(clarity)

"Well," says Dean. "I guess this is the end."

Cas just looks at him. Sighs a little, reaches up to touch Dean's hair, streaked with white. "Why don't you look more upset about this?" he asks quietly, in a resigned voice. He has long been used to the way Dean Winchester doesn't know how to handle things appropriately.

Dean makes a face. "Because you're upset enough for the both of us. Get your hands off me, old man; I need a beer."

"Let me," begins Cas, but Dean pushes him aside and slowly gets to his feet, grimacing to himself as he grips his walker with old, shaky hands and drags himself forward a step. "Dean," he says, frowning. "I could -"

"Damn thing," growls Dean, purposely speaking over the concerned angel. "Was supposed to die years ago, before any of this would be necessary. Why is the kitchen so fucking far away?"

"I have no sympathy."

"Yeah, you wouldn't. Feathery ass is in perfect condition."

"I meant because I volunteered to get it for you and instead of letting me -"

"Oh, shut up, and get these damn books out of my way."

Dean has turned into every inch the grumpy old man Sam always said he would, and he waits with a scowl as Castiel slides past him and bends to get the fallen books out of the way. They'd rebuilt Bobby's house after much consideration almost thirty years ago and now it is in much the same shape it was when the other hunter had owned it. Books on mythical creatures linger in every nook and cranny; dust shines in the air. Dean sometimes wonders if Cas has the urge to keep it perfectly clean and only refrains for Dean's sake. If so, he's rather glad; he personally finds the clutter and dirt sort of nostalgic. Bobby would have approved.

"Goddamn," grumbles Dean, shuffling forward and feeling something creak in his knees. "All right, how much would you judge me if -"

"Not a bit," says Cas calmly.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Were you about to ask me if I'd spare a bit of Grace?"

Dean doesn't speak again until they're finally in the kitchen and he can sink down into one of the rickety wooden chairs there, making a pained face as he does so. "Maybe. Wasn't gonna ask, but -"

Cas pulls the walker aside and bends forward, taking Dean's face in his hands and leaning down to kiss him warmly for a long moment. It seems to happen almost without Dean's noticing: first his headache recedes, then his fingers relax, then the aches in his back and knees slowly lose their pounding. When Cas pulls away, they're both breathing a little harder and Dean feels a hundred percent better. "You used too much," he accuses. "I only meant a little."

Castiel's hand trails a little against Dean's face, his expression a mixture of exasperation and affection. "You deserve it."

"We're too old for this," says Dean, reaching up to tangle his fingers with Castiel's for a moment before pulling his hand down away from his face. "Too old men macking lips in the goddamn kitchen. Indecent."

"We gave up on decent a long time ago."

"Have you been using your grace on me at night, when I'm sleeping?" asks Dean, pointing an accusing finger at Cas as the half-angel, half-man moves to get the other his beer. "Is that why I've made it this long?"

"Plenty of people make it to eighty-seven," says Cas wryly. "You're not that unusual."

After it was all over - after the angels were back in heaven, after both heaven and hell had been sealed off forever with no negative repercussions - they'd started to notice Castiel losing power. Not too much - he could still do all his normal things, mostly. But Dean, ever the paranoid, was convinced that too much usage would make Cas permanently human, with no control over where he spent eternity. The idea of a once-angel in the hands of hell forever… it was enough to make Dean call it quits to using Castiel's power, once and for all.

Except, of course, for moments like these, when the arthritis got a bit too much.

"I still think you're wrong," say Castiel after a moment, returning to their previous conversation. "You should tell them."

"Cas," says Dean, rolling his eyes, but the angel has that look on his face, the one Dean's grow intimately aware of after almost fifty years together.

"They're family, Dean. Hasn't that always been the rule for you?"

"Exactly," he grumbles. "That's why I'm not telling them. They don't need to know. It'll just… they don't need to know."

"You're putting this on me, you know," says the other man, glaring. "When you're gone, I'll have to -"

"Cas, you and I both know that you're following me as soon as I leave this God forsaken place," interrupts Dean. "They'll handle it. They have Sam."

"Speaking of Sam -"

Dean sighs loudly, obnoxiously.

"You're not telling Sam?"

"Tell him what? Hey, man, guess what? I've got cancer! After all that we've been through, this is the way God chooses to kick me outta the nest. Nice knowing you." The sarcasm is laid thick.

Cas frowns. "Not like that, no. And I still wish you'd let me heal you - you know I could."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean says. "But then what happens? Eventually I gotta leave some way or other. It's cancer this time, but next time it'll just be a heart attack. Or hit by a bus. It could be worse."

