thinking abt dean in the afterlife in his own heaven. bobby is there-as well as jo and ellen. ash is always hanging out at his house, talking abt some new code that he’s trying to figure out and dean will simply nod, understanding and letting him vent out. charlie asks if there’s any way to meet some ladies and soon they both get to work. after finding kevin, dean doesn’t let him out of his sight. years pass and he watches his loved ones wither away in earth but their spirit is an all encompassing warmth in heaven. all in all, he has it good.
except sometimes he’ll walk out of the bunker, and step out to a beautiful sunset with a path towards a lake. and there’s a black camping chair at the edge; a small fishing tool box beside it and a fishing rod on the other.
he knows this place-as his heart steadies itself and his mind fizzles into a comforting blankness that he welcomes. he knows this place, recognizes the sounds and smell of this water. knows the trees and shapes of the leaves by heart. but he never sits down, too afraid of who may never come.
he no longer remembers cas’ voice. that’s the worst part. it started with his smell. smoky firewood in a cabin. a breath of fresh air after heavy rainfall. he was earth incarnate, her most devoted follower. his smell was very distinct, and Dean remembers the way he’d tuck in his head to the back of his neck-near his earlobe, where the smell was the most poignant. after a while, around the fall time, dean would open the windows and hope to catch even a small whiff of fresh air.
it continued on with his body. dean remembers hugging him, having to lean down a bit but when arms wrapped around his body it was like puzzle pieces connecting. cas was steady, a force to be reckoned with-both literally and figuratively. he was a mountain, a force that could break but retransform and would not bend to the winds will. cas was his force.
dean tried hard to remember his hands-the roughness in his fingers. the slightly tanner but large hands that could hold the world in the palm of his hands. cas was clean, kept up with his personal hygiene though he didn’t have to. and his nails were always clipped and short, ready for combat.
he then forgot the softness of his hair. the mess at the top of his head that became an endearing reminder that the earth was touching him, feeding his body and soul. he remembers it being dark, not black, but with a kiss of brown. he remembers it being soft, but his fingers can no longer tell his mind what running them through his hair would feel like. he harbors that loss deep in his heart.
at the end dean forgets about cas’ voice. that deep voice that could reach inside his body and engulf his heart with a soothing heat. he tries to recall the tone of his “hello, dean”’s but could never get it right. he held on as hard as he could, and when he awoke he could feel his heart longing for a familiar sound-one of love. he’d never really gotten over that one.
but there is one thing; he thanks all the beings in the universe that when he closes his eyes he can see startling blue staring back. a deep abyss of sadness and life, rays of striking words and actions. a blue that can engulf one for days on end, one that will never dim or darken, but rather on the sunny days, shine a path for the future.
dean no longer remembers cas fully, but he does catch glimpses of him in the afterlife. the way the wind blows and surround his body is like a hug filled with promise and as his hair moves he imagines fingers running through it. the sun shining is his smile, kind and welcoming. the rays of heat are like kisses that he once desired. the setting sun is a tearful goodbye, bittersweet but beautiful in all its shades.
dean knows cas is somewhere waiting for him. he knows that cas will wait a lifetime for him to go into his arms. he hopes cas will come back soon, as he has so much to tell him already. dean feels lonely, the same way he felt before cas first walked into the barn. surrounded by loved ones, he can’t find the one he burns for.
dean doesn’t sit in the chair today. and tomorrow he won’t either, and probably the next day as well. he doesn’t sit, because it doesn’t feel perfect like that first time. so he will wait.
he’ll wait until the sun is perfectly set, until the wind blows steady and soft. until the leaves rustles the exact way they did once, and the colors match. he’ll wait until the branches grow at a certain length and take on the perfect angles.
dean will wait forever in he has to. and when the time is right, he’ll finally sit. and he’ll hear the perfect words coming from a perfect being, and he’ll know he’s truly reached heaven.
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