He couldn't stand the beep of the monitors at first. Old and crotchety, he whined that they kept him awake. He didn't care if they were saving his life, he told his nurse, they were damn annoying. It was bad enough they only served pie in this godforsaken place once a week, but having to live with the constant boop and beep of some stupid thing attached to his heart? He could tell he was alive, thank you very much. No need for any of these damn tubes and wires. And the nurses were cute, but they didn't need to be checking in on him every single minute! A man needed some time to himself, for fuck's sake!

Of course, that had been years ago. He'd been young and stupid, then. Well, younger. Not as young as he used to be. Dean was calm now; the quiet beeps of the machine were a reassurance. Sometimes it was hard to tell, if he was alive or dead. There were times he was sure he was gone, times he could see things, hear things. Sometimes he saw Mom, Dad. Bobby. Ellen and Joe. Charlie. Garth and Ash. He wondered if they'd ever gotten a chance to meet. Probably not. Many nights he saw Cas, heard his wings in the room, felt those blue eyes on him. Most nights, though, he saw Sammy.

And Sam would change. Sometimes he was a kid, other times an adult. Some nights he sat on Dean's bed and they talked. Other nights Sam would rearrange the room, play tricks on Dean. Keeping the old man on his feet, he'd say, before Dean awoke, the room back to normal.

But the dreams always ended the same.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

And the nurse woke him with breakfast.

Dean didn't know if what he was seeing was in his mind, or if his friends and family were really crossing planes of existence to visit him. He didn't mind, one way or another. The nurses were nice enough, but they didn't understand. They couldn't understand what he'd gone through. No one could, no one left alive.

And one night, Dean felt the end coming. The steady beat of the monitor slowed. Nothing to upset the nurses, but it was enough to his ears. He was awake, mostly, and calm. He waited for the reaper.

And he waited.

And waited.

Well, the asshat sure was taking his time. Dean dozed, his eyes drooping. He felt as hold as Death himself, felt the stillness creep over him. And then he heard the faintest ruffle of fabric, heard the familiar sound of wings, felt the shift in weight as someone sat beside him. His eyes opened and focused on the man looking down at him.

Sleepiness and confusion clogging his voice, Dean sputtered, "Cas? You're not a reaper."

And Cas smiled, that clear, knowing smile of his. "No, I told him to take the night off." The angel reached out, lightly touched Dean's face, and the old hunter felt his head clear. This was no dream.

"Sammy?"

"Waiting."

"Okay."

Cas' hand moved from Dean's face, gripped his shoulder, and Dean felt the familiar sense of traveling far too quickly as Cas took him away.

One breath of that cold, brisk air, and Dean knew where he was. The ache in his bones was gone, his skin had tightened around restored muscles and strengthened bone. He was a young man again, rubbing his cheeks, feeling his hair. Cas beside him, he smiled cockily. "So, not bad for 78, huh?"

Cas shrugged. "If you say so."

"Shut up."

And it's Heaven. Heaven again. He's made it, after all. Hasn't changed much. Cas is here; a welcomed sight, but still. There's something missing. Something important. Something big. Tall. Goofy. Reliable. Dependent. Smart. Stupid. Childish. Selfish. Giving. Caring. Loving -

And he more feels than hears movement behind him, and he turns. Hair too long, and just a bit too tall for Dean's taste, Sam stands sheepishly, hands in his pockets.

And he smiles, appraises his brother. "Jerk."

Dean laughs. Never was a more beautiful word ever spoken.

"Bitch," he throws back, as though it's no big deal.

Beside him, Cas shakes his head. "Winchesters."

And Dean smiles, home at last.