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When Dean opens his eyes in the afterlife, he’s sitting at a bus stop.
It’s not exactly what he expected. He can count on two hands how often he went by bus in his life.
His surroundings are beautiful. Green and cleaner than any place in the States. The more he looks around, the more he sees: plants he doesn’t think exist on Earth and trees taller than the biggest skyscraper.
He somehow knows that no bus will come, so he stands up and walks. He feels light. All the burden that has torn him apart for as long as he can remember is gone. He feels… content.
As soon as he decides he’s had enough time for himself, a house appears in his way. It’s simple and rustic, with a big garage. He’s not surprised in the least that the doorbell plate says Singer.
Bobby’s eyes go wide when he opens the door, and when they hug — more tightly than needed — Dean hears the man sniffle. Next, Bobby gives him a light hit on the back of his head.
“Idjit! What the hell are you already doing here? Couldn’t wait a few more years before kicking the bucket?”
When Dean chuckles it’s wet, as he takes in the sight of his father in all but blood.
God — or Jack — how had he forgotten how much he missed him?
Bobby looks younger than Dean can remember him ever looking. His frown lines have made way for subtle smile lines, and his hair is fuller. Dean grins.
“Looking good, Bobby. Did you get something done?”
Bobby snorts.
“Look who’s talking.”
//
A moment later Dean stares at himself in the mirror in Bobby’s house. At the face staring back at him, one that doesn’t quite seem like his own anymore. Not a hint of wrinkles, the ever-present anger gone from his eyes, and when he smiles, it looks real.
“You look as you did when you were happiest in your life,” Bobby explains.
Dean nods. Makes sense. This is him before he went to Hell. Before his father sold his soul for him — but after he got Sammy back from Stanford.
Still, he’s not sure Heaven got it right.
Because this is also his body before Cas touched it. Before Cas put it back together from scratch. Made sure every freckle was in the right place—
God — or Jack — he needs to find Cas.
Needs to see him, talk to him, tell him what he was too much of a coward to say when he was still alive.
If Cas is even around, that is. If not, he’ll first have to fight through yet another plane of existence before he can stop being a coward.
“Is Cas…?” he starts.
Bobby nods, immediately catching what he wants to know.
“Yeah, he’s around. He helped Jack renovate Heaven, actually. Work out all the kinks Chuck couldn’t be bothered to fix.”
Dean breathes a sigh of relief.
“Good. That’s… good.”
Never one for big words, Bobby just nods.
“Now come on. I want you to meet someone.”
Bobby’s wife is as kind and soft as he always described — more so now that she’s not the zombie version Dean met on Earth. And her cooking is wonderful.
She seems happy to meet Dean, about whom she’s heard so many stories. And Bobby looks happy to just have her by his side. He looks happier than Dean remembers him ever looking, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t fill him with gratitude and wonder.
“It’s good to have you back,” Bobby says, “even if I wish you’d taken a bit more time.”
Dean shrugs, quirking his lip in a bad imitation of a smile.
“Hey, I lived a lot longer than I expected.”
Longer but most definitely not happier. Dean can’t say he’s too torn up about dying. He just hopes Sam does okay without him. But the kid has always been more resilient than him. He’ll do okay until they meet again.
//
The next stop Dean makes on his way through nothing and everything at the same time — Heaven is hella confusing — is the Roadhouse. It looks almost the same as it did on Earth, just a hint cleaner and newer. Standing in front of the bar beside Bobby makes his heart ache.
“A lotta people in there who deserve a hello,” Bobby says. “Better not keep them waiting, kid.”
Dean swallows his fear of having to confront emotions and forces his feet to move.
The second he steps inside, he’s hit by the smell of beer, smoke, and fried food. A smell that has always been pleasantly homey to him. Heaven only amplifies the warm feeling the stale smoke gives him.
Behind the bar stands Ellen, wiping down a glass, hair falling into her face. She looks younger, too. Softer and less worn out, but her grin is as sharp as ever when she sees him.
“Winchester,” she greets, hands on her hips. “What the fuck are you already doing here?”
Dean responds with his own grin, lifting one hand in an awkward little wave.
“Heya, Ellen. Miss me?”
She snorts and comes around the bar to hug him tightly before pushing him back, hands on his shoulders, giving him a critical look.
“You stupid boy. Couldn’t have taken a bit more time?”
Dean chuckles helplessly and shrugs.
“Well, what can I say? I just missed you.”
They smile at each other for a moment before someone else crashes into Dean, throwing an arm around his shoulder. When he turns his head, there’s Ash, hair a complete mess, grinning wildly and a joint in his hand.
