#Heaven would say yeah we’re drowning all these kids and you have to go watch/enforce it

[ineffably-ryuu]

Me: randomly scrolling through old wips

Me: finds the Good Omens!Sandman AU I was working on at one point

Me: Oh. Hmm.

[tibbinswrites]

Prompt #26

It’s my birthday!!!

So I got you all a present. That’s how birthdays work, right? I wrote you this fic. Prompt #26 on my list because guess how old I am?!

Fair warning: Major Character Death. I made myself cry.

I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #20, #26, #33, #77, #78, #170 (part 1), (part 2), (part 3), #327 and #502 and I’m not accepting any more prompts at this time.

Also, check out the destiel anthology I’m in. We’re 119% funded and saving for hardback so if you want one, get one!

Prompt #26. Afterlife

Getting old sucked. Ever since Dean had found his first grey hair and noticed that the wrinkles around Sam’s eyes weren’t going away when he stopped smiling, Dean had realised that he might actually get to experience old age. It was a thoughts that settled uncomfortable behind his sternum, though he knew it wasn’t exactly bad. They’d defeated Chuck, after all, and only a couple of years after that, Dean had called it quits and retired from hunting… mostly. He’d help out if there was a case in their neck of the woods, Sam always called him first so he could call dibs or pass as he pleased. At least he had, until Sam himself had retired with Eileen and they’d passed the reigns on to the younger generation.

That was just fine by Dean. Sam and Eileen now lived only a couple of blocks away, the bunker a place none of them had been to in years, though sometimes they got visits from the younger hunters, wanting to gawk or advice or to hear some of the Winchesters’ greatest hits, which Dean was always happy to oblige and he and Sam had a tally going of which one of the brothers they’d come to see (Sam was winning, but barely). He liked seeing the way their eyes bugged out when Cas brought out a plate of sandwiches and dropped a kiss to Dean’s hair before settling next to him on the couch, his hands taking Dean’s left in his own so he could fiddle with the ring he’d put there nearly thirty years before.

Now, Cas was the worse part of this getting old deal, because Cas wasn’t. Or… he was, his grace had been irreparably damaged over the years, but slowly. Cas still looked like he was only barely approaching fifty, while Dean had come to realise that he was a shrivelled-up eighty-eight-year-old.

Despite Cas’ assurances that it made no difference to him, that he was still older than Dean by millennia anyway, that his soul was still as beautiful as it had been, Dean still sometimes found himself staring into the mirror in dismay, then looking over at his still-gorgeous husband and feeling even worse. Especially when Dean had had to convince Cas to pretend that he was a carer out in public, or his son, or something that would make more sense than him, a raisin of a human, being married to an angel (formerly of the Lord, now of humanity) who just wasn’t ageing at the same rate and both of them being happier than either had dared imagine for themselves.

Dean watched Cas from his chair while he puttered around outside. Before they’d even finished unpacking their meagre belongings after moving in, Cas had started working on the garden. There was a small beehive at the very back, and lots of decorative birdbaths and birdfeeders they had been gifted with over the years and the plants themselves were an explosion of colour. Dean couldn’t really make it out there on his own anymore. There were a few stone steps to get down into it from the house that he struggled with now and thing was practically a jungle, with roots and uneven ground that was pretty perilous for a man of his age. There was no lawn to speak of, the grass was always too long and there were more trees and plants than open spaces. It was beautiful to look at though, and sometimes in the summer Cas would carry him out to the bench (that was nowhere near the beehive) and they would sit together and watch the birds and insects flutter by, and despite being surrounded by suburbia, they were perfectly alone, a place of calm, like the lake near the bunker they’d gone to years ago.

He got nostalgic a lot, and bitter with it sometimes. And though he didn’t regret the way his life had turned out, not at all, he missed feeling like he had something, anything, to give back to Cas in return for loving him. He couldn’t offer to help around the house anymore. He was confined to his chair most of the time. Cas carried him to bed and helped him hobble to the bathroom and cooked for him and put up with his crotchety-ness when his knees were bothering him. He made sure Dean took all his pills on time and read to him when his eyes wouldn’t focus properly and sign to him when his ears were fuzzy and drove him over to visit Sam and Eileen twice a week. And he still looked at Dean in a way that made his heart melt, like he was beautiful, and just as capable and strong as he’d been at thirty, and not the pile of brittle bones that he had become.

