Pain radiated from the center of his back. Breathing labored, his field of vision narrowed to his brother. As far as Dean knew, he and Sam were the only ones in the world.

One of Sam's hands was pressed against his stomach. Dean covered that hand with his, held it tightly.

Much as he wanted one more moment with his brother—one more drive, one more case, one more pie, one more beer—he felt himself slip further and further away from his agony.

"Goodbye, Sam."

Everything was soft, and bright, air crisp under the warmth of the sun. In the distance, bird calls echoed.

As Dean looked around, he murmured, "Well, at least I made it to Heaven."

"Yup."

Frowning, Dean turned. He saw the Roadhouse first, and then Bobby, and his mind, disoriented, tumbled through memories, searching for the right one.

"What memory is this?" Dean asked.

Bobby laughed. "It ain't, ya idjit."

"Yeah, it is, because last I heard, you—" Dean said, stepping onto the porch and pointing casually at Bobby, "—you were in Heaven's lockup."

"I was, but now I'm not. That kid of yers, before he went…wherever…made some changes here."

Dean glanced away, absorbing, and then sat down next to Bobby, who continued: "Busted my ass out, and then he…well, he set some things right. Pulled down all the walls up here. Heaven ain't just reliving your golden oldies anymore. It's what it always should have been. Everyone happy. Everyone together."

Bobby explained that Dean's parents, finally together, had a cabin on yonder, as did Rufus. Dean nodded, a dozen questions half-formed, circling, in his mind.

"It's the Heaven you deserve," Bobby said. "We've been waiting for you."

Bobby passed Dean a beer. Dean took it. "Jack did all that," he said, a little numbly. He had been considering the kid—should he really be calling him a "kid" anymore?—in the few days since the world was saved. It was hard to reconcile the out-of-control, soulless kid who'd killed his mom with the redeemed force of nature who saved the world. He had been so angry.

Now, that anger was limp, and quiet. Forgiving Jack didn't seem impossible anymore. But then—Dean laughed to himself—God was supposed to forgive you, not the other way around. One last sacrilegious thought for the road.

"Well," Bobby said, "Cas helped."

Dean looked at him.

Bobby raised his eyebrows knowingly and took a swig of his beer.

Now that. That was something.

Bobby chatted companionably. Most importantly, he reassured Dean that the wait for Sam would be kinder than he realized. When he was done, Bobby said, "So I guess the question is, what are you going to do now, Dean?"

In the near distance, a familiar car appeared, just when Dean wanted it to. He knew without checking that all the most tender personalizations were there—the dash rattle, the army man, their initials. He looked at Bobby and grinned. "I think I'll go for a drive," he replied, a gleam in his eye.

The wheel was smooth beneath his hands, and as always, the impala took every corner like a dream. Wind rushing, radio up, nothing but sunshine without glare ahead. The smell of the pines and the road filled the car, heady and full of joy.

Dean never knew he could feel so deeply. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wished he'd known he could feel so deeply.

After a while—maybe an hour, maybe a decade—Dean saw something that made him curious, and he pulled off the road. The impala rumbled low across the dirt, coming to a stop. He stepped out and looked at the barn. By all outward appearances, it was an ordinary barn, but it wasn't, not really. Not on the inside.

He shouldn't want to be here. Why did he want to be here?

A voice told him, "This isn't the barn where you died, Dean."

Something in Dean clicked. He knew before he turned around. "Cas."

Castiel stood in front of the impala—suit, tie, trenchcoat and all. "Hello, Dean," he said. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Time in Heaven moves different. That's what Bobby had said. Dean had never doubted him, but if he needed proof, the fact that it took him an eternity and no time at all to clap Castiel in a large hug would be proof enough.

The next eternity (and no time at all) was what it took him to let Castiel go. He appraised the angel. "Cas," he said. "You're alive."

Castiel, he could have sworn, winced. "Actually, I'm not."

Dean's brow furrowed. "You lost me."

"After the empty took me," Cas said, "I…well, I assume I was asleep. The first thing I heard when I awoke was Jack. He was saying something about 'one more miracle for the road.'"

"You know, there are a few things I'd like to take back about that kid," Dean remarked. "But if Jack busted you out, why are you saying you're not alive?"

"Because after I helped change all this, he gave me a choice. I could return to the empty, like all my brothers and sisters before me, or I could give up my grace. Become human. Be welcomed into Heaven." He gestured to the countryside that surrounded them.