A small part of Dean wonders what drug laws in Heaven are like. Is everything fine because nothing can kill you anyway? Are bad trips impossible up here?
“Winchester!” the man cheers. “Man, nice to see your pretty little face! What’s up, dude?”
“Not a whole lot besides dying, I guess,” Dean responds, which earns him an ugly snort.
“Yeah, heard about that. Rebar, huh?”
Dean makes a face.
“Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting. Dude, that is such a lame way to go out.”
Dean points at him. “I killed God like two weeks before that.”
“Yeah, and then you got taken out by rusty hardware. That’s narrative whiplash, man.”
Since he can’t in good faith disagree with that, Dean just rolls his eyes and thanks Ellen when she holds out two beers for him and Bobby. Before they can clink their bottles, Dean is jumped again, his name being shouted into his ear a bit too excitedly and a bit too loudly. He catches Charlie on instinct.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathes.
“Rude,” the little redhead in his arms pouts. “Most people say, ‘Hello, Charlie, my most wonderful adopted little sister and light of my life!’”
Dean huffs a laugh and holds her a little tighter.
“Hey, Charlie.”
For a moment, they just cling to each other, Charlie’s face pressed against Dean’s shoulder. Old guilt starts eating at Dean.
“Charlie, I—”
She pulls back and smacks his arm.
“Shut up.”
Dean stares at her.
“You don’t even know what I wanted to say.”
“Right, because that wasn’t at all your I’m-Dean-Winchester-and-everything-bad-to-ever-bad-is-my-fault-so-everyone-better-forever-hate-me-like-I-hate-myself tone.”
Dean opens his mouth.
Charlie points at him.
“Ah-ah. If the next thing that follows is an apology, I’m gonna tell Sam that you’re a total basic bitch with zero originality whose favorite Doctor is the Tenth.”
He closes his mouth again.
“Good boy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Then stop acting like a guilty golden retriever.”
Ash makes a noise that sounds dangerously close to a cackle.
Dean turns to glare at him. “You stay out of this.”
Ash raises both hands, joint still between two fingers. “Hey, man, I’m just enjoying the group therapy.”
“This is not group therapy.”
“Well, maybe it should be,” comes a new voice from behind Dean. “I feel like all of us have enough trauma for at least six afterlives.”
When he turns, there is Jo, and the guilt hits him again, even stronger this time. She’s leaning against one of the tables, arms crossed, blonde hair falling over her shoulder. She smiles at him, not a hint of resentment on her face, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like shit.
“Hey, Dean.”
He nods dully.
“Jo.”
Jo raises an eyebrow.
“Wow. Enthusiastic.”
Dean swallows.
“Sorry, I just—”
But Jo just laughs, steps forward, and pulls him into a hug, a bit more cautious than the ones before.
“I’m on Charlie’s side here. Guilt is for the living. No apologizing, yeah?”
Dean hesitates only a second before wrapping his arms around her. He knows when he’s fighting a losing battle.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Okay.”
//
Later, they end up in a booth in the back corner of the Roadhouse.
Dean doesn’t know how much later. Time is weird here. If time is relative on Earth, it’s even more relative in Heaven. He wonders what Einstein would say. Or what Einstein does say? He might be somewhere around here, right?
Dean is giving himself a headache. Which is impressive, considering he’s pretty sure he doesn’t technically have a brain anymore.
Ellen and Bobby have migrated to the back of the bar, while Ash is lounging on the bench next to him. Charlie is sitting across from them, Jo fast asleep with her head in Charlie’s lap. Charlie is running a hand through her hair, and Dean wonders when that happened.
“So,” he finally asks, as casually as he can, “you’ve seen Cas around here?”
Charlie’s hand stills in Jo’s hair, and it’s almost comical when her head snaps up like a bloodhound catching a scent.
“Yeah, he’s here sometimes,” Ash answers unconcernedly. “I helped him and Jack with some collaborative metaphysical restructuring of Heaven’s Wi-Fi, actually.”
The sentence almost stuns Dean back into silence. Heaven has Wi-Fi? Can it crash? Also, can you watch porn or are there sites banned?
“Such a weird little guy,” Ash continues, more to himself, his concentration on the new joint he’s rolling.
“But very lovable,” Charlie interjects. “Very, uhm, dreamy, still.”
Dean hums.
“Did he—uhm—mention me? Maybe?”