"You're not taking this seriously enough!" Cas insists, looking frustrated.

"Cas…" The beer sits on the table, growing warm, but when Dean looks at it, he has no urge to drink it. "Back to the living room?"

It's a sign that he's living with a millennial-year-old angel that he shows no sign of impatience, only brings the walker back in front of Dean and waits for him to get up by himself. Back down the hallway - quicker this time, with his knees feeling more limber - but he's still panting a little when he drops back down heavily into his armchair. Cas moves to take a seat in his own, close-by chair, the scene familiar.

"I don't want to tell them," says Dean after a little while, when it's clear Cas isn't going to prompt him again. "I don't want to watch them get all fucking teary-eyed and start to mourn me before I've even grown cold. I just want… I just want to live out the last couple of months I have with you and my family, being as goddamn happy as I can. It's enough that you know. And maybe I'll tell Sam, eventually, he's a grownass man, he can handle it, but… but for now, it's just you and me."

"Okay," says Cas quietly, surrendering. "Whatever you want, Dean."

Whatever you want, Dean. It's been the mantra of their marriage for years now - he knows it's the reason why an angel has allowed his vessel to grow gray-hair and wrinkles in all the right places and started to slow down in walking. He'd seen how much it'd bothered Dean the first time they'd been mistaken as father and son - and the next day he'd shown up without a word, looking ten years older but still as goddamn attractive as Dean had found him the first time they'd met.

He wonders if it's weird that he's attracted to an old man.

Probably about as weird as an old man being attracted to him.

Or, well, the fact that is he is an old man.

Shit. He really didn't mean to grow this old; one day he had been young and fit and hunting vampires and chopping heads off fresh monsters - and the next he was slowing down and having kids and making dad-jokes. So many dad-jokes.

"All right, now I kind of want it," he confesses a moment later, sheepishly looking to Cas who shakes his head but obligingly gets up from his chair and returns to the kitchen to retrieve Dean's beer.

He's only gone for thirty seconds before the doorbell rings and Cas calls, "I've got it!" and then there's a whole lot of shrieking and commotion. "He's in the sitting room," Dean hears Cas explain and there's a lot of feet-pounding on the ancient carpet before the door bursts open and two little girls burst in screaming and running straight for him.

"Cas, there's monsters in here!" he bellows, and both girls erupt in giggles as they throw themselves up on him, both crying his name out loudly as he pretends to holler and flail. "Oh no, this one's got me! I'm going under! Goodbye, cruel world!"

"Grandpa," giggles the younger one, tugging on the arm covering his face. "Grandpa, it's just us! It's Sophie and Caddy!"

"Sophie and Caddy?" says Dean in astonishment, lifting his hands to peer at the two girls with a shocked expression that makes them laugh all the more. "It can't be! I thought they were on a mission to get rid of all the goblins in the world?"

"We finished that agggeess ago!" says the older one, eight years old and bright red hair. She balances precariously on the armrest and grins at him. "The goblins are gone forever. We saved basically the whole world."

"Did you lose that tooth battling goblins?" asks Dean, lifting his eyebrows and reaching up to poke at the gaping hole in her smile. She laughs, batting his hands away. "Don't tell anyone," he lowers his voice confidentially, "but I've lost a few things fighting monsters too."

"Like what, Grandpa?" pipes up Sophie, blinking huge blue eyes at him. They're not Castiel's color, but they're close enough to pretend. With her bright blonde hair, she's enough to have any man wrapped around her finger, even at six. "We won't tell anyone, will we, Caddy?"

Cadence shakes her head solemnly.

"Pinky promise?" asks Dean in a low voice, and both girls offer up their pinkies.

Only after they both swear does he lean in even more and go, "One time… the monsters got really close to winning and I died."

Both girls' mouths drop into perfect Os.

"You died?" asks Sophie, and immediately looks close to tears at the thought.

"Yeah - but I'm all right now, see?" says Dean hastily, to prevent any crying. "Someone swooped in and saved me at the last minute - do you know who did that?"

They both look thoughtful for a moment and then Cadence smiles slowly, looking far more older than her eight years. "Was it Grandpa Cas?"

He grins. "That's exactly who it was."

Sophie bounces on his lap slightly, eager. "Grandpa, is he your knight in shining armor?"

There's a quiet snort of humor and Dean looks up to lock eyes with the very man they're talking about, with their daughter standing behind him. "I guess you could say that."

"Grandpa, that's so romantic," says Cadence.

All the adults laugh.

