The sun shone in through the windows of the wide open space, revealing the specks of dust and wood that hung in the air. There were no sounds, except for the peaceful breathing of the man standing beneath the sun's rays.
Dean had woken up early today, before anyone else in town it seemed. Outside the tall glass windows, the city below stayed quiet. Not even cars sat outside, except for the black Chevy impala.
She had seen a lot in her day, but now she rested pleasantly on the asphalt, her hood polished and glistening. She only went for small drives now, to the grocery store, to Sam's house or out on a vacation to the lake a couple miles away. Her hunting days were long behind her.
Dean smiled around the rim of his coffee mug, remembering all the times he had rebuilt her with his own hands, and all the long hours and sweat lost to fixing up his beautiful baby. She had been loyal to them for so long. But now she didn't need fixing, nothing would hurt her anymore.
He reluctantly sighed and turned away from the bright morning view. He looked back at the task at hand, the one he had gotten up so early to finish. The canvas stood upon a stand, bathed in direct sunlight to reflect all the rich and beautiful colors decorating it. The rest of the white room was also adorned with similar artwork. Pieces hung on the walls, some dark with black and red strokes and others soft with light blue. Those were the colors Dean liked the best, especially the blues. There were so many shades that could be combined to create beautiful displays of emotion.
He had first started painting a few years ago, after everything had stopped. They had found a small city they could call home and had agreed to settle here. It was away from most populated areas but Dean didn't mind. He had his family, and that was all he needed.
Dean walked forward to pick up the brushes he had left to dry earlier on the cloth covering the polished wooden floors. It was covered in stains of all different colors. A giant splat of green covered most of it and Dean remembered the incident like it was yesterday.
He laughed at the memory of his sasquatch of a brother stumbling into one of the paint cans as he walked in the door. It had been quite funny to him, though not to Sam who had been dressed in his professional lawyer outfit. He had been forced to wear his old FBI suit after that in order to make it to the court on time. It was a serious case he had said and couldn't miss it.
As he started to arrange his paints and brushes as he had a thousand times before onto the small stool beside him, he smiled and sat down as the fresh smell of acrylics reached his nose. He carefully searched through his collection to find the shade he was looking for. He uncapped the tube and squeezed it onto the palette before blending it with the perfect amount of white to make a pleasant azure cerulean blue.
He dipped the tip of his brush into the pool of color and laid it upon the canvas, the first stroke. Most artists find the first stroke to be the most difficult. They feel that it is risky and that they will make a mistake. But Dean had learned that you should never fear the first stroke. Even if it seems wrong at first, one mistake with a brush can turn into a masterpiece if you let it.
The first time that Dean had accidentally splattered paint on one of his pieces had felt like a punch to the gut. With one flick of his wrist, he had sent black paint spewing onto a piece he had been working on for over a week. At first, he had felt defeated, like he would never be able to undo the damage he had done, but after he took the time to look at it, he discovered that it had not been destroyed at all. In fact, the piece looked more complete. And that had led to him throwing more black onto it, flicking it with drops of obsidian until it was streaked with a river of black beside the figure in the picture with its jaws yawning open in a gruesome and hideous image.
Most of Dean's art had been this way, dark and terrifying with a sense of the otherworldly. The costumers that Dean had had over the years had been fascinated, horrified, and awed by the subjects of his works. They whispered sometimes in the gallery when they thought he couldn't hear them. "He must be a very troubled man," they would say. And they were right.
Recently however, he had not felt a need to paint the nightmares that haunted his dreams and memories. Somehow, the images had begun to fade. The horrors of the past no longer bothered him like they used to and he felt no need to share them with the world.
He had been working on this project for several weeks now, trying to get the details just right on the large canvas. It needed to be perfect. He needed it to be perfect. This was going to be his piece for the gallery showing next month. All the critics would be there and it would be nice to get a little more money out of this hobby. But it wasn't just that, this was also a gift.
Most of the time Dean was able to bring in enough money to pay for food and the studio. Only occasionally would he ever need to ask for help and he was always welcome to stay at Sam's place. And if Sam was off at work, Sarah was always fun to be around.
Her and Sam had met a few months after they had gotten a place here. A job and a few years later, they were now happily engaged and living in a quiet house on the outskirts of town.