His voice is a bit too high, and he feels ridiculous, like a teenager bumbling about their crush. But he needs to know. He needs to see Cas. He needs to—
Well, honestly, he just needs Cas.
Charlie gives him a sly look.
“He might have. From time to time, maybe. Why? Did something happen between you two?”
Dean glowers at her and starts peeling off the label of his beer. Why is there even a label on it? There’s no capitalism in Heaven. So there’s no money. So why are there labels or advertisements?
Whatever.
He so does not want to talk to Charlie. But he has to. Otherwise, he’s going to lose his mind. But… he’s in a bar. He can at least make sure he doesn’t have this conversation sober.
He coughs.
“Ash, dude, could you maybe get us something stronger to drink? Need to explore the fact that I won’t get a hangover anymore, right?”
Ash snorts and doesn’t question him before he gets up to fetch some whiskey.
“So, I take it something did happen?” Charlie presses.
Dean ignores her. He nods at Jo, who’s still napping on her lap.
“You two, huh?”
Making Charlie talk about women is always the best way to derail her. And Dean really wants to know. After all, Jo and Charlie are two of the most badass women he ever met.
Charlie’s eyes glitter, and she falls into a rant about everything awesome about Jo.
//
It takes four more beers and half a bottle of tequila until Dean finally feels ready to talk.
“And that asshole,” he declares, a bit too loudly, “tells me he fucking loves me just to then go die on me because that’s the happiest he can feel. Like, what the hell? What kind of shitty definition of happiness is that?!”
And what shitty taste in men. Cas is a freaking angel. He could do way better than Dean.
It’s silent for a second, even Ash sobering up because of Dean’s outburst.
“Like… loves you, or loves you-loves you?”
Dean blinks.
“What.”
“I mean, like in a dude-bro homies way, or in a deep confession of love of his eternal life way?”
Dean blinks again. He hadn’t even considered this. Did Cas only mean—
“Oh, no, no, perish this line of thought!” Charlie slurs, making a hacking ‘stop this!’ motion with her hand. “There has never been even a hint of casual heterosexual dude-bro feelings between you two.”
“A hundred percent,” Ellen agrees, having found her way to their table at some point. “I might have only met the guy once, but no one stares platonically at someone that much.”
“Uh-huh,” Bobby grunts. “Half the time, I wasn’t sure either of you realized someone else was in the same room as you two.”
If Dean were any less drunk, he’d probably die — again — from the sheer embarrassment of hearing two of his parental figures talk about him having any kind of tension with anyone. As it is, he can only feel his face heat up.
“Though I gotta say, I thought you’d have more of a freak-out about having the hots for a guy,” Charlie admits.
Dean raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“I’ve been to Hell and Purgatory, killed the Devil and then God, and died multiple times until it finally stuck. I think I’m a bit beyond giving a fuck whether the multi-dimensional wave of celestial intent I love has a dick or not.”
Charlie wrinkles her nose, considering this and chuckles.
“Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”
Dean grunts and takes a sip of whiskey, mostly to avoid looking at anyone.
“So,” he says after a moment, because if he stops talking now, he might actually start thinking. “If everyone knows anyway, then where is he?”
The table goes quiet. He immediately hates it. Looking around now, it’s the others averting their eyes.
“Well, you see, Dean,” Charlie finally says carefully, “people only meet in Heaven if both of them want to see each other.”
Dean turns this over in his head, taking another sip and getting more annoyed by the second.
“So what? I’m good enough to fucking die for, but not good enough to have an honest conversation with?”
Charlie winces.
“I mean… he learned emotions from you, sooo.”
Dean glares at her, unimpressed.
“Thanks, Charlie. Really helpful.”
Also, unfair.
Dean is here to talk now, isn’t he?
//
So for lack of a better option, Dean prays, hoping Cas has the angel radio turned on.
Hey, Cas. Uh. You probably know already, but, well, I died. Again. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to lessen your sacrifice or anything, but—uh—could we talk? Maybe? You have to understand— Or you need to— Uh. No, you actually don’t have to do anything. But I really want to see you. Please?
Not his best work. But in his defense: He’s new to this emotional honesty thing.
//
Cas is not the next person he meets. Instead, it’s someone Dean hoped he wouldn’t see again so soon.
Claire looks older. Older than Dean, actually. Maybe in her thirties. It’s weird, but also good. It means she got a few more happy years after they so colossally fucked up her childhood.
“Hey, kiddo,” he greets her when she slings an arm around him. Not even pretending she doesn’t like it as she did in life. She really grew up, huh?
“Hey, old man. Long time no see.”
