Archive of Our Own

Dean Winchester was saved… again.

It was all thanks to Cas, who had sacrificed himself (again), fulfilling some deal he had made with the Empty. Of course, this came on the ass end of a rushed, teary-eyed, completely undeserving speech that ended with an ‘I love you’ Dean had locked away with all his other too heavy to deal with memories. 

Jack was gone. The kid had become God; he’d brought back everyone Chuck had dusted and then he was just… gone. 

And so time, as it does, trudged on.

There were still hunts here and there. There were still plenty of supernatural happenings to keep around that feeling of being like old times, minus, of course, the two major pieces of their lives that were simply no longer there. But Sam had tracked down Eileen, told her how he felt, and more or less begged her to come back with them to the bunker: “so he could keep an eye on her”, as he worded it. 

So Dean supposed there was that, at least. Right? Sam got a good ending which was always what Dean had wanted. Right? As long as things were good for Sammy, that was all that really mattered. Right?!

Then came the vampire hunt. 

Dean got hurt pretty bad. 

He just barely made it out of that barn, and Sam made it clear he was done. He sat down at Dean’s bedside – where the older hunter was already busy looking up new cases, despite his strict orders to remain on bed rest at least another week – took one of Dean’s worn-out and callused hands in his own (which were way too smooth for a hunter’s hands, or so Dean thought anyway) and told Dean they were retiring. 

Dean stared at him for a moment. Then his eyes went a little misty. He quickly blinked the tears away and cleared his throat; “Good for you, man. You and Eileen deserve to get out of this life.” 

“Dean, that’s not–”

“But Sam, you gotta promise me something. Once you’re out, you’re out for good this time. I can’t constantly be worrying about you getting yourself killed.” 

“Dean–”

“Aw, who am I kidding,” Dean chuckled. He knew he sounded weak and unconvincing; he was looking at damn near anything in the room to keep from looking at Sam. “You’re my baby brother. I’m gonna worry regardless. But– But I know you can take care of yourself. You don’t need me.”

Sam sighed and let go of Dean’s hand to run his own over his face. “Dean.”

“Hmm?” 

“Please, shut up.” Dean knit his brows together, looking at Sam confused. “We are retiring. That means you too. I came too close to losing you for good this time, and I won’t go through that again.” Dean continued to stare. Sam sighed. “Look, Dean, there’s plenty of hunters out there: good hunters. You said yourself: if you knew the world was safe, you’d get out. I believe it’s as safe as it’s ever gonna get.” More staring. Still no talking. Hell, Dean wasn’t sure if he was even breathing anymore at that point. He just… continued to stare at Sam. “Dude, say something! You’re freaking me out!”

There were a million things Dean was sure Sam expected him to say to his offer– er, well, demand – but he’d bet money not one of them was a quiet but definite: “Ok.” 

“Ok?”

“Ok,” Dean repeated. “Let’s do it.” Sam leaned in, looking into Dean’s eyes as if he was trying to see into his mind and find the sike that surely had to be hidden in Dean’s answer. 

“Ok…” Sam said again, and then breathed what was surely a sigh of relief. “Ok! Perfect. I’m – I’m gonna go tell Eileen you agreed and– yeah. This– This is great.” Dean smiled up at Sam from his bed as his little brother backed towards the door, continuing to ramble about how that had gone way smoother than he thought it would. His smile disappeared as soon as the door shut, reclining back into the pillows Sam had stuffed behind him. 

Dean Winchester was Retired. 

Sam leaving the “family business” had honestly been expected: eventually, anyway. It wasn’t like it was his first time stepping away from hunting. But to say the hunter community – hell, even the monster community – was shocked when whispers began to float around that perhaps the most notorious hunter of all time was also getting out would have been a vast understatement. No one could believe it. But, according to the out-of-service message from even Dean’s other, other number, it appeared to be true. 

And time, as it always does, trudged on. 

The brothers' days of leisure and much-deserved rest faded into weeks, then months, then years. 

Sam and Eileen got married, bought a house in a little picture-perfect suburban neighborhood. Dean found a fixer-upper close enough that he could swing by every Sunday to watch a game and have dinner. 

Eileen got pregnant. Sam became a father. Dean became an uncle to the most adorable little brown-haired, hazel-eyed, Sammy 2.0 – but, to Dean’s utter disbelief and greatest honor, the kid was named after him instead. 

