As soon as he opens his eyes, he knows he's dreaming. Or dead. Or something.
For one thing, he's warm. For another, he doesn't hurt, anywhere, at all, which is a sensation he hasn't felt in- Jesus, months. At least. For another, he's looking directly at a face he'd been sure he'd never see again. A face twisted into an amused scowl, lower half covered in a grey beard, upper half hidden by a ratty-ass baseball cap.
"Bobby? Is that you?" He asks, voice rusty with sleep.
"Well, it sure ain't the queen of England." Bobby says gruffly, settling back into the couch and twisting the cap off a bottle of beer. "It's a good thing you're awake. The game's about to start."
"Where the hell am I?"
"Sioux Falls, South Dakota, on Sunday the 13th of February." Dean turns to the new voice, and sees another familiar face entering from an adjacent room. He's fully alert now.
"Wait, no. Jo, you're dead. You too, Bobby. You can't be here."
A strange look passes over Jo's face. Absently, she presses a hand to her side, as if expecting to find a gaping wound in her abdomen.
"I am, aren't I?" She says quietly.
"So, what, is this Heaven or something?" Dean asks. Bobby just shrugs.
Dean's about to ask something else, anything else, to try to get to the bottom of where the fuck he is and why the fuck he's there, but the doorbell rings.
Jo glances at Bobby. "Are we expecting anyone else?" She asks.
"I'll get it" Dean volunteers, pushing up from the couch and walking through a house that is more familiar to him than anywhere else, besides maybe the inside of his precious Impala.
Outside the front door, it's bright and cold. Waiting on the porch is a party of four: a dark-haired young man and his mother, a freckled girl wearing a sweatshirt bearing the sign of the deathly hallows, and a gangly, sandy-haired man with a very distinctive nose. As Dean looks at each of them, he's struck with visions- memories, perhaps. An older woman in a pool of blood. A boy being pulled backwards into a portal of light and fire. Red hair, matted with something darker, in stark contrast to an all-too-pale face. A form lying on the ground far below, head at an abnormal angle and a faint grin still plastered on a cold, blank face. But then he flashes back to the present. Charlie stamps her feet on the porch and rubs her hands up and down her arms. "Are you going to let us in or what?"
"We brought cheese balls!" Garth says happily, holding the bag up.
"And pigs-in-a-blanket." Ms. Tran gestures to a tinfoil-covered platter in Kevin's hands.
At this point Dean is too stunned to say anything. He steps back to let the others enter.
"Hey! It's the ghost guy from the flask!" Charlie says when she sees Bobby. "You saved my life." She reaches out to shake his hand.
Bobby squints at her. "Clearly not for too long."
She shrugs. "I had a good run. Lived long and prospered and whatever."
Garth is gazing around at the house.
"It's good to see this place...being.. not destroyed" he comments.
"Where can we put these?" Kevin speaks up, lifting the platter of snacks. Jo takes them.
"I'll bring these back." She offers. "Garth, if you want to put those in a bowl or something we've got plenty lying around." Garth follows her back into the kitchen, still in awe to be back in the home of his role model.
Kevin glances at his watch. "It's 4:15. Game's about to start, right?"
"Actually, it's been 4:15 for a while now" Jo says, returning from the kitchen. "Time started moves faster the more people get here, but it feels like it's been Sunday afternoon ever since we arrived."
"Such is the nature of a communal Heaven." Says a gravelly voice from the corner of a room. The party turns to face the newcomer. "Reality is dependent on the participants. Hello, Dean."
Dean takes a few steps forward, then stops.
"Cas. Why are you here?" Seeing his face again, Dean feels a burn on his arms and chest, the charred imprint of wings that had scarred his skin. He sees a blaze of white light, of grace leaking from a broken body.
Castiel shakes his head. "I remember that I was killed. But I also know that I am here. Angels do not go to Heaven when they die, but this is certainly no ordinary Heaven."
"So, what is it then?"
"I truly do not know."
Voices drift in from the other side of the door that Jo has just entered from.
"Watch it, you. Dinner's not ready yet!"
"Sorry, Ellen."
"I doubt it. Bring this out and send that daughter of mine back in here."
An unusually tall man walks through the doorway, bowing his head slightly to miss the low doorjamb. "Jo, your mom wants you back in there." Sam says as he places a bowl of chips and cheese balls on the coffee table.
At the sight of his brother, Dean remembers. A deserted road at midnight, a loaded gun in his hand, the absurd mixture of regret that Sam is here dying with him and the relief that he is not alone. A deep feeling of peace, that he has done all that he can. A long, dark, tunnel, and at the end of that tunnel, a light that matches almost exactly the midwinter sunshine that shines on Sioux Falls on Superbowl Sunday.
And then he's back, and Garth follows Ellen into the living room, carrying a bowl of guacamole and a can of Pringles. Someone turns on the TV.
Castiel removes his overcoat and Sam pulls up another chair for Ms. Tran. Someone takes a beer from Garth's hand and replaces it with a Coke. Charlie smiles at Jo as she moves closer to the edge of the couch to allow the other girl to sit.
Everyone quiets as the kickoff begins the game.
It is four-thirty on Sunday, February 13th. Somewhere, surely, there is a poltergeist to be salted, a wendigo to be hunted. But the Gates of Hell are closed and the journey is over. Dean sits with his brother on his right and his angel on the left. They are done, and there is peace.