, yet determined kiss. This has quickly become one of his favorite pastimes in the last few days and Dean doesn’t see that change ever.

Cas melts into him for a couple of seconds before pulling back with a quiet groan. “Dean, we don’t have time for this –” he objects. “Sam will be here in –” He tilts his head and concentrates as he does something complicated with his angel powers Dean doesn’t even dare to understand, “– in eight minutes. He and Eileen just left the Interstate.”

Dean smirks. “Brilliant. That’s more than enough time.”

“Dean –”

“Ever heard of Eight Minutes in Heaven, Cas?”

“I’m fairly sure it’s only seven minutes –”

“And once again you’re being finicky. Live a little and enjoy the extra minute.”

Cas rolls his eyes very dramatically, but he doesn’t protest when Dean kisses him and pours everything in it.

Unfortunately they get neither seven nor eight minutes in the end. Dean barely has time to admire how snug the jeans Cas got out of his closet as well are wrapped around the angel’s surprisingly muscular thighs – a discovery that nearly sent Dean into insanity a few days ago when he stumbled upon that –, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs and he regretfully has to stop his groping session and take a step back.

“Jack,” he says as the kid reaches the bottom with an unnecessarily loud thud. He tries not to sound reproachful because the boy hasn’t done anything wrong technically, but Dean can’t help but be a little too keen on making up for all the lost time with Cas.

“Dean,” Jack just greets him right back, his grin cheerful.

“Why aren’t you busy with your video game?” Dean wonders, gesturing into the direction of Jack’s room where the kid disappeared to about twenty minutes ago, eager to try the new game Dean had bought for him. “Bored already?”

“Oh no, it’s great!” Jack says excitedly. “I’ve already invaded the Otherlands and got an audience with the Troll King and –”

“Yes, yes,” Dean waves him off right away, not in the mood to hear any details. Jack will probably dive into another detailed explanation over dinner, so Deans seriously doesn't need to get the whole story twice. “I get it, you’re the Master of the Video Games. And you’re sure you’re not using your Godly powers to reach new levels faster?”

It’s only in jest and Dean wouldn’t mind either way, it’s just a game, but Jack takes offense as though Dean accused him of starting another crippling apocalypse.

“No, it’s all just me!” Jack insists with the most impressive and also most adorable pout in existence.

Dean tries not to laugh right into the kid’s face and instead nudges his shoulder good-naturedly. “Good for you, buddy,” he says and then adds as Jack’s expression mellows again, “Maybe sometime this week you can show me how that game works. I’m always up for a challenge.”

Jack brightens and looks on the brink of leaping into another ramble, but Cas quickly interferes by saying, “Sam and Eileen will be here soon. Perhaps you could turn the oven on so that we don’t have to wait too long for the roast to be ready?”

Jack smiles at the mention of Sam and Eileen’s upcoming arrival. “That’s why I paused my game actually. I wanted to be the first to greet them.”

And then he is off into the kitchen and Dean looks after him with a sigh.

“You know, I’ve got the feeling he’s acting more like a hyperactive toddler than ever before,” he points out. “Do you think that’s ‘cause of his God powers and all that?”

Cas instantly shakes his head. “No, I think this is because we have finally settled down. Jack basks in all the serenity.”

That’s actually a really nice thought.

Dean hums and once again feels grateful for the day he decided to buy this house on a whim.

In the end, as predicted by both angel and God himself, it doesn’t take long for Sam and Eileen to arrive. They had been on a hunt until now, so wrapped up in the case they couldn’t head home sooner, even though Sam got rather desperate to make it happen as soon as he learned about Cas’ return. He stuck it out, though, but compensated by talking with the angel on the phone for what felt like hours every single day.

Sam steers his weird, energy friendly car into the driveway, right next to the Impala, and looks at the house with skepticism. He’s already been wary when Dean sent him the coordinates and told him to meet them there as Sam knew very well that this was the same place Dean allegedly did his official human job as a construction worker. His mind is probably working a thousand miles per minute, wondering what to make of it.

His questions are quickly forgotten, however, when he spots Cas and soon enough there are many hugs and ruffled hair and scratches for the dog and at some point they find themselves at the dinner table, enjoying their roast and potatoes and yeah, even their damned salad.

Dean can’t help but smile the whole time because this feels so utterly right he barely knows how to handle it. His family, at his table, sharing food and stories right here in the house that Dean built for Cas and himself.

Dean never thought this possible.

And yet, here they are.

“I’ve gotta ask, though,” Sam eventually turns toward Dean, just when there is a lull in the conversation. “Are the owners of this house letting you house-sit or something? Did you use your charm with those poor people while you were working here?”

Dean smirks. “Something like that.”

He debates being a bit more mysterious for a while longer and having some fun with his brother, but Cas obviously doesn’t share the sentiment as he sighs wearily and explains, “This is actually Dean’s house.”

As expected, Sam is clearly taken aback. “What?”

His eyebrows climb so high they nearly disappear underneath his hairline, in fact.

Eileen, however, looks like she already expected such a thing. That woman is far too clever for Dean’s doofus brother.

“He bought the house, renovated it and then lied to you about it because he didn’t want to deal with your insistent questions,” Cas tells Sam in a tone as though he is describing the weather.

Meanwhile, Dean scoffs. “Technically I didn’t lie. I just left out certain things.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “Who is finicky about details now?”

They continue to bicker in that fashion, back and forth, and it’s the most amazing thing, in Dean’s opinion. Well, until they’re interrupted by a very loud, “WHAT??”

Sam stares at them like he can’t believe they’re real.

Like he is seriously considering he might be trapped in some djinn dream or whatever.

“I think you nearly broke him,” Eileen pipes in, her gaze on Dean as she, more than a little amused, squeezes her boyfriend’s shoulder. “If you tell him next that you two finally got your heads out of your asses and made it official, I’m sure you can finish the job.”

The corners of Dean’s mouth tug upwards as he looks at this magnificent woman.

Sam seriously doesn’t deserve her. Nobody does, to be honest.

Sam, at least, proves that by being way over his head. He glances between them all in confusion and asks, “They made what official?”

Eileen looks at him like he is the most adorable and clueless puppy she has ever seen.

And then she finally takes pity on him and leans in to whisper into his ear. Sam is eager at first, determined to not miss a single thing of what she is saying, but soon enough his eyes widen so comically they almost seem to burst out of their sockets and he exclaims in utter shock, “WHAAAAT????”

Dean breaks into hysterical laughter.