It hasn’t been all that long for Dean. Years on Earth are only a few hours in Heaven — or something like that. He still hasn’t had the chance to ask Einstein about it.
He missed Claire anyway.
They walk together through streets that look like someone took all the nicest neighborhoods Dean has ever seen and stitched them into one.
“So, how’s Earth?” he asks.
Claire shrugs.
“Good, I guess. A bit boring. No apocalypses or impending doom anymore, you know?”
“Oh, yeah, that must have been torture.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
They grin at each other, and when Claire tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, Dean sees the glittering silver ring on her finger.
“You got hitched?”
It’s a wild concept to him. It seems like just yesterday that he was fighting with Claire about dropping out of school.
Claire’s smile gets softer when she stretches out her fingers, looking down at the jewelry.
“Yeah, Kaia and I…” She trails off. “Not officially. I didn’t want to get married in a church. Not without having you or Cas lead me down the aisle, you know?”
It’s a bit too heartfelt for both of them. Dean chokes on his next words, unsure how to respond, and Claire coughs awkwardly.
“And also, you know, Chuck was a dick and Jack is basically my little brother. Would’ve made the whole promising eternal love under God’s name thing super weird.”
Dean huffs a laugh, even though his chest hurts.
“Yeah. Can’t argue with that.”
They fall into silence for a moment, both following their own thoughts.
“I would’ve loved to do it,” Dean breaks it. “Leading you down the aisle, I mean.”
Claire gives him a sideways glance.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Claire doesn’t respond to that, just bumps her shoulder against his. Dean bumps back, smiling.
Walking on, they come to a little café, both ordering black coffee and adding a shot of whiskey. Dean can practically hear Cas and Sam telling them how bad the stuff is for them. Simultaneously, they blow into the hot drink.
“I’d have done it too,” Claire says, smirking.
Dean raises an eyebrow.
“Done what?”
“Led you down the aisle. If you and Cas had finally gotten over yourselves.”
Dean chokes again, this time on hot coffee – that doesn’t burn his skin as it would have on Earth. He glares at Claire, who just keeps going.
“You would have totally been the wife. I’m sure you would’ve looked beautiful in a dress.”
Dean glares a bit more — for good measure — but doesn’t deny the thing between him and Cas. Just like guilt, denial and lies are for the living. Especially about something everyone knows anyway and seems to have known long before he did.
Instead he says, “That’s shockingly heteronormative of you.”
Claire blinks, stunned, before she snorts into her coffee.
“Who the fuck taught you that word?”
“Charlie. She gave me a crash course on everything queer.”
Claire shakes her head, amused, as she lifts her cup again.
“Man, Cas will love that.”
From one moment to the next, an unwanted tension takes over Dean’s body.
“Did you already see him?”
Claire gives him a weird look.
“Obviously. Who do you think led me to Heaven? Berated me the whole way for dying too early.”
She rolls her eyes fondly.
Dean purses his lips.
“Right. Obviously.”
//
Okay, Cas. I know I said you don’t have to do anything, but I revoke that now. Stop being a freaking coward and talk to me! Otherwise— otherwise— I’m going to start singing in my prayers. ABBA. On repeat. Do you want that, huh? Do you want that?!
//
Dean and Sam don’t really have to talk when he joins them in Heaven. He looks young again. Like he did before the Cage, before the first apocalypse, before Dean sold his soul for him.
It makes Dean’s heart ache, knowing that his brother — his kid — lost all his innocence, all his happiness, so early in life, even when Dean gave up everything he had for him.
“So,” he says after they hug it out for much longer than either of them would admit, “you named your kid after me?”
Sam snorts, slightly sardonic.
“Well, I sure wasn’t going to name him after Dad.”
“Fair.”
Dean has not met John since he died. He’s not sure he ever will, even if they have eternity.
//
I, uh… I ran out of ABBA lyrics. So I guess I’m gonna stop singing now. Still wanna see you, though. I miss you. Also, I could really use someone to explain Heaven to me, you know? Place is weird as hell. Which is probably a bad comparison, but you get what I mean.
//
In the end, finally meeting Cas is rather anticlimactic.
Dean is lying under a car in Bobby’s garage, inspecting frame rails and humming Metallica, when there’s a flutter of wings he’d recognize anywhere, any time.
He stops humming and rolls out from under the car.
And sure enough, there he stands. His angel. Staring down at him in full regalia: coat, tie, tilted head, hair a complete mess.
