See You Soon (Alternative Ending to Twist and Shout)

by TurtlyCool

All credits go to the original authors of the fanfiction Twist and Shout. Takes place after Twist and Shout. Dean struggles to overcome his grief over the loss of Castiel. My friend and I were simply left heartbroken over the ending and decided to take the matter into our own hands. Please read lightly and feel free to comment. This is a step in healing.

May, 1983

Dear Cas,

I saw you again. We were at the beach—our beach. We walked along the shoreline without saying a word. And, I remember I couldn't hold your hands because you carried a handful of shells in each one. You walked admiring them and I followed, admiring you.

We ended up sitting down. Our feet buried in the sand. You set down the shells and looked at me. But, as I tried my best to focus on you, you began to change in front of my eyes. You said you loved me and I smiled. But, before I could utter a word, your face shifted. Every feature on that pretty face of yours changed. The scariest part was I began to grow uncertain of which feature was wrong.

I looked down for a moment, and when my eyes returned to where you were, all I saw were the shells. You were gone.

Before I woke, I swore I heard you whisper, "Say you love me."

I love you.

—

Dean shut his leather journal and tied the straps around it tightly. He tucked it under his pillow as he did whenever he was finished with writing a letter to his late beloved.

He quickly dressed and began his daily walk to Bobby's. He walked with his eyes down and his hands in his jacket pockets. His mind wandered to the dream he had the night before. With each night, the details of his recurring dream grew fuzzier and fuzzier. Details slipped through his hands like sand. He could no longer taste the saltiness of the ocean air or remember the chill that filled him when the cold breeze brushed his skin. But, that didn't matter to him. As long as he remembered Cas' face all was fine.

But, last night, his face faded too.

Dean attempted to forget it all, but the fear clung onto him as it fed off his anxiety. It hid in the back of his mind. How could he forget Cas' face. It was impossible. A face like his? A love like theirs? Cas' image was bound to be burned in his mind with a permanence as if it was etched into stone.

But, how could he forget that stone could erode.

He ended his mundane day in a larger pit than he had waken up in. This time he had really dug himself in a hole. It only got worse when he looked at his remaining photos of Cas.

"See you then," Dean repeated Cas' words with glossy eyes. He laughed humorlessly as he traced the image of Cas in his words that he had once held onto so tightly like a prayer had now wounded him with their shattered promises.

He took another sip from the bottle beside him, savoring the liquid as it burned his throat. However, it wasn't enough for him, so he drank more, gulping down the last of the whiskey as if it was water. When he finished, he threw the bottle across the living room of his apartment. It shattered and figments of glass flew across the floor.

A groan left his lips as he realized what he had done. "I'll…clean that…morning…" he grumbled as he rose from the couch and walked to his bedroom. He walked with his hand pressing his favorite image of Cas right against his chest, right where his beating heart lied.

"Dean."

Dean felt himself being shaken. He grumbled deliriously for whoever was doing so to go away and shut his eyes tighter.

"Dean, get up, man. Come on!" This time, Dean was able to recognize one of his favorite voices in the whole world: Sam.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, flipping over to face his brother. He squinted as he looked up, the sunlight poured in from the window and lit up the room with an intense, bright golden light. It was way too bright for the soft morning light. "Oh shit, what time is it?"

Sam gave Dean an unamused look. "2 p.m."

"Well, fuck," Dean calmly remarked and buried his head in his pillow.

Sam rolled his eyes and revealed, "Bobby says this is the fifth time in a month you haven't shown up. He called me to investigate if you're still alive."

"It's the fourth. Bobby exaggerates," Dean grumbled as he sat up.

"Like that makes it any better?" Sam interjected, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What happened, Dean? What happened? You were doing so well. So well. Now you're—just—look at you, Dean!"

Dean looked at his brother, stunned at the sudden anger. Sam's face was twisted with conflicting emotions of hurt, anger, and worry. "Sammy…I don't know what to tell you. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Sam repeated, practically shouting. A humorless chuckle left his lips as he shook his head and yelled, "Dean, you said that last time. And, the time before that. It's a fucking pattern with you."

Dean winced as he saw Sam's skin begin to turn red as he continued to yell. "Look, I know I fuck up a lot, Sam, but…"

Dean's words trailed off as he stared at Sam's pained face. They stared at each other for a minute or two, but it seemed longer as they studied each other's expression. Sam's face was scrunched in sadness and desperate sorrow, his veins showing from his forehead. Dean stared back with a mask of torture and regret, a face that matched all that he had ever felt for the past three years.

Sam looked away flustered and at a loss for words. "Just take a shower. You reek of alcohol. I'll wait in the living room," he said before he walked to the bedroom door.

"Sammy—I—" Sam closed the door, cutting Dean off with a gentle thud.

"—I'm sorry…" he finished.

In the shower, Dean let the warm water slide down his back as he just stood staring straight at the white tile of the shower in front of him. It took him a good five minutes to work up the energy to reach for the shampoo to wash his hair, and another five minutes for him to rinse it off. Five minutes, soap, five minutes, rinse, oh how the pattern continued.

His mind was blank. Blank for the first time in months. It wasn't until three minutes in of him blankly staring at his reflection did he finally think. He couldn't make out the man staring back at him in the reflection of the foggy mirror.

He wiped his hand across the mirror where his eyes were and met sunken, dull green eyes. He wiped more and saw hollowed cheeks. He wiped again and exposed a rugged, unruly beard. A defeated man stared vacantly back at Dean. Shadows danced on his face, even in the fully lit bathroom.

A sigh escaped his lips as he reached for his razor.

Dean walked into the living room only to be stopped short at the sight of his floor being covered in fragments of brown glass. A shock fell over him as he saw how far the glass had spread. The fragments were nearly everywhere.

Sam sat on the couch with his head in hands.

"Sam?" Dean asked, his voice sounding unusually small. Sam looked up. His eyes were red and his cheeks puffy. Dean could make out moisture glistening on one cheek. "Sammy…"

Sam wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and stood up. "You shaved."

"Yeah."

Sam sniffled as he looked around the room. Dean's eyes never left Sam. "You really did a number last night, didn't you? How many bottles did you break?"

"Just one," Dean answered. "I'm going to clean this. Don't worry."

Sam met Dean's eyes with a small frown."This is currently the least of my worries."

