Chapter Text
Dean awakes with the smell of tar thick in the air. The road stretches out in front of him until he turns his gaze and realizes he’s in a small turning head, surrounded by a ramshackle assortment of buildings. He pushes himself to sit, noticing, as he does so, a figure approaching him from in front of a derelict general store.
“Hi, Dean.”
“Jack?”
Jack helps Dean to his feet. “I regret to inform you that you recently died.”
“Ah.” Dean looks around at the expanse surrounding them. “That makes more sense.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Yeah, well... I’m happy to see you, so bring it in,” Dean says, striding up the steps to Jack and pulling him in. “I missed you, kiddo.”
“I missed you too.” Jack smiles, his eyes bright, before adopting a more serious expression. “So, you’ll have to forgive me. I don’t usually do these myself but, you see, you’ve been here before.”
Dean shrugs. “Not in a while. You can just pretend I’m fresh.”
“Oh no, not at all. Quite the opposite. For you, I need to ask you to forget everything you remember of heaven - because it’s all changed…”
Dean inclines his head slightly and Jack continues.
“I suppose you remember how it used to be, with each person in their own heaven, one that contained their very best memories....”
Dean tries to keep his focus, but can’t help the smile that creeps across his face.
He’s here. He made it. And it’s all changed.
---
Cas is working on a fence in the back field when the wind changes. It fills him with certainty, as if the truth is electrostatic in the air.
He is some distance away from the house. Not so far that heaven could not allow him to reach it in just a few steps, but the large farmhouse - forged with his own hands - is sitting against the horizon, nestled in the long grass and wildflowers of the fields between them.
It has occurred to him several - many - times, since he started tending the area, that heaven does not have the predators that prompted humanity to erect their first fences so many years ago. But - as he always, eventually, returns to in his mind - while the post and board fence would do very little to protect against a bear or mountain lion (or even a particularly persistent neighbor), they would do nicely to train some sweet peas or to lean up against while taking a stroll. There was also the comfort - the same comfort he had taken in so many salt circles in his previous life - in it acting as a boundary against the undefined ether lapping against the field.
More to the point, he had also truly enjoyed the hours spent driving the posts into the ground as he sweated against the warm breezes that heaven had selected for him that day.
He smiles now - “Hello, Dean.”
Of course, above all, he had found fulfillment in knowing that… if Dean were to stop by, he may appreciate it.
He hears Dean’s breath catch - his own too, in a call and response he cannot will his body to ignore. He steels himself before looking up.
“Hey, Cas.”
Dean is soft, out there in the abstraction. His edges tug and pull in heaven’s ambiguity.
Cas pulls himself up and steps forward to meet the fence. He feels the wilds of heaven pulling at him, too. Like velvet scouring his hands, brushing the dirt under the nails until it is (loose, looser) lost into the heavenly storm.
“Jack, ah-” Dean pauses, then starts again - maybe changing his mind or maybe continuing in the same direction, just rusty and uncertain. “Jack showed me ‘round. Told me what you’d been doing up here.”
Dean walks, feet loose in the air, to the fence as well. He rests a hand on the post, inches away from Cas’s. And that fear that had been lying coiled in his guts these many years loosens ever so slightly.
Too much to go into now.
“After my time on earth, heaven seemed... out of touch, with humanity. The idea that everyone existed within their own best memories - most, alone, with only the memories to keep them company. To think that a true heaven could exist without -” Cas stumbled through the next part, still raw, even for the decades since their last talk.
“ - at least the potential to see those you loved on earth again.”
Dean’s gaze doesn’t forgive him the stumble - Cas feels his eyes on him, unwavering.
“I thought I wouldn’t get to see you again. For a long time.” Dean said.
“I couldn’t, Dean. I’m sure Jack explaine-”
“Yeah, nah, I know. You’re here as a... guest, not staff. Doesn’t come with Day Pass privileges.”
Cas hadn’t exactly expected Dean to fall into his arms - their parting had been dramatic, to say the least - but in the years before his death, they had fallen into a pattern - a brusque drawing together of their bodies, a motion that Cas had grown to associate with home. He had missed it, sure, but it was tempered by the knowledge that Dean was still somewhere, living and breathing, and finally able to live a life free from the machinations of Chuck. Now though - with Dean right in front of him - the distance feels vast.
But, he’s here. He is here, Cas’s insides sing.
