Dean knew he was dead.

He remembered dying. Not in a particularly painful or unpleasant manner. But in the way one might recall the follies of youth. It hurt to handle the sharp edges of the memory, but it wouldn't break him.

He also remembered that he had a job to do. And he knew he should get started on trying to track down Castiel's grace. If he followed the Road like the last time he died, maybe he'd find the answers he was looking for towards the center of Heaven. But for now, he let himself relive just this one memory. He thought he had maybe earned this much.

"You'll be careful?" his dad was saying. John Winchester—well, a projection of John Winchester—stood over Dean.

"Yes, sir," he agreed, immediately. He shifted on the couch impatiently, feeling a little shaky with anticipation.

"You remember what we talked about? Where to put your hands?"

"John," Mary laughed, breaking off from humming her lullaby and moving past him. "He's a big boy, now. A big brother. You'll take care of Sam, won't you, Dean?" she asked, setting the soft bundle in his waiting arms.

Oh, he had forgotten just how little his brother had once been. All pink folds and fresh new baby smell. And no hair at all. The first time around, he'd filled up all of Dean's little arms. Such a healthy, comforting weight to be trusted with. Dean could still remember how his heart had raced and filled, holding tight for fear of dropping him, and yet still so frightened of breaking him. Just the soft, warm, breathing mass of a whole new person. A brother. And it felt just the same, now. Even though he knew this was all just a projection. Even though as an adult, with now plenty more experience, he could easily manage the infant in his arms. The child-like wonder was there, making him tear up as he pressed a scratchy, smiling kiss to the baby's forehead. Little Sam's eyes opened at that, still that baby-blue that would eventually darken greener. Dean thought maybe this was when he really lost his heart to that kid. It was as simple as that. Their childhood may have played a number on him; his self-worth; his thinking; his heart; his life. But it still really all came back to this foundation. This first surge of fierce, protective love.

"Always," Dean promised. He closed his eyes, holding tight to this moment just a little longer.

But it was time to go. The job didn't end just because you were dead. That was kind of messed up, but not really worth dwelling on. Maybe eventually he'd get to take it easy, but he realized that they'd actually been given a pretty good opportunity, here. If Dean could just pull a plug on the spell from up here, that was all to the good. Bet that stupid angel was kicking himself, now, effectively giving Dean Winchester access direct access to his own downfall. Jeez, what a maroon.

It didn't take long for Dean to find the Road running right outside the house. It would be lonelier, this time, he assumed. With Sam still alive and well, his Heaven was going to mostly just be populated with his memories. All good memories. But still not really the people he was missing. He thought it probably said something about the divine expectation of humans as a whole. That we really only prefer the idea of people rather than the people themselves. Well, maybe that was true. Whoever set all this up supposedly would know better.

There were a few pit-stops along the way. The Road didn't run right through, and sometimes he had to search for it a bit. One lazy summer afternoon he'd spent at target practice with Sam, he found the Road hiding in the highway drawing on the liquor bottle Sam had in his sights. Another time it was in the gravel at the bottom of his scotch "on the rocks" from that pretentious little place in Seattle where the bartender had been teasing him all night. There was even a certain leniency, he was to discover, in the exact phrasing of what really constituted a "road" when he let his gaze run over a certain… landing-strip. For the most part, though, it was a journey in patience.

Eventually he emerged blinking into sunlight. And this was… well, not really what he'd been expecting. Like, this wasn't an unhappy memory of his, precisely, but he wouldn't have put it on his greatest-hits list. He was seated on a bench next to a playground, enjoying the sensation of a job well-done. This town, he remembered, was still standing because of him. That junkless jerk, Uriel, had insisted they just level the place to keep a seal from breaking with the raising of Samhain. Dean had failed, there, even if he'd eventually managed to put the bastard down. It was kind of a mixed result. He'd ended up even less certain of how far he could actually rely on these angel dudes. They'd lost a seal. People had died. But the town was still here. These kids were all still alive and well. Because of him. Maybe it deserved to be in his Heaven after all.

Dean glanced over to the other bench, where he knew his projection-Cas would be. Back before they were really friends. Back when Castiel was still a soldier of Heaven, struggling to sort his loyalties.

Except this Cas didn't look like the one from his memory. Oh, he was back in the suit and crooked tie, wearing the same dirty trench coat and mildly consternated expression. But there was too much humanity in his look. The gaze was more direct. This wasn't a cautious ally extending the first tendrils of camaraderie; there was too much history in that look for that to be the case. This was, Dean realized with a jolt of selfish joy, not a projection: it was really him.

"Cas!" Ignoring the startled expression on his friend's face, he pulled him to his feet and into a hug. "You're really here?" he asked when Cas gave no response, stepping back to arm's length again. "Sorry, it's just good to see you, man. Well, I mean the real you. I feel like I should probably be more somber. Like, sorry you died. How'd that happen, anyway? Is Sam all right?"