"Sammy, come on, don't give me that shit," Dean pleaded. "I'm fine, okay? Like you said, it's a pattern. Good times come with bad."

Sam narrowed his eyes in disbelief and gestured to the glass on the floor. "Are you kidding me? You can't keep this up."

"You need to stop worrying about me. You have Jess and Abby to worry about." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Then give me a reason not to worry, Dean!"

"I told you. I'm f—"

"Cut the shit. You'd say you're fine if your left arm was hanging off your body by a thread."

Dean couldn't keep a straight face. "I would be. It's still attached, right?"

Sam shook his head in disbelief with the corners of his lips turned upward, giving away his amusement. The two could never stay mad at each other for long. Sam sighed and told Dean, "I'll help you clean up the glass. Then, we're going to get something to eat."

"Man, the dad life has sure made you bossy," Dean teased.

"Stop screwing around, Dean, and go get a bag."

Dean inspected the ground as Sam swept glass into piles. They worked in silence. Dean felt the sadness he felt for the past couple of months slowly settle over him again. It had been nice to joke and play around with Sam a moment ago, but it was as if it was impossible for him to maintain that good humor for long. A dark cloud was always waiting behind him, waiting to envelop as soon as the last remnant of joy left.

Dean wasn't paying attention he picked up glass, entering a sort of mindless state as he had in the shower. It wasn't long before he pricked his finger on the edge of a shard of glass and jerked backwards in shock as he felt the sting. "Fuck."

"Dean?"

He brought his finger up to his face and saw that he had a rather large, but bearable cut. Blood began to pulse out. "I cut my finger, Sam. I'm fine.

"There you go again with 'I'm fine.' Come here. Let me make sure it's fine."

Dean walked to Sam with an amused smirk "See it's nothing. Just a little prick. Stop being a drama queen and go get me a bandaid."

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned the broom against the wall in front of them. "Fine. Are they in the bathroom?"

Dean nodded with his finger in his mouth. Sam nodded and walked away.

In that brief moment, Dean saw a flash in front of him. He looked straight up. In front of him was the mirror Jess had bought as a gift claiming it would make the room look larger. The flash came again, the light was so strong it made Dean look away.

When it faded, he returned his eyes to the mirror and gasped. There, standing behind his reflection, stood the man who had plagued his dreams every night. Glasses, blue eyes, dark hair, beautiful smile, and button up shirt. Castiel. Cas. Behind him, shadows fell on the wall behind them, perfectly forming wings that seemed to sprout out of his back.

Dean quickly turned around, but there was nothing behind him. He turned back around to the mirror and Castiel was there again. "Cas."

"Dean," Dean swore he heard Cas whisper. And, as soon as he heard his name spoken, the image of his love disappeared, the wings the last part of him to go. Dean was left staring in the mirror, pale and wide eyed.

Sam walked back in a second later and let out a snort."You look like you saw a ghost."

Dean turned to look at Sam, his eyes still wide. "I saw him. I saw Cas!"

"Dean…" Sam said softly. Dean hadn't lost enough blood to be imagining things.

"No, Sam, I did. I really did. I'm not being stupid or anything," he asserted.

"Give me your finger. I'll put the bandaid on." Sam ignored him and opened the bandaid. Dean brought his finger to him and Sam carefully applied the bandage. His brows were furrowed as he met Dean's eyes again, struggling to come up with the right words to tell Dean.

"Sammy…I saw him," Dean said with intense conviction, the kind of conviction that assured Sam that this wasn't going to be an easy topic to dispute.

For the first time in a while, Dean's eyes were animated, the green twinkling a bit as his eyes watered from the shock. He knew what he had saw. Castiel, healthy and hearty, met his eyes in the mirror. Oh, how Dean missed those light blue eyes that had given him hope all those nights long ago or that soothing smile that assured him that life couldn't be that bad if someone like Cas was around.

Yet, what stole Dean's breath was the shadow wings behind his Cas. They had been long, sprouting from Castiel's back, and tall. Dean saw the hints of feathers near the edge of the shadow, but he was uncertain. After all, he didn't have the time to look longer. The image of Cas had left as soon as it had appeared. Cas as an angel seemed nothing short of correct to Dean.

"I think we should probably go eat now," Sam stated, patting Dean on the shoulder a couple times in comfort.

Dean nodded, his eyes looking past Sam, and back to the mirror behind him where just moments ago Dean had felt the hope Cas gave him on that summer night at the beach long ago, slowly but surely overtake his body, parting the clouds and paving a path for the sun to rise in Dean's constant midnight.

"I swore I saw him. I'm not kidding, Sam. You know me. I wouldn't say shit like this unless it was true," Dean said.

Sam, who had heard the whole car ride to the diner about Cas in the mirror, nodded, more to humor his grieving brother than out of actual belief. "I trust you. I do, but Dean, c'mon…you got to admit this is a bit…unrealistic."

"Well, it's got me stupidfied. That's for sure," Dean mumbled.

Sam rose an eyebrow. "Stupefied, you mean."

"See case in point," Dean grinned.

The waitress walked up to the brothers. She smiled brightly, her whole face lighting up as she did. Her dark eyes alternated between Sam and Dean as she said, "Good afternoon. What can I get for you boys?"

"I'll take the bacon cheeseburger and the apple pie with a coke, please" Dean said without missing a beat.

Sam looked at him with a cocked brow. "I'll take the same."

The waitress nodded cheerily. "Great. I'll bring the drink right now."

"Thank you."

As soon as she walked away, Dean returned back to the topic. "So, do you believe me or not?"

"To be honest, no. Not at all," Sam said, smiling with his lips closed.

The waitress brought back their cokes. Dean took his and said, "Well you should," before taking a sip.

Sam stared at him. "Dean, let me just get you to understand how you sound right now. Pretend it wasn't Cas, okay? Say it was some random dead person…like uh…"

Dean took a break from drinking to say, "John Lennon."

"Okay, yeah. Say I come to you and say I looked in the mirror and saw John Lennon was behind me with wings."

Dean chuckled. "I'd think you were drunk out of your mind. Lennon was far from a saint."

"See."

"But, it's different. It's Cas."

Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Dean, I know it's been rough since he died, but I—"

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam."No, Sammy, no. We're not doing this right now," he interjected.

"Then, when? Huh, Dean? Did you already forget I woke you up at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday? Which, the night before you had drunk yourself to sleep and broke a bottle on the floor?" Sam challenged, his voice taut. He met Dean's glare with no fear in his eyes.