Life finally felt normal. And normal was good… right?

~ 

Dean sat on the couch, a beer in hand, Cowboys vs Eagles on the TV, while Sam chased a rambunctious two-year-old around the living room. 

He could feel Eileen watching him from the kitchen for a while before she ultimately made her way over to sit with him. Dean’s attention broke from the disgusting adorableness of his little brother and nephew when he felt the couch cushion shift. “Hey,” Eileen said softly, as she got settled. 

*Hey,* Dean signed back. It was simple enough, just a wave really. *How are you?*, he signed. 

(He’d been practicing out of respect for Eileen, but also so he could eavesdrop on her and Sam’s conversations. Eileen smiled, seemingly impressed) 

*I’m Ok,* she signed back, then paused and looked at him sympathetically. *How are you?* 

Dean thought for a moment. How was he? Of course, his go-to answer, no matter what, was always going to be I’m fine, and without hesitation he had already signed it to her. It was a lie, and the way Eileen’s face softened, her eyes pulling that puppy-dog look she must have learned from Sam, and the way her head tilted clearly indicated that she knew. 

“Dean,” she said softly. “You still carry way too much. It’s ok to put some of it down now.” Dean blinked. He opened his mouth to protest – or maybe agree – because he mostly just wanted to change the subject from… that. “Maybe you should get away; go somewhere?” She continued, laughing at the slightest hint of hurt in Dean’s eyes. “Don’t take it like that. I mean like a vacation.”

“I’m retired, aren’t I? My whole life is basically a vacation now.”

Eileen sighed, giving him that look again. She was spotted, and their conversation was cut short by cries of “Mama” and begging to be picked up. “Just… something to think about, ok?” 

Dean nodded, already pushing the idea to the furthest corners of his mind. 

Sam waited until Eileen was gone to sit beside Dean, suspiciously avoiding eye contact. When he finally did look up, the guilt was thick enough to be cut with a knife. “You’re joking,” Dean groaned. “What, was this your idea?” 

“Not my idea… per se,” Sam said. “But… It's not a bad idea. We got out, Dean. Our lives are finally calm, and normal. Don’t you wanna go do all the stuff we always wished we could when we were up to our necks in cases, or worrying whether the world was ending… or one of us was dying… or all of the above?” 

Dean wanted to say no, simply so Sam wouldn’t continue his attempts to run him off, but the more he thought about it, the more he started to think that he was probably driving them insane with his pitiful lingering. It was just… he didn’t want to go alone. And since Sam was joining forces with Eileen in ushering him to go somewhere, it’s clear they weren’t offering an invitation to accompany him. 

And besides Sam, Eileen, and Dean (the little one), there was no one else he could ask to go with him. Hell, even Jody and Donna had already used up their vacation days coming to visit at Christmas. 

Dean stared at the beer in his hand.

“Hey, man, we didn’t mean anything by it. And we hope it didn’t come across as us trying to get rid of you, or something… Dean? Look you know what–”

“It’s all good, Sammy. I, uh, I think you’re right, actually.”

Sam seemed surprised. “You do?” 

“Yeah. I’ve actually been going a little stir-crazy from having all this time and nothing to do with it. Maybe a getaway–” A deep breath to really sell the lie. “–will be nice.”

And Sam probably didn’t believe him. He knew he probably looked like a discarded puppy as he packed himself a small bag with some clothes, junk food, and a toothbrush (the necessities) and loaded it into the Impala. But any attempts Sam or Eileen made to retract their telling Dean they needed a little space from him went unheard, or ignored. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, pulling out of his lonely driveway and onto an equally lonely road, stove up in his lonely car while he drove through the busy streets towards… well, he really wasn’t sure. He just drove. Drove until Baby flashed him a low gas warning, and then he’d stop to fill her up, repeating the cycle of driving from full tank to empty tank until he was too tired to go on. 

The motel was cheap and shabby, so reminiscent of the old days that it actually gave him an odd sense of belonging to be there. He sighed as he laid himself out on the lumpy mattress, half hoping he wouldn't wake to bed bug bites, half wishing he would… if only just to feel something again. For so long he had only felt numb. 

