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your kind of heaven's been to hell and back

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Heaven was different than he remembered it.

He winked into existence in a field, a building with neon beer signs and a long front porch sat a few yards away from where he’d dropped. The battered (but that’s how they liked it) sign for the Roadhouse hung over the front door and a warmth Dean didn’t know he was missing flooded through him.

He didn’t remember Heaven being like this, but he knew this place, even if he only knew the idea of it. It was a good place to start, if nothing else.

That the first person to welcome him to Heaven was Bobby surprised exactly no one. He was one of the only parental figures in Dean’s life that didn’t currently have some heavy baggage attached to his memory, or if there was, it was so minor compared to what he was carrying related to his actual parents, that it was as if that baggage no longer existed.

A bone crushing hug first, a few manly tears they both refused to acknowledge, and then beers that came from… Dean wasn’t sure but his was cold and tasted exactly as he remembered his first beer he’d shared with his dad. Not just the flavor of the beer, but the way he’d felt inside when his father had finally given him that sweating bottle, both of them leaning against the Impala, parked on the side of some quiet country road in the middle of nowhere, at the end of a long day and a successful hunt.

The beer had tasted like shit but the feeling of earning it and knowing that his father thought he’d earned it was well, that tasted like the best pie he’d ever had in his life.

All of that came back to him, as if it’d just happened, as he took his first sip and continued with each additional drink.

It felt right to sit there, on the porch of the Roadhouse with Bobby, and just be. Dean couldn’t remember a time when he’d been allowed to just sit there and breathe, without knowing there was a world of responsibilities waiting for him to pick back up or chase him down, a waiting punishment for taking even a minute for himself.

For the first time in his life, the first time since he was four years old and his father placed his brother in his arms, he didn’t feel responsible for anyone or anything. He didn’t have to try to keep the peace between his parents. He didn’t have to look after Sam- he knew that Sam could look after himself and, if nothing else, Jack was there, watching, caring, loving. The guilt and pressure and stress he’d put on himself for the past 37 years was just… gone.

He wasn’t sure what he thought about that. It was hard to give up the one constant in a person’s life, especially one that had taken up so much of his time and focus for the majority of his life.

And yet, here he was, drinking his shitty beer, sitting next to Bobby, the sun was shining, the temperature was perfect, just warm enough to not need a jacket but cool enough that Dean and all his layers were perfectly comfortable.


He couldn’t believe it.

“So, you gonna go find your boy or you just gonna sit there and mope, like an idjit?” Bobby took a drink from his own beer, raising his eyebrows as he looked at Dean.

“I’m not sure how comfortable I am with this new and open Bobby,” Dean muttered, looking down at his boots. There it was, that feeling of not quite being on the right foot flooding up and filling him again, his face warming at the thought of Bobby knowing what Dean thought about Cas. What Dean wanted to do to Cas. With Cas. Even something as simple as holding his damn hand, Dean wanted it. It was ridiculous and Bobby knew.

Of course he did.

“Ain’t no point in playing into that bullshit anymore, is there? We’re at the end of the line, in paradise. If you can’t have what you want when you get to Heaven, what’s the damn point?”

“You go and find Karen, then?” Dean didn’t intend to be cruel about it. Well, no, he did. He just felt bad about it after he said it, knowing that it wasn’t the kind of thing he should have ever said to Bobby, of all people.

“Shit, kid, what did you think the first thing I did was, once Jack redesigned everything?”

“You had to wait?”

“You know what it was like before. You had your own personal Heaven, and there were people in it, how you remembered them, how you wanted to remember them. It was just a shade of those people, not actually their soul or whatever, and honestly, after a while, if you knew that was the case, it was easy to see the strings, to find the edges of the holodeck. I had Karen, but I didn’t have Karen. When Jack opened it up, took down the walls, I was able to find her. She’s at book club or she’d be right here with me, drinking her own beer.”

“Book club, huh? Even here?”

“More books in the world than any one person could ever read in a million lifetimes. If you can’t work on that ‘to be read’ list in Heaven, then you ain’t in Heaven.”

“Good point.” Dean sipped his beer, thinking about the Vonnegut he’d never been able to get a hold of or the Heinlein that he’d started but had to return before he was done, when they’d had to leave town early for a new case or to avoid the law. The Lovecraft he’d found problematic but fascinating, the Robert E. Howard that was some of the funniest shit he’d ever read in his life that had nothing to do with Conan the Barbarian, even though that’s why he’d picked up the collection in the first place, and the summer he’d had to take summer school English and had compared Burroughs’ John Carter books to Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles and had loved every second of it.  

And as he thought about all those stories he’d loved, the stray thought of sitting next to Cas on a couch, in the bunker or somewhere, he didn’t know, but together, his feet in Cas’ lap, sharing books and stories and talking about them after they’d both read them. It wasn’t technically the first time he’d had that thought but it was the first time… no, he couldn’t think about that. Nope, not doing it.

“So, I say again, you gonna go find your boy? I know he’s here. You know he’s here, now. You gonna go grab him and say your piece?”

“Who says I have a piece to say, Bobby?” Dean picked at the label on his bottle, suddenly intensely focused on getting the paper off without leaving any behind on the glass.

“Dean Winchester, how dumb do you think I am? I have eyes and I’ve known you over half your life. I know that a) you got feelings, b) you got feelings about that damn angel, and c) you haven’t ever told him, because you’re you.”

“Please, Bobby, tell me what you really think.” Dean rolled his eyes and sets his empty bottle next to his chair. “I’m gonna go for a drive,” he told Bobby, pulling Baby’s keys out of his pocket and jangling them softly against his leg. “But… I think about what you said.” Admitting to even thinking about it was about the best he was capable of at the moment, a feeling of overwhelm about everything suddenly settling over his shoulders.

“Thinking ain’t doing, boy! Don’t wait too long.”

Dean raised the hand with the keys, both a ‘I hear you’ and a ‘I’m leaving’ signal, and kept walking to the Impala. “Got it, Bobby. See you later.”




Dean always found that driving was the best way to clear his head, since he was first allowed behind the wheel.

The nice thing about Heaven was, he was learning, there wasn’t any traffic. No slow drivers, no accidents or construction, no stop lights or even speed limits. Just the open road and the fall leaves changing colors like on the East Coast or the Mid-West, but, like, all the time.

