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Sam had been dead for a while now, and Dean had never been happier. The stretch of Heaven when Dean was cruising along in Baby, listening to tunes hadn’t been bad, of course. It was Heaven, after all. And it wasn’t a shitty bureaucratic heaven thought up by some unimaginative angel. Jack had done them proud, him and Sam and Cas. They’d taught him well, and Heaven had received a much-needed upgrade. So no, it wasn’t bad. It was pretty darn good.
But then Sam died and suddenly everything was infinitely better.
They hadn’t talked much since Sam showed up on that bridge, but that was okay. Sam honestly seemed a little tired. Made sense. Living took a hell of a lot of work, and from what he’d gathered from Sam, his little brother had lived out a good long life.
Attaboy, Sam.
But it was understandable that he needed some downtime, a chance to get used to the new normal. So they got in the Impala together, did a little driving, until they came to a house in the woods. Dean knew it was their house because Miracle was on the front porch, crazy excited to see them.
So yeah, they’re dead, and Miracle’s dead, and everyone they’ve ever known is pretty much dead. But you know what—Dean can’t be mad about it. All those times he refused to die, he refused to let Sam die—he’d had his reasons. But they’d earned this. Heaven 2.0.
A few weeks after moving in, Dean went to the fridge, grabbed two beers, popped their tops, and went to join Sam on their back porch, with its stunning view of trees meeting mountains. Sunset was a whisper’s breath away. Sam sat on one of the two blond wood Adirondack chairs, reading a thick book. Miracle was nearby on one of her many dog beds, taking a nap. Sam wore a thin gray T-shirt and loose jeans with no belt that hung low on his hips. He was barefoot.
Something about seeing Sam barefoot made Dean smile. They could rarely afford the luxury of being barefoot when they were alive. What if they had to fight, to run, to hunt on a moment’s notice? But Sam felt relaxed enough in Heaven to walk around their home with no shoes and that gave Dean a sense of accomplishment. He must have done something right to earn this.
He set one of the beers on the flat arm of Sam’s chair, sank into the other one. The beer was crisp and cold, the air was the perfect temperature, and the view was incredible, though Dean was mostly still looking at Sam. He’d never get tired of looking at his brother, he realized. He’d never get tired of bringing him a beer, or watching him read, or teasing him about his hair, or making him pancakes and grilled cheese sandwiches. He looked at Sam and he just felt…happy. Happy that he got to spend his life, and now his after-life, with his favorite person. Suddenly, he was overcome by a need to make sure Sam knew.
“Hey, Sam?”
Sam hummed and turned a page without looking up.
“You’re my favorite person,” Dean said, undeterred. “You probably know that already, but, well. It’s true.”
Sam froze and lifted his gaze from the book. He looked at Dean, his eyes full of some emotion Dean couldn’t identify.
“You don’t have to say I’m yours, too,” Dean said, when Sam didn’t say anything. Sam had a son, after all. It stood to reason that he’d be Sam’s favorite person. Dean tried valiantly not to be jealous of the mysterious D.J. that Sam had mentioned. “I just wanted you to know.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Sam said finally. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, a motion Dean tracked out of habit. Sam’s lips were pink but his tongue was pinker.
“‘Course,” Dean said, suddenly feeling shy. He took a swig of beer and looked at the sky turning golden orange before their eyes.
“You’re mine, too, by the way,” Sam said a minute later. “My favorite person, I mean.”
“Really?” Dean tried not to sound too eager as he forgot about the sunset to refocus on his brother. “What about your kiddo?”
Sam looked thoughtful. “He was the best thing I ever made, and I loved him as much as a parent can love a child. He finally helped me understand how much Dad loved us. I don’t think I really understood until I had a kid of my own. But you—you’re different. You’re my favorite, Dean. And I love you in a different way.” He said the last part carefully, as if he wasn’t sure he was using the right combination of words. “I love you, Dean.”
Dean’s chest felt warm. He loved being Sam’s favorite. He loved hearing Sam loved him. What more could he ask for than that?
“I love you, too,” he said, just in case it made Sam as happy to hear as it made Dean.
“I know,” Sam said, smiling sadly. “You told me, in the barn. When you were saying goodbye.”
Dean didn’t remember that conversation all that well. He remembered dying, in a fuzzy way. He remembered needing to tell Sam a few things before he went, so Sam would know, and wouldn’t feel alone. Then he froze. He wondered—what exactly had he told Sam in that barn? Had he told him the nature of his love? The dark, secret, unuttered part of the love Dean had for Sam that he’d kept buried deep inside himself the entire time they’d been alive?
Going for casual, he threw out a feeler. “What else did I say back there?”
Sam shut his eyes and looked pained. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Shit. Maybe in dying Dean had fucked up and said too much. “Oh. Okay.”
They sat there for a minute not saying anything, until Dean broke, unable to stand the suspense. “I didn’t say anything to make you uncomfortable, did I?”
Sam’s eyes flew open. “Uncomfortable?”
“Never mind, it’s nothing.”
“That was the worst day of my life,” Sam said shakily. “It’s hard to think about it. But what you said—I carried it with me, until I died.”
“Damn, Sammy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it had to go down like that.” Dean had gotten off easy—he saw that now—skipping past Go to get to Heaven while Sam had had to run the clock out on earth.
“You said, ‘I love you so much, my baby brother,’” Sam whispered. “And I didn’t say it back.”
“Hey—it was a shitty situation,” Dean said, reaching across the space between the two chairs to put his hand on Sam’s arm. “I knew.”
“Yeah?” Sam asked. His beautiful eyes looked wet, but his cheeks were dry.
“I knew it. I know it. You love me, too,” Dean said, but as he said it he really listened to the words this time. “You love me, too,” he said again, slowly, listening to the way the words sounded. “You love me, too,” he said a third time, understanding dawning in his voice. “You mean—you love me, like love me?”
Sam shut his eyes again, pinched his mouth closed, and nodded once, jerkily, as if he was afraid of Dean’s reaction.
Dean let out a shocked laugh. “I love you, too.”
Sam opened his eyes. “I know, dude, that’s what—”
“No, I love you, Sam.” He gazed into his brother’s eyes and willed him to understand.
A half beat later, Sam’s eyes went as wide as they could go, and his pink mouth parted in an O.
“Yeah,” Dean said, laughing again. “Man, this is great. My favorite person loves me the same way I love him. Heaven is awesome.”
Sam got out of the chair, reached down to pull Dean out of his, so they stood facing each other. With Sam barefoot and Dean in boots, they were the same height. Almost.
“Just to be clear, this is the kind of love we’re talking about, right?” Sam asked, before he leaned forward and kissed Dean on the mouth.
When Dean could manage to stop kissing his baby brother, he nodded enthusiastically. “That’s it, that’s definitely it,” he agreed.
“I hope that’s not it,” Sam said, his hands wrapping around Dean’s waist, his fingers pushing up under Dean’s shirt at the small of his back, stroking the skin there with intent.
“Oh, it’s just the beginning,” Dean promised. And then they went back to kissing, because he was pretty sure it would take the rest of infinity for him to get his fill of Sam’s mouth.
He hadn’t thought it was possible for Heaven to get any better. But he and Sam loved each other in the same indescribable way. And that meant Heaven was finally, forever perfect.
The End