"We were having such a good time. Why are you ruining it?" Dean's voice was low as if warning Sam that the issue, if he continued to pursue it, would only end up in another argument. That's all they seemed to do lately when Sam came to check on Dean or Dean drove to Sam's house. They'd be just fine until the topic of Cas or Dean's coping was pressed. They had just enough force to burst the gates of hell open.

Sam sighed, backing down slightly. Dean's face was stone hard, but his eyes were pained. Sam would have to save it for later. "I'm not trying to fight you. I just—"

"I know you're not, Sammy," Dean reassured him. "It's just hard…and it just got ten times harder after that whole mirror thing."

"It'll get better. You just need time and to let yourself fully immerse into life. Every time you find yourself about to be okay and settled, you get scared and go back to this."

Sam had no clue though. He had no clue how Dean welcomed the pain. It destroyed his life, but it was a lifeline to Cas. The pain kept the love alive. He was heartbroken, but at least he felt something. He had read all those How-To-Deal-With-Bereavement books Sam had bought in an attempt to help him. Hell, he even read some of them twice. It was just a bunch of bullshit.

All those times he felt he was near moving on, he entered a stage of numbness where there was nothing for him to fear. He'd go weeks without dreaming of Cas or writing a daily letter. Sometimes Cas would never enter his mind. He'd forget Cas.

He couldn't live like that. Moving on was bullshit. He feared forgetting Cas. And, forgetting Cas to him seemed like the only way he would be able move on. So, he welcomed the pain, he kissed the knuckles right before they stroke his face, because broken and battered, he still knew of the love his life. All he wanted was to keep Cas alive anyway he could, and the memories seemed to be his only way.

All Dean could mutter was, "I can't help it, Sam." He couldn't begin to explain his rationale to his brother, for that would require Dean understanding it himself.

"I know."

Sam and Dean finished up cleaning the glass in record time. Dean was reluctant to finish for he knew that Sam had been preparing a lecture since they got home. Sam's eyes occasionally flickered to Dean ever since the ride home, a small sigh usually followed.

"Dean, I think we should talk," Sam finally said, his voice was level.

"If we must…" Dean sighed and flopped himself on the couch. Sam walked around to sit beside him, slowly lowering himself down and meeting Dean's eyes with a cautious stare.

"Look, Dean, maybe we should get you to see someone," Sam suggested rather softly. Dean raised an eyebrow and stifled the urge to get angry at the suggestion. It was just Sammy, he reminded himself. And, Sammy genuinely cared that was it. Dean knew that he hadn't given Sam any other choice but to suggest this. Sam felt helpless.

"Like a shrink?" Dean huffed.

"A psychologist, therapist, or something…it doesn't matter just someone who can help you through this. You can't go on like this, Dean."

"So you'd rather I get hot pins in my eyes then—"

Sam chuckled. "They don't perform lobotomies anymore."

"Yeah, well, whatever, not gonna happen, Sammy. Do you want a drink," Dean dismissed him and got up.

"Dean, come on, sit down."

He looked at Sammy, huffed, and plopped himself back down. "Sammy, who are we kidding, this is how I'll be for the rest of my life. We've been going back and forth all day, but you know that it's hopeless, and so do I. It's best for us to just let it be then start seeking expensive charlatans."

"The charlatans help people, you know."

"Yeah, well for what I have, they can't," Dean muttered and then shifted uncomfortably. He didn't enjoy bringing Sam pain and worry, but he couldn't help it. He wanted nothing more than for this to all disappear, but it was here, all that he's become was right in front of Sam's face and he begged that he'd just look away. Dean had made a home in the darkness and had no desire to uproot himself. Not all messes had to be cleaned. "Can we just drop the subject?"

Sam studied Dean's face for a minute in silence, his hazel eyes glancing over Dean's wrinkled forehead and furrowed brows, sliding down to his hollowed cheeks and dark under eye circles. Then, he met Dean's desperate stare and let out a sigh, a soft sound conveying such an arduous struggle of anguish. Dean wasn't going to break through, not tonight. "Fine. Just for today, but you have to promise you'll start taking care of yourself again. No more looking homeless and sleeping in on work days."

"Deal," Dean smiled, his eyes crinkling as his whole face lit up as he added, "Aw, Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that."

Sam cracked a smile and shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah, yeah."

The two made small talk and reminisced back on simpler times until the sun began to set, subtly hinting that night would fall on them soon. Sam offered for Dean to stay at his house for some comfort, but Dean assure him he'd be fine alone and that he'd make it into work tomorrow—on time. Sam clung onto the open promise tightly, wanting nothing more than to believe Dean would finally wake up from his haze and break through, but he knew better. Still, he nodded his head slowly at Dean, gave him a hug, and told him he'd call tomorrow.

As Dean watched Sam reluctantly walk away, he felt the dark cloud slowly drift back to him, taking its time till it was close enough to envelop him all at once. He looked around his apartment and wondered how even with all the furniture he managed to fit in the small space, it could still appear so vacant and empty, as if there was nothing there at all. He had never felt so unwelcome in his own home.

He looked in the mirror one time before he went to his bedroom for the night, desperately wanting for the same image of Cas he saw this afternoon to reappear and shake him from this broken life. But, all he could see was himself standing alone, expecting a miracle and receiving nothing but a cruel reminder of reality.

Dean was running. Running as fast as he ever had. He was running, not away, but forward. He dodged branches and jumped over roots as he sprinted through a dense forest and towards the luminous pale white glow straight ahead. With each step, the light grew brighter and brighter in front of him. He was being pulled in like a moth to a flame.

It didn't take long before he was blinded by the light. He stopped shortly and fell to the ground, exhausted from the run. He let his torso lie on the ground and closed his eyes to protect them from the intense light. It was so bright that Dean saw pink when he closed his eyelids rather than darkness.

He let himself lie down, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. The forest floor beneath him was cold, the slightly saturated dirt moistened his shirt. He felt at peace and he knew that it was a safe place to whisper, "Cas."

A minute later, he felt his head being picked up, only to be elevated on a firm and unusual surface. It felt like a lap. Dean's eyes shot open and he saw his favorite pair of eyes looking back down at him in all their azure wonder.

"Cas..." Dean breathed, his eyes open in wonder and admiration.

Cas smiled down at him and traced his jawline with a finger. "Hello."

