Just in case the finale doesn’t go how I hope it will, I’m prepared with a fix-it fic.
Dean opens his eyes.
The light over his head is bright and warm and bounces off the glistening walls of the room he's in. He's sitting in a surprisingly comfortable chair, and there's an ethereal glow emanating from everything around him. A soft energy buzzes in the air and that more than anything is the final clue that clicks it all into place.
Dean is in heaven.
Huh.
He doesn't remember anything after going to bed so he guesses it must have happened while he was sleeping. A heart attack is quite anticlimactic for a hunter like him, if he says so himself. He always imagined he'd go out guns blazing, Sam at his side (or even better, Sam safe somewhere behind him), fighting a monster or a demon or the next big threat. Then again, he never imagined he'd make it past thirty, let alone grow old enough to have a heart attack.
A door Dean hadn't noticed before opens on silent hinges, and of all the people, Jack pokes his head inside.
"Dean, welcome!" He waves a hand from afar, like the dork he still is. It's good to see that some things never change, even if Jack is technically the new god now.
Dean stands up, and his knees don’t pop like they used to. Perks of being dead! “Jack! It’s good to see you, man. It’s been a while.”
Jack easily accepts the hug, patting Dean on the back. “I know, I’m sorry. Things got busy up here and by the time I took a break it had been years since we last talked.”
"Is there a reason why I'm in the lobby instead of my heaven?" Dean asks, pulling back.
"I wanted to personally escort you to your heaven,” Jack says. “I think it's the least I can do for my family. If you'll follow me."
They walk down an endless hall lined with white doors, a silver plate on each of them showing the name of the occupant along with their dates of birth and death. Unlike the last time Dean was here, though, the hall is not empty. People are coming and going, doors opening and closing.
"Did something change?" Dean asks.
"As a matter of fact, yes," Jack confirms. "Every human still has their own personal heaven but now you can travel. You can visit your loved ones, see what they're up to. I think it's better this way. People are happier."
"Huh. Didn't expect that. Angels don't like bending their rules usually."
"I think you'll find I can be very persuasive when I want to be."
A smile tags at Dean's lips. "I bet you can, kiddo."
They come to a stop in front of one of the doors, which stands out only because it has no plate on it.
"This," Jack says with a soft smile, "is your heaven."
"Where's my name?"
Jack cocks his head to the side, the gesture so painfully familiar that Dean's breath hitches for a second. But then Jack nods, and the moment's gone.
"We'll put it up soon. For heavens shared by soulmates plates need to be changed when both of them make it here."
Dean shakes his head. "Soulmate? I have a soulmate? Who is it?"
Jack opens the door and gestures for Dean to walk inside. "Why don't you go and see for yourself?"
Dean's heart stammers in his chest as he steps over the threshold and finds himself in the front yard of a house. It's old but well-cared for, the walls recently painted, the windows clean. It looks like that fixer-upper Dean thought of buying once upon a time, when retiring became a concrete plan and not just a we'll-see. As a matter of fact, it looks exactly like what Dean had imagined that fixer-upper would look like after he was done renovating it. Except he never bought it because it was too big for one person. It felt empty the one time he dared step inside, the rooms sighing with the weight of his loneliness.
He steps inside again now, to sunny walls and airy rooms, to a light atmosphere and the scent of freshly washed sheets. There are pictures on the wall. Sam and Eileen's wedding, their kids, Claire and Kaia, Jack with Sam and Dean. Even the picture of Mary holding a four-year-old Dean is framed and hanging next to all the others. All his favorite memories, there for him to look at for the rest of eternity.
There's the shuffling sound of footsteps from upstairs, drawing Dean's eyes to the ceiling. His soulmate is already here.
He swallows. Doesn't dare to hope. It's impossible. Absolutely impossible.
The one person Dean wants to see, more than anyone else, is not here. He's gone, cruelly taken from him years ago, decades, leaving a gaping hole inside him that he's never been able to fill. Sure, Dean learned to live with it, with his guilt, all the what-ifs that kept him up at night, but it's still there. Like a bloody handprint on a jacket he never bothered to clean. Like the words that never made it past his lips and still haunt him.
It can't be.
This is heaven. And he is in the Empty.
Slowly, Dean turns to gaze around him, taking in the rest of the house. The couple of beers left on the counter he can see through the open kitchen door. The stack of cassettes by the old radios in the living room. The tan ball of fabric forgotten on a chair.
Dean crosses to that chair, drawn to it like a moth to the flame.
This is not possible.
The fabric is stiff under his fingers but familiar. It's exactly like the one he used to carry in the trunk of the Impala all those years ago. When he presses the trench coat to his nose, it even smells the same, and Dean takes another shuddering breath, shoulders hunching. So long. He spent so long wishing, praying. Praying every night. Every day. Every time the rest of the world became too much.
The footsteps are coming down the stairs now, and still, Dean can't turn around. Doesn't dare look for he's too afraid to break the spell. He's too afraid to hope, because every time he did in the past few years, it was for nothing. His prayers were left unanswered.
So even when the footsteps come to a stop somewhere behind him, Dean keeps his eyes closed, his fingers white-knuckled on the trench coat.
It can't be. This is not possible. This is just another one of those dreams and soon Dean will wake up, alone again.