Dean continues with a voice, unsure, built on loose foundations. “When I- When I thought you were in the Empty, I just…: “
Too much to go into now. Cas reaches out a hand and places it, fingertips lapping ever so slightly upon Dean’s. Ethereal - all soft edges and hope. And Dean’s essence laps over his.
He hears Dean suck in a breath. Cas brings his eyes up to catch Dean’s - and to be caught in return.
The moment punches out of Dean like a breath - fast and instinctual, his hand moves. Cas panics for a second, sure this is the step too far. But Dean’s fingers are scudding up Cas’s arm, catching on his soft gardening shirt before landing, finally reaching over the threshold, firm on Cas’s shoulder. He steps in and pulls Cas forward - trapping the fence between their bodies. Cas feels the weight, heavy in his arms.
You’re here.
Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist as his mouth lands, soft, in the crook of his neck. Dean huffs out a small breath that catches, warm, against the hair on the back of Cas’s neck.
I’m here.
And yes, it’s like coming home. But it is also like nothing he has experienced. It’s like finally leaving home for the first time - heart in his throat, possibilities on the horizon.
We’re here. (It’s still here.)
----
The seconds in the garden stretch themselves fine - spreading to let the moment span minutes - but eventually the shadows lengthen and the light begins to yellow. The late Tuesday afternoon has settled in and Cas knows they can’t stay like this forever.
He lets their breaths desync and resync, one more time.
The house is wooden, transmuted from the forest to the side of the field, with large low-pitched gables, and lintels sitting heavy in the front. It’s humble on the outside, but opens up on the inside in ways Cas knows wouldn’t be possible back on earth. He takes Dean through a large living area surrounded by tall bookcases (just enough like the bunker to be welcoming) and through the winding halls. Dean calls off the tour, when they come to the kitchen, by pulling open the fridge door and gleefully drawing out two beers. His face is cheeky as he hams up flattered embarrassment.
“Aw, Cas - you got my favorite.”
Cas rolls his eyes as Dean pops the cap off. He picks up the cap discarded towards him, focuses on it for a second and tugs at some loose threads in the ether. The edges of the cap loosen and start unravelling’ before he pulls again, tightening it back into shape.
“I made your favorite.”
Dean’s eyes widen for a second and he colors, sincerely this time.
He laughs, lightly. “Well, I, ah… I guess I need to repay the favor.”
As he starts moving about the kitchen, Cas gets up to help as he protests. “It’s your first night here.”
Dean waves him down as he passes to the other side of the kitchen, reaching to open a high cupboard where large bowls were kept. “Nah nah, I got this. I know where we kept everything.”
Cas is surprised at how quickly he was caught. The kitchen, too, is very similar to the bunker. This layout is identical - the furnishings are newer, yes, and that issue with the extraction fan hasn’t been built into this one; but in the ways that would help someone fit into this new space… they’re identical.
“I didn’t have many kitchens to model it from. I figured this would fit with the “decor” more than any of the motel kitchens I spent time in over the years.”
“I’m glad. If we’d been stuck using a hot plate for all of eternity, I might just have pulled a Bobby - staged a break-out.” He pulls open the fridge and grabs a few more ingredients.
Cas doesn’t miss that assumption - that Dean would be staying here, at least enough to care about the appliances. But he just lets the hope settle in his chest, and squints his eyes as Dean starts to pull out patty ingredients.
“Heaven is what you make of it, Dean. I would have recommended installing a new oven, but, I suppose, if anyone’s heaven is railing against the heavenly powers, it would naturally be Dean Winchester’s.”
Dean lets out a hearty laugh as he pulls out a pan from a low shelf and places it on the stovetop.
“Nah, gas burners, man.” Cas doesn’t miss the breathless smile, before he continues. “I’m hanging up my boots for good.”
Cas tilts his head, trying to read Dean - he looks happy, but there’s a nervous energy about him. He looks just as Cas remembers and Cas wonders how long it’s been on earth, if this was how Dean looked when he died. He finishes off the beer in one deep gulp.
“I’m glad.”
Soon, the patties are sizzling and spitting.
“Sam’s got a son.” Cas wasn’t aware a silence had fallen, though he supposes it must have, as he starts out of it. “...and a wife. Wife first. He married Eileen.” He gestures vaguely with the burger flipper - but Cas is able to understand, gesture or not, that they came in the opposite order.
Dean looks up and holds Cas’s gaze as he nods his understanding - for a second, until a spit of oil jumps out of the pan and Dean jumps, swearing softly. As he busies himself with the pan, Cas just sits and starts to pick at the label on the bottle before continuing on to the structure of the bottle as a whole.
