When the time comes for Dean to die — again, and finally — he knows because Cas is there. Cas, in a trenchcoat so familiar he has to blink back tears, standing beside a '67 Impala with Kansas plates.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean knows without asking that he did not make it out of that hunt alive. The details are fuzzy, distant. The details are irrelevant.
He walks towards his old friend, slowly. In the end, not even he can run into the arms of death — even those arms. Cas doesn't move, both feet planted on the loose gravel beside the blacktop, but he waits with the hint of a smile on his face.
"Are you my Reaper, Cas?"
"If it gives you comfort to see it that way." The words are an echo of darker times, but the eyes that meet Dean's are warm and bright. He takes the last few steps and throws himself into his friend's embrace.
"I'm glad to see you, Cas."
The angel holds on, his fingers digging into the leather of Dean's jacket. "Even under the circumstances?"
Dean pulls away. He rests a hand on the glossy black rooftop of the Impala. "I'd say this was damn near Best Case Scenario."
"I'm happy you see it that way, Dean. I've missed you, as well."
Dean circles behind the car and opens the driver's side door. "Can you… Do I go on alone from here?"
His voice is steady, but for the first time, he feels a tremor of fear.
"Only if you wish to, Dean. This is your Heaven. It will include only what you want it to."
"Baby's here. And you're here."
"I'm here."
"And you can stay?"
Cas nods. "I can stay."
Dean fights to control the emotions that flood through him, his cheeks warming and heat pricking behind his eyes. "Yeah. That'd be great, Cas."
Cas opens his hand and tosses a shiny silver key to Dean, then climbs into the passenger seat. Dean slides behind the wheel and slips the key into the ignition.
Dean leans over and turns the dial on the radio, looking for a station. He discovers music and vivid memories will play from any frequency.
"Awesome." He says it with no small amount of reverence.
Cas reaches out a hand and clasps Dean's shoulder. He ducks his chin and whispers, conspiratorially, "You were in my Heaven, as well."
When their eyes meet, they speak the same silent language they always had.
"Yeah," Dean answers, his fingers drumming on the wheel. He switches on the headlamps and his foot finds the gas pedal. "But did you have AC/DC?"
They surge forward onto the deserted highway.