Dean took a moment, searching the angel's eyes, to absorb this. "Okay, not to nitpick eternal bliss or 'one more miracle,' but he really couldn't have done you a better solid than that? Maybe slip you a hot ticket back to earth, a few more years in your pocket…"

Castiel laughed softly, his eyes set on the shimmer of trees in the distance. "You say that as if I would have never dreamed to ask for a gift this magnificent."

Those words settled between them, stretching eternity into a second slower.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but the words did not emerge. He closed it, then tried again, to no avail.

Cas glanced back, and the smallest degree of sadness leaked into his peaceful expression. "Dean, there's something I need to tell you."

Again? Dean exhaled, internally chastising himself. "Shoot," he encouraged.

"What I said before I died—there are no expectations. This is your Heaven as much as anyone's, and if I may say so, you deserve every happiness it can bring you. Whatever that happiness looks like. I will not press the issue. In fact…if I've made things too uncomfortable, you don't have to see me at all if you don't want to. It is, after all, a very big Heaven."

That felt wrong, but Dean didn't know what to say, was searching for the words.

Before he could answer, Castiel looked urgently away, as if someone else had called his name. His expression changed, becoming softer—was that possible?—and full of understanding. To Dean, he said, "I should go now. I think another engagement is going to occupy your mind very soon."

More angel riddles. At least the most endearing annoyances endured. Dean swiped a hand over his face. "Wait, Cas."

Castiel waited.

"If you want the truth, I was destroyed when you died. I had to push every thought of you down so deep because if I didn't, I wasn't going to do the next right thing. If you want one more truth," he continued, voice rising—leave it to Dean Winchester to get mad in paradise—"dying immediately after makes it a little hard for a guy to process! I don't know what I would have said if you told me you loved me without being at death's grimy black door."

And there it was, the truth. Or a fragment of it, glinting, its multifaceted surfaces catching the sunlight. "I don't know," Dean repeated. He felt his voice grow gentle, a gentleness he realized he was proud to have. "I don't know if I'd have said no. I don't know what I'd say now if you did, uh, 'press the issue.' But I am fucking glad that you're here. I wouldn't have that any other way. Cas, you matter to me."

Castiel looked down, expression wavering between joy and sadness. When he met Dean's eyes again, he nodded, then turned to walk away.

One more thought, one that had been scratching the inside of his skull ever so lightly from the moment Bobby casually said, "Cas helped," finally broke free.

"Cas," he said.

Once again, the angel stopped.

"I want time to think about it," Dean said. "The time I didn't get before."

Castiel smiled. "All of the time of the universe is ours."

And there again was the road: the slick spine of Heaven that curved and ducked and climbed and circled and went on forever, if you wanted it to. Dean and the impala drove at an even clip.

He drove without agenda, without concern, without the demand of destination. But when a bridge appeared in the distance, that seemed right.

Having slowed to a stop at the end of the bridge, Dean got out of the impala, walked himself over to the side. Leaning against the rail, he breathed in at the wonder of the world that was his, at peace, forever. Every damn cold beer, rock song, long drive and late night he could ever want.

Breathing out, he knew what—and who—he wanted. Every doubt, every jeer, every ugly reason why it couldn't happen melted away. It was simple. He loved Cas.

It was like nothing he'd ever experienced on earth: he loved, he loved brightly and fiercely, but he was patient. He was sure.

There were a lot of people he'd pick to be in his Heaven. Some were already there, some would "be along": Bobby, Mom, Dad, Charlie, Kevin, Jody, Donna, Eileen, Claire, Jo, Ellen…

But of all the people, there were two who formed the bridge for what his Heaven should be. One was Cas. The other—

The air changed, shifted, the atoms of Heaven making room for its newest arrival. Dean's brow furrowed slightly, and he breathed. A grin widened across his face. It was the other soul he'd been waiting for (for an eternity and no time at all). "Hey, Sammy."

He turned to look at his brother.

"Dean," Sam said simply.

They sized each other up, and firmly clapped each other in a hug. With every firm slap on the back, there was an echo, a drumbeat that said, "We did it—we're here. Brother, brother."

With a last pat on the neck, Dean tugged Sam to the railing to take in the view. One arm around his brother, one foot on the rail, Dean felt the last traces of a violent and painful world slip away. All the burdens put down. Nodding to himself, he followed Sam's gaze out at the beginning of the world.

He had everything and everyone he had ever wanted.