Dean got himself at least fifty miles away from Bobby and the Roadhouse before he let himself think about the last time he saw Castiel. About what Cas had said to him, about the way Cas’ face had seemed to glow as he spoke about how much he felt for Dean, even as he cried tears of fear and sorry. And maybe happiness. Dean hadn’t had much experience with happiness, it was always so hard for him to understand when he was seeing it.

Feeling it.

The one thing Dean did know, that had been clear as the water in Crystal Lake in Michigan, where he and Sam had spent a summer when their dad had broken his leg and they’d been stuck in one place for five months. The water had been so clear, you could wade out until it was as high as your chin and still see your feet touching the bottom.

It was with that in mind that Dean was able to translate what Cas had told him. What it had meant.

How much he loved Dean.

How much he loved Dean but didn’t expect Dean to love him back. In fact, was sure that Dean didn’t. And that was okay, because as long as Dean was okay, Cas would know he was out there and could be happy.

Dean wasn’t so damaged that he couldn’t see how fucked up that could possibly be. How awful that had to feel, honestly, what kind of torture it would be to love someone and know that you could never, ever be with them.

He knew because he’d felt the same way, honestly. He wasn’t good enough for Cas. He had done a lot of terrible things in the name of doing good, but he was under no illusions that his bad acts were anything but that. Until Cas had spilled his guts, in that tiny space of time between Billie pounding on the door to reap them and the Empty coming to grab Cas and pull him away, Dean had convinced himself that he’d never be worthy of Cas’ love and that he’d never, ever get it. He’d be alone his whole life and he’d deserve every lonely minute of it.

And yet, there was Cas, spilling his heart all over the floor in a word tsunami, the force of which was so strong that it had swept away Dean’s ability to talk, to think critically, to do something, anything to keep Cas from getting pulled into an eternity of torment and all for Dean. Because Cas loved him and didn’t think he, Cas, was good enough for Dean.

What the fuck?

Dean wasn’t so repressed that he didn’t see how his own behavior had shaped Cas’ feelings and how Cas reacted to them, which led to their current circumstance.

He just didn’t know what to do about it. The idea of confessing his feelings kept rolling through his mind, but he had a kneejerk reaction of run, fight, hide, the need to protect himself coming from years of feeling like he had to hide who he was and who he loved and why. Dean wasn’t there yet, basically.

The miles click by on the odometer and Dean keeps thinking, keeps thinking, keeps driving.




Dean found himself at his parent’s house, a sprawling farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere that looked and felt nothing like their house in Lawrence, which Dean guessed was the point. I wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that this was the house they’d talked about as their dream home, the place they wanted to build or buy and retire at, once the kids were “out of the nest”.

He thought it’d make him uncomfortable to be there, not knowing the house and not knowing the relationship his mom and dad had built in their time reunited in Heaven without their kids.

But, since it was Heaven, it was surprisingly comfortable and easy to join them, sitting on the porch having a beer or reading a book by the fire in the most comfortable reclining chairs Dean had ever sat in, in his entire life.

There were a few things he’d wanted to ask since his first visit, especially about the portrait of Adam sitting next to his and Sam’s on the mantel, and the photos of Adam and his mother scattered throughout the house.

Dean didn’t know how you brought up your dad’s Baby Mama, whom you hadn’t known about at all until the worst-case scenario had happened, and now, all three parents, as it were, were in Heaven. Together. But that was the thing. Were they together? Like, did Kate come over for dinner? Did she stay at the house? Did Dad spend time with her? Like time time?

He had not brought up any of his questions or concerns, especially not wanting to do so in front of his mother. He didn’t want to have to explain why he’d never told her about Adam when she’d been alive and with them in the bunker. Or why he hadn’t confided in her about how everything had made him feel. About why he’d felt like there was a distance between them, a large part caused by Dean not wanting to make her return any harder than it already was and his need to protect her, which he’d suffered from since he’d been a very small kid.

It was exactly the kind of shit Dean didn’t want to ever think about, because thinking about his parents have sex with each other was traumatic enough, let alone having sex with other people, or all of them having a… whatever… together. As a group.

Porn had given him too many images to choose from, and his brain choosing to insert (ugh) his father’s face onto the head of a random porn dude Dean had seen in the past was enough to make him want to be celibate for the rest of eternity. Which, he guessed, he was starting to spend.

He parked Baby in the driveway, under the carport overhang his father had built just for the Impala, and headed to the backyard, where he could hear the stereo blasting what sounded like Boston. The gate unlatched and swung open like the hinges had been oiled with butter, smooth and silent. He shut it behind him and headed down the flagstone path to the sprawling back yard.

His mom was laying on a huge quilt (one that Dean remembered her saying, when he was little, had been made by her grandmother), his dad’s battered thermos next to her as she reclined on a pile of pillows, reading what appeared to be a romance novel. She’d had a ton of them back at the bunker, lying all over everything, her go to quick read. They always have a happy ending, baby, she’d told him when he’d asked her about them, on the edge of mocking her for her choices. If I can’t have my happy ending in real life, I’ll take it in a book. Or ten books. Or a hundred. It’s a comfort and I won’t be ashamed of finding comfort, whatever form it takes.

His dad manned the grill, the smell of burgers and dogs drifting towards Dean, making his stomach rumble. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d consciously eaten since he’d gotten to Heaven, and the desire to do so was instantly, powerfully strong.

“Well, there he is!” His mom said, setting her book down on the blanket, sitting up. “I told you, John, he’d be here before the burgers were done.”

“Hey, Mom. I don’t remember telling you-“

“Oh, you didn’t. But mothers know things. I know things. Like that you’d be visiting today. For dinner.”

“Did Jack tell you I was coming?” Dean asked, instead of commenting on his mother’s desire to seem like she knew everything.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, smiling as she patted the quilt next to her, motioning for him to join her on the ground. “Don’t ruin all your mother’s secrets.”

“So, he did.”

“Of course he did,” John said, as he set a platter piled high with grilled meats on to the long wooden table under the pergola next to a basket piled high with bags of hamburger and hot dog buns, surrounded by condiments, bags of sliced cheese, jars of pickles, bags of potato chips, and sweating beers next to each place setting.

“Narc,” Mary said, winking at Dean as she got up instead of waiting for him to join her. She reached out to him for a hug and he wrapped his arms around her, never getting tired of being able to do that, even after everything. “Come on, sit down, eat a burger. You’re looking a little thin.”

