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The Second Season
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When Sam dies, it's August – sweltering, humid, cicada-filled and breezy. He's seventy-three and he's already lived twice as long as he expected. His son is holding his hand.
He opens his eyes on a bridge over a rocky river bracketed by steep, blindingly green mountains. An impossibly blue sky and rippling clouds above, fresh air laden with pine. The Rockies, maybe, he thinks, but he's not sure. He's shocked so deeply by the beauty of it that it takes him a long time to realize that he's not alone.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean says, and it's like no time at all has passed, like he just saw his brother yesterday.
When Sam steps back from Dean's solid embrace, he looks down at his hands. His skin is young again – no age spots to be seen. His hip isn't bothering him anymore. He takes a deep breath, and his lungs are clear. "What memory is this?" he asks, his eyes following the unfamiliar road from the bridge into the woods beyond the riverbank.
Dean shakes his head, grinning. "Heaven ain't like that anymore."
Dean looks different, for all that he seems real enough. Sam can't quite put his finger on what exactly is different about him, but the Dean from his own memories and the Dean standing in front of him can't seem to reconcile.
"Come on," Dean beckons, tilting his head toward the car – the car! "Let's go."
The Impala sits on the bridge behind Dean, gleaming in the sun like she just rolled off the assembly line. Sam doesn't know why he's surprised to see her.
Sitting in the passenger seat with Dean at the wheel is familiar, in the truest sense of the word. Like walking through a house he'd lived in as a child. Everything is different, but really, everything is the same.
The landscape undulates ahead in rills and slopes, rolling mountains and rocky ridges and rivers twisting and turning along the roadside. This world is unspoiled and clean, sunlight winking through the canopy above them as the trees blur past, teetering in that perfect moment just before summer gives way to autumn.
Sam watches the pavement unfurl ahead. Bob Seger sings softly on the car radio.
"Is this the Axis Mundi?"
Dean looks at him askance. "The what?"
"The road through Heaven. Remember, when Zachariah was hunting us—"
"Right, right," Dean nods, drumming a thumb on the steering wheel. "I don't know, it might be. We tried to follow it all the way to the end once. Took us to a beach in Maui." He laughs, the sound heavy with joy. "That was a good day."
"This is Heaven," Sam says. "Aren't they all good?"
Dean leans back in the driver's seat, one elbow resting out the window, smile clinging to his face. "Different kinds of good, Sammy."
Sam rolls down his window, letting the pine-scented air fill his chest. It's a minute or two before the us registers in Sam's head, and by then Dean is pulling the car off the pavement onto a dirt road leading up a gradual hill.
The dense tree cover breaks into a wide grassy slope awash with sunlight. Wildflowers bend and bob in the breeze, the wind rippling silver over the hill as Dean guides the Impala along the road – and Sam is just now realizing that it's not a road, it's a driveway.
The driveway winds upward until it stops just below an alpine cabin with a gabled roof and a large porch. Dean brakes and the engine rumbles to a stop. Sam slides out of the car, gazing up at the cabin and the snow-capped mountains in the distance beyond.
"Is this… your house?"
Dean claps a hand on Sam's shoulder as he passes, taking the steps up to the porch. "Built it myself. Pretty cool, isn't it?"
Sam turns slowly in place, marveling at the setting – the cabin, the landscape, the very pebbles under his shoes. The view defies belief. The curve of the earth isn't the same here as it was in life; it's as though the planet itself has unfolded completely. He can see further than the horizon, past the mountain range to great oceans and golden prairies and sprawling cities that glint under the sun.
Closer, only a few miles away, a brilliant blue lake lies nestled between two sharp peaks. A small sailboat coasts over the surface. A little tendril of smoke rises from the trees to the west, signaling someone else's home.
Suddenly, Sam wants to sit down right here and stare at this view for hours, for days, for forever. His chest aches. He misses Eileen.
"Sammy."
Dean is waiting on the porch, hand on the railing. A pair of Adirondack chairs rest to his left.
"You coming or what?"
Sam clears his throat. "Yeah, of course," he says, and follows Dean up the steps and in through the front door.
The inside of the cabin isn't quite what he expects, though he isn't sure what exactly he did expect. It's not huge, but it's not small either, mainly consisting of one large room that combines a den, kitchen, and dining area. A fireplace is fitted into the far wall, a guitar sits on a stand next to a long comfortable-looking couch. Books line the shelves along one wall and a door to the right leads to what Sam assumes is Dean's bedroom.
The kitchen occupies one entire corner of the cabin – plenty of counter space, a baker's bench, pots and pans hanging from a rack overhead. On one end of the counter, a 90's-era stereo sits beside several small potted herbs; the aroma of thyme and rosemary and basil fills the kitchen.