Maybe retiring had been a bad idea.

When he woke up, it was to a rustling sound: one that was definitely not bed bugs and one he prayed was not a rat. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the pitch-black of the room, but when they did, they immediately focused on a dark figure in the corner, hunched over his bag. 

Slowly, he slid his hand under his pillow. It was purely out of habit, as there was nothing there anymore, and he was annoyed with himself for not thinking to get his gun out of the glove compartment now that “just in case” was apparently happening. His next move for a weapon was the tall metal table lamp. In one quick motion, he had it unplugged and in hand, and he leapt from the bed towards the figure with a loud yell. He was just about to grab the perp when he realized they were no longer there. 

“What the…”, Dean gasped, looking around the room. He thought maybe he was still half-asleep. He walked the lamp back to the table and sat on his bed, tiredly rubbing his eyes. With one more look at his empty room, he laid down, knowing good and well that any sleep he got after whatever that was, would not be very fulfilling. 

Dean Winchester was (Kinda) on Vacation

“This is boring,” he totally didn’t mean to say out loud from the back row of the top tier of a double-decker tour bus. The tour was advertised at the motel, and in every shop, restaurant, and business around, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do. 

A couple tourists looked back at him, turning up their noses like he didn’t belong amongst them on the wobbly, trash-infested, over-priced ride. He agreed. He couldn’t care less about the sites they had talked about. At least a dozen of the locations they had passed had been visited by hunters (including Sam and himself) for jobs. The stories he could tell about these places would absolutely mortify the goody-two-shoes surrounding him. At the next stop he signaled that he wanted to get off. 

“Good riddance,” he totally meant to say, loud enough to be heard by them all. 

Thankfully, he was pretty close to a burger joint that smelled amazing. Amazing enough, at least, to take the sting away from having to search around for an empty table, from having to eat alone. He tossed the bag on a grated table top and pulled out his chair. Around him were groups of families, friends, a few couples… 

Couples… hah. He thought. That’ll never be me… 

Dean sighed. Suddenly the burger leaking grease through the paper bag in front of him didn’t seem so appetizing anymore. He grabbed it and walked away from the restaurant. 

He was about halfway back to his motel when he felt eyes on him. Making sure he wasn’t being too obvious, he glanced down “to check his GPS,” then looked around at his surroundings, and, finally, behind him… where there was nothing but an empty sidewalk, save for a few non-suspicious looking women talking. “Hmm…” 

“Are you lost?”, Dean heard, just as he turned back to continue walking. He jolted, almost colliding with the disembodied voice in front of him. She was gorgeous. Long legs, high heels, and wavy blonde hair reaching halfway down her back. Dean blinked a couple times, taking her in, and she, in turn, looked him over as well, seemingly impressed. Dean felt a wave of emotion – what would have been unsurprised pride at one time, but now felt more like bashful embarrassment – wash over him. 

“S- Sorry,” he finally managed to get out. She cocked her brow at him with a smirk, still waiting for an answer to her question, he realized. “Oh,  right, um, no. I’m not lost,” he said with a nervous laugh, wondering why he suddenly felt nervous and holding up his phone to show her the GPS guiding him back to the motel. “Just, uh, headin’ back… to my motel.”

“Alone?”, she asked with a smile, flashing her set of pearly white teeth. 

Dean opened his mouth to speak, finding nothing coming out. The woman stepped closer, and to his surprise… he stepped back. “N- no.”

“No?” 

“I mean… no. I’m not alone,” Dean reiterated. 

The woman tsked, but backed off respectfully. “Lucky girl.” Dean didn’t feel like he made a face, but apparently he did because a surprised look crossed her face as she laughed out, “Or guy”. 

“Wha–”, Dean gasped, but she was already waving goodbye. The remainder of his walk was spent dwelling on what she had said. 

He tossed the bag of food in the dinky room's equally dinky fridge – grabbing a beer in the process – and sprawled out on the bed. The TV was broken, which wasn’t surprising but was frustrating, as it left him with nothing to do other than think more on the woman’s words. 

Or guy. 