Dean rolled his eyes towards his dad, but let her lead him towards the food. There was a pie in the center of the table, perfectly browned and crisp, and Dean just knew it was apple. Hell yeah.




“Bobby called,” Dad said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, having finished his second piece of pie.

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked through his own mouthful of pie.

“Says that you’re supposed to be looking for your friend. Unfinished business. Heaven isn’t supposed to be about unfinished business, so I thought I’d ask.” Dad leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his chin on his fists.

“John,” Mary said, frowning. “We talked about this.”

“We did, sure, but if it’s making him unhappy, then it’s our job to at least talk to him about it.”

“No unfinished business, huh? Are we actually doing this?” Dean asked, setting his fork next to his plate, his pie forgotten as his face heated up, probably turning red under the scrutiny. “Are you going to allow us to talk about all the things that you’ve forced under the rug for, what, my whole life?”

“Why not? We’re in Heaven. Of all the things we were worried about on earth, none of them are here.”

“None of them are- for fuck’s sake. I have a list of questions, forty one years’ worth of questions that I’ve kept quiet about, starting with Adam Mulligan, but now that we’re here, and you’re pulling the gloves off, well, why not?” Dean sat up in his chair, his hand gone white around the knife he’d picked up on instinct, his body not caring that it was a butter knife and not sharp enough to cut through a cooked steak let alone anything that wanted to attack him at the table.


“Boys, we’re not doing this right now. I don’t care if you’re worried, John. This isn’t the time or the place. And Dean, I know that you have… questions about things that happened after I… died. About your brother. Both of your brothers. But I’d prefer to have those conversations when Adam and Kate could be here to express themselves and talk about how they feel, as well.”

“I don’t want to talk about Adam, Mom! I don’t want to talk about his mom. I don’t want to talk about all the shit we went through, growing up, that it turns out we didn’t actually need to go through. And I certainly don’t want to talk about ‘my friend’ as you call him. Especially not with you!” He pointed at his father with the butter knife, realized what he’d done and dropped it with a clatter on the table.

“Son, where do you think you’re going?” Dad said, voice raised, as Dean stalked towards the back gate.

“Away from here,” Dean answered, clinging to Baby’s keys, letting the gate shut behind him. It didn’t make a sound and the lack of a slam or even a click made it an even more frustrating way to leave the situation.





Becoming God was very hard.

Taking on Chuck’s power meant taking on his knowledge, as well, and Jack was simply astounded at how much he just hadn’t known. There was certainly an element of his previous existence that understood that, as a creature that was really only three years old, give or take, even if his body appeared to much older, he couldn’t possibly have as much knowledge as everyone seemed to expect from someone or something that looked like him.

And yet, he’d never felt as inadequate or unprepared as he suddenly felt once he understood what he had really been.

In the beginning, he’d had to take a bit of time away from everyone, away from the whole of the world and Heaven, to get everything to shake out and clear itself up in his head.

It was like when you walked in a lake or a stream, and the silt at the bottom was stirred up by your feet. If you wanted the water to clear up, you had to stand still for a bit and just let everything around you settle, even as the water moved around you.

The silt eventually would sink back to the bottom or get washed away, and then you’d be able to see your toes, barely peeking out from the mud and the sand and the rocks.

It was in the moment that Jack allowed himself to just be still and let all of existence settle around him, when the final grains of sand stopped moving and the water was clear again that he realized that, while Sam and Dean were still on earth and safe, Castiel was still in the Empty.

It had been a jarring and uncomfortable realization.

Dean had said that Cas had been pulled into the Empty, that he’d sacrificed himself to save Dean, and Jack knew that it was the truth the same way he knew that chocolate was the best and that flannel sheets were superior to anything else you could put on a mattress.

Castiel loved Dean. Was in love with Dean.

Jack had known that from the first moment his soul had touched Castiel’s grace, when he was still in his mother’s womb. What he hadn’t known was if Castiel was ever going to be brave enough to actually tell Dean.

It was a conflict that had pulled at Jack, made his stomach hurt and his chest ache. He’d talked to Sam about it once or twice, when he was sure he was going to throw up his dinner after Dean and Cas had fought over something, usually stupid, or sometimes about Jack himself.

“Not your fault, Jack,” Sam had told him, his mouth smiling but his eyes infinitely sad, the weight of the world on his shoulders. “They’ll figure themselves out eventually. Until then, we just have to put up with their crap and make sure we have enough popcorn for when the shit really hits the fan.”

“I like popcorn,” Jack had said, the idea of making popcorn and adding extra butter lifting his spirits. Sam had chuckled, but with a closed mouth, and patted his shoulder.

“I know, kid,” he’d said. “Trust me, I know.”

Now that Jack had the wisdom of God and the understanding of the original creator, he knew that it was much more complicated than that, that he’d been so naive about all of it, even with Sam trying to help without making things harder than they needed to be.

As Jack stood still and let the download of energy and information from Chuck settle in his brain, the idea of Castiel trapped in the Empty, being tortured by a creature that was angry and unstable and terribly, terribly old became more and more upsetting.

Jack’s first thought was to pull together a rescue party with the other Winchesters (he was still a Winchester, no matter what anyone, including Chuck, tried to tell him).

Then he remembered that he was the Boss. He was in charge. There wasn’t anyone above him on the org chart (it was very odd that he suddenly knew about things like org charts when even a few days ago he couldn’t even tell you what Velcro was or who was currently President of the United States) and as such, he could do what he wanted.

He was making the rules and since he wasn’t trying to create the largest plot conflicts he could, like Chuck had been, Jack decided that he didn’t need to play by the same rules Chuck had made himself follow.

He could negotiate with the Empty, sure. Jack could go talk to it and make a deal. But why? He could just solve the problem.

Jack closed his eyes and focused.

And…. There. He found it, the entity known as the Empty. With a snap of his fingers (it was very Chuck of him, but he decided he’d think of it more like that comic book movie Dean had made him watch, with the giant purple man, instead and he’d feel less terrible about it), he’d put the Empty back to sleep (which was the only thing the creature seemed to want on any level, beyond punishing Castiel for waking it up) and pulled Castiel up to Heaven with him, with a second snap of his fingers.

“Jack?” Cas had asked, blinking against the bright light of Jack’s “office”. “What’s going on?”

“As Chuck’s replacement, I decided that I couldn’t leave you there or leave the Empty awake and angry, so I fixed it.”