"You're here?"

Cas smiled sadly and shook his head. "No, darling, you're having a dream. Our time is brief, you're starting to wake."

"Cas, stay. Stay with me," Dean whispered huskily with tears beginning to gather in his eyes. "Nothing—nothing is the same without you, Cas."

"Let me go, Dean. It only hurts you more," Cas replied softly, leaning down to kiss Dean's forehead.

Dean closed his eyes to savor the feeling of Cas' lips on his skin and to his relief, Cas was still looking down at him when he opened them a moment later. "I can't, Cas. I need you. I love you."

"Forgetting and moving on are two different things, Dean."

Dean disregarded what Cas said. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Say you love me too."

"I loved you. You know I did," Cas replied, his finger now slowly traced the outline of Dean's lips. The word loved circled around Dean's mind and suffocated him. Loved. Past tense.

The light surrounding them suddenly got brighter and Cas frowned. "You're waking up. See you, Dean."

Dean sat up from Cas' lap. "No. No! Don't leave me, Cas!"

He went to grab Cas, to wrap his arms around his fleeting love, but he fell straight through the transparent Cas and onto the ground behind him. He sat up and was left defenseless as he watched Cas fade away right in front of eyes.

Dean shot straight up in bed. He reached under his pillow and grabbed his journal. His fingers fumbled to find the switch on the lamp beside him. As soon as he found a pen, he was writing. His writing was messy due to his rush, but he didn't care. He wanted the letter all down on paper, he wanted to capture everything about his dream. It had left him feeling emptier by the minute as he recalled all the words Cas had shared.

I loved you, he had said. You know I did.

Dean was not prepared for the words to be spoken in the past tense. It seemed so final to him—so definite in their finality.

He spent the rest of the morning in a mindless routine. Shower, get dressed, breakfast, and drive to work. Bobby hadn't told Dean anything about not showing up to work the previous day, he only nodded to Dean briefly.

Dean spent the day up in his head, rethinking and reliving the dream he had last night. He played it back over and over, dissecting and evaluating every single detail.

The day crept on slowly. When the sun finally began to set, Dean was relieved and began the long trek home.

He took the long way home on his bike. He savored the feeling of the fresh air blowing across his face as he fought the flustered blush that flamed his cheeks whenever he thought of his late love.

An image never left his mind of Cas standing by the shore, laughing as he held a seashell to his chest. His hair blew in the wind, a strand falling into his face that Dean wished he could move away. His smile was wide, his blue eyes filled with something other than joy, but beyond elation.

Exaltation, maybe, Dean thought as he stopped at a red light. He let his eyes wonder around the intersection. People walked across the crosswalks, rushing to make it before the light turned green, cars ran parallel along the stream of people. It was systematic and functional, just as life was meant to be to avoid falling into chaos.

Yet, in the middle of the structured street, all Dean felt was confusion and disorder. The great chaos people worked so hard to avoid had made a home in his mind and tugged on the strings of his anxiety.

Dean was shaken from his trance by the cars beside him rushing forward. He took off quickly, cursing Cas slightly for having done this to him. Why couldn't that man just leave his thoughts alone? But, Dean's guilt quickly reminded him that it was his memories keeping Cas alive. It wasn't Cas haunting him; it was Dean's own inability to move on.

Somehow, yet unsurprisingly, Dean ended up at the liquor store he frequented. He was greeted by the familiar ring of the motion detector announcing his presence. The cashier, a stocky bearded man with beady brown eyes, looked up with a blank stare and nodded towards Dean. "Winchester."

"Nice to see that smile of yours, Jack. Really lights this whole place up," Dean said with a small smirk. Jack only huffed and returned his eyes back to his newspaper.

There was no need to browse. Dean walked straight to the hard liquor section, grabbed the bottle of whiskey he always did, and strode forward to the cashier. He threw down a couple of bills and gave Jack a nod. "Keep the change."

Lingering in the store was not something Dean did. He'd get a bad feeling of guilt if he let his mind wander. He was in control, not his remorse. That's why he kept visits short, and purchases quick.

As soon as he was outside, he popped the bottle open and took a quick swig, ignoring the stares a family passing by gave him. He was tempted to take another just to try the mother's disapproving look, but thought better of it. It wasn't him, he reminded himself and tucked the bottle safely away in his bike's compartment.

Sam was not kidding about the phone call. As soon as Dean walked into his apartment, he heard the phone ringing. Dean groaned and lumbered to the phone.

"Yes, Sammy?"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed out of relief, striking Dean's guilt. "I've been trying to reach you for a while! Where have you been?"

Dean was tempted to lash out, but bit down the urge. This was Sammy. "I just got home from work, Sam. That's all. Nothing to worry about."

"You went to work?"

"Yes, I said I would, didn't I?"

Sam sighed on the line. "You did, but to be honest, I didn't quite believe it."

Dean couldn't stifle his chuckle. "Of course, you didn't. Now, get off the phone and go be with your family."

"Well, I'm calling to tell you that I'm coming over to drop dinner off for you. Before you say no, leftover rarely get eaten in this house so you're doing us a favor," Sam informed him. By the tone of his voice, it was obvious that Dean would have no chance in winning an argument. Sam had already decided and his hardhead would not be swayed.

"You're just making an excuse to run by and check I'm not drunk off my ass," Dean retorted.

Sam chuckled and said, "See you in an hour."

The phone clicked and Dean set it down quickly. "Fuck," he muttered as he brought the bottle of whiskey right in front of him. It was still full so there was no way Sam could tell Dean had drunk it today.

He fumbled around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets to find a space that Sam wouldn't check for alcohol. He settled after three minutes and hid the whiskey behind the pots and pans. Dean ran to brush his teeth and shed his clothing to rid of the smell of alcohol. He had drunk a bit on his way up to his apartment.

"Fuck me," he muttered as he finally cleaned up. He fixed his disheveled hair and prayed Sam would ignore the under-eye bags that seemed to drag Dean's entire face down. "I look like shit."

He lied in his bed after he was done with 45 minutes to spare. He decided a little nap couldn't hurt, but for some reason whenever he closed his eyes all he saw was the beach. This time there was no Cas, just the the shore. After a while, he could practically smell the salty air and hear the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks. He let his mind explore his imagination as if he was entering a whole new world.

