Chapter Text
Endless roads, familiar faces appearing now and then, bright with happiness and peace… Humans… or rather, souls… Dean wondered just how long he had been on this road.
His brother was a piece of his own soul. Dean had lived his entire life for him, and he was acutely aware that Sam felt the exact same way. Unless one of them stepped off the board, this depressive, grueling life of theirs would never reach an end. Were they destined to die as two grumpy, lifeless men? Dean knew there was another kind of life out there, but he no longer harbored such a desire for himself. Ever since he had cast a part of his soul into The Empty along with the hope of loving and being loved, he had conditioned himself to do nothing but survive. He anchored himself to the present moment through tiny, fleeting sparks of happiness. Thinking about the past or the future brought nothing but agonizing pain. Except for Sam and Miracle, he had no love left inside him to give to anyone.
Dean knew that Sam noticed the changes in him. His little brother was doing everything he could for him, but that only made Dean feel more miserable, adding to his guilt. That was why, when he first felt that iron rebar pierce his back, he didn't want to fight. He didn't want to cling to life. Sam no longer had to share his older brother’s eternal grief; he could finally build a life of his own. He would make it. Eileen was there too—she might never fill the void Dean left behind, but at least she could comfort him.
After he drew his last breath in Sam’s arms, there was nothing but a blinding white light. Then, that light transformed into a road in the middle of a sun-drenched, boundless place. Once his eyes adjusted to the brilliance, the first thing that caught his attention was Bobby, sitting in the shack beside him, looking at him with pure affection. After everything Chuck had done, Jack had reset the universe and brought things back, but as far as Dean knew, he hadn't brought anyone back from the alternate universes. Because of this, Dean knew instantly—without a shadow of a doubt—that the man welcoming him was the very man who had cared for him more than his own father ever had.
The first time Dean had ever been to Heaven, there was a separate place for everyone. These were individual rooms where your happiest memories looped for eternity. As long as you were inside, it was nearly impossible to realize that the memory was a fake. At least, that was the impression he had gathered from Castiel's explanations, and what he and Sam had learned during their own rather creepy visits to the place back in the day. Of course, there were those like Ash who cracked the code and broke out of the loop, but their numbers were incredibly few.
Dean looked at Bobby with curiosity. He shared countless fond memories with Bobby, but to call them his happiest memories would be a massive stretch. For a fleeting second, an old anxiety gripped him—he worried that Bobby was there to send him back to Earth. He had died four times in the grand scheme of things, and about 105 times if you counted Gabriel’s twisted games, and he absolutely did not want to go back. There wasn’t much left for him down there anyway. Sure, Sam and his dog Miracle were there, but… everyone else he had ever lost was already up here. Besides, to keep going down there, he had to hunt. Yet, ever since Jack took over the management of the universe, the hunting gigs were dwindling. Deprived of that outlet, Dean was struggling to control the accumulating indifference and rage brewing inside him. And the hardest part of it all had been hiding it from Sammy.
While Dean was lost in these thoughts, Bobby was busy explaining the new order of Heaven to him. Jack had torn down the memory walls; he had created an open world where every soul could freely experience absolute peace… together with Castiel. Hearing Castiel’s name, Dean didn’t know how to react. Ever since he had stepped into this place, his emotions felt entirely numb. He just felt peaceful to his very bones. After chatting a bit longer, he said his goodbyes to Bobby. He walked over to his beloved Impala—his Baby—waiting just ahead, climbed in, and started driving down a road that stretched out past the horizon.
***
How many seasons had passed since he arrived here? He didn't know. In a way, he knew that the moment he stopped driving, he would find himself exactly where he wanted to be… even if he had no idea where he was heading. At first, for a fleeting second, he wanted to reach out to his mother and father, but the thought didn’t linger in his mind for long. He didn't want to do that without Sam.