“You… fixed it.”

“Yes!” Jack beamed at Castiel, smiling at him with that close-lipped smile of his. Cas took a step backwards and fell to the floor, his legs not holding him up, his face grey and thin. “Do you need a chair?” Jack asked him.

Cas just started laughing and lay back with his arms spread out, his laughter edging closer and closer to hysteria. “Oh, Jack, yes. Yes, I need a chair.”




Later, much later, after Jack had replaced the office furniture with comfortable couches and chairs, like there’d been in the bunker (especially after Dean had decided that comfort was the name of the game) and he’d given Castiel a warm cup of tea that smelled like cinnamon and cardamom, Jack sat down, having decided that they needed to talk about it.

‘It’ being what had happened between Castiel and Dean, and what Castiel was planning to do about it, now that he wasn’t stuck in the Empty for the rest of eternity.

“I know what you told Dean,” Jack said, looking at Castiel’s face, watching the emotions flash across it. Jack knew what was going on in his head, he had all those Chuck powers, but he knew that it only went one way and he owed Castiel the respect to at least talk it through and figure out what he wanted and needed without Jack just telling him what to do, all willy nilly.

“Dean told you?” Castiel asked, his eyes wide.

“He didn’t have to.” Jack tapped his temple. “Chuck powers.”

“I wish you’d call them something else,” Castiel said, grimacing, then taking a sip of his perfectly brewed tea.

“I know what you told Dean,” Jack tried again, leaning forward in a way he knew implied he was open and willing to listen. “Now that you’re here, what are you going to do about it?”

“What am I… oh, Jack. Nothing. I’m not going to do a thing. I said my piece and now I’m going to do my best to help you reform this space into what Heaven should have always been.”

Jack tilted his head to the side, a mirror image of Castiel, a learned behavior that even after all the Chuck power shenanigans, he still hadn’t lost. “Not even when Dean comes to Heaven?”

“He won’t be here for a very long time.”

“You know that’s not true,” Jack said, his voice soft. He knew that they both knew that Dean would never grow old on Earth. Jack had that extra insight that, without Castiel with him and with his desire to see his brother retire and grow old and have lots of little babies, Dean would be looking for his way out. There was a ticking clock in Jack’s head, now that he was both life and death, and he knew that Dean was coming, and soon. Which was why the conversation with Castiel was so important to have now.

“Even if he showed up right now, he wouldn’t want to see me.”


“We have a job to do,” Castiel said, setting his teacup on the side table and standing up. “We need to get this place into shape, so that those who are here are actually in paradise and not just a facsimile of what they always thought Heaven should be. I’ve got a few ideas, let me get them down on paper for you, and we can discuss them later.”

Castiel had all but ran from the room. Jack had sighed. And started to work on a plan.

That’s what Winchesters did, after all. Work out a plan, to fix things.




They’d worked together, Jack and Cas, building and reshaping Heaven, removing walls and breaking locks, and stripping out the things that had made it more of a holding cell for souls, rather than a place of peace and rest.

Castiel stuck to the office, as it were, and spoke to Jack and that was about it. He didn’t try to branch out and make friends with any of the new angels Jack had helped create, nor did he want to spend time with any of the angels that had survived from the original batch Chuck had made.

Castiel was isolating himself and no matter how happy he claimed to be, Jack knew his heart and Castiel’s heart was with Dean Winchester.

So, the day that Dean arrived in Heaven, it should have been easy for Jack to simply steer Castiel to Dean’s location and thrust them together, like any child who wants his divorced parents to get back together has dreamed of, with the hope that they’d work it out between them and find that stable place of happiness and peace.

Thing is, Jack actually knew both of them and even before he’d gained Chuck’s powers and knowledge, Jack knew that that tactic would never work between his two… dads, for lack of a better term.

No, he’d have to be more subtle than that. He’d have to be sneaky.

Jack was not good at sneaky.

So, he went to someone who knew Dean as well as Jack did and who might have an idea as to how to do this kind of sneaky thing without causing the whole process to blow up in his face.




Mary Winchester always seemed to be doing something outside. She had a beautiful garden in the backyard and a lovely front display of roses and various other plants. She had window boxes with flowers and herbs, a finely maintained series of bushes and flowering baskets around and on the front porch, and she liked chopping her own wood.

John Winchester just rolled his eyes and tried not to take any of it too seriously, less he get a fist to the face. He liked the smell of a fire in the wood stove with the wood she liked to chop and he loved the glow Mary got in her cheeks when she spent the day working in the yard. It was a true pleasure to spend time with her, any time, any amount, especially in a space where they wouldn’t ever have to worry about bad things happening to the other person.

It had been a lovely day (as though there were anything but lovely days in Heaven, even when it was raining) and John was looking forward to an even more lovely evening. Mary was puttering around, messing with her tomatoes and John was trying to read a mystery novel he’d always had his eye on but had never allowed himself the time, except now he kept falling asleep in the sun, book on his face, instead of actually reading the damn thing.

As John was turning the page, finally moving on to chapter six,  there was a sound like a rubber band or a very dry twig snapping and then the sharp rap of a distant knocking on the front door.

“We’re around back,” John called out, from his hammock strung up between the two largest oak trees in their yard. He waited to see who would be coming through the gate this time, both looking forward to and dreading the moment both his boys appeared in Heaven.

He saw Mary sit back on her heels, out of the corner of his eye, and he focused on the back gate, where whomever it was would need to walk through in order to get back to them.

He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not when the person walking around the corner of the house, towards the fence gate, was someone other than Dean. Who he’d expected to come back at some point, after their blow-up at the barbecue dinner, but they’d seen neither hide nor hair of him, and as far as he was away, they hadn’t gotten a phone call or any other communication from him since then, either.  

The man (boy?) who had arrived was a familiar face around these parts. The new ‘God” as it were, Jack. Bobby had couched for him, as had Mary, but John was never one to just take things like this lightly. John tried to focus back on his book, but kept his ears open for whatever was going on. God doesn’t just drop in for a visit, does he? It was suspicious.

“Jack!” Mary called out to him, her voice making the young man smile, an odd look crossing his face as he saw her.

John wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was supposed to make of that, just yet. He decided that he wasn’t doing a very good job at keeping up the ruse of reading and dropped his book to the ground. He swung his feet over the edge, trying to get out of the hammock and to his feet without looking like an idiot. Which was particularly difficult when trying to exit a hammock, just in general, but even worse when trying to do so at a fast pace.