I'd kill to go there with you one last time, Dean thought. He didn't even have to say his name, because who else could it be? There was no else who stalked through his mind mercilessly, begging to be remembered.

If only he could go to the beach one last time, just to experience the place all over again. He wanted to remember the sand beneath his toes as he decided that the riddle his life was had been finally solved. The sand of which grounded his feet as he realized that the boy who had stood in front of him had taken a hold of his world and shifted the entire universe off kilter. Everything had gone from grey to color, the ground had become solid, and the sun finally rose. Life had begun in the desolate world, he remembered, in the beach of the sand.

Dean shot straight up in bed. He had his answer.

The beach.

He had to go to the beach.

He sprung out of bed and reached for a bag. He quickly began shoving clothes into his bag. He tripped over dirty clothes strewn over the floor as he tried to grab everything he deemed necessary for a day at the beach.

This was the answer. He was convinced that this would put both his and Cas' soul at rest. It was the closure he needed. A small smile crept on his lips in excitement. This was it, he was certain of it.

He had almost finished his bag when he heard someone clear their throat. He turned his head to see Sam leaning against the wooden frame of his bathroom door with a plate covered with foil and a tightlipped expression.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, fully turning his body around and smiling, moving to conceal the bag. "I'm so ha—"

"Cut the shit, Dean. What the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna try that path, Dean?"

"Jesus, being a father has made you really testy, eh Sammy?" Dean teased, cracking a smile despite the suffocating tension in the air.

Sam put his forehead in his hands and let out a groan before looking up and asking, "Dean…seriously?"

"Okay, fine. I'm going to the beach. That's it," Dean revealed.

Sam's face shifted from relief, to shock, then to ultimately concern. "Why?"

"You can probably guess why," Dean told him, then added, "No need to express your disappointment or disagreement, Sam, your face says it all."

Sam took a moment to process the information. His brows furrowed as he pushed off the wooden door frame and stood straight. When he finally opened his lips to speak, he quickly shut them, still not fully at terms with what he wanted to say. He knew to be cautious with this subject, but he didn't want Dean to think Sam was just going to stand by this time if Dean ignored his warning.

When he finally spoke, he said, "Think about this, Dean, please. Why do you need to go there so bad? It'll only end up making things worse for you."

"It won't. It's the only way," Dean replied.

"Only way? Only way for what?"

"To heal. I have to see it again, Sammy. I just do. That was our thing…and I just…I don't know. I just have to go." Dean spun around to zip up his bag.

Sam walked in the room now and grabbed Dean's arm to turn him around. "Please tell me you at least realize how terrible of an idea this is?"

"Why's it a bad idea?" Dean asked loudly.

"Because you're only going to make things worse for yourself, Dean! You're reopening a wound that needs to be sewn shut."

"You think I'm wounded?" he questioned. His voice was now softer and hurt.

"Look, it's not that you're wounded, but you're suffering and I don't blame you. You can't get through this alone, you know? And, you're trying to, but you keep retracing steps when you need to go forward." Sam's face softened and he released Dean's arm. Instead, he shifted his arm to Dean's shoulders and squeezed it in support. He had to choose words carefully, he reminded himself. "Let's just sit down and talk about this okay? You need to eat."

Dean reluctantly dropped his bag and grabbed the plate Sam held out to him. "Okay, but my mind isn't going to change."

"Oh, I already knew that," Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to try to get you to not go."

Dean chuckled and they made their way together to the bar in the kitchen. Dean sat and began to eat the potatoes and steak Sam had brought him and watched as his brother claimed to be "looking for a drink". In reality, Sam was trying to find any alcohol and they both knew it.

"I don't usually keep my glasses near the canned food," Dean teased as Sam opened another cabinet.

"Yeah, well, you should clean and organize this place. It's a mess."

"I manage well in messy situations unlike you, you clean freak."

Sam turned to his brother with an unamused smile. "Haha, you're a class act."

Dean grinned and returned to eating. Sam finished his inspection not a minute later. He had a glass of ice cold water in each hand. He set one in front of Dean and took a sip of his. The air grew taut as both struggled to find something to say. Dean was desperate to lighten the mood, while Sam was struggling to be patient with his distressed brother.

When the words finally came to Sam, he let his eyes flicker to Dean to try and see which moment would be right. It was crucial to speak at the right moment and to say the right things. When Dean finally ate his last bite, Sam exhaled and said, "Dean, I know this is important to you, and trust me, I think maybe it might be a good idea, but at least wait till the weekend. You have work tomorrow and—"

"I don't. Bobby's place is closed tomorrow," Dean corrected him.

Sam cursed under his breath. "Still, it is too sudden. Plus, what's the plan once you arrive?"

"Walk on the beach and sit in the sand. That's about it."

"Can't you wait for the weekend?"

Dean rose to clean up."Everyone will be there then. Sam, really, you're making a bigger deal of this than it actually is. All I'll be doing is going to the beach then driving back the next day. It's just a quick visit."

Sam thought the words over and over. He didn't want to risk letting Dean go. Emotions were bound to run high as soon as Dean arrived at the beach and Sam knew that him going was an awful idea.

Dean, however, was one step ahead of Sam. He hated keeping Sam so tightly wound in anxiety and worry, but there was nothing he could do to alleviate it, it seemed. But, there was no way he could not go. So, he decided on a plan, sighed, swallowed his pride, and turned to face his younger brother. Shouldn't I be worrying about you? he asked himself. It shouldn't be the other way around.

"You can come with me, you know. I was going to ask to borrow your truck anyway, but I think it'll be better if you come. That way you can watch me and make sure I'm not doing anything stupid like you worry about," Dean suggested.

Sam's brows rose as he heard this. "How long are you staying?"

"A day. Nothing more. I just want to see the beach."

"That's it?"

Dean nodded with a small smile. "Come on, Sammy. It could be like one of our old adventures where we used to take the old Impala."

Sam smiled at the memory, but slowly it faded from his lips as he remembered the reality of the situation. "I can't, Dean. This is a bad idea."

"Please?"

"No."

"Sammy…"

"No, Dean. The final answer is no. You nor I are going."

Time for the big guns, Dean thought. He sighed and grumbled, "I'll go to see a therapist if you go."

Sam stood up from his seat. "What!?"

"You heard me. I'll go get the help you want me to if you go. All I ask is a ride to the beach. Then, when we come back, you can sign me into one of those 10 stages of grief programs or whatever."

