Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and even the plot was inspired by two things; next week's preview and an image on DA, neither of which I own.
Warnings!: Dean is very old here and this is slash, put two and two together :)
Today was a momentous day: Dean Winchester's 90th birthday. Retired from being a hunter for the past thirty years, widowed for the past ten, he wanted nothing more then to escape the chorus of 'Happy birthday!'s and stiff pats on the back that he hated to admit were literally knocking the wind out of him. He made an excuse along the lines of needing to nap for the next week, hoping he won't wake ever again, to escape the surprise party Sam had whipped up.
His first stop was Bobby's grave. He tipped the taxi driver for helping him take out his fold-up chair and staggered on towards far end of the cemetery and took out a bottle of Bourbon, drinking his fill before pouring the rest over the lush overgrow of grass. "Cheers Bobby." Dean signed, blinking in an attempt to remember just what the man had looked like six decades before and smirked to himself when a clear as day memory struck him.
"Heh, those were good times… crap I really have turned into an old coot." He paused. "Yeah, yeah, I'm still a pre-Madonna bitch, get used to it." He pat the stone affectionately and slowly got to his feet, using his cane as leverage and cringing when audible cricks and cracks popped from all of his joints.
"I'm bored." He grumbled to no one in particular. Taking out his iPhone X and adjusting his glasses, he decided to check out the HCN website, he was ninety-fucking-years-old for God's sake, he was allowed to take one last case.
Scrolling down the 'minor jobs' section of the site, he found just what he was looking for. "Aggressive haunting in old folk's home, heh, fitting."
-0-0-0-
The ghost was just a little more aggressive then Dean had anticipated; sending him flying across the room a good three times before he managed to stab it with an iron crowbar. Eventually taking them to the playroom.
"I still got it." He smirked toothily, suddenly noticing the elderly crowd admix their orderly.
"Uh… hi, I-um… think I'm going to look for a less poltergeist-y retirement home. Thanks though." He nodded at the gaping crowd, winking at a sixty-something year old woman who smiled chastely his way.
"Oh yeah, still got it." Dean clicked his tongue twice and walked out of the building with an extra bounce in his step.
-0-0-0-
Dean had taken a pit stop at a nearby café, sipping an orange flavored espresso gingerly, occasionally pausing to leer at a band of teenagers who were whispering under their breath and bursting out laughing every time they glanced his way. For the life of him, he didn't know why.
His musings were interrupted when he heard a flutter of wings.
"Hello Dean." The elderly man chocked and sputtered, spitting out his drink ungracefully all over the table and succeeding in drawing more laughter from the little punks two tables away.
"Cas! Cas!" He stood from his chair and embraced the angel in a tight hug. "How are you? Jesus, how long has it been- twenty years, forty?"
" I've been busy." Rather then get annoyed, Dean laughed and patted Castiel's shoulder.
"You haven't changed. Awesome. What brings you here?" Castiel kept Jimmy as a vessel and to Dean's begrudging silence, hadn't aged a damn day.
"I…" Was all the angel managed so Dean pushed him aside, cheerily going 'Scoot over' and sitting beside the him.
"Well? Spit it out." The only bite the statement held was mildly amused annoyance.
"I wanted to wish you a happy birthday." At that, Dean's expression went blank, glasses sliding down his nose as the silence drew out agonizingly.
When finally, he laughed. "Oh-ho-ho-hooo… Aha… thanks Cas', really. Best birthday greeting all day."
Castiel shifted slightly, likely put off by the overly happy state of his friend. "I don't understand, even we angels celebrate birthdays with much joy, why are you implying you had bad greetings?"
Dean waved him off and grabbed his espresso. "It's a human thing, aging ain't fun once you turn sixty." The angel tilted his head somewhat but didn't press the matter.
They made small talk, catching up on the forty some decades they hadn't seen each other in.
"You hunted a ghost? Are you hurt?" Castiel asked when Dean recited his earlier adventure.
"Naahh, just a few bruises, maybe a dislocated hip, nothing I can't handle." Out of nowhere, Castiel touched his forehead and he felt the familiar insta-healing warmth coursing through his body.
"The hip thing was a joke but thanks, come to think of it, I should have just called you ages ago rather then take that crap they try to pass off as painkillers." Dean thanked as he enjoyed the sense of well being for the first time in years by rotating his arm and wiggling his toes.