“Hello!” Jack called out, a somewhat false sense of cheer in his greeting.

“Oh, Jack. What’s wrong?” Mary asked, rushing faster to him, and John knew they were going to have an interesting dinner this evening because he needed to know everything about Jack and why he, the replacement God, was coming to their house to get what appeared to be comfort from John’s wife.

Jack reached the gate a bit before Mary and opened the latch, which meant that Mary only had to walk right up to him and envelope him in a huge hug the second she was close enough to do so. Jack leaned into her, pressed his face in to her hair for a moment, looking for all the world like he was holding back tears, and then he stood tall, looking directly at her face.

“I need your help. With Dean and Castiel.”

“Dean? What about Dean?” John barked, his brain going straight to ‘the boys are in trouble, what do I do’ mode. He forgot all about looking cool as he bolted out of the hammock and thundered his was over to the other two, honed in like a missile.

“John, please. Don’t be overdramatic. I’m sure he’s fine, but something just needs… adjusting,” Mary said, smirking a bit. She winked at Jack who smiled at her, his face a bit lighter. “Am I close?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “I knew you would understand.”

“Well, come on in, have a seat at the table. We’ll talk it through and see what we can do. John, would you grab the lemonade and some glasses from the kitchen?”

Which was how John Winchester found himself pouring a tall glass of lemonade for God, a young man who called both of his sons (and this errant angel they all kept talking about) ‘dad’, who looked twelve, who was actually about three, and who had all the cosmic powers in the known universe. It was a bit unsettling, is what it was.  

“Cas is here, he told Dean how he feels, Dean is here, he feels the same way but won’t admit it, and you want them to at least talk to each other but Cas doesn’t want to risk looking like an idiot and won’t even talk to you about it. Dean is… Dean. You need to find a way to get them together without looking like you’re trying to get them together. Is that about it?” Mary took a sip of lemonade then ran her finger around the lip of her glass.

“Yes.” Jack sat tall, his glass in front of him, his hands on his lap, looking both as uncomfortable as anyone John had ever seen and perfectly comfortable in Mary’s presence. It was an odd dichotomy.

“Wait, Dean and this Cas person? Who is Cas?” John had switched from lemonade to whiskey with a splash of lemonade, if they were going to have this kind of conversation about his kid. Mary rolled her eyes and made a face at Jack, who smiled that closed-lipped smile back at her.

“Dean’s angel, John. The one who pulled him out of Hell. Who put him back together.” Mary’s smile faltered a bit and she looked down at the condensation ring from her glass.

“Ah,” John said. “That Cas. Got it.” They sat there, a slightly uncomfortable silence between them. “Dean’s in love with him, then? You’re sure?”

“Yes,” said Jack, calm and gentle. “I’m sure.”

“Dean’s complicated. No, Mary, he is. I’ve watched that kid grow up and… he’s complicated. He’s got baggage, baggage I gave him, sure, but he’s carrying. We’re gonna have to be smart about this.”

Mary leaned back, away from John and her drink. “Oh, yeah, smart guy? You’ve got an idea?”

“Always, baby.” John winked at her and leaned forward. “I mean, you’ve been reading all those romance books, right? What do they have to do in those stories when two people love each other and won’t do anything about it?”

Mary’s hand whipped out and grabbed him by his upper arm, squeezing tight. “I take it back. You’re brilliant!”

“I don’t understand,” Jack said, still smiling but looking a bit lost.

“We need to stick them in a space, together, where they can’t get out. They’ll be forced to work it through or-“

“Kill each other,” John laughed into his glass of lemonade whiskey.

“Good thing we’re all already dead or, angels, or whatever,” Mary said, smirking.

“What do we need to do?” Jack asked.

“If I tell you what I need, you can make it happen, whatever it is?” Mary asked.

“Yes,” Jack told her.

“Great. Give me an hour to look through a few things and I’ll let you know what the plan is.” She popped up from the table and darted back to the house.

“What is she doing?” Jack asked John.

“No idea but we’re smart to just let it ride. She’s smarted than both of us, combined, and twice as stubborn.”

“That’s what Dean said,” Jack told John, leaning in like he was imparting a secret.

“I’m sure he did,” John replied. “While we wait, you want a little whiskey with your lemonade or are you good?”

“Oh, sure!” Jack said, pushing his glass forward. John was starting to like the kid, which was good because he was apparently the only grandkid John was going to get to know anytime soon.




Dean had dreamed about the fishing cabin since he was a little boy. The real cabin on earth had belonged to a hunter friend of his father, the name of the guy long since gone from Dean’s memory, but it was the place where he always saw himself sitting on the end of a dock, fishing, when he needed a safe space in his own head.

After the fight with his dad, he’d left in the Impala and just drove, his heart asking for a place where he could just be himself, in peace and quiet.

The cabin had appeared on the right side of the road after he’d been driving for what he’d normally have guessed was three hours or so, but in Heaven, who the hell knew how long he’d actually been in the car.

It felt late and he was suddenly tired, so he pulled over and entered the cabin. The lights worked and there was a fully stocked kitchen, including cold beer and a stack of pre-made sandwiches, as well as a still warm pie. Heaven was amazing.

The bed had the exact same sleep foam mattress that he’d had at the bunker and the softest flannel sheets he’d ever slept on. The drawers were full of clothes that fit him perfectly, broken in t-shirts, jeans, his favorite brand of socks, all of his favorite flannel shirts, some of which he’d lost to one hunt or another over the years but there they were, hanging on hangers, organized by color. His favorite boots sat at the bottom of the closet, even though he hadn’t seen them since before he’d gone to Hell.

There had been a container of worms in the fridge, a broken in but well cared for fishing pole and tackle box just inside the back door, on the way out to the dock.

It was Dean’s Heaven, quite literally.

At least it was, until he walked out of the bathroom, having taken a long bath (which he would never admit to, ever) while reading Slaughterhouse Five, which he didn’t even drop into the tub, and walked smack into another person, who hadn’t been there when Dean had gotten in to the tub.

“What the fuck?” Dean barked, clasping both the book and the towel close to him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said.





He stood, awkwardly, in the corner of the room, his trench coat hanging loose and lank against his body, face tired and drawn. He smiled at Dean, but it was a sad smile, in more ways than one.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked, pulling on his boxers even though he was still more than a bit damp, his t-shirt sticking to his back and his chest as he pulled it on without wiping off again with the towel.