His anxieties, his pains, his regrets… they all seemed to have evaporated. There was nothing but peace in his soul now, and perhaps a small glimmer of hope. Jack—the boy he had raised with his own hands, the boy he looked at as his own child—was the one who had orchestrated all of this. And Castiel… So Jack had pulled him out of The Empty. For the first time since he had stepped into this afterlife, a wave of melancholy washed over him, even if only for a brief moment. He wondered how Cas was doing. The last Castiel he remembered was more human than angel. Most of his grace had been depleted; he had been utterly exhausted from fighting, resisting, and struggling for so long. His vessel, Jimmy’s body, had clearly been battered by all those cosmic back-and-forth storms. Perhaps Castiel was the only angel in the entire universe who had actually aged.
When he pulled the Impala over to the side of the road, he wasn't entirely sure why he did it; he just knew that he had to. It was a perfect spring afternoon. The sky was tinted with a soft, crimson hue. He stepped out of the car and began to gaze at the serene lake parked right beside him. From somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of laughter echoed. A few kites drifted carelessly across the sky. From another direction, a soothing, peaceful melody was playing.
♪
“Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true”
♪
Suddenly, he felt Castiel’s deeply familiar, heartwarming gaze upon him. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the angel was watching him from somewhere nearby. He didn't need to see his face or hear his voice to know it. If they were back on Earth, Dean knew he would have been furious at Cas for not approaching him sooner, but right now, there wasn't a single trace of anger left inside him. Only peace. Without making a sound, he simply continued to enjoy the view.
He had no idea how long he stood there, nor did he notice exactly when the angel finally stepped up beside him. Castiel, too, remained silent, staring out at the landscape.
Dean turned his head slightly and looked at the angel's face. He looked younger than Dean remembered—almost exactly as he had looked the very first day Dean had laid eyes on him in that warehouse. Dean focused on the peaceful smile playing on the angel's lips. “Was he always this beautiful?” he thought to himself. Yes, he had always been beautiful, but his beauty was something far deeper, far more magical than the borrowed vessel he inhabited. Castiel’s sheer existence and the mythical, fairy-tale nature of his weakness for Dean had always puzzled him. No matter what Dean did, Castiel’s presence wrapped around his soul like a warm blanket on a freezing winter day. At some point, this overwhelming warmth and peace had forced Dean to question his own feelings. Castiel’s touches, his embraces, his long, intense gazes had begun to weave themselves deeper into Dean's skin and soul with every passing day. Over time, he had realized what he was feeling, of course; but for Dean, even just letting that thought cross his mind, let alone accepting it, had felt terrifying.
The issue had never been that Castiel was in a man's body; he could have accepted that easily. Hell, back when he was turned into a demon, he had spent enough wild, unhinged times to shed any of those earthly inhibitions. The real problem was that if he actually put a name to what he felt for Castiel, he wouldn't know what to do with it.
For as long as he could remember, he had only ever had one purpose in life: “Keep Sam alive.” His entire universe was built around his brother. Even so, protecting him from the harsh reality of the world had been an agonizingly steep hill to climb. Sam was Dean’s Achilles' heel, his kryptonite. And these unspoken feelings he had for Castiel—the ones he desperately tried to cram into the narrow space between friendship and family just to avoid naming them—stood before him as yet another fatal weakness. How do you protect an angel anyway? Especially an angel like Castiel, who had a notorious habit of scoring own goals. What terrified Dean even more than the prospect of failing to protect Castiel, though, was being protected by him. Why would any cosmic entity risk its entire existence for someone like him? Especially a being like Castiel, who had watched over the Earth for millions of years and commanded legions of angels… Why would he stand against all of creation just to protect someone as worthless and angry as Dean Winchester?
People like Dean, who had to raise themselves and grew up starved of the love they deserved, usually spent their lives struggling with attachment, struggling to believe they were even worthy of being loved. In his world, love didn't just fall from the sky; it was a debt to be paid, something that had to be earned. If you wanted your dad to pat your head instead of getting drunk and bruising you that night, you had to earn it. And if you couldn't do anything else, you at least had to watch over your baby brother while he slept; you had to make sure he ate his food, used the bathroom before bed, stayed tucked under the covers, and didn't wake up sweating from nightmares. Then, you had to make sure you packed the silver bullets perfectly for your dad. If they were even slightly deformed, it could cost a human life. When the responsibility for every dying soul out there rested squarely on your shoulders, how could you dare to slack off? Who cared if you got the best grade in class when you couldn't even shoot every single bottle off the wall without wasting ammunition? Even if you had just turned ten years old, if you couldn't kill that vampire like a man without wetting your pants, did you even have a right to be loved or praised? Did you even have a right to eat dinner or sleep in a bed that night?