“He, ah, he’s basically… well, they’re basically the Hunter Network’s power couple. Purely a Bobby position, y’know. They set up this network, super secure, that connects all of the hunters we were able to find across the U.S. - we’d even tracked down a few hunters in Mexico and down to Chile, a whole bunch in Canada.”
The patties are getting close to done. Cas finishes the final threads of the beer off and stands up - trying to recall Dean’s standard burger order. The onions and bacon are already sizzling. So… lettuce, tomatoes, tomato sauce, pickles. Humming to indicate he’s still listening as he slips off this chair, Cas starts rummaging around in the fridge.
“So, no more… chasing down the phone number of that one guy... who knows that other guy who knows how to kill a Chimera. He set up a “buddy system”, for Christ’s sake. And, Eileen-!” He brings the flipper in a wide arc, gesticulating as he gets into his story, his eyes bright.
“She set up these support networks, through the same channels, for people injured in the line. She was even brushing up on her credit card fraud skills - trying to set up an actual fund for medical costs to help people out.”
Cas smiles. “That sounds like it will help a lot of people.”
“Fuck. Man. You have no idea. They’re really making a mark, you know?” Cas notices his eyes shine, for the first time since he arrived, as he thinks about his brother. “If I’d had that back when I was growing up… if my Dad had had that back when Mom died…”
Cas quietly sits back down as Dean changes tack.
“But, oh man. Bobby. Bobby’s such a cute kid. Doesn’t take after his namesake at all.”
“I’m really glad Sam found where he belonged.” He has to ask. “And… did you... find where you needed to be?”
Dean’s eyes are down - focused on tending the bacon - but, at that, his head snaps up.
“Of course I did.” Unblinking, like Cas is an idiot.
Cas’s heart is in his - mustard. That’s the last thing. Cas darts back toward the fridge and turns, to bump directly into Dean.
He’s so close - having closed the distance as Cas rummaged. Cas has rarely needed to breathe (in heaven or, between that, on earth) but he’s found comfort in the motion until now. He freezes - an exhalation away from brushing chests with Dean, an inhalation away from pulling away and breaking this spell. Dean gently pulls the bottle from his hand.
He brushes past Cas to place the bottle on the bench beside them. Cas’s eyes flutter closed as warm breath ghosts, this time, across his cheek. As Dean returns, Cas turns his gaze up to him.
Now, Dean brushes a hand along Cas’s jaw, catching against the stubble. A smile is trying to sprawl across his face, but Cas can see Dean catching himself to stop it spreading further.
So this is what he’d died for.
Cas feels Dean’s stomach muscles twitch as he reaches out to catch the t-shirt fabric between them. He holds it, loose, in his fingers. It’s too fragile, he’s sure, to pull him in - but he cannot bear in this moment to let either of them pull away.
They still there for a second - moments stretching out in the tension. Dean lets his head sway forward to rest against Cas’s forehead. He feels - rather than sees - Dean wet his lips, his nervous swallow.
Dean pushes lightly against Cas’s nose with his own, soft but insistent. He asks, in a voice Cas has never heard him use before, “This is what you wanted, right? This is what you meant?”
He knows the timbre though, the quiver of hope - remembers it in his voice before the slick oil closed in over for a last time.
It’s just a tilt from there, and Cas takes it, bringing their lips together. His head swims, his chest fills - unconsciously, Cas’s hand tightens, gripping Dean’s shirt tighter (closer). Dean’s lips are soft, but - so much more than that - so is the hand on Cas’s jaw, the press of their chests together and his hand on Dean’s shoulder, the draw of shared breath.
There’s a brush of movement up his jaw as Dean cups his head, tilting their faces ever so slightly. Cas relishes the gentle slide as they pull back to reposition, returning again - lips moist. He wants to deepen it, he wants - but this is a kiss that promises. As the pressure recedes, Dean pulls back until only their noses still caress.
Can can’t see Dean’s face, but he feels Dean’s thumb caress his shoulder and the way he leans into Cas’s responding hand.
The patties let out a particularly loud spit of oil and Dean jumps, pulling back. He lets out a slow breath followed by a soft laugh - then leans forward, this time to recover the mustard. “I… uh… I’ll plate up.”
Cas pauses for another second, back pressed against the fridge, watching as Dean makes his way over to the large table. He’s breathless and doesn’t know if it’s the kiss squeezing at his lungs or if, like every time before, it’s just the fear making itself known.
But he’s here. (He’s still here.)