"Sam was… alive, when last I saw him," Castiel said, like that was the best that could be said of the situation. "As for how I got here, I… deemed it a necessary sacrifice. In order to retrieve my grace. It seemed like a good idea at the time," Castiel said, still seeming a little disconcerted. He avoided eye contact, seeming to be trying to puzzle something out.

"And I guess you spruced up your wardrobe again, then."

"This is how I see myself, yes," Cas said, absently, running a hand down his trench coat. "Dean," he went on, still not looking at him, "you should not be here."

"You're telling me," Dean laughed. "When we kick Metatron's ass, maybe let's see if I can't Lazarus this one more time, okay?"

"No, that is not what I meant. I meant only… I did not expect you in my Heaven."

"This is yours?" Dean asked, a little surprised, looking around. "This is one of your favorite memories? But… we screwed up. Sam and I, we let the seal get broken. We got in the way of you guys."

"Yes," Castiel agreed, watching the children scrambling over the playground equipment. There was a certain wistfulness in his gaze, combined with a rather quiet kind of joy. "But this is also where… I don't expect you to understand, fully. I have been here a… very long time. Change does not come easily. And usually not without good reason. I think it was here that I really felt that change in myself begin. I began to question more. To think for myself more. And… I think this is where the beginning of our friendship started to take form. When I remember this place, I do recall that a seal was broken. But you ended up being infinitely more important to me than that."

Dean wasn't really sure what to say to that. It was such a big thing to say to someone else. That you held their friendship in higher esteem than the locks on the cage holding back Lucifer. Effectively, more than the apocalypse and everything that went with it. Dean knew that Castiel had given up a lot for him and Sam. A lot. His home, his life, his family, even his purpose to some extent. But Cas had never really held it over them. He'd barely even mentioned it except for when Dean had nearly thrown it all away by saying 'yes' to Michael. It was still a surprise to find that in the middle of all of this, even after Dean's latest mistakes, Cas still held him in such high regard. And just spoke with such matter-of-fact certitude. Like there wasn't even room for argument. That was just so… very like the nerdy little guy.

"Well," Dean cleared his throat. "I mean, uh. You know, you're… important to me, too, man."

"Thank you," Castiel said, solemnly. "But I have to admit I… am still very surprised to see you, here. Except in the case of soul-mates, people do not share Heavens. And you are already soul-mates with Sam."

Dean wasn't really sure how he felt about that. Like, sure, he sort of remembered Cas mentioning that the last time he was here, but he'd pretty much accepted it as a given that Sam would share his Heaven. Of course he would. Dean couldn't spend eternity without his little brother there with him. But Sam was one thing. Cas? Like… Okay, so they did apparently have this… profound bond thing. Apparently. And… Okay, so Cas was pretty much his best friend. But… soul-mates? Really? That just… How was a guy supposed to process a thing like that?

In fact it took him a few seconds to say, "Well I, uh… I guess I have… two soul-mates, then?"

"It appears so, yes. It is very unusual, though. A person having one soul-mate is rare enough. I don't believe I've ever heard of a person having two."

Dean was nodding along, when this drew him up short. "Did… you just call me a soul-mate slut?"

"…No."

"You hesitated."

"Perhaps we should press on," Castiel said, a little hurriedly. "It has not been as easy for me to navigate in this form, but it may be better if we use your Road. My… preferred method is unavailable. Moreover, we shouldn't stay in any place for too long. Metatron restored a few loyal followers back to power. Partially to maintain Heaven. We cannot allow them to catch up to us, or I'll simply be resurrected again. We need to find my grace before that can happen."

"Wait, 'maintain Heaven'? What, like, trim the hedges? Add extras to the orgies?"

"More like keeping it from collapsing in itself. Each Heaven is like its own pocket universe. Maintenance of Heaven requires exceptional care. It was a privilege to be given duties over our Father's creation in their afterlife. There were entire battalions of angels working tirelessly for all eternity in this capacity. Now… with only a few to give scant attention…"

Great, so even Heaven was on the line with this mess. And if Dean allowed himself to think about it, what a frightening concept that ultimately was: the destruction of his species' afterlife. If Heaven went, what would happen to all the souls? Would they all just wink out? Every person who had ever existed, every person who would ever exist, mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and friends and lovers—were they really all just dust in the wind?

"I think the Road is this way," he said, a little more urgent than before.

It must have been strange for Castiel, being so limited in this place. This was pretty much his home, after all. He was probably used to just flapping around wherever he felt like going, in the blink of an eye. He handled it well, though, content to take Dean's Road further into the interior. Now that they were together, they seemed to alternate on whose memory they would be entering. Most of Dean's Heaven was filled with family and friends: BBQ's with Lisa and Ben in the backyard, a weekend with Bobby as a kid, standing with his brother on the roof in a Batman and Superman costume. Dean had a little more trouble always understanding what made a good memory for Cas. There were some downright frightening things from his perspective, like the time they came upon a violent storm of hot, choking gases on an alien hard-baked shore. Castiel had pointed to the water, saying something about chlorophyll, when he'd just given up and looked for the Road out of there. Another time there'd been that band of weird-looking guys with some funky-looking foreheads spewing gibberish and wildly gesticulating to the air. Cas had given him an almost expectant look when they'd paused there, finally sighing and muttering about Homo sapiens' failure as a poetic species. But then again, there were one or two memories where Dean had recognized the scenery as Bobby's house or a hunt they'd shared. Those, at least, were more understandable.