"You mean "5 Stages of Grief"."

Dean made a disgusted face. "Yeah that. What do you say?"

"I…" Sam trailed off as he thought it over. As much as he hated this idea of Dean chasing ghosts, he knew that Dean meant it when he said he'll let Sam get him help. So he processed it, and tried his best to try and see a way out of it, but with no resolution, he sighed and nodded. "Deal."

Dean beamed, but before he could speak, Sam added, "But, we leave tomorrow morning. I'm not driving in the dark. Also, I have to call in sick to work and tell Jess bye."

"Okay. That's fine."

"I can't believe you talked me into it, you jerk."

Dean only smiled at his brother. There was nothing left to say, for Dean's mind was already wandering in the possibilities tomorrow would bring.

Dean's smile grew wide as he saw Sam pull up to the curb. He had barely gotten any sleep last night as his mind once again wandered to its usual state of Cas and all the memories that kept him alive. So, when the sun had finally risen, signaling the day was now approaching, Dean leapt out of bed and prepared himself. He had no clue what the beach would bring him, but he felt as if it'd either destroy him or rebuild his very soul.

"You're ten minutes late," Dean teased as he opened the car door and slid in. "How unusual for you."

"Shut up. You're welcome by the way."

"I'd say 'Thank you', but after this I'm going to the psych ward, so I'll keep my gratitude to myself."

"It's a therapist, Dean, not a mental hospital. Calm down. Now, put on your seat belt."

Dean looked at Sam with a mocking glare and exaggerated pulling his seat belt across his chest and buckling in. The corners of Sam's lips turned upwards as he shook his head and put on his sunglasses.

"This is going to be a long ride," Sam mumbled as he turned the car on.

Dean reclined his seat and shook his head. "Doubt it."

The radio played a song about lost love and broken hearts and Dean let his mind roam. He let the lyrics flow through his mind as he wondered if the singer had any idea how lost love really felt. It certainly didn't feel like rhyming words to an upbeat, funky jam.

Thirty minutes in, Dean's lack of sleep caught up to him and he passed out. This time he had no dreams, he just slipped into a dark consciousness that silence his restless mind.

"Dean!"

"Eeh?"

"Dean, get up!"

"Wha?" Dean mumbled, delirious and impaired by being half asleep. He opened his eyes to see Sam looking at him with a relieved grin.

"Jesus, you were so deep in sleep, I thought you died."

"Haha," Dean dryly muttered and looked around. Outside, the overcast above was dense, the sky seeming to ooze a gray light rather than a usual blue. It was kind of pretty, but incredibly gloomy. "Where are we?"

"A restaurant."

Dean was still stuck in his sleepy state. His eyes were half closed as he spoke. "Oh…okay…do we have to like go in…or?"

Sam laughed. "No, it's a drive-in."

"Okay."

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No," Dean mumbled and lied his head back against the seat. "Get me a hamburger, fries, pie, and drink. Thank you."

Sam snorted, but didn't bother him anymore. He let Dean sleep as he knew that today would be a somewhat big event for him.

Dean hadn't been back to the beach since he was here with Cas. It wasn't appealing to him. He never even liked the concept of beaches, but the idea of making Cas happy that one weekend was what made him appreciate beaches.

The food came rather quickly. Dean managed to stuff his face with all his food while treading on a half awake state the whole time. When it finally came around to eating his pie, he awoke just enough to savor the tart taste of cherry.

A crippling anxiety began to fill him as he thought of what he'd do once he was at the beach. He'd admit this was a bit sudden, but something drew him here. A force greater than himself that beckoned him last night with a magnetic force it seemed. It called him here, and he was drawn in like a moth to a flame, not much warning could be heeded as he was blind to all but his goal.

He was expecting the same miracle he had expected when he looked in the mirror a day or two ago. He wanted to see Cas again like he had that one afternoon, but this time he wanted more than a quick flash. He wanted what he had experience in his dream, but longer.

Of course, wanting this was futile. He was never going to get to see Cas again. He knew it, and he tried to rationalize it all morning, but he just didn't believe it. He knew he would see him again. There wasn't a doubt in his mind now.

All that was left now was to figure out how and when.

"Where to now? Hotel or beach?" Sam asked. Dean looked to him and the answer became obvious. Sam looked exhausted. The long drive had taken a toll on him as his eyes were drooping slightly as he looked at Dean. They should've switched off driving, but Dean had been knocked out cold.

"I think you need to go to the hotel. Here, I'll drive us there. You look like you're dying," Dean replied, getting out of the car.

Sam struggled to reply with an denial, but he couldn't manage to put the words together. He was drowsy no doubt. So he followed Dean and walked around the car.

"Don't pass out cold, I won't be able to carry you into the hotel."

"Ha ha…"

Dean drove to the small, quaint hotel that was on the other side of town from the previous hotel he had stayed at with Cas. He was ready to relive a few memories, but some would just set his whole healing process years back.

They went through the routine of checking in. Dean had to do everything as a sleepy Sam leaned forward on the receptionist desk, staring past the receptionist with a blank, unanimated gaze. About halfway into their exchange, the receptionist made a terrified face as she saw Sam gazing straight past her with little life in his eyes.
Dean bit back his laugh. "Sorry, he drove the whole way here. He is mentally not with us right now."
The receptionist looked at Dean in confusion. "He's brain dead?"
"Uhm...yeah, sure, we'll go with that," Dean replied. His joke had failed and quite honestly he didn't know how to recover.
"I'm just tired. I'm fine," Sam said, breaking from his trance. He shot Dean a look before turning to offer the receptionist an apologetic smile. "Sorry the drive was long and my brother's an idiot."
The receptionist managed a shy smile and gave them their room key and a brochure of the local sights. Dean lugged both his and Sam's bag, much to Sam's assurance he could hold his own.
"No offense, Sammy, but you can barely put one foot in front of the other. I don't want you collapsing on me. I'm sure they'll accuse me of murder or something," Dean told him.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sam muttered and reached out to press the elevator button. It took a minute or two for the elevator to come.
The doors opened and the two stepped in. Sam instantly went to the corner to rest his head against the wall. Dean shot him a grin and pressed the elevator floor button. "Looks like I'm not the only one who barely slept."
Sam shrugged with his eyes closed. "Colic baby."
"How are the kids?"
Sam's tired face perked up a little as he said, "Beautiful, but annoying."
"They must have gotten the annoying from their old man," Dean jested with a wide grin. He remembered taking care of Sam when he was little and having to deal with all the temper tantrums. It was years ago and the nostalgia that came with it rushed in.