How funny, Dean found it now, to think that they had once believed their fate to be to die at the hands of the creatures they had hunted their whole lives. He would never have thought that they, of all people, would have a happy-ever-after, fairytale ending.
He sipped at his coffee again, the porcelain mug still warm in his hands, and breathed in the warm heavy smell it emitted. The room still echoed in silence as the sun continued to rise. He liked it that way. Occasionally he would bring in his radio and listen to some music, but sometimes he enjoyed the silence. The quiet sound of nothing: no screaming, no running, just sitting and enjoying the time that he had. It was peaceful.
He continued to paint, his strokes flying fluidly across the canvas as he arched the brush over the other shades of blue, white and red. His hand moved gracefully and light as he worked. There were no sharp or exaggerated movements, just the slide of paint against paint.
When he had first started painting, it had been this process that had attracted him. He had past by a man one day painting a landscape as he sat by the beach and Dean had been fascinated by the progress the man made by the time he had gotten up and left.
That night he had asked Sam in their hotel if he could use some of their money to get something. Sam of course had said yes. The next day he had shown up with a canvas and some paints and a brush. He was never questioned as to why he did it and he was glad because he didn't really have an answer.
Now here he sat, five years later, at the age of 42 with a brush in his hand and a smile on his face. He loved what he did. It didn't pay as much as Sam's work but he didn't care.
Creating was the best feeling in the world. After so much destruction and so much grief, he didn't think he would be able to make and fix things with his hands. His hands had been bloody, been torn to shreds and torn others to shreds, but now he had found something else to do with them.
Time flew by and Dean barely moved an inch. He never knew how long he sat and painted, he just knew that it was worth the time. The sun had moved higher up in the sky by the time he finally laid down the brush.
He stepped back. The canvas was now encompassed by a twisting figure of white and blue, the colors swirling off to the side in what looked like massive wings stretched out on either side. The lower half of the painting was dyed a deep red that also curled up to meet the glowing figure. A spark of gold was entangled in the middle, trapped between the two contrasting halves. Dean looked upon the scene with a sense of pride. He had laid down the last stroke, he had finished it.
He closed his eyes as he sat back down, the sun pouring red under his eyelids as he thought back to when this had all started. It had been the end of their old lives, and the beginning of new ones.
God had returned and banished the Darkness. God had set things right, like he should've long ago. The gates of Heaven, Hell and Purgatory were finally closed. No more demons, angels or monsters. Nothing.
It had all ended just like that. He was still bitter at God, at their life and lost childhood, but at least he had given them a chance to have a happy ending. All their sacrifice and pain had assured them a place of rest once it was all over. They had been promised paradise and now they had it, in this life and after. It was a pretty sweet deal.
It had been hard to get used to a normal life, but it wasn't nearly as hard for him as it had been for Cas. With the gates of Heaven closing, Cas was forced to make a choice; to return to Heaven and remain an angel or to stay on earth and become a human. Dean did not envy the decision that Cas had to make. It was obviously hard on him but in the end, Cas made the decision he knew his friend would make. He stayed.
He took another sip of coffee before opening his eyes. The canvas was still wet and heavy with paint. It would take a couple hours to dry and then he would cover it with a protective layer of gloss.
There was just one more thing he needed to add. He touched the brush to the canvas one more time before leaning back again. The initials D.W. glistened on the bottom right of the painting and he grinned, scratching his chin momentarily and reminding himself that he needed to shave.
He stared at the canvas until he began to hear the soft pitter patter of feet in the other room. His smile widened as another man walked through the doorway and into the golden glow of the sun. His dark hair was messy and bedridden; sticking out at all angles while his eyes focused on Dean. They were a fierce and bright blue that grabbed the attention of any walking by. They grabbed the attention of Dean in particular and he rose slowly, stretching out his muscles that were sore from sitting so long.
"Good mornin' Cas," he yawned as he walked over to the doorway.
"Good morning Dean," Cas's voice was even more gravelly than usual from sleep and his eyes although sharp were still tired. He held a mug in his hands and Dean would bet anything that it was hot chocolate.
He had learned pretty soon after Cas had turned human that that was his favorite drink. He didn't know how Cas didn't get sick of that stuff when he was chugging at least one cup every single day. Well, he could probably say the same thing about coffee…but whatever.