He ordered a second cup along with a tall mocha for Castiel, taking in the calming scent of citrus and coco and closing his eyes.
"So what are you really here for?"
"There have been rumors… Dean, I apologize I haven't visited, it's just that-"
"Heheh, don't sweat it Cas', I'm over the whole 'get your ass here' thing, been over it ever since the Crowley incident. You're here now and it's cool. So, you were saying?"
"Let's take this somewhere more private." He politely waited for Dean to grab both mugs and leave change for the bill before he teleported them to a misty field that Dean didn't recognize.
"Your time is near and the angels whisper that you may get a… special promotion in your passing."
"Ah… let me think a moment," Dean scratched his scalp, noticing for the first time that he was covered in scurf. "Aw balls, why didn't you tell me I was covered in ghost dust?"
"Dean… this is important. Has Death come to you once more or not?" The former hunter took a sip of the mocha, cursing himself silently for not ordering that instead of a second orange espresso.
"Yeah… he did."
"Are you going to accept?"
"A little straight-forward, aren't ya?" But one look at Castiel's nearly emotional expression, Dean shrugged and hunched his shoulders in defeat.
"I'm considering it."
"It's a great responsibility."
"You think I don't know that? The dude's been Death since death began, I'm pretty sure I know what I'm getting into if I accept." Dean decided then that the visit wasn't so great anymore and nearly finished Castiel's drink in one gulp, tossing the glass mug carelessly into the grass.
"Listen Cas', Death came to me a few months ago and since I ain't dead yet, I was hoping to have just a few more weeks of pretending I'm normal- that I'm me."
"You are accepting." It wasn't a question but a statement.
"Yeah." Castiel shifted a little and turned away, looking rather defeated and it reminded Dean of the times when he saw the angel facing unpleasant dilemmas.
"I had been hoping-"
"Don't even finish that. I don't know about you, but the idea of going either downstairs or upstairs isn't much of an appealing one to me." Castiel nodded slowly, focusing his gaze on the ground before reluctantly facing him again.
Dean was about to say something when his personal space was invaded, hands cupped his face and lips pressed against his. Naturally, his eyes grew wide, but the shock of the contact had rendered him paralyzed. Over the years he had guessed that Castiel had some sort of crush on him but he never expected the angel to act on those feelings. The kiss lingered and he eventually regained movement and pulled away slowly.
"Uh…" The hands were still at both sides of his face and Castiel had opened his eyes partway. 'What the hell.' Dean thought and leaned in for a second kiss. It was far more heated then he would have liked, but it wasn't bad either, for someone who had only kissed a handful of people in his existence, Castiel was bloody good at it. When a tongue flickered over his lips and against his dentures though, Dean pulled away again.
"Okay buddy, getting a little too R-rated." Dean said a little breathlessly. "Man, where's Viagra when I need it?" Cue the head tilt. "Joke Cas', I don't want to move my death date to today, sex with you will probably give me a stroke before there even IS a stroking involved…" He smiled awkwardly; feeling his face heat up at the intense gaze the angel was giving him.
"Dean I-" The silver-haired man shook his head, cutting him off once again. "You don't need to say it. I'm going to miss you too and hey- it's not like we won't see each other ever." He lowered Castiel's hands gently, squeezing them a little before letting go entirely.
"You might change."
"I doubt I will. Not much, anyway." Dean's toothy grin did nothing to dampen the worry Castiel radiated.
"Seriously, don't worry about it. I'm here now, aren't I?" Finally, Castiel nodded.
"What do you say we go to a strip joint, for old time's sake?"
"I'm busy…"
"And I probably have Sammy calling in the army," Dean laughed. "Come on, we may have changed, but the ladies haven't." He wiggled his ashen eyebrows and smirked at the look Castiel gave him.
"Alright."
Another flutter of wings and the duo was gone. The two mugs lay forgotten and spilled on the soil as the fog rolled over them and left behind microscopic droplets of fine dew.
-0-0-0-
A century later, an elderly man appeared out of thin air in the exact same spot. Not much had changed and he found the mugs still there, seemingly in the same condition they had been left in.
The old man chuckled and poked one with his cane.
"Castiel, you little bastard. How come you never told me this was Eden?"
Behind Death, a flutter of wings shuffled and he turned to smile at the angel.
"Once every hundred years sound good for steady dating?" He joked, and Castiel smiled warmly, happy to find that Dean Winchester was still Dean Winchester.