In Dean’s world, angels and good things were nothing but silly, childish fairy tales. At least, until the deepest blue eyes in the universe looked at him, right into his soul, staring at the starved, unloved corners he himself had forgotten existed, as if nothing else in the world mattered but him.
Throughout their long companionship, Castiel hadn't just healed the physical wounds on Dean's body; he had left a piece of himself in every damaged, broken crevice of Dean's soul. He had touched places in Dean's heart that Dean didn't even know existed.
His entire life had been hardwired by his father to hunt down every monstrous thing that could harm the world. Yet, even after the long string of catastrophic mistakes where Castiel had accidentally tried to dismantle the fabric of reality, Dean hadn't been angry or broken over what Castiel had done to the world, or to him and Sam. He had been broken because Castiel had left them. Because he had walked away.
When Cas was by his side—and frankly, most of the time when he wasn't—Dean knew with every fiber of his being that someone was watching over him. No matter what happened, at the end of the day, Cas would come back to him. And though Dean didn't know why or how, Cas would love him in his own deeply profound, unquantifiable way. Perhaps that was why, when Castiel sacrificed himself one last time right before his eyes, he had ripped away a piece of Dean's soul that Dean knew could never, ever be replaced.
But right now, none of that mattered anymore. His past losses, his failures, his hopeless nights, his deepest fears, and his suffocating anxieties no longer carried any weight. The harsh, critical voice of John Winchester—the one that judged his every move and that he could never seem to silence inside his head—was completely gone. He was finally in a place where he no longer felt the desperate need to judge himself. Wasn't this the exact definition of the promised Heaven? Even Chuck must have intended it this way, because the foundational promise across all those biblical books was absolute, unyielding peace. There was no shame, no tension in any emotion he felt right now. He wondered if this was what Castiel had meant when he spoke of simply "being."
Turning his gaze back toward the lake, Dean casually draped his arm over Castiel’s shoulders. Neither of them felt the need for words. Neither of them harbored a single shred of doubt about their own feelings, or the feelings of the man standing beside them. Castiel slowly, deliberately leaned in and pressed a tender, affectionate kiss against Dean’s temple. He lingered there for a long moment, his lips resting against Dean's skin. Both of them closed their eyes, letting the notes of the distant music drift through them, blending their existence entirely with the present moment.
♪
“If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
Or the mountains should crumble to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry, no, I won't shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me”
♪
With a warm, soft smirk, Dean murmured, “I was hoping you’d show up sooner.”
Turning his gaze back to the lake, Castiel replied, “I wanted you to enjoy the peace here first. I figured it might lower my chances of getting punched when we finally faced each other.” The absolute calm in his deep voice showed he was completely serious. Dean couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle.
“Oh, you would have taken a hell of a beating. Leaving me there with all that emotional baggage… it wasn't fair, Cas.”
“Billie being that powerful was my fault, and you had to survive. No matter what. Besides, until I saw how utterly broken you were in that final moment, I hadn't realized you felt the exact same way. Though, I suppose that realization made me so happy it might have sped up my departure a bit,” Castiel said, a soft smirk gracing his own face.
Dean threw him a mock-judgmental look. “If you hadn't shut me up back in Purgatory when we went to get that stupid blossom, I probably would have told you right then.”
For a long, immeasurable stretch of timelessness, they simply looked at each other in absolute serenity, saying nothing at all.
“There’s something about this place that’s bugging me,” Dean broke the silence. “Does time not work here? Like, how long have I even been around?”
“There is no time here, Dean. We are in every single moment, and yet we are in none of them.”
Dean felt like he actually understood what that meant. He stole another glance at Castiel’s face; seeing the absolute certainty and confidence written in the angel's features, a wave of profound, earth-shattering happiness surged through his entire body. Tightening the arm resting on Castiel’s shoulder, he pulled him in and wrapped him in a fierce, desperate hug. Castiel leaned in, his voice dropping to an incredibly low, soft whisper against Dean's ear.