As he approached the ex-angel he opened up his arms and wrapped himself around the slightly smaller man, smiling down into his hair.
"Did you sleep well," he muttered before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Yes I did Dean, thank you. Although it would be easier if you didn't snore as loud."
"I do not snore."
"Yes you do."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do."
"No I don't."
"Yes you -"
"Well you're the one that married my sorry ass, so you're gonna have to deal with it."
"Touché," Cas smiled and returned the kiss before taking a long swig of his drink, maneuvering his cup around Dean's tanned and freckled forearms.
"Did you finish it?" Cas asked as he stared at the backside of the canvas.
"Yes I did," Dean smirked at him, his green eyes practically glowing in excitement.
"Am I allowed to see it now?" Cas looked up at him with those big blue eyes and Dean swore he got better at the puppy eyes every time he did it.
"Yes you can," he sighed and feigned defeat, "Does this mean I can read your book now?"
"No," Cas said quickly before untangling himself from Dean and began to walk over to the canvas.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not done yet."
He huffed as he followed Cas who had stopped and was staring wide-eyed at the painting. Dean didn't say a word as he stood beside him and slid a hand around his waist.
"Is that…" Cas's voice trailed off as he focused on the image in front of him.
"What do you think?" Dean watched Castiel as he turned to look at him with wonder in his eyes.
"Is that me? Did you paint me…and you?"
"Ya. I did," he chuckled at Cas's outright awe of his work.
They stood there in silence for a few minutes as Cas admired the piece. Dean's eyes were locked onto Castiel as he soaked in all of the man's features: his eyes, his hair, the dark stubble that had grown on his cheeks. He continued to smile until he noticed that Cas's face had gone cold, his jaw tightening and his gaze going watery.
"What's wrong?" Dean turned and placed a hand on Cas's shoulder.
Cas was quiet before he finally met Dean's gaze. His voice was soft and small, not at all like the warrior he used to be.
"You know I'm not an angel anymore Dean. I can never be that again." He dropped his eyes to stare at the floor with Dean's hand still on his shoulder.
"I can never heal you if you or Sam are hurt or worse…and I can never return to Heaven," his voice dropped even lower as he raised his mug to drink.
"Hey…hey," Dean's voice went soft as he rubbed his hand down Cas's arm, "That's not all true."
"What do you mean?" Cas looked back at him in confusion.
"God swapped your grace for a soul didn't he? You're human now Cas and that means…" Dean swallowed and cleared his throat. "Humans die Cas…"
A quiet "I know" echoed in the room before Dean continued.
"So once we've lived our merry little lives… we'll go to Heaven Cas…that means you can go back, eventually. It might be a while, but you'll get there. And me and Sam and Sarah, we'll be there with you."
Dean wrapped Cas in another warm embrace, breathing in the smell of his messy hair and tanned skin.
"It's beautiful Dean, thank you."
They stay like that for a few moments, merely enjoying the others presence and the comfort they bring before Cas spoke up.
"I made breakfast if you want some. I assume you haven't eaten this morning," Cas whispered in his ear.
"Nope."
"Idiot," Cas sighed before letting go and turning back to the door. Dean just stood and looked around at the room for a moment longer.
All of the art that hangs on the wall, it all tells a story. He can tell by just looking at them, how long ago he had finished them. The darkest ones had been during the first few months, when he still worried about the monsters in the night. But as he looked at them now he saw the progression. Each painting was a little lighter than the last, growing brighter and brighter until his eyes fell on the painting in front of him.
It was the brightest and in his opinion the most beautiful. It was a struggle between dark and light as they fought to drag humanity into their own plans. But neither could've planned for what actually happened. Cas would have never known that Dean, the Righteous Man, would stop the apocalypse. He could've never predicted that he would in the end fall for that man in more ways than one. It reminded him again that free will was a gift, one that should be cherished. Cas chose Dean and Dean chose him. And they had been free to make that choice.
Dean looked up again to see Cas staring fondly at him from the doorway.
"Coming!" he called as he hurried to catch up to Castiel who was already heading down the hall.