But before he could get too sentimental, the elevator doors opened with a ring. They made their way to their room and as soon as the door was opened, Sam rushed in and jumped on the bed. Dean grinned as he saw this, not much had changed in all the time.

"I am dying."

"Just take a nap, you'll be fine."

Sam muttered something incoherent. It wasn't long before the sound of his breathing got level and his chest rose rhythmically. He had fallen asleep rather quickly.

Dean sighed and dropped all the bags on the floor. He went to lie on the other bed. It bothered him how quickly his mood slipped after he had no reason to keep it up. As soon as he was alone, it slipped back to this sad and anxious state.

Luckily, the room had a television to occupy his time, Dean thought. He spent practically an hour flipping through channels as he tried to find one that he would enjoy enough to keep his mind occupied and not thinking. Yet, it seemed the whole television universe conspired against him today and only showed boring shows that had Dean about to chuck the remote at the T.V.

He already knew what the problem was. He wanted to be on the beach already, retracing his steps he once took with Cas and trying to reach some sort of conclusion to this twisted rollercoaster he had been on. Each minute he spent in this hotel bed to him was a minute less at the beach. He wanted to go while it was still light out and when the wind still blew, all the conditions had to be right.

His eyes shifted to Sam who was passed out cold. There was no way he would wake if Dean were to exit the room.

So, Dean took the risk. He inched off his bed, grabbed the hotel key, and was out the door without making a sound.

"All to myself."

The beach was desolate with not a single soul in site. Dean slowly stepped onto the sand, carefully applying pressure as if he feared it was an illusion that would shatter if he wasn't cautious. The air blew against him, shifting his hair in all sorts of wild directions, but he didn't mind at all, for he clung onto the feeling.

He picked a spot that appeared to be right in the center of the beach and sat down, his legs extended and his chest torso behind held up by his hands. His eyes followed the waves as if there were his last hope in the world. He had extraordinary expectations that he couldn't even define himself. All he knew was something was to happen. He could feel his skin pricking up at the sense of it.

Yet, nothing happened and eventually he grew weary. He moved to lie down in the sand now, not caring that it would get everywhere within his clothing and hair. Tears threatened to spill over the rims of his eyes, but he fought the urge to cry. It was just the disappointment he felt, he assured himself. Nothing else.

He didn't comprehend his own feelings. His mind was a playing field of thoughts that all jumbled together and got Dean's emotions plunging into chaos .

Here he was, at the beach that looked exactly the same as the day he came long ago with Cas. The water was grey, foaming slightly as it touched the sand. There was no sun in the sky, just an oozing light that illuminated the clouds. The sand was a dull brown, cool to the touch. It was all perfect, so perfect…

"I miss you, Cas…" Dean sighed and felt warm tears slide down his face to the sand.

And there he lied on the sand he once felt on top of the world, crumbling and falling to pieces the same way he had done three years ago.

His arm went to cover his eyes as the first sob rippled through his body. He hadn't cried in a while, not since the news that had shaken his whole grip on the world and opened the wound he was here to heal. At first, Dean hated himself for succumbing to tears, convinced there was no reason to. But, the sinking feeling in his chest and tautness of his throat told him otherwise.

This was a long time coming, he realized, and let himself cry. Who knew? It might help with the healing.

"You've always had a problem with listening to me, haven't you?" Dean heard a soft voice ask. A voice that somehow had a direct line to his heart after all this time.

He ripped his arm away from his eyes and looked to his left where the voice came from. He first saw legs, and he slowly let his eyes creep up until he reached their face.

When their eyes finally met, Dean wanted to cry at the sight of blue.

"Cas?" he breathed, half in shock and half in relief.

"I really hate how little you take care of yourself, you know," Cas told him as if this was just a normal conversation, as if he hadn't been dead for 3 years and just spoke to Dean yesterday.

"Cas!"

"I'm quite mad at you if I'm being honest. It's ridiculous how little you care about yourself. You see…"

Dean slowly got up to his legs again. Cas kept mumbling on and lecturing him about how Dean needed to respect himself and maintain his health, but Dean was only listening to the sound of Cas' voice, not the words it was shaped into.

"Cas, how in the world are you here right now?" Dean asked, cutting Cas off after his mind finally came under his control again.

Cas pouted and tilted his head. "Did you not listen to a single thing I said? You did such a bad job of taking care of yourself, I was sent down here to give you a wake up call."

"Wake-up call? What are you on about?"

"I don't want to convert you or anything. Use whatever you want with this knowledge," Cas slowly said, before sighing and answering, "The Almighty exists and he decided you needed help so he sent me. Just because as much as you don't listen to me, you tend to listen to me."

"I need help? You sound like Sammy," Dean scoffed. They were bickering as if nothing had happened at all and this wasn't some supernatural occurrence.

"Dean…" Cas trailed off as he caught a sight of Dean's face. He looked pained.

A silence passed where they stared at each other. Cas' with a face of sympathy and longing and Dean reciprocating the longing with a face of twisted confusion and anguish. It hurt him to see Cas, he realized, but he wouldn't dare tell Cas so. The pain was nothing in comparison to the feeling of joy that brim his mind.

"I miss you," Dean whispered.

"I miss you too."

They stared at each other for a moment, but the next, they were in each other's arms, holding each other tightly. For so long, Dean had been grasping onto open air. It almost made him collapse into tears as he felt Cas in his arms again and could feel Cas' warmth against his skin. He didn't dare think of the future because he knew what that brought, so he kept his mind here. This was the closest to heaven he'd ever find on this earth.

"God, Cas, what do I do?"

"You gotta let me go, Dean. It's not healthy for either you or I. I didn't know it was capable to stress out as much as I do up there, but I do and it's all for you."

Dean pulled away and wiped his eyes. "But, if I let you go-"

Cas reached out and placed his hands on either side of Dean's face. His thumb brushed across Dean's cheek to wipe a tear away. "Dean, I know you think you'll forget me, but you won't. Do you really think you will?"

"I don't know, Cas, I don't! I don't trust myself."

Cas kissed his forehead then stood up, holding his hand out to Dean. "Come on, let's go for a walk."

