The Heaven That I Seek - Epilogue
Late August 1945
“Good to see you man.”
“You look great!”
“I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Got any good stories?”
Dean chuckled his way through the bombardment of questions. Everyone was curious as to how he managed to survive the past five years, and to be honest, even Dean doesn’t know how. He does know, however, that he’s finally home, and for good.
He was back in Lawrence for most likely the last time before he headed off to New England, the promise land for wayward men like him. The alluring cities of Massachusetts, preferably Boston, were calling his name, and Dean was itching for a bit of fishing.
“Not many,” he replied, not bothering to try and remember. “And even if there were any famous war stories of mine to tell, I wouldn’t be able to recall them. The military sort of wipes your mind clean as soon as you get a glimpse of home.”
The stranger nodded with a smile that was spread too tightly across their lips to be genuine. Once Dean had shaken the man’s hand, the guy wandered off to find someone else more interesting, someone that wasn’t still haunted by the fatal cries that always accompany battle.
Everyone was celebrating the end of the war in the same cul-de-sac where Dean had been five years prior for the annual Fourth of July party. He tried not to think of that day, but sitting in an Adirondack chair in the Jefferson’s front yard, he couldn’t help but reminisce.
No, he scolded himself, not today. Of all days, not today, because there’s a tiny chance that he could-
“…stop by.”
Dean shook his head. A tall figure towered over him, their shadow shielding him from the heat of the sun.
“Sorry, say that again, Sammy?”
The eye roll that Sam had long since perfected could have been heard from miles away.
“I said you’ll never guess who’s going to stop by,” he remarked with a musical tone.
Sitting in his chair, a cool glass of Jack Daniels in his hand, Dean began to sweat. He could guess who it was. He was just afraid to say it out loud.
“Who?” He asked, feigning curiosity.
Sam pursed his lips. “I know you know who, but I’ll say his name anyway. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it. It’s Cas. Cas is coming.”
Butterflies. Dean expected butterflies or some surge of anxiety through his veins. But as he fiddled with his glass, staring at Sam’s scuffed loafers, there was nothing. Not even a tiny flip of excitement.
Dean was about to answer, his lips parted - however, nothing really came out of his mouth, nothing coherent anyways - but a gravelly voice interrupted him before he could utter a word.
“Actually, Cas is already here.”
Both Winchesters were at a loss for words. It was one thing talking about seeing Cas, but it was another to actually see him.
Sam almost knocked him over, smothering Cas in a bear hug. Although he was five years younger than Castiel, Sam was about a foot or two taller. His arms could have wrapped around Cas’ torso twice, possibly three times. But before Sam could suffocate the college graduate, he released him at just the right time, like it was a daily routine. And it was.
“I’ll go grab you a drink,” Sam chirped, happy to be reunited with an old friend.
As Sam ran to the coolers, Cas called, “A water would be great!”
He smiled as Sam threw him a thumbs up. Then he turned his attention, at last, to Dean.
For a moment, they were speechless. At least Dean was. A million different things he could say flew through his mind, but they passed too quickly for him to pick one. Five years was spread out between them. Five years of absolutely no contact, no sporadic “how are you’s”, nothing. It weighed heavily on Dean’s shoulders. The air was as stale as it had been the afternoon they met. Dean could have sworn he heard the faint whistle of the train chugging by.
“How are things?” Castiel asked.
His lips didn’t waver with uncertainty, nor did his eyes - those damn blue eyes - twinkle with a hint of insecurity. Dean sighed internally. Cas was always the one to confidently place one foot forward ahead of the rest of us.
“Good, good. How are things for you?”
A twitch of the nose, hesitation at the lips. Castiel hung his head slightly.
“Rough,” he replied truthfully. That’s all he said.
The party continued on during the silence that followed Castiel’s ambiguous reply. Dean fidgeted uncomfortably, although he tried to do so subtly. He didn’t know what to say, and this was what he had feared. There was nothing he could say to move the conversation along, or at least nothing he could think of. He was going to wordlessly say goodbye to Castiel again because of his terrible habit of being tongue-tied.
“Did you ever think of me,” Cas blurted out, “when you were enlisted?”
The question was so unexpected that Dean went slack-jawed and slid off his chair onto the warm, freshly-cut grass. He didn’t know why Cas would ask such a thing, or why he would want to know the answer. But he gave Cas what he was looking for because Dean couldn’t lie to those pair of twinkling galaxies or slightly-chapped lips.
“Yeah, I” - Dean stuttered, rushing to get the words out - “I did.”
Castiel smiled softly, dragging his tongue thoughtfully over his lips, teasing Dean with the fantasy of kissing them for one last time. In a blink, the smile was gone, replaced with a stern nod.
“Well.” Cas straightened his deep navy blue tie and tugged on his suit coat. “It was nice to see you again, Mr. Winchester.”
This was it. Dean’s heart pounded against his chest, and with every beat, Castiel was drifting farther and farther away. He cleared his throat to mask the ragged edge to his voice.
“It’s always nice to see you, Cas.”
“You know, I really haven’t heard that name in a long time.”
And they go on. Two different men leading two different lives. Once in a while, they’ll stop whatever they’re doing and gaze off into the past. As cliché as it sounds, it’s what will happen for a very long time, until they’re both old men, hair graying by the second. They’ll stop and remember. Whether it’s the first time they laid eyes on each other, or their first dance, or their final goodbyes, it doesn’t matter. Because beyond them is something greater, so they go on, at peace with the memories.