There is no way to describe heaven. There's no verbal communication that could lay it down in terms that would make sense. With the body gone, there is only sense.
The first thing Dean senses is something that falls along the fine lines of perfection, except to reach perfection is impossible, and once one was to know perfection, they would cease to feel perfect, because they would start to compare the difference. So it's just a gentle sway along the middle grounds, the most beautiful thing Dean has experienced. Not because he knows this, but because it's just the way it has to be.
The second thing Dean feels other than a perfection that soothes his soul is a presence. Thousands, a swirling of pure light that shatters through the pain that tried to suck his body back to solid ground. And though he knows he is surrounded, wrapped up and enveloped by so much energy, it isn't suffocating.
What is this?
The thought is so swiftly answered, that Dean isn't sure he was answered at all, thinks that maybe he just thought it up in his mind.
This is home Dean Winchester.
Something about the way the words are ifelt/i make it certain to Dean that he's not in Kansas anymore, which can only mean one thing.
Heaven? He thinks, the thoughts straying like musical notes on a sheet, a victim to the gentle wind that seems to carry it away, a thousand different directions at once.
And then the presence that has been wrapping around him like an old friend, like a father...brother...lover, takes on shapes and emotions, memories flooding back. Dean knows now, without a doubt, that he is somehow curled up into Castiel's essence. That Castiel is shielding him from the onlookers, from the flood of angels that surround them, from the interferences of heaven, wings spread wide and muffling the sounds of heaven. Dean...this is heaven how you want it to be. How you portray it. Heaven is different for everyone. For your soul...this is heaven. But make no mistake Dean, the souls around you are all very real. I...am very real.
Dean had expected death to come hard and angry like lat time. Dean had expected to fight it tooth and nail, to grip onto his mortal body for all its worth. He hadn't expected this. No tunnel, no white light, no piping of trumpets or golden halos. There wasn't even the wrath of God, smiting him back down to the pits for never believing in his love. On a scientific level, the level of hunters, there wasn't even a breach of the astral realm. There was a gasp, a flooding warmth...
Here he is. Wrapped up in all of heaven's glory, trying to find a way to be experience the same emotions his body once had. The sensation is panicking, sends Dean into a sudden wretched desperate grasp and grope for normalcy.
"You're mind can't comprehend things yet Dean. But you don't have to be scared. I know you understand that. So well."
As far as Dean could tell, the Himalayans weren't heaven, and the snow shouldn't feel like soft warm sand beneath him, and Castiel...
"You look...amazing." It's the only thing Dean can say, the cheesiest line he's ever spoken because of the truth in it. But Castiel just smiles at him, a warm gentle smile that curls up the sides of his lips.
"I know what you're going to ask next Dean. And yes, your brother is alive. Sammy is just fine, he knows you've gone home. His pain will fade in time Dean...if you let him go."
Dean takes a long moment to comprehend this, watches from beneath furrowed brows as Castiel squats before him on the sand, and if Dean didn't know any better, he'd say the angel looked damn proud. An unlikely thing considering Dean was, as far as he knew, dead as a doornail. And yes, just to pound it in a little more, Castiel did answer Dean's question. Still, Dean just shakes his head slowly, grateful at least, that he's not just a hovering orb of energy, that went on the freaky list.
Finally Dean takes a long deep breath, tries for a wry smile at Castiel, and is met with a grin. "So...what? I guess I kicked the bucket saving the last seal huh? Some reward for the service huh?" Bitter sarcasm it seems, travels beyond the realm of the living.
Castiel laughs. Full on chuckle, and it's a marvel to Dean, seeing him so...emotional. Of course, Castiel reads his mind on that matter too.
"You can see emotions now because I am not bonded to a mortal body or the rules inscribed and enforced upon an angel dwelling in a mortal body. And yes Dean...this is your reward." Castiel gives a slow nod, cups Dean's cheek in his hand, a strange gesture of familiarity that Dean feels like he's known a lifetime. Or more.
For a moment Dean just closes his eyes, feels the rub of a lotion-soft thumb pad across his cheek, feels the brush of feathers against the back of his neck. Wonders again how he's on the Himalayas, and that he can't really give a shit right now.
"Dead...yeah Cas. Dead is a great fucking reward. Not only that you guys dope me up with some kinda angel sedative so I don't give a shit? I don't want the spiritual morphine. This isn't a reward." Dean opens his eyes and finds all the love in the world smiling from bright blue eyes at him. He feels soft lips brush against his, a fleeting moment of comfort.
"We haven't done a thing to you Dean. This is what you humans call...peace. And it is a reward. My mission was to use you as a tool but in doing so...in willingly sacrificing your free will for our Father, you won back the right for your soul to pass back into his arms after death, as well as your brothers, assuming he did his part and gave up his demonic path. Which he did. Yes...your mortal life has fled, but you have been ensured an eternity in His good graces..."
"Yeah? And I thought you were a soldier. Part of the garrison. What are you doing playing host to the Host?" Dean asks, the wry smile ripped apart by a sneer.
But all Castiel does is smile all the wider, mischief glimmering in his eyes.
"Because Dean, those feathers wrapped around you that you've been feeling since you got here aren't mine..."
The high Himalayan wind whips, Castiel's fingers grasping at the breeze, snatching a perfectly grey white feather from off the snowy breath of air. Dean smiles at it, lazy, unbelieving that he is unbelieving, so uncharacteristic of his usual antics which in itself is funny.
"Welcome to the garrison Dean Winchester."
This time, when Castiel kisses him again it's nothing but raw passion, raw power, unbelievable force and the slide and catch of wing upon wing.
"Save it for later. Take me home."