And it wasn’t just the fact she said it. Plenty of people had assumed Dean was into guys before; that was nothing new. It was the way she said it. The surprise in her eyes after assuming he had some woman waiting for him. As if his expression had changed at her statement. Did his expression change? If it did… why? Hell, he had been lying about there being anyone waiting for him in the first place, so why would he make a face at her assuming it was a woman? Why wouldn’t it be a woman? It would be a woman. It… 

You’re looking too deep into this…, he told himself. 

Dean’s stomach cut off his rambling thoughts with a loud growl. He sighed, and let his head fall back against the headboard. 

Dean Winchester was conflicted… (although he wasn’t quite sure why…)

Somehow, the burger smelled better the second go-around. Dean inhaled the greasy, meaty — with added bacon, cheese, pickles, lettuce, tomato, onions, and some fancy aioli sauce — goodness before him. 

Oh sure, clog your arteries some more, Dean, he recited in Sam’s voice in his head before taking the first bite. You should really take better care of yourself, you know. And that starts with…

“Can it, Sam,” Dean mumbled around his mouthful of burger. He blinked, looking around the empty room. “Dammit, your health nuttiness has short-wired my brain… I can hear you nagging even when you're not here.” 

Realizing he was still talking to himself, Dean scoffed and took another bite of his food. 

He’s not wrong, you know. 

Dean’s head snapped up. He looked around the room, confused… and a bit freaked out. That thought… well, it didn’t seem like a thought. It was like he heard it. He could almost make out the voice. A familiar voice. 

“Well…”, he said, balling the remainder of the burger — a little remorsefully, because there was well over half left and it was delicious — in its wrapper and throwing it in the trash can. “Don’t feel like getting drugged off some funky meat… again.” 

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. It was hot, so he had the air as cold as it would get (which honestly wasn’t that cold), and the bedding was itchy. When he finally managed to get into a comfortable position, insomnia kicked in. He felt like he laid in the same spot for hours, staring into the empty room, before he finally drifted off. 

Dean’s dreams had rarely ever been very vivid. Perhaps because he always needed to be ready to wake up, in case of an emergency or attack. He’d only had a handful of dreams he could remember, and even fewer nightmares. He used to chalk it up to nothing really scaring him, so his brain couldn’t come up with anything. 

Yet there he was, drifting off into a dream. He knew he was dreaming immediately, and maybe that should have alarmed him, but, in the moment, he just felt… peaceful. His dream body floated through the darkness before finally landing. He was laid out on the ground, he supposed; he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t hear anything either for that matter. He was just in a large dark empty place. 

Or he… 

Dean took a deep breath to calm his suddenly-racing heart. It didn’t work. 

Couples… 

There was an aching in Dean’s chest. One he had pushed away and kept away for a long time. 

I love you. 

Dean gasped, and his eyes shot open. He was drenched in sweat, and he was either having a heart attack or about to because his heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. He blinked and looked around the dark room while his eyes adjusted. Over in the corner, sitting in the chair where his bag – which was now on the floor – had been, was a shadowy figure. Dean squinted, trying to get his eyes to focus so he could make out the person, or thing, but to no avail. He went to grab the still-unplugged lamp, but his arms didn’t move. Dean figured it was just his luck: a rare nightmare and now sleep paralysis. The shadow tilted its head. “Sleep, Dean,” he heard, in that same almost-familiar voice, and, before he could even think to respond, his eyes closed.

It felt like he only blinked, yet, when he reopened his eyes, the sun was shining through the window. He sat up and stretched, expecting to feel the ache of his body protesting after having slept on such a cheap and uncomfortable mattress; instead, he felt amazing. He felt rested. He felt good. 

He felt nauseous when he saw his bag on the floor by the chair. 

Part of him wanted to break open the sealed (but still stocked) hidden compartment of the Impala and get to the bottom of what was going on with his room. The other part wanted to just pack up and head back home. He didn’t feel very “vacationed”, but he also didn’t feel like vacationing anymore. (To be fair, he hadn’t felt like vacationing in the first place, which reminded him that he had obviously burdened Sam and Eileen with his presence, hence them running him off.)

Dean, you know that’s not true. 

But disembodied, almost familiar voices, couldn’t override what he had heard with his own ears, and what he had heard with his own ears was his brother and sister-in-law telling him he had worked so hard his whole life, and always put everyone else first… and he deserved to get away and relax… which was one hundred percent code for, we’re sick of you, leave. 