Dean slowly got up and took Cas' hand in his. He clung onto the sensation that Cas' kissing his forehead brought him; a mix of love, comfort, and safety.

They walked in silence along the shore, hand in hand. Dean kept his eyes on Cas and let his eye roam all along his face, attempting to memorize every single detail. Forever. He had no clue how Cas was here with him or why exactly, but Dean had been in aid and Cas came. He knew that after this walk a goodbye would follow.

He clung to this moment, knowing that when he went home tomorrow, and for the rest of his life, he'd relive this day over and over. Cas began to slow and Dean felt an anxiety creep up as the grip on his hand lessened.

"Here," Cas said and bent down to the sand. He dug a little, his hands carefully shifting sand away to expose a medium sized sea shell. Cas picked it up and brushed it off gently. Then, he flipped it over and cleaned the inside by brushing his long fingers along the smooth side of it. After he was satisfied with it, he held it out to Dean with a small smile. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. "A keepsake."

Dean picked up the sea shell and examined it. It was a stereotypical shell, one half of a clam, with a tanned color that was one or two shades lighter than the wet sand that had concealed it. It felt cool against his hand and he traced the ridges on the front of it for a moment before looking up to Cas and asking, "Will it ever disappear?"

"No." Cas' voice was drenched in sadness. He moved forward and took Dean's face in his hands again. "Dean, listen to me. I don't have much time left, but just remember this okay. I know you will. You can let me go. You can go a day without thinking of me. That doesn't mean anything except for that you're healing. Forgetting and moving on are two different things."

"You don't understand, Cas. I was so close to moving on, but I couldn't remember your face anymore. "

"Well if you're ever afraid of that, you have the shell now, don't you? It'll work trust me." Cas offered a smile that Dean knew he wouldn't dare forget. He knew for certain now. There was no way he would ever forget the best thing he ever had, absolutely no way.

Dean leaned in and pressed his lips to Cas'. They were warm and full of life, not at all like a man who had been dead for three years. And with each ticking second that Cas' lips moved against Dean's he felt his crumbled universe begin to tie together. It wasn't a grand shift, but it was enough. It was the gas his dwindling flame needed to continue to burn on.

Neither wanted to pull away, but Cas did, half hating himself for it. "I have to go now," Cas breathed, kissing Dean's nose before taking a step back and looking at Dean with a bittersweet expression.

Dean placed his shell over his heart and nodded. There was no use fighting it. "I love you."

Cas smiled that smile that got Dean on the first date long ago. "I love you too."

"See you soon?" Dean grinned.

Cas began to fade, but his smile never faltered as he replied, "See you soon."

Dean watched his love disappear, this time with a smile on his face. The sea shell grew warm in his hand. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it. This would be his talisman until he'd see him again.

July, 1985

It's happening, I feel it now. The doctors and nurses enter the room with sorrowful expressions on their faces as they check the machines and my vitals. My doctor speaks to me now with a softer tone, the hope she previously held fleeting quickly.

Yesterday, she stopped Sam on his way back from the cafeteria. She spoke softly. I could read her lips, but I could only guess what she was saying by the way Sammy's face fell. He leaned against the wall and slid down, holding his head in his hands as she sunk down near him. She put a hand on her shoulders and I could read her lips just then. She said, "Sorry."

I hated seeing Sam that way, but I know it'll all be fine. I know he worries for me, but I'm not worried at all.

I'm coming to you, Cas. See you soon.

Today was the day. Dean knew. He would die on a Thursday in the middle of July to a record of Queen's latest single playing in the background. Freddie sung of something about love lost, and all Dean could think was how he was about to be found.

Just a week ago, he has said his goodbyes. Sam's had placed his clammy hand in Dean's. Dean turned to face his brother and offered him a small smile.

"I love you, Sam. You know that right? Tell Jess and all the kids I love them too."

"Dean…"

"It's happening soon, I know it…"

Sam didn't say a word. He leaned in to his brother and gave him a hug. That spoke more than any words Sam and Dean could muster. This was it. Sam knew it and Dean knew it.

Now, it was Thursday. Sam entered the room with a dimmed smile and sat beside his brother. It was hard to see Dean a shadow of the man he once was. Dean was a fire, but lying in this hospital bed, he appeared to be an ember-one second away from dying off.

Sam fought the tears as he saw Dean with all the assisted living devices plugged in. Dean's green eyes flickered to Sam and lit up at the sight.

Goodbye, Sammy. He thought to himself.

"Dean...I love you and I-" Sam choked up. He bit his lips as the tears fell down.

Dean managed a smile and shook his head. There was no need to say anything, Dean knew it all.

So, when he closed his eyes, all he felt was a necessary end. This is what he wanted, and needed. His life had been a haze and he lived the rest of days to his content.

Finally.

He felt Sam put something in his hand. He knew it instantly. It was the seashell from the beach two years ago.

He closed his eyes and clenched the seashell till he drew his last breath. A moment later, he was gone, liberated from a weighted life of mortal toil.

"Dean. Open your eyes."

Dean obeyed the voice to see a dazzling smile that had his chest tightening. "Cas?"

"I have to admit, I hate knowing your dead, but have a selfish joy to see you here with me," Cas responded, pulling Dean into his arms. Dean wrapped his arms tightly around Cas, burying his head in his shoulders. He had no clue where he was, but it couldn't be that bad if Cas was here.

"Cas, where am I?"

"Heaven, Dean, where else?"

Dean pulled away in shock . "What? Heaven? After all, I've done?"

Cas furrowed his brows. "Dean, this is where you belong. The Almighty knows what he's doing. He told me you are a pure soul himself. That's something."

"A what?"

Cas shook his head and walked forward to Dean. "Listen to me, okay? Don't question this. We're here. Together."

Dean looked around. All he saw was white. "I love that idea, Cas, I really do, but where are we?"

"Heaven," Cas grinned, then looked around and realized that this was nothing special. "Er...well actually, this place is kinda like the waiting room…"

"Oh."

Cas laughed a carefree laugh and held out his hand to Dean. "Come on, let's go to the actual place."

Dean grasped onto that carefree laugh and felt himself smile wide, wider than anytime he had ever in his life. This was it. This was the end, but the beginning of the rest of his time of peace. He followed Cas into the blinding white light with nothing but a happiness that he had never known. This was the last time he'd follow Cas anywhere, for they would be here together, for the rest of time.

"I could get use to this."