“You have to go,” he said. Dean felt those words echo down to his very bones. He understood. It was time.
“I guess I have to go greet Sammy… I’m gonna see you again, right?”
Castiel let his head rest freely against Dean’s shoulder. “Of course.”
As Dean pulled away, he gave Castiel’s hip a playful, affectionate swat and winked. “See ya around then, sunshine.” With a massive, radiant smile stretching across his face, he climbed back into Baby and hit the road once more.
***
Ever since Sam had stepped into this place, a steadily growing sense of peace had been blossoming inside him, yet a lifetime of brutal experiences whispered to him to keep his guard up. As he followed the narrow path that had brought him here, he had heard so many distant sounds—echoes of laughter, muffled conversations, faint songs—but unlike Dean, Sam’s path hadn't crossed with a single living soul. He knew that Jack had taken over the reins of this realm, and although he trusted the boy implicitly, he also remembered exactly what Heaven used to look like. Because of that, his mind was a tangled mess of confusion; he didn't remember ever walking on a path like this before, nor did he recall possessing a memory that matched this place. Furthermore, unlike his previous, rather clinical visits to the afterlife, being completely conscious of the present moment gave him a nagging feeling that "something was wrong."
The day felt as though it would never end. He was trapped in the exact same eternal spring afternoon, and though he was certain he had been walking for an immense stretch of time, the landscape shifted continuously while the sun remained perfectly suspended—neither sinking nor rising. When the path finally delivered him to the edge of a vast, rippling wheat field, he looked around to get his bearings, trying to figure out which direction he should take. That was when he noticed the kites drifting carelessly across the sky… “Which memory is this supposed to be?” he wondered yet again. Right at that moment, a deeply familiar, heavy rumble echoed in his ears. He whipped his head around and saw it: at the far edge of the golden wheat field, cutting through the horizon, was the black Impala. He didn't need to guess anymore. He knew exactly which direction to follow.
He had actually managed to grow old back on Earth, but whatever memory he was experiencing right now, he was trapped in a much younger version of his own body. How many years had slipped by since his older brother had gone? Forty? Forty-five? Even if this was just a fragmented piece of a memory he couldn't quite place, the mere thought of seeing Dean again instantly transformed into a surge of pure, raw energy. Sam broke into a sprint, running with everything he had toward the car disappearing in the distance. The Impala eventually slipped out of sight, but the throbbing purr of its engine still vibrated through the air. He sprinted through fields, crossed open roads, and tore through patches of forest. Perhaps there was no logical reason to run, but the moment he realized that running didn't drain his lungs or weary his muscles, he pushed himself to go as fast as his legs could carry him. After what felt like ages, the roar of the engine abruptly cut out. Had the car gotten too far ahead, or had it finally come to a halt?
With the sound gone, Sam stopped running but kept moving forward at a steady pace, until he finally spotted the car parked dead center on a bridge just ahead. He stood rooted to the spot for a moment, desperately scanning his brain one last time to figure out which old memory this belonged to, but he came up entirely blank. Finally giving up on the puzzle, he began to approach the vehicle, his steps much slower and more deliberate than before.
♪
“Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on;
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven”
♪
As Sam drew closer to the Impala, he noticed that Dean wasn't sitting inside; he was leaning against the railing of the bridge, quietly taking in the view. When Sam finally came to a halt right behind him, a frantic, breathless joy surged through his chest. He had been skeptical from the very first step, but now, looking at the man in front of him, he was absolutely certain. “This isn't a memory,” he whispered softly to himself. Then, he reached out and touched the shoulder of the older brother he hadn't seen in decades—the brother he had missed with every single breath of his earthly life. When Dean spun around to face him, Sam felt a wave of profound warmth wash over his entire being. Dean was looking at him with an expression of absolute, unburdened peace and happiness—a look Sam was certain he had never seen on his brother's face while they were alive.