It's not possible. It's not. There's no way what the person behind him is about to say is—
When the blue-eyed guy—Cas, he introduces himself—slides into the stool next to Dean’s, offering to buy him a beer, Dean accepts. He tells himself he’s only humoring the guy.
When Cas leans a little closer, a flirty tilt to his lips, Dean doesn’t pull away. Tells himself it’d be rude.
When Cas leads him gently by the wrist somewhere more private, Dean goes. Tells himself he’s only doing it to temper his curiosity. Straight guys can be curious, too.
Then Cas kisses him to breathlessness, and Dean’s brain gets fried.
Dean wakes up because he can’t breathe. There’s a weight on his chest, stopping his lungs from working properly, something hot plastered to his side that makes his shirt cling to his skin with sweat. His arm, still wrapped around the former angel currently using him as a pillow has fallen asleep.
Gently shaking Cas, Dean says, “Turn around.”
Other than a half-hearted huff of annoyance Cas doesn’t wake up, but surprisingly, he obliges.
Dean presses himself against Cas’ back, pulls him closer. Sighs against the back of his neck. There, that’s better.
OKay, so: Witch!Cas who has a special affinity for animals, and he’s a zookeeper. Obviously, all the animals adore him. Finally, someone who not only understands them, but he’s kind to them, and goes out of his way to make sure they’re comfortable and the zoo buys their favorite food.
Castiel will go feed the cappuchin monkeys, and all of them will cling to him for dear life, trying to groom his hair to show they love him. Birds will follow him when he’s passing by their cages. The lions roll over so he can pet their bellies. Elephants beg him to use his magic and make them fly when he visits after hours.
Of course, when one of the other zookeepers develops a little crush on Castiel, the animals are the first to notice. And not only notice, but make sure the freckled, green-eyed guy, doesn’t get too close to Castiel.
Birds poop on him. Every single carnivore growls at him when he stands next to Castiel. Monkeys throw fruit at him. Elephants spray water on him when he tries to talk to Castiel.
And Castiel tries to stop them, except he's not sure why they're doing this to Dean - because he's a little dense and to be honest, each of Dean's attempts to flirt with him while they're working has been ruined by interfering animals.
He does figure it out eventually, with a little help from a co-worker who has eyes (and maybe is a little invested in seeing them get together - yes, this is Charlie). It's at that moment Castiel thinks back to all the times Dean tried talking to him and a banana peel landed on his head while a gorilla judged him silently from a few feet away, and oh. Oh!
So, his solution is simple, if a little risky. He asks Dean on date and they sneak into the zoo after sundown, and it's there Castiel tells him he's a witch and he can talk to animals, and he's super nervous, fidgeting, heart at his throat because he likes Dean, genuinely likes him and wants this thing between them to work but he can't do it if Dean can't deal with his magic powers and--
And Dean kisses him. Silencing all the worries buzzing around inside his head.
Every animal knows how worried Cas is about others finding out about his powers and rejecting him. They know, and they see Dean taking the revelation in stride and, yeah, maybe they were a little too aggressive with him. They decide to cut him some slack from now on. They do threaten to tear his throat out if he hurts their favorite witch - which Cas fails to translate for Dean and that's maybe for the best - but they stop bullying him.
When Dean takes Cas on another midnight date at the zoo a couple of years later, it's because he wants to ask all of Cas' friends for their approval before he goes down on one knee and holds up a ring.
The annoying itch high on Castiel’s back that spreads down his wings can only mean one thing: he’s molting. The horror! It never used to be a problem, but being in a corporeal body comes with some complications—namely, the itch! And a mountain of shed feathers he has no use for.
Dean, surprisingly, likes the feathers. Even collects them in a special wooden box. And he even helps Castiel preen, using his fingers to brush and stroke every single feather. It takes hours, but Castiel doesn’t complain.
Maybe molting is not so bad. Not when there’s Dean to help him.
The first time Dean kisses Cas is with bruising force, adrenaline in his veins, and a nest of vampires surrounding them. It’s supposed to be a goodbye.
By some miracle, they survive.
The second time it’s Cas who kisses Dean, in the bunker’s nursery. It’s softer, shy, barely a touch. It’s Cas asking for permission.
The third time comes right after, both clinging to each other knowing tonight was a close call, their mouths moving together, gaining more confidence with every passing second. It’s the confession Dean was always too scared to make murmured right against Cas’ skin.
Cas’ fingers are loose around Dean’s wrist when he pulls him away from the others. For once, there’s no sign of the drug-induced haziness Dean’s used to seeing in his eyes. Maybe his old self was useful for something after all.
The thought twists in his gut.
“Yes, Cas?”
“We’re about to die.”
Cas’ touch lingers, burning him. If Dean was a weaker man he’d turn and run away with him. Fuck Lucifer and fuck the Croats. But he isn’t. Can’t be.
Castiel’s not sure what compels him forward. The journalist has been looking for him for months, and Castiel has always avoided him. He has the reputation of a mysterious vigilante to uphold. But tonight was a close one, the coppery taste of blood still fresh behind his lips, and maybe that’s why Castiel peels away from the shadows.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean freezes. Then his shoulders relax. Green eyes turn to lock with Castiel’s behind the mask, and Castiel takes a sharp breath.
He knew the dangers. He knew meeting Dean face to face meant he’d be lost. He doesn’t care.