He looks different from how Dean remembers. Only now that he looks the same again as he did when they met does Dean realize he’d aged. He didn’t think Cas had to. Was it a conscious decision? Or an unconscious one? The fault of his ever-fleeting grace?
Either way, he looks great. Full holy tax accountant again.
And suddenly Dean feels self-conscious, still on the floor looking up at him, grease on his shirt and slightly shaggy hair falling into his face. Which is ridiculous. Cas has already seen him at his absolute lowest and still decided to stay — again and again.
Dean clears his throat.
“Heya, Cas.”
“Hello, Dean.”
There had been so much Dean wanted to say. There is so much he wants to say, all worked out word for word in drunken ramblings with Charlie, but from one moment to the next, it’s gone. His mind pulls a total blank, leaving him unable to even stand up.
“You sure took your sweet time to visit,” he settles on.
Multiple decades, actually. Well, barely two weeks in Heaven, but Dean feels it still counts enough to be at least a bit bitchy about it.
Cas nods.
“I apologize.”
With a clink, Dean puts down the ratchet he is holding, sitting up but still not standing.
“Did you… not want to see me?”
A complicated emotion flickers over Cas’s face, a mix of annoyance, grief, and something achingly close to longing.
“I always want to see you, Dean.”
“Then why? Did you not hear my prayers?”
Dean doubts it. The one in power is Jack. Why ever would he cut Cas off?
The angel shakes his head stiffly as he starts playing with the hem of his coat.
“That’s not it. I did hear your prayers.”
A smile tugs at his lips, making clear that even though he looks like him again, this is not the angel Dean met ten years ago.
“And I do not think that you are the dancing queen, Dean. My time on Earth makes me believe that title belongs to Beyoncé.”
Dean huffs a laugh. He almost forgot about Cas’s unfortunate love for pop music.
“It’s just that in your prayers, it sounded…” Cas sighs, his eyes flicking from Dean to the floor and back to Dean. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to repay me just because of the way things ended between us.”
Taking a page right out of the angel’s book, Dean squints up at Cas, because he has no idea what the hell he is talking about. Dean never said anything about repaying him in his prayers. He wouldn’t even know where to start. He owes too much to Cas.
“What?”
Cas’s frown deepens.
“It’s you, Dean, it’s—” Another sigh. “This is harder than I anticipated. I mean that you have a habit of lying to yourself—”
Dean gives a little huff, because even though incredibly true: wow, rude.
“—and also an endless need to sacrifice yourself for the people you love. Taken together, I fear you might have convinced yourself that you want me simply because you believe it is what I want.”
An actual punch would probably have been nicer, Dean thinks. If he were still alive, if there were still all that uncontrollable anger in him, he would snap right now. Push back. Always scared of anyone knowing him.
Because, yeah, that’s what Dean does. What he has done for as long as he can remember. He has sacrificed everything. His innocence, his childhood, his body, his soul — for his brother, his family, the world. But now there’s no anger. Only sadness that Cas would ever think it was a chore, a task, for Dean to love him.
Dean exhales, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Cas,” he says, tiredly, “that’s a hell of a stupid take.”
Then he pushes himself up from where he’s still sitting on the floor. Stepping forward right into the angel’s personal space like the other so often did.
Cas doesn’t move back, so Dean lifts his hands to his face, cradling it, his touch as light as possible.
“You don’t get to do this, man.”
He only gets a confused, squinty look as a response, but that’s okay.
“You don’t get to tell me how I feel. Not when, for the first time in a long time—”
Maybe even for the first time ever.
“—I’m so sure what I feel.”
Cas’s eyes widen, and Dean knows if he doesn’t get over himself right now, it will be another few decades — on Earth — before he gets the chance.
“Cas. Castiel. You’re the best friend I ever had, you’re my family, and I—”
It’s just three words. Three. Dean takes a shallow breath. He can do this.
“—I love you. Dude.”
Dean winces. That could have been more romantic. Well, it’s a work in progress.
But Cas is blushing, mouth slightly open, pupils blown, so Dean doesn’t think he completely fucked up.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
And then, because that’s way too much emotion for Dean Winchester, he adds, “Also, since we’re already doing all this honesty stuff, I gotta tell you: You have incredibly bad taste in men.”
When Cas smiles, his whole face lights up, eyes shining as he lays his hands over Dean’s.
“I don’t think so.”
Then they finally kiss, and Dean can’t help thinking that they should have done this years ago. But whatever. They have an eternity to make up for it.
//
If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown
Honey I'm still free, take a chance on me
Gonna do my very best and it ain't no lie
If you put me to the test, if you let me try