To live with free will, to protect Sam, to simply find a shred of happiness, and perhaps most of all, to be loved unconditionally… his older brother had spent a lifetime relentlessly swallowing his own agony, painstakingly transforming every ounce of pain into a fragile shred of hope for them. And it was only in death that he had truly found peace. If Sam weren't standing right here with him in this place he hoped was Heaven, it would have been an unimaginably tragic story. Was an angel-crafted Heaven truly the ideal retirement for a hunter? Yet, Sam had been a hunter too, and he had walked away from the life the minute Dean died. It hadn't been a perfect life, of course; he had spent every waking day carrying the suffocating grief of the people he had lost. The mundane, exhausting struggles of simply being a human had only added to the weight. He wasn't complaining; he just found himself wishing, with a bittersweet pang in his heart, that his brother could have experienced even a fraction of this peace while he was still breathing down on Earth…
While Sam was completely lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, Dean suddenly stepped forward and pulled him into a fierce embrace. “You don’t have to worry anymore, Sammy. It’s over now. Everything bad is behind us. I don't know how many years slipped by for you down there without me, but my relationship with time has become incredibly blurry here. It feels like I haven't seen you in lifetimes, but at the same time, it feels like I just got here yesterday. So, if there’s anyone you left behind, don't you dare worry about them. They’re gonna live out their lives, and then they’re gonna join us.”
Sam let his head fall heavily against Dean’s shoulder. It was only after he had raised a child of his own that Sam had truly, completely understood the heavy, protective nature of Dean’s devotion to him, and that realization made his heart ache even more. For decades, he had struggled to conquer the deep-seated anger he harbored toward their father. How could a man saddle a four or five-year-old child with the absolute survival of a baby? How could he expect a little boy, who could barely string a proper sentence together, to simultaneously become a mother, a father, and a brother to his infant sibling? Yet, Dean had never once uttered a single complaint. In fact, back when they were kids, whenever Sam would spend time with John instead of him, Dean would become visibly, deeply uncomfortable with John’s presence. Sam squeezed his brother tighter, feeling his lingering anxieties dissolve into nothingness against Dean's jacket. Gently stroking Sam's hair, Dean murmured, “You did a damn good job, Sammy. And welcome home, little brother.”
Sam pulled back slightly, his massive hands gripping Dean’s shoulders as he stared into his brother’s serene face once more. Every remaining ounce of dread and anxiety completely evaporated from his chest. With a massive, beaming smile, he asked, “This place has changed, hasn't it?”
Dean nodded, confirming his brother's suspicion. “Yeah. Jack and Cas tore down all the walls. They’ve built a whole new world here where everyone can cross paths with everyone else. An ideal world with no boundaries, no misery…” he said, a distinct note of pride vibrating in his voice.
For the first time, Sam looked around without a single shred of caution. Everything, from the gentle whisper of the breeze to the soft warmth of the sun radiating against his skin, felt unimaginably calm and tranquil. Then, he paused, his eyes turning back to Dean, shining with a sudden, hopeful light. “Cas…” He felt a swell of unstoppable joy erupting from deep within his soul.
He knew exactly what Castiel meant to Dean. Cas was the only entity in existence who had bled, fought, and torn himself apart for Dean just as much as Sam had. Just for that alone, Sam’s gratitude toward the angel defied any written definition. Having someone else who would recklessly throw themselves into the line of fire, completely disregarding their own existence just to pull them out of the mud every time they fell, had always given Sam a profound sense of safety. Did the angel make mistakes? Of course he did. But hell, who were Sam and Dean to claim they were innocent? To Sam, Castiel was family; he was another irreplaceable piece of his life that had left a gaping void when he was gone. An older brother who had been your entire universe, and a best friend who wouldn't hesitate to throw away his grace or his life for the both of you… Sam had missed them with every breath he took. Perhaps dying wasn't nearly as terrible as he had anticipated. Yet, as he stood there, he didn't harbor a single regret about living his life out, or about getting to know his son and his grandchildren.
Dean looked at Sam’s radiant face and smiled warmly. “I don't have a clue how Jack managed to convince the Boşluk, but I’m incredibly grateful he did,” he said softly.