Cas saw him watching through the window and smiled, as though seeing Dean sat where Cas had gently placed him a few hours ago was the best surprise he could have hoped for. Dean shook his head and smiled back. Even after all these years Cas was still a giant romantic dork. It was good to see him smile. He’d been kind of mopey for the past week, though wouldn’t answer when Dean asked him what was wrong.

He came back in soon after that, though he’d only been out for around fifteen minutes. He brought Dean a bowl of soup for lunch and sat with him with his own bowl, telling him how the hive was doing and which flowers had just begun to bud. Dean listened to it all, just letting Cas’ voice brush through him, as soft as his grace.

“Claire called this morning.” Cas informed him. “She and Kaia are planning a trip to Athens next month for their anniversary.”

“Well it’s lucky for some,” Dean said with a smile. “I’ll bet Alex and Patience are jealous.”

“Livid,” Cas agreed. “Claire was very pleased. She’s hoping they might run into ‘something cool’.” Cas’ fingers quoted the last two words. “So I daresay they’ll spend a few days looking for a hunt.”

“And how’s Donna?”

“As well as can be expected. Alex is staying with her for a little while, you know.”

“Yeah.”

Cas had driven them to the funeral a few months back. Jody had died peacefully, surrounded by her wife and her girls, but it was still hard on all of them. Especially Donna and Claire. Jody had been kick-ass even as a pensioner, getting into trouble with the local law enforcement when she decided to voice her complaints about their ‘sloppy new police tactics’. Dean had been sad to say goodbye.

“I think you should call Sam.” Cas said once they were done eating, though Dean hadn’t even managed half of the soup; he missed the days he could devour seven grilled cheeses in quick succession.

One hand still holding Dean’s, the other playing through his wispy, white hair. At least he hadn’t gone bald like his grandfather, though Sam had followed in Samuel’s eggheaded footsteps, which was a fact that Dean never tired of teasing him about.

“Why? We were over there the other day.”

“I know, but… It’s nice to check in. I’ll get you the phone.”

Bewildered, Dean stared as Cas unstuck himself from his side and went to pick up the cordless phone. He dialled and held the phone to his ear, turning his back to Dean and talking quietly so he couldn’t hear or even attempt to lip read what was being said. That was weird.

“Here.” Cas said, a few minutes later, handing Dean the phone before kissing him on the cheek and gathering up the trays from lunch. “You talk to Sam and I’ll clean up.”

“You’re being weird.” Dean told him, but dutifully held the phone to his ear anyway. “Hey Sammy.”

“Hey Dean.” Sam’s voice cracked a little over the words. “How are you feeling?”

“Old,” Dean replied. You?”

“Four years younger.” Sam said, and Dean could hear the smartass grin through the phone.

“Hello, Dean,” came Eileen’s voice.

“No!” Dean said firmly. “I’m not falling for that again. Sam, tell Eileen I say hi and that she’s been pulling the same joke for the past forty years.”

“And you fell for it for the past thirty-nine of them.”

There was a pause, probably while Sam signed something to his wife because he heard her laugh.

“What did Cas wanna talk to you about anyway?” Dean asked. “And why doesn’t he know by now that he can just call you without pretending that I need to talk to you.”

“He’s just paying back the favour.” Sam said, a little too quickly. “It used to be that I was the one playing messenger between the two of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Why do I feel like you’re planning a surprise birthday party or something?”

“That’s exactly it. We forgot to do that in January. You know what my memory’s like now.”

“It’s from all those concussions you got.” Dean said, falling easily back into their old banter. Cas was right, talking with Sam was just what he needed. Sure, they still saw each other a lot, but over the phone he could almost kid himself that they weren’t as old as they looked, and even if they were… then it wasn’t that bad. Because he and Sam had made it through. Against all odds, through Hell and Heaven and Purgatory, they’d stared down monsters, ghosts, angels, demons and God and they’d beaten them all. They were the Winchesters and they’d survived.