"Come on," Dean says, striding through the living area past the small dining table.
Sam falls in step behind Dean, who leads him through the back door. Here there's no porch and the steps are stone, dropping straight into grass. A well-worn path meanders across the ground and leads up the slope to a spacious garden. A tilled patch of earth gives rise to cornstalks and vines of squash, and raised wooden beds are bursting with peas and carrots and peppers. The garden is abuzz with honeybees, life thrumming in the soil.
And on his knees in the middle of it all, up to his elbows in tomato plants sagging under the weight of their fruit, is Castiel.
A breath leaves Sam's body and something settles warm and fond in the center of his chest.
He thinks it might be peace.
Dean calls Cas's name. Cas looks up from his work, and upon seeing Sam immediately lurches to his feet.
His arms and knees are covered in dirt, grass stains embedded in his jeans. Cas crosses the distance down the hill quickly with a smile bright enough to rival the sunlight washing down the mountainside.
"Sam!" he cries, yanking Sam down into a firm hug, and suddenly Sam is laughing for the sheer wonder and joy – because of course this is where Cas has been all these years, this is where his soul has always belonged, and Sam can't believe he was ever unsure of Cas's fate. He can't believe he was ever unsure of Dean's.
"Well, I think this calls for a beer," Dean says.
"I'll be right there," Cas turns back toward the garden, speaking over his shoulder. "I'm just going to put my tools away."
Back inside, as Dean pulls a pair of longnecks from the fridge and twists the caps off, Sam leans against the counter. "So this is your Heaven, huh?"
Dean hands him a bottle. "Not just mine. Ours. Everyone's."
"Everyone?" Sam echoes. "You mean—?"
The corners of Dean's eyes crinkle. "I mean everyone. Shut up and try your beer."
Sam takes a sip, and then another. He's suddenly rocketed back into a memory – sitting on a cooler next to the Impala's open hood while Dean hunched over the engine, drinking beer and inhaling motor oil, younger than Sam can quite remember feeling.
He clears his throat, staring down at the nondescript label on the bottle. "Wow."
"Right?"
Sam circles back, setting the beer on the counter by his elbow. "So, Bobby's here? Charlie? Jody?"
"Hell, yeah."
"Mom and Dad?"
Dean's smile fades then, only a little. "Yeah, they're here." He tilts his head to the side. "Somewhere."
Sam blinks. "You – You haven't seen them?"
"Mom I saw once, at the Roadhouse," Dean says, scratching idly behind his ear. "Haven't seen Dad since… since the Baozhu."
"Seriously?" Sam asks, incredulous. "You've been here over thirty years and you haven't—"
Dean cuts him off, though he's not angry, or even upset. "First of all, time runs a little different here than on Earth, so it's been a while but it hasn't been thirty years for me," he says. "Second, I don't need to see them. I have everything I need here."
Sam sits silent in his shock for a moment. He can hear Dean still, all those years ago, shaking with excitement like a child. It's Dad! I've been wanting this since I was a kid!
Dean shrugs, unbothered. He says, like he knows what Sam's thinking, "The dad I wanted wasn't the dad we had. So no, I don't really need to see him."
Sam can't help but stand in awe of Dean's tone, but it's not until Cas comes inside from the garden that Sam understands it.
Cas walks in, still dirty, and goes to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Dean has a beer ready for him from the fridge when he turns back around, and Cas swiftly plants a kiss on Dean's mouth.
It's a moment without fanfare or revelation, perfectly ordinary. And Dean doesn't shift uncomfortably or glance at Sam, worried about how his brother might react. He smiles into the kiss, for all its brevity, and when Cas pulls back Dean's eyes linger on Cas's face.
And comprehension shocks deep into Sam's core. He knows what's different about Dean here.
This is a Dean unburdened.
The weight of God's expectations, of John's, of the world's – that's all gone, left behind at the mark of Dean's death. The fear, the self-loathing, the loud male bravado Dean buried himself under his entire life has melted away. All the terrible things they went through on Earth are still there, they still happened, but the memories are confined to just that: memories. And Heaven isn't built out of memories any longer.
And Dean is right. John was never the father either of them wanted or needed; he was just the one they had, and they'd had him enough in life. They have nothing more to ask of him. Nothing more to prove.
"So how long did you make it?" Dean asks, breaking Sam from his thoughts.
"Seventy-three," Sam answers with a laugh, and Dean whistles.
Cas's eyes widen. "So… Dean must be thirty-two now."
Sam nods, and Cas shakes his head in wonder.
"I miss him," he says, and Sam notices for the first time a coffee cup sitting on a shelf behind Dean.
