Ninety-seven years was a long fucking time. No way in hell was Dean going to believe in the stupid clock on his wrist, or anybody else's for that matter, because of the number he had been born with. His mother, when she was still alive, attempted to shower him with love and affection because of it. After all, he was being forced to wait ninety-seven years to meet his soulmate.
His own mother had been nineteen when she had met his dad. His little brother Sam would be twenty-one when he would meet his.
But Dean? Dean had to wait ninety-seven years. Would he even live long enough for that? Or would he die soon after? It was so fucking unfair! He had to wear a bulky clock that would beep when he met his dumb soulmate for ninety-seven fucking years.
When he was young, his mother would hide his clock underneath long sleeves. He didn't understand why, though. When he was a bit older, there were some days when he would ignore his mother's orders and roll his sleeves up. The fifth time he did, his teacher noticed his clock. She had been horrified and, still, Dean did not understand why. It was just a number, after all. His mother had been very mad at him when he got home from school – his teacher had called home with questions, very uncomfortable and intrusive questions.
In middle school, he took every precaution to hide his clock. Middle schoolers were beasts and would not hesitate to bully the everliving fucks out of him. In high school, he finally gave up caring about the dumb thing. He wore short sleeves, he didn't keep his wrist nestled safely in his left hand; he let everyone know that he, Dean Winchester, had to wait until he was ninety-seven years old until he met the infamous being known as his soulmate.
The girls took pity on him and, upon observing the time left on their own clocks, felt it okay to fool around with him for the time being. The guys were envious – Dean could have any girl he wanted and his soulmate wouldn't care because they would probably be too old to. Dean actually started to like his life, as it was pretty freaking awesome.
Of course, it could be a little lonely. Especially when his little brother Sammy found his soulmate – a sweet blonde babe named Jessica. Or when his best friend Charlie met her soulmate Gilda who was into magic and shit. Or when, after not seeing him for months, he found out his friend Garth had gotten married to his soulmate, Bess.
Yeah. Sometimes waiting ninety-seven years was Hell on Earth.
And then, something horrible started to happen. Dean began to grow old. He couldn't fool around with any girls his age because they had all found their soulmates and he didn't want to fool around with younger chicks because, one, he was old and what young girl wanted to do him for free, and, two, he didn't want to feel like a cribsnatcher. So, in his old age, he picked up helping people whose soulmate's died before they could meet them find other people whose soulmate's died and paired them up. People wondered why he himself didn't find someone like that, but Dean didn't want someone to look at him and know he still had time left on his clock when he was supposed to love them. So, he began to hide his watch again. After years and years of being cynical, Dean had decided it wasn't his job anymore.
There were times when he felt that twinge of hate and sorrow, but he pushed it to the side and kept going. When people asked about his watch, he just told them it had stopped – it was easier than saying there was still time on it that kept on ticking. After all, why would a man who was well over seventy still have time on his clock?
When he was eighty-four, Dean was confined to an old people home. He hated it there – every single one of his neighbors had children and grandchildren who visited once a month. Sam and maybe his children (Jessica had died some years earlier) would visit him when they could, which was usually for Christmas and other holidays or events. Then Sam was put into the home with him and he would spend the day with his brother like he used to when they were much younger. Sam's children and grandchildren would also visit and, when they did, they would hang out with Dean, too.
The only bad part about the home was that Dean couldn't hide his clock. All the staff members knew and Dean could do nothing about it. They all started joking with him that he was going to meet his soulmate right there in the home and that they were all lucky to bear witness to it. When it happened, of course, but four years seemed to drag on forever, and yet go by in a blink after ninety-three of them previous.
Sam died before him at the nice age of ninety-one. Dean felt like shit because his brother wouldn't live to meet Dean's soulmate. And then Dean wondered once more if he himself would live long enough to meet them.
Two months before the destined day, he became ill. Fate was always a bitch, that much he knew – his clock was testament to that – but surely it would allow him the pleasure that most other people felt?
Dean died with a minute to spare.
And that was when he woke up. He sat up in confusion and blinked into the brightness. While his eyes adjusted, he went over mentally how he felt. Fine, he concluded. His eyes worked fine – it was bright and beautiful. And he himself was… better than okay. Really better than okay; Dean was young again and he stood up with no creaks in his joints whatsoever.
"Is this Heaven," he wondered aloud, looking around in awe.
"Yes," a deep voice answered from behind. "Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel and I will be your guide for the day."
Dean turned around to see Castiel's face and heard a beep go off instead. Confused, he looked down at his clock that finally – finally – read zero and looked back at Castiel who was smiling. "I have been waiting many millennia for this day," he told Dean. "I am overjoyed to meet you."
He couldn't help it. He laughed. "Yeah, I bet," Dean said. "I thought ninety-seven years was a long time, but yours trumps."
A/N: Jumping on the Destiel bandwagon. I'm a sucker for soulmate AUs. First thing I actually completed after my Tolkien induced writer's block. Was it okay?