That was until they came onto what seemed to be a soccer field. There were young teens, here, dressed in team uniforms. Dean didn't recognize the locale; he'd never been here that he could recall, and there didn't seem a conceivable reason why Cas would have any reason to be here.

Then Cas pointed out a blonde girl on wing forward and, looking closer, Dean realized he knew her. "Claire?" he asked, in some surprise. "You mean like… Jimmy's kid? I mean, your vessel's kid? But… why?"

"I promised Jimmy that his family would be cared for. Free from harm. They were under my protection, Dean," he said, a little sternly.

Well, that was a little better than one of Dean's more uncharitable thoughts. That maybe Cas had been keeping an eye on a potential vessel. Or her bloodline at least. Yeah, the explanation did make it seem a little less sinister.

"So, what, you just… looked in on them occasionally?"

"Not at first," Cas admitted. "Not while Jimmy was still with me. He was released at some point after my first death, but until then I stayed away. I feared it would be too painful for him. But… afterwards, every now and then. This," he gestured, "was a small victory for Claire. And a rather larger one for me. This was the game she stopped looking to the stands and wishing her father could be there. She didn't pray to me to return her father anymore. She only prayed that I keep him safe."

To Dean, that sounded like one of the saddest things he'd ever heard. It was easy to forget that someone had given up his job, life, his family, his everything, to become a vessel for Castiel. Until he'd become human, the flesh he'd worn wasn't really him. He was just light and energy housed in a human-shaped container. Dean barely even gave a thought to the kid that had lost her father in all of this. And here, a happy memory for Cas had been the day she'd given up on ever getting him back.

Dean could understand at some level, though. It couldn't have been easy for Cas. Hearing this girl's prayers, pleading with him, knowing he could hear her. Being basically unable to ignore it. One way of seeing this was that Claire's spirit had finally been broken by reality. She'd given up. Succumbed. She held no further hopes. Or, on the other hand, maybe there was a positive side to this, after all. Maybe it was part of a process, and she'd finally begun to heal. Maybe this was just rejoicing in that she'd finally let go of a lost cause. But Dean really didn't want to probe this too far, afraid of what he'd find.

"Anyway, we should go," he said, but Cas seemed distracted by something. There was a person walking across the field towards them. He didn't seem to fit in with the memory, either. He carried a little ball of twine that he let out steadily behind him as he walked, its end disappearing in the grass behind him. He was a slim Midwestern man with a familiar face, carried very differently.

"Jimmy," Castiel greeted him when he came within spitting distance. The salutation was rather reserved. Almost apprehensive.

"Castiel. Still wearing my face, I see." He wasn't actively hostile, but there was certainly a twinge of bitterness to the words.

"Technically, this is a construct of Heaven. I am not wearing your face so much as the face is a part of my conceptualized vision of self. If I saw myself as a cat, I imagine you would be having this conversation from the other end of my whiskers."

"…Yeah, whatever, that's still my face."

All right, though, this was getting downright ridiculous. "Okay, I know for a fact that I am not soul-mates with Jimmy."

Jimmy gave Dean an exasperated look that should have felt very familiar. It was strange, though. Jimmy and Cas looked about as alike as two people could be; they literally shared the same skin, after all. And yet it wasn't Jimmy's more casual clothing or Castiel's more wind-swept hair that really set them apart. Those were superficial differences at best. Maybe it was just that Dean knew Castiel so well by now, but he rather doubted that was all there was to it. There was just a fundamental difference in the way they formed their expressions, their manner of standing, and looking, and speaking—to the point that their resemblance to one another seemed more an accident than anything else.

"Heaven is collapsing," he said. "The borders are pretty easy to cross, these days. Besides, they figured I'd be able to work my way to Castiel, at least. What with him, you know, having my face and all." Castiel looked like he would correct him again, but maybe thought better of it. Jimmy glanced over at the ongoing game. His eyes immediately found Claire. Jimmy's throat worked for a moment before he said, "You… kept your promise, then"

"Of course," Cas said, almost gently.

"Wait, 'they'?" Dean asked, a little pointedly. "Who sent you?"

Jimmy held up the twine ball, pointing the way back to where he had come from. "Someone who's looking forward to seeing you, again."

I haven't forgotten about Sam. I'll get to him, promise.

Also I'm still giggling over "soul-mate slut." Well, at least I amuse myself.

Please let me know what you think!