I'M THE COOL UNCLE.
Something occurs to Sam then, and he reaches over to the stereo and pops open the tape deck. He picks the cassette out and grins at the label. Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx. The handwriting is still a bit faded, but the tape is whole and functioning.
Dean chuckles and nudges Cas with his elbow. "That tape was the only thing Cas insisted on adding to this place," he says, then amends his statement. "Well, that and the apiary. What is it with you and bees?"
"I'm not going over the bees with you again," Cas replies evenly, though he crinkles his nose affectionately in Dean's direction before stepping over to Sam. He takes the tape from Sam's hand and slides it back into the stereo, clicking it shut and pressing Play.
Dean ushers them out to the front porch then, to sit and drink and enjoy the view. Dean and Sam sit on the Adirondack chairs, while Cas sinks onto the top step and leans his back against the rail post. From inside, Robert Plant sings on the stereo.
It is the springtime of my loving, the second season I am to know.
Sam is quiet, hushed to silence by the splendor just outside Dean's front door.
You are the sunlight in my growing, so little warmth I've felt before.
Dean kicks Sam lightly on the foot. "Hey, you okay?"
Sam clears his throat, wiping condensation from his beer bottle with the pad of his thumb. "I just wish Eileen were here," he says, and almost feels guilty for saying it.
He half expects Dean to admonish him for wishing his wife was dead, but Dean only smiles knowingly. "You know, I felt the same way. Until Cas showed up, I mean."
Sam glances down to where Cas is lounging on the steps; he winks back at Dean.
It is the summer of my smiles.
"After I got here, I started building this place, and Cas turned up the same day I finished," Dean says, the memories of other good days skipping across his features. Different kinds of good, Sammy.
The sun is just beginning to sink into late afternoon, spilling golden down the mountains and turning the lake rosy. The sailboat is heading for shore.
I felt the coldness of my winter, I never thought it would ever go.
"My point is," Dean continues, "she'll show up when you're ready. But until then, enjoy all of this." He sweeps his hand out, gesturing to the vanishing horizon and the sky beyond.
"I guess you're right," Sam agrees, leaning back in his chair. He watches the sailboat on the lake pull up to a dock.
I cursed the gloom that set upon us, 'pon us, 'pon us, but I know that I love you so.
The three of them sit like that for hours, exchanging stories they've missed from both Heaven and Earth – late nights at the Roadhouse, fishing with Bobby, Dean's first girlfriend and his high school prom, the time Eileen came home to find Dean had dented the car. Their laughter echoes out across the hillside, carried on the breeze as the sun sinks lower and lower.
When the sky is just descending into purples and oranges and the lake is turned to wine, Cas sits up straight. "Sam," he says. "Look."
Sam blinks and stands up in surprise; Dean follows suit.
There is a second vehicle in the driveway, another car materialized from nothing.
"No way," Dean says in astonishment.
Sam stares at the car – bright red and a decade older than he is. It's Eileen's Plymouth Valiant.
Eileen had sold the Valiant only a year after Dean was born; they'd agreed to upgrade to a more family-safe vehicle. But there is no need here for car seats or state-of-the-art airbags, and Sam is overjoyed to see the Valiant again. Eileen is going to be even more excited, once she arrives.
Suddenly Sam is itching to get behind the wheel, to drive off and discover everything this place has to offer, to collect things to show his wife when she joins him.
"It's okay, Sam," Dean says, clamping a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You can go. You should go."
Sam swallows, not sure if he should be ready to leave yet. He's barely spent any time here, really, and that hardly seems fair.
"You can always visit, whenever you want." Dean smiles and looks out across the sun-kissed peaks, and he seems happier than Sam has ever seen him. "But it's a big world out there. And Eileen'll be here sooner than you think."
Sam does the only logical thing, then, and pulls Dean into a hug. "Thank you," he says into Dean's shoulder.
Cas rises from the steps to hug Sam as well, and tells Sam to bring Eileen back with him as soon as she gets here.
"You bet," Sam agrees, and descends to the driveway. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't need to.
Dean and Cas stay on the porch as Sam climbs into the driver's seat of the Valiant. The keys are in the ignition already, waiting for him. He starts the car.
As he drives the Valiant down the winding driveway toward the road, Sam glances in the rearview mirror for just long enough to see Dean and Cas wave before they go back inside the house. The engine rumbles underneath him as he makes it back to the road, bouncing slightly onto the pavement.
He picks a direction at random, and drives off in search of a new home.
NOTE: This fic is tied into my other works Hell or High Water, The Matador, Candlelight, Pie Crust, and Unchained Reaction. If you liked this story, I hope you'll check them out as well. Thank you!