“Sir, are you alright?”, the man behind the desk asked, breaking Dean’s concentration on how that was them forcing him to leave (because it totally was). 

“Oh. Yeah. I’m… fine.”

“Well I hope you had a good stay...”, the man said, nice enough, and Dean figured the half-assed-but-decent customer service might make up for the clearly haunted room. “...and a great rest of your day.” He handed Dean his room receipt folded in a pamphlet for surrounding things to do. On the front was a picture of two beach chairs facing the ocean: one occupied, the other empty; the text read come experience the Outer Banks, we saved a seat for you. 

“Uh – yeah… Thanks…”, Dean said, unable to look up from the picture and unsure what had him so captivated: the beautiful sunset or the welcoming words. The man never responded – maybe he had walked off, or maybe the customer service ended at checkout. Dean didn’t notice; he just turned and walked out the door, climbed into the Impala, and resumed his cycle of running her to near-empty, refill, repeat. 

And the miles and miles of seemingly endless road went on. 

He was about an hour from the coast when he became too tired to continue driving. He thought about finding another crappy motel but found a rest area instead. Baby’s bench seats had always been the best beds in his opinion anyway; he really only got rooms for gigantor because he needed more space to stretch his gangly appendages out. It was nothing for Dean, since he was alone, after all, to climb in the back seat and get comfortable... after he retrieved his colt… just in case. 

He reached down into his bag, feeling around for his stash of snacks, only to find empty wrappers in their place. It was strange. He didn’t remember eating them, but he was too tired to dwell on it. He barely even registered his eyes falling closed. Then, suddenly, he felt himself floating again, slipping into another dream… or rather another nightmare. 

Dammit, he thought, as he felt his dream body once again land on an unseen ground. This time, however, he was cognitive enough to stand. 

So, he began to walk. He walked through the dark nothingness for hours (maybe), mere moments (more likely). The farther he walked, the murkier the dark floor became. The murkier the dark floor became, the harder it became to walk. Eventually, it seemed like each step sank his legs down to his knees. When it got too hard to lift his foot, he reached down to try to push himself up and out of whatever this was he was sinking in, but his hands only sank into it as well. He was stuck. 

And, just like a nightmare, only then did things begin to happen. 

Knowing you… has changed me. He heard it in the distance: another all-too-familiar voice… this one undeniable of who it belonged to. As his stomach lurched from memories he had worked so hard to bury, he suddenly had the urge to push himself farther into the muck, to let it consume his whole being, to just disappear. 

He heard the words, just as they had played out over and over again in his head until he’d been unable to bear the thought of them any longer and sealed them away. 

I love you. 

He heard his own voice. 

Don’t do this, Cas. 

The floor around him began to vibrate. It moved and twisted, like it was alive. In front of him, he saw a ripple of light as the darkness opened to reveal that god-forsaken room – the one he had closed off and refused to even pass since that day – in the bunker. He saw himself, just as he turned and looked back at the opening. He could have sworn his own tear-filled green eyes looked right at him. He saw the bloody hand grab his shoulder. Saw himself get shoved out of the way. 

Saw Cas.

Around him, long tendrils began sprouting out of the floor and flying towards the opening. He flailed against the grip the muck – the Empty – had on his arms and legs, but, in the end, all he could do was watch as it engulfed Cas, and, just like before, he was powerless to stop what was happening. 

The opening closed. The floor released him. 

He woke up. 

Dean Winchester was… struggling. 

The ocean was so close he could smell it. The weather was amazing. The sunset in the distance was beautiful. He had stopped and bought the most stereotypical Hawaiian shirt he could find, got some shorts and sandals to match, threw on a pair of sunglasses, even took Sam’s advice and patted on sunscreen over any exposed skin. 

But he didn’t go to the beach. He didn’t sink his toes into the warm sand and look out at the waves. He didn’t buy him one of the fruity drinks with the little umbrellas. He wanted to. Hell, he even tried. But, as soon as he took the first step onto that loose sand, it just felt wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Team Free Will was supposed to be there together. All of them. Him and Sam, Jack and… 

Dean spun around so fast he swore he heard the swoosh of wind it created. He hurried back to the Impala, climbing inside and damn near clawing his way out of the shirt. He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t pretend he was okay. He couldn’t be happy or relax or enjoy some stupid excuse of a vacation, and he damn sure couldn’t go sit on that beach alone. He pulled a black tee over his head and then rested it on the steering wheel. 