“I’m not entirely sure?” Cas said but it was more a question than anything else. “Jack asked me to take something to his office and I did, and then, I walked back out but then I was here. Where is here, exactly?”

“Jack asked you?”

“Yes,” Cas said slowly, like he wasn’t quite following where Dean was going. Dean sighed.

“That kid is going to be seven kinds of grounded when I get back, I can’t even believe him.” Dean pulled his jeans up, buttoning and zipping as he spoke, everything about every movement frustrated and annoyed.

“What’s happening?” Cas stepped towards the center of the room, his hands starting to come up but then he pulled himself back, as though he was keeping himself from doing something he knew he shouldn’t. The Cas from Before wouldn’t have held back. He’d have reached out to Dean, even if Dean would have slapped his hands away. Dean being a prickly son of a bitch had never deterred Castiel before and something in Dean was sad that it was now.

“I don’t even know, but we’re both in this remote cabin, alone, with a full fridge, lots of beer and pie, and a super comfy bed. This seems like a set-up.” Socks on, boots on, leaning forward to tie them, every movement like putting on armor, like going into battle. Because he was. With God, apparently.


“Oh, yeah.”

“I know that Jack has been… unhappy that I’ve been…”

“Unhappy?” Dean asks, with a sad little smirk.

“Yes,” Cas says, sharing a look with Dean that felt like old times. Old, old times. “He’s tried to get me to do a number of things to resolve my, well, it doesn’t matter. He’d tried and I haven’t exactly been receptive. I imagine this is his version of an intervention.”

“Intervention? What, are you doing drugs? Have some kind of eating disorder? Oh, wait. You don’t eat.”

“I mean, technically speaking, you don’t either, but that’s neither here nor there,” Cas said, smirking.

“Oh, was that a joke?”

“If you can’t tell, that isn’t my problem.”

In the course of their banter, they’d ended up standing close together, not even a foot apart, their eyes locked together, Dean able to feel the heat of Castiel’s body with as little space as there was between them. The moment Dean realized it, he took a step back, then had to watch as Cas’ face fell, just a bit, as he realized what Dean had done.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, snap your finger or work your angel mojo and get yourself back to wherever you’ve been hiding?” Dean pushed past Cas, needing something to do with his hands and working in the kitchen would be a start, at least. He headed down the short hallway to the main room of the cabin and flicked on the lights over the kitchen and dining space.

“Oddly, I’ve tried to use my powers to leave and I can’t.”

Dean stopped mid-stride. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“Am I not speaking English?” Cas asked, starting to get annoyed, which honestly was better than the kicked puppy vibe he’d been giving on before. “I. Can’t. It’s not working.” He held up his hands and tried a few of the obvious tricks he’d done for Dean in the past and there was nothing, not even the mildest of glows from his grace.

“Jack. Jack did something,” Dean grumbled, getting more and more annoyed with his kid. “He and I need to have a conversation. Let’s take this back to the office or wherever you guys have been hiding out, and let’s see what the kid has to say for himself.”

It didn’t take long to get to the front door from the kitchen, just a few steps, but between his first step off the kitchen tile to his first touch of the front doorknob, there was a crazy series of lightning flashes and then a terrible crash of thunder, like Thor himself was standing right outside the front door. Dean swung the door open and found a torrential downpour heaving from the skies above, the rain so heavy that he couldn’t see across the driveway to where Baby was parked.

“If you think that’ll keep me from driving Cas back, you haven’t met me!” Dean yelled to the ceiling.

“Jack is not in the rafters, Dean,” Cas said, a slight edge of humor in his tone.

“He will be once I’m done with him,” Dean muttered to himself as opened the door to the tiny coat closet, pulling out everything inside, looking for an umbrella or a poncho or something he could use to not get as soaked as he had in the bath, just trying to get to his car. In the very back, he found a child’s sized umbrella with yellow ducks and green frogs painted on the clear plastic that made up the umbrella’s canopy. “Hah! Yes!”

He stood up, brandishing the umbrella in one hand. “I’m gonna go out there, get the car, and drive’er over her to grab you, so you don’t get too wet, and then we’re going to have a long talk with our kid.”

Dean had to pretend that it hadn’t bothered him that he’d called Jack their kid on instinct and that he wasn’t trying to be overprotective of Cas, who had, as far as Dean had known until he made it to Heaven, been dead, which they were going to talk about on the drive back to Jack, there wasn’t any way Cas was getting out of that one.

Cas, though, looked like he’d caught the slip and was far less able to hide how it made him feel. Or maybe, Dean was finally able to interpret what all those facial expressions actually meant, now that he knew Cas’ big secret. “You don’t have to do this, Dean. I can spend the night here and we can ask Jack to set things right in the morning.”

“Why wait? Does he sleep? I didn’t think he slept. Jack? Jack, get your feathered, God-like ass over here!” Dean was, again, yelling at the ceiling. More lightning, more thunder, but no response from the kid.

“Dean,” Cas started, which had Dean raising his hand, the one with the umbrella no less, to cut him off, when the phone hanging on the wall began to ring. It had been a very long time since Dean had heard an actual telephone hanging on an actual wall ring, so it took him a minute to realize that was what was happening.

Then the sound stopped and the silence after the shrillness of the phone was almost deafening. Dean opened his mouth to say something when the phone started ringing again. “Of, for God’s sake,” Dean mutter, realizing only after his hand was on the receiver that his kid was, effectively, God, and rolled his eyes. “What?” Dean snapped into the phone, setting the umbrella on the counter.

“Hi, Dean.” It was Jack. Not a surprise but it meant that he had been listening. Great. “How are things going?”

“You know exactly how they’re going, kid. What are you trying to do here?”

“I’m trying to fix things. You need to let me. All the books say that it’s good for my mental health.”

“Books? What books could possibly talk about our situation?”

“There are a lot of books out there about children of divorced parents or parents who were never in a serious relationship before the child came along and-“

“Jack. Cas and I are not divorced, for fuck’s sake-“

“Well, you aren’t together, either,” Jack snaps at Dean, his normal patience clearly having worn thin. “I know what happened, Dean. I know what he told you. And I know what’s in your heart, too. So, stop being an idiot.” And then the brat hung up on him.

