Work Text:
The Death of Dean Winchester
On the second day of September he thought that the sunset was out of this world.
Everyone peered out at the sky.
They parked their car next to a cornfield, where there were no trees blocking the view.
Castiel was elated, and as the hues of red and orange deepened and dyed the outlines of his face, Dean found himself observing. Breathless, under an excruciating weight of which he could not name at the time.
Shortly afterwards Sam appeared beside him, and Dean would often recall the moment when the strands of his brother’s hair turned auburn .
It was uplifting.
From that day on, red was his favorite color.
On the twentieth day of September the weather was dramatically colder.
Dean had beer, fried eggs and toast for breakfast.
It was made by Castiel, who was exceptionally proud for not burning any of their bread. And for that reason, Sam and Dean agreed not to mention just how much salt Castiel had accidentally poured on their eggs. In silence, they both emptied their plates, sharing one last playful glance before excusing themselves.
When Dean passed their cook, he gave Cas’ shoulder a firm squeeze. He did not see the way Castiel smiled afterwards.
They ended up receiving an emergency call, which resulted in a hectic morning. Sam had to leave his hair wet and Dean forgot to brush his teeth. No one was enjoying the situation and even Castiel’s pride was starting to wane.
Who could have predicted the following hour?
The instant Dean realized what was bound to happen, he began processing the inescapable. For such a short moment, it sure felt like forever.
He feared for his brother and Castiel. He feared a little for himself too, for Dean couldn't say whether he would be dragged down or pulled up. His past experiences had left him sore and skeptical.
He heard his name being called, but it felt distant and anything but alluring. Then the crimson color smeared his vision, slowly blurring the edges of his surroundings. But Dean sought consolation from it, and it came to him.
And then, he remembered the second of September.
The afterlife, the Heaven, it was not like he had pictured it.
And Dean had seen it before, he had been there, he had heard about it.
They brought him a golden laurel wreath, but Dean could not see who placed it upon his head, no matter how hard he squinted at the blinding light. But the rays comforted him, warmed his flesh and lifted his spirits.
As the light dimmed enough for him to look at himself, he noticed he was now wearing pearl white robes with a juniper-green sash. The fabric settled softly against his skin, and while Dean did admire it, he couldn’t help but to think how he had come to this? Surely he was not worth all the festivities. And this is when he raised his gaze, and absolutely nothing could have prepared Dean for what was laid before him.
There, on a beautiful meadow, stood a great number of people, some of whom he recognized by name. But not one of them was a stranger to Dean, because he could admit that all of them looked more or less familiar to him. Confused, Dean could only stare in awe as one of them came towards him. Stopping in front of him, they smiled before embracing him.
As the arms pulled him in, all Dean could think of, was the inconceivable heat. It enveloped him, devoured him, left him awestruck. And as the person pulled away, they said something that should not have surprised Dean as much as it did.
“ Thank you .”
Soon after that he learned that here he was greeted by every single soul he had helped to save, and even those whom he had failed to rescue. They showered him with gratitude and love; making Dean's lips tremble and eyes sting. This was more than he himself thought he deserved.
It was too overwhelming for him to sputter out one word, so he decided to respond by hugging them as hard as he could without overdoing it. Something he now did with ease, but what used to be an obstacle on Earth. It felt relieving.
Who knows just how long he stood on the spot, but the stream of kind words was starting to wilt.
As the last person pulled away from his arms and walked past his shoulder, disappearing to wherever they had come from, Dean released a breath he did not realize he had been holding. He raised his hand to his temple and felt the small leaves between his fingers. Dean considered walking, taking in the scenery, but just when he was about to move, a new figure emerged from behind a faraway hill. The sun shone brighter than ever, and in order to shade his eyes Dean moved his hand from his temple to above his brow.
“No way,” were the first words he uttered after dying.
Suddenly very close, the figure of a man, still shorter than him, shrugged and gave him what must have been the warmest smile Dean had yet witnessed. Very much like Dean, he was wearing a robe instead of normal clothing, but unlike Dean’s, his sash was weaved scarlet .
“Welcome,” the man began, “how are you, Dean?”
“ How am I ,” Dean repeated, the words foreign on his tongue.
It could be so easy to be bitter, to be enraged. But it wouldn’t be justified, and suddenly Dean felt very forlorn.
He thought about Cas’ breakfast and Sam’s wet, tangled hair.
He thought about how they would have to return to the bunker and clean the things he left lying around this morning.
He thought about how Cas would try to comfort Sam and keep his own feelings to himself, because the knucklehead wouldn’t want to burden Sam with his selfishness.
Dean swallowed.
He remembered how his hand had felt on Cas’ shoulder. Did Cas put his hand over his, or was his mind playing tricks on him?
He remembered how Sam had run out from the bathroom, slipping on the floor and he had laughed. Had Sam smiled at him while running past him?
As Dean stood frozen on his tracks, Chuck’s smile faltered. He realized what Dean was thinking, Chuck had suspected that the thoughts would reach Dean at some point. He had never wanted this for either of the brothers. To him, it was inexcusable to separate the brothers in this manner. Not to mention Castiel, who by now was deeply bonded to both of them, and considered them as his precious family.
These thoughts fresh in his mind, Chuck took a step or two closer, offering Dean the greatest gift he could as a father. He too, hugged him, and it was unlike any other hug that Dean had been given. It was love, in its purest element. It sparked something long forgotten in him, something that had been concealed in the deepest parts of humanity long before Common Era.
“You remember a lot, Dean Winchester,” Chuck soothed him, “tell me about your favorite memory as of late.”
It took Dean an immeasurable amount of courage, but he finally spoke, a gasp for air escaping his mouth, “an auburn sky.”
And Chuck looked up at him, the words coming out as a whisper,
“ An auburn sky .”
Dean brushed his teeth with excessive force, his eyes fixed on the foggy mirror in front of him. It had been badly cleaned, because the tracks of a wet rag could be properly seen as the fog climbed upwards the reflection.
He crunched down to spit, straightening himself quickly afterwards. Just when he was about to press the red cloth against his mouth and proceed into shaving, Sam called him.
“Dean!”
His tone had been exuberant, which gave Dean no need to worry.
“Yeah?” Dean answered, walking to the bathroom door and peeking out, the cloth still clutched in his hand.
“Man, you gotta see this! It’s ridiculous!”
Sam was nowhere near him, he could tell from the way Sam’s voice echoed from the walls of their halls, “Where you at Sammy?”
“Outside!”
Quickly wiping his mouth, Dean threw the cloth to the sink and left the bathroom. He hurried through the quarters, his bare feet leaving a wet trail of footprints behind him. After making a mental note to clean them after seeing whatever there was to see, Dean started climbing the iron stairs. Sam was standing in the doorway, keeping the door open by leaning against it.
“The resemblance is outstanding,” he stated, moving away so that Dean could make his way outside, “Cas noticed it when he went outside.”
Castiel was standing on his left, a couple steps away from where he was. Catching his fond gaze, Dean nodded and Castiel returned the gesture. Sam staggered to his right side, his damp hair clinging against his head and a goofy smile on his mouth. Their breaths steamed in the cold morning air, the chilly temperature forcing Dean to tug his hands into his pockets.
“Look,” Castiel advised, breaking their eye contact as he turned his head and pointed towards the sky.
So Dean did.
He was greeted by the most vibrant auburn sunrise he had ever seen.
And he remembered the second of September.