Sam began to tell Dean everything he had done during the forty-five years after his departure, speaking with immense pride about his son—whom he had named Dean—and his grandchildren, calling his boy his absolute lifeline. As the stories poured out, the two of them climbed into the Impala and started driving. It didn't matter where they were heading; truth be told, there wasn't a specific destination to reach anyway.
Sometimes they would pull over, and sometimes they would hit the road again. Whenever they felt the sudden urge to grab a bite to eat, share a drink, or just talk, a place matching their exact desires would materialize right along their path, and they would stop by. They chatted with the souls they encountered there. Other times, they would simply drive for hours, perhaps even days, wrapped in a comfortable silence, soaking in the absolute tranquility of the open road.
At some unmeasurable point during their journey, Sam looked over. “Have you seen Mom and Dad?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Dean remained silent for a moment, pondering the question; truth be told, he didn't have a solid answer to give. Any lingering trace of resentment, anger, or desperate expectation toward his parents had completely vanished from his soul. To be honest, he hadn't a clue what he would even do if he ran into them. But right now, Sam was sitting right next to him, and he knew there could never be a more perfect moment than this. The two brothers looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Sam smiled warmly. “Good. If you’d gone to see them without me, I would’ve been pissed anyway.”
Barely two minutes later, their childhood home materialized right before their eyes. The house stood dead center in a sweeping, vibrant meadow overlooking a spectacular lake. Out in the front yard, John, Bobby, and Rufus were practically roaring with laughter, deeply engrossed in a conversation. Dean pulled the Impala over a short distance away, keeping his eyes locked on them, watching intently. Mary stepped out of the house, holding a massive salad bowl in her hands, flanked by Missouri and the wives of Bobby and Rufus. Right on their heels, laughing heartily with beer bottles clutched in their hands, came Missouri’s son, James, and Adam.
Sam tightly gripped Dean’s arm. Dean turned to look at his brother's face with deep affection. “Man, we were absolutely terrible older brothers to that kid, weren't we?”
Sam let out a hearty laugh, looking back at him. “Not exactly the kind of thing you say with a face full of sentiment, but yeah, you’re right. We were pretty damn terrible.”
Both of them stepped out of the car and walked over, seamlessly merging into the blissfully chatting crowd. It felt as though they had always been there—as if this wasn't just a fleeting moment manufactured by Heaven, but a genuinely happy memory plucked straight from their time on Earth.
Drifting through the endless eternity of timelessness, countless souls drifted toward the massive dinner table and drifted away. Some faces were deeply familiar, while others were friends of the other people at the table. The table filled up, emptied out, and after what felt like ages, only the four of them remained. John reached out, his hand gently resting on Dean’s hair, softly smoothing it down. With a massive, irreversible grin spreading across his face, Dean looked up at his father. “You were a pretty terrible dad, but you were a damn good man. You did the best you could, for the both of us, and for the world. You can finally let it go, Dad. You can forgive yourself now.” Without uttering a single word, John simply kept stroking Dean's cheek, his face painted with absolute peace.
Watching them from a short distance away, Sam felt Mary gently guide his head down to her chest, her fingers softly trailing through his hair. “When Jack first arrived here, he kept pacing around the house just to find an excuse to drop by and see me… like a nervous, homeless little kitten,” she whispered softly. “Then, he gave me the most beautiful gift imaginable. He took me back to your childhood. From a distance, completely hidden, I watched the two of you raise each other. It was only after seeing that, that I truly understood why you both were so brokenly guarded when I finally came back. Why there was so much unyielding resentment inside you… God, I wanted to be furious at John, but I also realized that he simply didn't know how to do any better. I was so incredibly heartbroken that I wasn't there for you, that I couldn't stop your father from turning into such an absolute prick… but seeing how fiercely you held onto each other made me so profoundly happy. Your mother and father couldn't manage it, but with your bare, clumsy little hands, you built a family out of nothing. I am so incredibly proud of you boys.” Mary pressed a tender kiss against the top of Sam’s head, and then she extended her hand toward Dean and John. Both of them rose from their seats, walked over, and wrapped Mary and Sam in a tight, unbreakable family embrace.