Thunder rattled the windows. Rain pelted the glass.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean slammed the phone back into the cradle, almost ripping it off the wall, and leaned his head against the cool wainscoting. After a few deep breaths, he grabbed the umbrella again, and, squaring his shoulders, made for the front door again.

The lights flickered.

Dean reached for the doorknob.

The lights went out.

“I’m driving him back, Jack. You can’t keep us here.”

“Dean, I wouldn’t-“

Dean threw open the door, ready for the rain he’d seen before, but instead, there was a wall of snow. A mini avalanche of snow and ice fell back into the cabin, landing on top of Dean’s boots and the small rag rug just inside the door.

There was so much snow, it filled the entire doorway. Dean opened the umbrella and tried pushing back on the white wall of doom, but it didn’t move. Rather, the harder he pushed, the more snow fell into the room.

With a sigh, he dropped the umbrella onto the floor and shut the door. “Fuck,” he said, under his breath.

“I’ll start a fire,” Cas said, not getting into any of the more important issues plaguing them at the moment.

“You can see enough to do that?” The lights still had not come back on.

“I don’t have all my powers but my eyesight is still pretty good,” Cas told him, and even though Dean couldn’t really see him, he could feel the smile through the darkness.




Once Cas had the fire going, they took stock of their situation. Dean was a bit calmer, Cas could tell, and more willing to actually have a conversation.

Castiel wasn’t exactly thrilled to be in their current situation. He was thrilled to be with Dean, that wasn’t a question, but being with a Dean that didn’t want to be with him wasn’t exactly what he considered a good time.

There was a rug in between the fireplace and the couch, a low coffee table sitting on top of it. They were sitting, one on each side of it, each with a beer, while Dean shuffled the deck of cards he’d found in the coffee table’s center drawer.

The lights hadn’t come back on but the fridge was running, which Dean had considered a win, and it didn’t seem too terribly cold in the room, although since it was Heaven, if it did get cold, it was because someone or something had willed it to be so. Cas was a bit concerned as to how far Jack was willing to go to get the result he wanted out of their current predicament.

“What do you think he wants?” Cas asks, his voice quiet, deep and rumbling low.

“Did you hear any of that call? He thinks we have shit to work out and he wants us to make it happen.” Dean pulled a few fancy moves with the cards, did a shuffling trick where the cards appeared to flow in an arc from his right to his left hand, the look of satisfaction on his face when he’d pulled it off was beautiful.

“That’s disappointingly non-specific.”

“Well, I don’t think he actually knows what he needs us to do. Which makes me think he got advice from someone else and he’s following someone else’s plan. But no matter what, he’s definitely the guard with the keys and the one we have to satisfy before he’ll break us out of this ice cube, which- it was just August, you jerk!” He raised his voice and shook the hand holding the deck of cards at the ceiling. “Also,” Dean said, drawing out the word, like he wasn’t sure how to get to the next part of his sentence, “he mentioned that he knew what you’d said. Back at the bunker. And what I thought about it. What you said.”

Cas swallowed and let his eyes close for just a moment. “He did, did he? Okay.”

“I’m thinking that’s what he wants us to discuss. You think?” Dean dealt out of hand of cards to each of them. Cas was assuming they were playing poker, which Dean had taught him before but it’d been a long time since they’d sat together and just played cards. Cas opened his eyes and picked up his cards. For some reason he couldn’t make heads or tails out of the what he had, so he set the pile back down on the coffee table.

“That would seem to make sense.” Castiel rubbed his eyes and sighed. This wasn’t what he’d wanted for his day. His week.

His eternity.

“Considering that we’re in Heaven and Jack could keep us here indefinitely, we probably should consider figuring out a way to meet his requirements. Since he’s apparently listening in.” The fire flickered in the grate, dimming considerably then flaring up again. “I’m gonna take that as confirmation,” Dean said, flipping off the fire while sorting the cards in his own hand.

“What did you want to talk about?” Cas asked, trying to infuse his voice with everything positive he could come up with.

“I don’t know. I was thinking the weather?” Dean replied, then winked at him and that was all it took. Cas started giggling, then laughing, and then he was on his side on the rug, walking that line between hysterical laughter and hysterical sobbing.

He didn’t see Dean get up, didn’t hear him walking on his knees over to Cas’ side of the table. He could feel Dean’s hands on him, warm through all his clothing, but instead of making him calm down, it just made him cry harder.

“Okay, big guy. I think we need to call it a night.” And then Dean was lifting him off the floor, helping him to stand, walking him back to the bedroom. At some point, he worked off Cas’ trench coat and the suit jacket underneath it, leaving him in his dress shirt and pants. With a gentle nudge, Dean pushed him back onto the bed and Cas sank into the memory foam like it was the ocean.

He kept his eyes aimed at the wooden beams above his head, the view blurry from the tears still leaking from his eyes, although the sobbing had abated, at least for the moment. Dean pulled off his shoes, one at a time, dropping the to the floor, each falling with a solid thunk.

It was even darker in the bedroom, without the fire to add even its limited light, but despite that, Cas knew exactly where Dean was, all the time, and he knew when Dean had removed his own boots and stepped up to the other side of the bed, ready to get in. Cas closed his eyes, not sure why the idea of sharing a bed with Dean was causing him so much… he could only call it sorrow.

Maybe it was the idea of having a taste of the thing he wasn’t actually allowed to have. He’d rather have never known, he thought, than have to know what it could be like and have to live without it for the rest of his existence.

Cas didn’t sleep, as a rule, but he closed his eyes and kept them closed, trying not to let this break him, not now, not after everything.

I’d rather have you, cursed or not.

Dean’s words from so long ago bounced around in his head and he shuddered out a breath.

Dean climbed into bed, under the covers, next to Cas but not touching. It was quiet, not even the sound of electricity in the wires or water through the pipes cut through the night. They should be able to hear the fire, but this was far from a natural circumstance, so Cas didn’t worry that the crackling of wood burning hadn’t made it down the hall to their room.

Their room. Damn it. Dean’s room.

“If you want to know the truth,” Dean’s voice made Cas jump, the sound unexpected and oddly vulnerable. “At first, I was mad. Because how could you hold on to all of that, all of those feelings for, what, ten years? A goddamn decade? More? And then decide the time to dump it all on me was the minutes before you were about to throw yourself under the bus for me, to take the bullet for me. Die for me.” Dean’s voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat.

