Dean didn't know why he stopped on that bridge. He just did.
Dean felt light. Lighter than he ever had in his entire 41 years. It was strange. The feeling. He couldn't put his finger on it.
He looked around and smiled. The warmth of the sun kissed his fair skin as the birds sung their welcoming tune.
"Well, at least I made it to Heaven," he said.
Dean wasn't always sure he'd make it to Heaven. There was a time he was so full of hate and rage he was certain there was no place for him there.
But that was then, and this is now.
Now, Dean knew the life he lived, though muddied with blood, was a good life. It was a life of sacrifice and fighting for those who couldn't fight for themselves. It was a life filled with love and family and friends. It was a life that had meaning. He did what he was born to do. He protected the world. He protected Sam. He went down swinging with his brother by his side. If he had to choose a death, that would be the one he'd choose.
He smiled again, breathing in the new world around him.
Then he heard the voice.
"Yep."
It was Bobby.
Dean didn't recall the memory. He couldn't place it. Because it wasn't his. This was new. And as he wandered across the old wooden porch of Harvelle's Roadhouse and sat next to the man who had been like a father to him, he heard why.
The boy born of Lucifer. The one Dean helped to raise. The one who always looked up to Dean, who Dean took driving, who Dean took fishing, who Dean loved. The boy turned God. That kid of his had transformed the Heaven that Dean once knew into the place it should have always been. The place Dean deserved. Everyone happy. Everyone together. A place where you rested in love with family. Jack learnt about family from Dean, and Sam, and Cas. He learnt about love from all of them.
Dean took a beer from Bobby and let the cool liquid slide down his throat as he tried to take in… everything.
"It's a big new world out there," Bobby said. "You'll see."
It was almost perfect. The weightlessness. The warmth. Almost.
"He'll be along," Bobby said, without even having to ask what Dean was thinking, and Dean listened as his friend explained how time moved differently in Heaven.
Dean hadn't expected to die that day. He hadn't expected a rod to piece his heart. But that was life unwritten. The kind you write yourself. The kind he and Sam fought for. The messy, surprising kind where no one else gets to pull your strings. He was thankful that his death allowed him time. That in his last moments he could tell Sam, his baby brother, that he loved him so much. That he was proud of him. That he looked up to him. That he would always be with him. Nestled in Sam's heart.
The words he knew Sam would carry with him forever, helped to carry Dean skyward. It made dying a little less painful. Knowing Sam would have those words. Until Dean saw him again.
He didn't want Sam to die. But he knew he would. Because that's life. A free life, anyway. It had always been important to Dean that Sam live. It was the most important thing. As it is with love. He wanted Sam to live long and happy, with a wife and kids and grandkids. That was Dean's perfect ending, and he was okay if he had to wait for it.
"So, I guess the question is," Bobby said, breaking into Dean's thoughts. "What are you going to do now, Dean?"
And that's when Dean saw her. His Baby. Her long, sleek lines glistening in the sunlight. Black and shiny and glorious.
"I think I'll go for a drive."
He ran his hands along the metal of her body and slid into the driver's seat. Where he always belonged.
"Heya Baby," he said and started her up.
"Carry on my wayward son.
There'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest.
Don't you cry no more."
Dean drove Baby down the long, winding roads. The ones that were new yet familiar. Beams of dappled light flickered through the windscreen as he tore passed the forest of trees. The music playing on his radio. The breeze whistling through the open window. The air fresh and sweet.
Baby purred under his foot. Her engine lovingly vibrating through the sole of his boot. As he came upon a bridge, he pulled her to a stop and climbed out, her door creaking its tender song.
He looked out across the view, a smile on his lips.
Dean didn't know why he stopped on that bridge.
But then… he did.
Because Sam was coming home. His baby brother was coming home to Dean.
"Heya Sammy."
"Dean."
Dean felt light. Lighter than he had in his entire 41 years. It was strange. The feeling. But as he stood with his arm over his brother's shoulder, he suddenly understood what it was.
It was peace.
They were done.
They could rest.