After a few deep breaths – in through the nose and huffed back out through the mouth – to calm his pounding heart, he straightened himself, pulled out his phone, and began to scan through the local news sites. He had to find something, anything, that would take his mind off… well, everything. 

He wondered if the world really was in a state of relative safety, because he found nothing. Not a single mysterious disappearance, no string of unexplained deaths, not a potential monster, mythical, or celestial being around. 

“Dammit,” he cursed, tossing the phone into the seat beside him. He spared one more look towards the ocean ahead and turned the key in the ignition. The car whirred to life and he threw it into reverse, easing his foot off the brake to back out of the spot.

“Hello,” a voice said, just as he pulled the shifter down to drive, startling him. He looked around, confused; no one was in the car. 

I’m losing it, he thought, and stomped down on the gas to get the hell out of there. This had just been a bad idea and he wanted to go home. The tires squealed and the car picked up speed, only to have to come to an abrupt stop when Dean spotted a long-haired, bearded – pretty disheveled-looking – figure standing in the middle of the street. His whole body clenched as he slammed on the brakes; the car stopped just as it reached the man. 

“What the hell!?”, Dean yelled through the window at him. The man only stared back, his face softening into a smile, and he lifted his hand to wave… just like… “J- Jack!?” 

And yes, the man standing on the road in front of him was the young nephilim-turned-god. 

Dean didn’t even waste time moving the car out of the middle of the road; no one seemed to be on the road at that moment anyway. He threw her into park and quickly got out. He took a step towards him, cautiously, almost like he was afraid he would just disappear again if he came at him too quickly. “You’re – How – Jack it’s been years…” The hunter said, struggling to find the right words. “I – We – missed you kid.” And then he was in front of Jack, reaching out and pulling him into a hug without a second thought. “Man, it’s good to see you.”

“I missed you too, Dean,” Jack said, wrapping his arms around him in return. Dean felt him sigh against his shoulder and Jack’s arms tightened, like he just needed to hold him – or be held – a little longer… and, honestly, Dean needed it too. 

When they did finally separate, they didn’t go far, Dean pulled back just enough to get a good look at Jack. He laughed and ruffled the long wiry hair. “What’s with the caveman look?”

Jack smiled bashfully, so very much like himself, just like Dean remembered him. “I decided to let it grow out a little, but… I realized I never really learned how to shave.” 

“You couldn’t just… mojo it to your liking?”, Dean asked.

“Probably.” Jack replied. “But I try to keep the usage of my powers to a minimum, especially on myself.” 

How humble, Dean thought with a laugh. 

“Are you leaving already?” Jack asked, tilting his head to look past Dean at the idling Iimpala. “You just got here.”

“Oh,” Dean said, trying to think up a lie… realizing who exactly he was about to lie to and settling for the truth. “Yeah…”

“Why?” Dammit, Jack. Dean sighed, went to respond, but Jack spoke again first. “You came all this way… I had hoped you would be happier once you were here.” 

Dean took a step back at that. “That sounds like you intended for me to end up here.” Jack smiled innocently, shrugged. “What happened to not interfering with free will?” 

Jack laughed. “I didn’t interfere… not really. That was Sam and Eileen.”

“Why does it feel like you had something to do with that…” 

Another shrug. “All I did was suggest you might need a vacation.”

“Wait,” Dean said, his head spinning as he took in what Jack had said. “You talked to Sam.” 

“I did.” Jack smiled, warm and welcoming, really making it hard to hold any anger towards him. “He prayed to me, Dean. Has been for a while now. He was worried about you.” 

I’m worried about me, Dean thought. Jack tilted his head as if he’d heard it; he was God, after all… he probably had. “I prayed too,” he said, and he had. 

“I know,” Jack replied, voice quiet and almost sounding sorrowful. Dean had prayed to Jack often, in the beginning. He only ever asked for one thing. Eventually he accepted Jack either wasn’t listening or just wasn’t going to answer it, so he stopped. “We should probably get out of the road,” Jack said, breaking the tense silence, and before Dean could agree, or disagree, or say anything, a car’s horn blared behind him. 