Cas didn’t know what to say to that. Dean wasn’t wrong. But it was like Dean had forgotten how angry he’d been, how explosive he’d been, about almost everything. How difficult he’d made sharing anything, especially the truth, between them. How his toxic masculinity made it such a treacherous path to walk, that Cas had decided it was safer to walk it in silence and live without what he wanted than to say something and risk bringing everything down around him.

“I was mad,” Dean continued. “And then I was devastated, especially after you’d been pulled into the Empty and were just… gone.” Cas could feel Dean roll over under the covers, his face towards Cas’ back. Cas could tell he’d reached out with one hand but stopped just short of actually touching him. “how could you not tell me, not until the very end, when I felt the same way?”

It hit Cas like a blade to the chest, the words Dean had just dropped on him.

When I felt the same way.

“That can’t be true,” Cas ground out, like his throat was filled with broken glass.

“Why not?” Dean asked, and Cas just knew he’d raised his chin, in that ‘ready to fight’ pose he’d always been so good at taking. “You don’t have exclusive rights on stupid, selfish self-hatred and lack of self-worth. Trust me, I’ve heard it all since I’ve been up here.”

Castiel rolled over, still on top of the covers, still in the blackness of the power outage but he needed to be facing Dean, even if it was only just knowing that was what he was doing.

“I would have known,” he said, raising his own chin, unwilling to give in but feeling completely lost.

“How?” Dean asked. “I mean, you even admit that your ‘people skills’” (and Cas could tell he was doing air quotes at that) “are rusty. So what makes you think you should have been able to tell?”

“I would have-“

“What about my prayer to you? The one in Purgatory? You weren’t able to tell then, and I did everything but spell it out with a skywriter.”

“Like you said, you don’t know the exclusive rights on being an idiot.”

“That’s not what I said,” Dean snapped back. Cas held up a finger, right in Dean’s face, where even if he couldn’t see it, he should’ve been able to feel it there.

“Let me- I need to look back. On everything.”

“What, like you’re gonna watch your old home movies or something?”

“Something like that.” Cas pulled his focus in, everything he still had access to at the moment working to bring him as many interactions with Dean from their past life as he could find. Images, sounds, smells, they all slide across his memory like a high-speed slide show and as he looked through everything, knowing what he knew now, he could see it.

The first tendrils of caring, concern, friendship. The way those feelings morphed and changed as trust was built and broken between them, over and over again, and how all of that eventually molted and shifted and became love.

Love that matched his own, a lock sliding into a key. A perfect fit. He’d been too caught up in his own self-pity that he’d missed it.

But it was in front of him, again. It wasn’t lost to him for forever. He had a chance.

“Oh,” he said, eyes sliding open as if in slow motion. “It was there, not quite all along, but long enough that…” He stopped and shuddered out a breath. “I didn’t know what any of it meant. I didn’t understand what I was looking at, what you were telling me.”

Dean closed the distance between them and pressed a hand to Castiel’s cheek. “But you do now, right?”

“Yes,” Cas said, raising his own hand to press against Dean’s. “I know now.” He leans forward and kisses Dean on the lips, soft and gentle, the way Dean’s first kiss always should have been. A small sound, not quite a moan, slips out between them and Dean pulls back, breathing a bit heavier than before.

“This has been a long time coming,” he said, hoarsely. “I don’t want to rush anything but…”

“Dean, if you want me, you have me. For as long as you’ll keep me. It’s all… it’s all I’ve wanted. I’m yours.”

With that, Dean pressed forward and took Castiel’s mouth in a more passionate kiss, much less gentle, and pulled the two of them closer together on the bed.

It was a long time before either of them said anything else.




The next morning, the snow was gone. In its place was a blanket of thick green grass dotted liberally with gorgeous wildflowers. The Impala was still in the driveway, it’s chrome shines and the body looking like it had been freshly waxed.

On the counters in the kitchen was a brunch spread: waffles, eggs, bacon, toast, French toast, fresh cut fruit, a carafe of orange juice, a fresh pot of coffee, all of it steaming hot and ready to be eaten.

They sat on the rug, at the coffee table, again, in just their boxer and assorted love bites, drinking coffee and watching the fire as they ate.

“You should move in with me,” Dean said, talking through his third strip of bacon, dipped liberally in real maple syrup.

“I don’t really,” Cas started, trying to talk around his mouthful of toast and eggs with a touch of ketchup, something he’d found he loved the last time he’d been human and hadn’t been able to give up the habit.

“Well, neither do I, really. But the paradise we’re building, these are the the, the, the decorations we’re slapping on it to make it ours. The stickers on our Trapper-Keeper.”

“I don’t get that reference.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come live with me in my fake house and eat my fake food but be my real, what, boyfriend? For as long as we’re both here, I guess.”

“Partner, maybe?” Cas offered, seeing how Dean was not thrilled when he said ‘boyfriend’. “Less boy, less friend.” Then he smiled.

“Hell, might as well go big or go home,” Dean muttered, seemingly to himself before he dropped down to the rug, pulling off his ring as he went. He ended up on one knee, holding out the ring to Cas, a slight waver in his hand the only thing signaling that he might be even the slightest bit nervous. “Cas, will you be my husband? I like the sound of that better than partner.”

Cas choked on the sip of coffee he’d been trying to swallow. Once he’d gotten himself under control, he reached out to take the ring from Dean. “I literally thought you’d never ask,” he told Dean as he slipped the ring onto his own ring finger.

“That wasn’t a yes or a no, dude. Put me out of my misery, please.”

“Of course I will, Dean. Nothing, and I mean literally nothing, would make me happier.”

“Oh, good,” Dean said, rising up on his knees to give Cas a sticky syrup kiss, pressing their chests together.

Neither of them were perfect, not before and certainly not then, but they’d never been this honest with each other, this open. It was both refreshing and terrifying all at the same time.

“What do we do now?” Cas asked, grinning against Dean’s lips, his breakfast forgotten.

“We ate, we had coffee, we got engaged, I’d say now we head back to the bed and bang like rabbits for, oh, the next decade or so.”

“We do have a lot of time to make up for,” Cas said, running his hands up Dean’s sides, the ring warm on his left hand.

“Exactly,” Dean breathed out, leaning in for another kiss. “Now’s the perfect time to start making up that deficit. You game?”

“Always,” Cas replied and stood up, pulling Dean with him, leading the way back to their warm, cozy bed.



The End