Sure, this old age crap sucked, but every day he got to wake up next to the person he loved, knowing that his brother was doing the same. He got to hear stories from the hunters who came to visit, about new weapons they’d developed, new hunters they’d recruited, new lore they’d discovered. He got to hear how the fight was continuing without them and it was kinda nice to not be needed any more. He knew that he’d done his part, given all he had, and still ended up with a life worth bragging about. He didn’t worry about nightmares anymore, didn’t wake up drowning in guilt over things that were long over and done with. He’d made peace with his mistakes years ago, and he’d also learned to appreciate his victories.

His conversation with Sam lasted longer than he’d expected. They ended up, as most of their conversations did, reminiscing on old times. Mostly because there was so little present news happening. The world was quiet, for which they were both grateful, and they had more than earned the right to allow it to pass them by.

But this conversation felt different to the one they’d shared just the other day. Heavier almost. Sure, they laughed and poked fun at each other, just like they always had, even brothers in their eighties were still brothers after all, but Sam told him a few things that he was sure had never come up before, things like how grateful Sam was that Dean had raised him like he had, how he’d known all along the things he’d sacrificed so that he could have as normal a childhood as possible, even growing up as a hunter. He confessed how pleased he’d been to see him at Stanford, even knowing that it meant trouble, and other little moments like it. After hunts when Dean had been hurt, how terrified Sam had been every time. And when Sam got hurt, how much it had helped knowing that Dean was the one patching him up. He told a dozen different stories that emphasised how brave Sam thought he was, how kind, how smart, and he wouldn’t let Dean scoff off those compliments like he usually did.

Sam’s openness inspired his own and he found himself confessing things in kind. It felt good, cleansing, like a too-hot bath, and despite how stilted and slightly uncomfortable the entire conversation was, he was glad Cas had suggested the call.

Eventually, they both seemed to run out of things to say.

“Well, I should probably go,” Dean said. “But we’ll come visit on Tuesday like usual, kay?”

To his surprise, Sam sniffed, and it sounded like he was about to cry. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Love you, jerk.”

“You too, bitch.”

He ended the call and glanced up at Cas, who had returned about an hour ago with a book, though instead of reading it, he was watching Dean.

Dean frowned at him, thinking about how weird Cas had been acting, how today he’d barely left him alone, how he’d caught him up on all the latest family news and made him call Sam. He remembered something Cas had told him years ago, when they’d first begun to let themselves truly love each other, how angels could sense when someone was dying.

“Today’s the day, isn’t it?” He asked.

Cas looked stricken for a moment, then he put the book aside and came back to sit at Dean’s side, curling around him like the world’s most careful question mark. “Yes.”

Dean reached out to grasp his hand. “Thank you. For making me talk to Sam.”

Cas just squeezed his frail fingers.

“Maybe I should’ve cut back on the burgers after all.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t,” Dean conceded. “But this has been nice though. Our life. Our, post-hunting life.”

“Our together life,” Cas said, his breath soft against Dean’s neck. “Yes, it has.”

“I love you.”

“And it still takes a deathbed for you to say it,” Cas joked, as though Dean hadn’t made a point to say it at least once a day since they’d been married. “I love you too.”

“So, what happens… after?” He had to ask, despite knowing, he had to ask. Because he’d known this day was coming in a far-off kind of sense, and he’d died more often than he cared to count, but knowing that this was it, this would be his final trip over to the other side, well… he was a little apprehensive.

“I’ll find you.” Cas promised. “I’ll need you to wait for me a little while. I have to make the arrangements here and—”

“And be there for Sam.”

“Of course.” Cas said easily. “But as soon as I can, perhaps a week or two, I’ll find you; and we’ll keep… not-living a together afterlife.”

“I’ll like that.” Dean said, just as a sharp pain prodded at his chest.

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of visitors too,” Cas said. “Jack will make sure we have plenty of channels between Heavens. The last we spoke he said he was excited to see you again.”

“Be nice to see him too.” Dean said, though he was finding it hard to breathe; Cas stroked his hair and the touch was nice. “And the rest.”

The last thing he felt on Earth was Cas’ lips brushing his skin, and Dean Winchester drifted off, content in his angel’s arms; knowing that this was right, that he was ready, and that when he woke up back in his thirty-year-old body in whatever Heaven he had earned, he was gonna give Cas a hell of a welcome when he joined him.