He turned around, and there were a few cars lined up behind the Impala, actually. He stares at them, confused – he definitely hadn’t heard cars coming, the road had been dead – then the driver of the first honked their horn again. Dean threw his hands up and walked back to his car; Jack was already in the passenger seat. He put her in drive, thought about flooring it in the direction he was already going… then turned around and started back towards the beach instead. 

Jack hummed beside him; Dean pretended he didn’t hear it and gripped the steering wheel. “You hungry?”, he asked. “Hell do you even eat anymore?” A rustling from his bag answered the question for Jack as he dug around until he found a lone candy bar. “Seriously. It was you in the motels then, wasn’t it?” 

“I was just watching over you,” Jack said around a mouthful of chocolate. 

Dean snorted. “You sound just like…” Just like Cas. He swallowed around the lump the mere thought of his name created. It didn’t take long to get back to the beach. Dean put the car in park and sighed. He wasn’t even sure why he’d come back. 

The sun was starting to set; shades of reds, and oranges, and purples blended out across the sky. In front of them were tons of people. Some were walking out to claim their spot by the water, some were at the little tiki bar Dean had wanted to try, some were just standing around carrying on conversation with each other. One, in particular, caught Dean’s eye. 

Dark hair and sun-kissed skin. He had on an eerily similar shirt to the one Dean bought earlier, and he was making his way out towards the water. Dean shook his head; there was no way. “I heard your prayers Dean,” Jack said. The man stopped at a couple of beach chairs, conveniently – almost too conveniently – positioned in front of them, and sat down. “I had planned to get him back long before you had begun asking me to.” Dean was listening — he was, really — but he couldn’t break his eyes from the beach chair. 

“How?”, he asked, keeping his gaze forward. “Why didn’t he–”

“The Empty had conditions… I might be more powerful, but I didn’t want to risk repercussions if I was wrong.”

Dean nodded; of course there would be conditions to breaking a deal made with an ancient cosmic being. “What were the conditions? He has to live out here alone forever? He can never go find something else– someone else to be happy with.”

Jack sighed heavily enough Dean finally looked away from the beach, and the chair, and the man. “He does not have to be alone; he chooses to be.” Dean wanted to ask why; moreso he wanted to curse the part of himself that actually was relieved by that. “The condition was that he couldn’t return to you and I couldn’t intervene.” Jack looked out the windshield and smiled. “Gotta love a loophole.”

“But you did intervene,” Dean said.

“No, I merely made a suggestion. You ended up here entirely of your own free will.”

Dean thought about it; he looked back out towards the ocean. On the front was a picture of two beach chairs facing the ocean: one occupied, the other empty; the text read come experience the Outer Banks, we saved a seat for you. “But the pamphlet,” Dean said looking at Jack.

Jack tilted his head, seeming genuinely confused. “What pamphlet?” Dean blinked; he opened his mouth, then closed it again, and decided to drop the subject. “So,” Jack continued. “The question is, what are you going to do now?” 

“I–” Dean froze, looked out at the beach chairs, looked out at Cas. “I don’t even know what to say to him.”

“I have always thought a simple Hello is a good place to start.” Jack smiled, and reached over to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I'm sure the rest will come easily after that.” 

Dean licked his lips, nodded; then, he opened the door and got out before he lost all his courage and high-tailed it out of there. He looked down at himself, where the black tee was now his most stereotypical Hawaiian shirt, and laughed. “Hey kid,” he said, dipping down to look in the car. It was empty. “Thank you,” he said anyway.

The breeze felt nice against his skin as Dean stepped out onto the warm sand. He closed his eyes, breathed in the salty air and the smell of fruity drinks from the tiki bar. “Is this seat taken?”, he asked, when he finally reached the empty chair. Cas turned, looked up at him, and froze. His eyes went wide, not in fear – like this was against his agreement and the Empty was about to come and drag him back – but in disbelief: like he had been waiting for this, and couldn’t believe it was finally here. “Heya Cas,” Dean smiled, walking around to lower himself into the seat.

“Hello Dean,” Cas said. They stayed there for a moment, staring at each other like they might disappear if they looked away, before both settling back against their chairs. The sun continued to sink further in the sky, the waves continued to pull back and then crash against the sand…

…and Dean Winchester was (finally) at peace.