He smiled to himself again as he ran after the man he loved. Yes, he loved Castiel. He loved him oh so dearly. And now Sam had someone that he loved too. They were all happily married men, something that Dean would never have thought possible. But it happened. There were no more monsters to hunt, no more apocalypses to stop, it was just them.
They were free. Free from hunting and free from grief. Death had lost its sting now that they knew they would all see each other again. They were free.
Cas was waiting patiently when Dean finally arrived in the main room. It was small but decent with a dining table and room for a TV. Dean stared at Cas, who'd abandoned his mug on the table and was lounging lazily on the couch. His grinned widened as he approached him with a devious look in his eyes.
"Dean what are you?-"
Cas's question was cut off with a shriek of laughter as Dean practically jumped on top of him and began to tickle him relentlessly.
"Stop! Stop!" he began to swat at Dean's hands as he finally pulled away.
"What? I like it when you laugh."
They both start to giggle uncontrollably as Dean poked at Cas some more before finally laying down next to him. The couch is not very large but Dean pulls Castiel in closer so that their legs tangle together and all he can see is Cas's face.
They take their time to catch their breaths before Dean leans in and presses his lips against Castiel's. It is soft and quick before he moves to trail kisses down Cas's jawline, the rough stubble rubbing against his lips.
"Breakfast is going to get cold," Cas said as he leaned back to expose his neck.
"It can wait," Dean sucked harder at the soft flesh as he traveled down, nipping and teasing with his tongue. Cas squirmed from under him and reached to trail his hands across Dean's lower back. Dean traveled back up again and this time he trapped them both in a firm kiss. He breathes in the sweet smell and taste of Cas as he moves, curling his fingers in his soft hair.
Then he stopped abruptly, moving away to simply stare at Cas, who's brows pinched together in confusion.
"Why did you stop?"
"I thought you wanted breakfast," Dean smirked as he toyed with the dark curls at the back of Cas's neck. Cas paused a moment, squinting his eyes to scrutinize Dean before placing a hand on the back of his neck.
"It can wait," he growled as he dragged Dean back down for another long kiss. This one lasts longer and when they finally come apart, they are both panting heavily. Then they simply rest together, with green and blue eyes gazing into one another. Dean slid his hand over Cas's cheek, slowly caressing the stubble with his thumb.
"Can I tell you something Cas?"
"Anything."
Dean sighed as he kept his eyes locked on Cas.
"To me, you will always be an angel. You'll always be my angel. You don't need your mojo or your wings or halo. You've saved me Cas, so many times, without your powers. Your my guardian angel. The best there is."
Cas smiled as he averted his gaze, but that didn't stop the cute crinkles around his eyes from being the happiest Dean had ever seen them.
"Thank you," he muttered.
"No. Thank you Cas. Besides Sam, you are the only other person I can fully trust," he paused before adding, "I'm not so sure about Sarah."
Cas laughed at that, "Don't let her hear you, she'd kick your ass."
"I know," Dean smiled brightly.
And then they were lost in each other again. Lazily kissing each other as the sun rose to early noon. And now the town was alive, cars driving below as the pair of them tangled themselves on the soft couch.
"You know I need to write today," Cas said in between a breathless kiss.
"Fine." Dean sighed and straightened up on the couch, reluctantly breaking away from Castiel.
But as they got up to finally go have breakfast, Dean caught Castiel's wrists and drew him back in.
"Yes Dean, what is it?"
He looked up with wide expectant eyes as Dean struggled to form words. The words weren't hard to say, he just wasn't used to them. It was something he still had to get used to.
"Cas, I love you."
A wide smile spread on the angel's face, softening his usually stony expression as his eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth quirked upward.
"I love you too Dean."
And with that they went and ate their breakfast. It was a normal, average summer day. The sun was glowing brightly and birds were chirping in their morning song. Dean had never had time to know what normal was before this, but now he knew. And the simplicity of it calmed him. He looked outside and over at his husband who had a forkful of eggs in his mouth. This was his life now and he wouldn't have it any other way. The hardships of his old life were long behind him. With this, he could start anew.
He would never forget what happened in the past, but now he could at least acknowledge that he had a future. They all had a future now. And that made him happy.
For the first time in a long while, he knew he could stay happy. There was nothing stopping him. And it was perfect.
Everything was perfect.