"Come on, guys," says Mary. "There's snacks in the kitchen."

"Hey - kiss," says Dean when they look like they're about to leave and first Sophie and then Cadence drop kisses onto his wrinkled cheek before sliding down off the armchair and racing out.

"Sorry to drop in on you guys unexpected," says Mary, adopting the same look that Sam gets when he's done something without permission. Dean's still unsure how the daughter of him and Cas ended up so much like his little brother. "I just wanted to stop in and see how the tests went - but knowing those two, it'll be ages to get them to leave again. So?"

Cas looks meaningfully at Dean over her shoulder and Dean fidgets slightly before shrugging. "Went all right. Best as it could be for an old man."

"Dad…" she sighs. Then she looks to Cas. "Promise you'll take care of him?"

"I've managed so far."

"It's a miracle," she says, and hugs him. A moment later she moves to press her lips to the top of Dean's head and squeezes his shoulder. "Dad, just promise you'll start taking better care of yourself."

"I take care of myself," he says indignantly.

"The drinking," she says pointedly. "The not-exercising. It's got to change."

"Why?" he demands as she moves back to stand with Cas. "Made it this far - might as well go out with a bang, right?"

She shakes her head, looking rueful. "No one can control you. It's hopeless. Stop buying him beer," she says firmly to Cas and then adds, "Be right back, gotta make sure they're not going to burn anything down," before disappearing through the door.

"Don't you dare stop buying me beer," says Dean as soon as she's out of the room and Cas laughs, moving to sit back down. "I'm not joking. You and beer are all I have left in life."

"Says the man who was just covered with grandchildren," counters Cas.

"Well, I suppose I have them too."

Castiel laughs again, softly, and his eyes are warm with something deep and burning.

"All these years, and you never once got bored and left?" asks Dean after a moment.

The angel cocks his head. "Why would I possibly do that?"

Dean spreads his hands. "Look at me."

Castiel considers him for a moment. "I see a soul just as bright and pure as it was the day I pulled it out of hell."

"No tarnishes?"

"Nothing a little spit can't clear up," smiles Cas.

They watch each other, tracing all the old lines they've memorized half a hundred times now.

It breaks as there's a sudden, loud crash from the general vicinity of the kitchen and both their heads swivel to look that way.

"We should probably see what that is," says Cas after a beat.

"Do we have to?"

"Come on, old man," he says, getting to his feet and holding out a hand for Dean to take. "Enjoy it while you can. It'll be gone in a heartbeat."

Which is the truest thing Dean's ever heard.

Beat.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

Sarcastically: "Oh, well, thanks for that."

Beat.

They're young and Dean's just kissed Cas for the first time, the world swirling around them as they stare in shock and silence - neither moving until Cas finally leans in and captures Dean's lips with his in a slow, burning motion.

Beat.

They're forty-five, or at least Dean is, and considering adoption - they wouldn't, except now Sam has a little boy of two and sometimes Cas catches Dean watching him with the strangest longing on his face. Cas has always been better at reading Dean than he has, and it only takes one trip to the nearest orphanage to fall in love with a three year old little girl. Her name is Trinity, and when Cas gravely asks her what sound a cow makes, she squeaks out, "RAWR," and Dean knows they have to have her.

Beat.

The second child is a baby when they get her, and they name her Mary, after Dean's mother. She has red hair, like Charlie, and blue eyes, like Cas, and Dean treats her like the fragile blossom she is. Cas accuses him of spoiling her and Trinity insists on feeding the baby whenever she can, already looking too old for her britches.

Beat.

It's Christmas, and everyone has the flu, and Dean and Cas trade off who worries the most about the children.

Beat.

It's another New Year's, and Cas and Dean are kissing madly as everyone around them cheers.

Beat.

They're getting older now, too old, and Dean complains more and time goes faster and sometimes Dean catches him looking out the window like he ready to fly out. When Dean finally confronts him about this, Cas only admits that he's scared by how fast it's going.

"It won't slow down," he says. "I just want it to all slow down. When I'm doing that, I'm just trying to lock onto as many memories as possible, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," says Dean, and when they make love, it is slow and nostalgic and whispered fears of time passing.

Beat.

Dean has cancer. Dean is dying.

Dean has had the best life he possibly could. There is not a moment he regrets - except, possibly, that he didn't realize his feelings for Castiel a hell of a lot sooner.

Time is an infinite set of heartbeats, and soon this heart will beat its last, but until that, he will continue to live life to its fullest, with his angel at his side. And maybe a beer in his hand because, hell, he deserves it.

Beat.