Chapter Text
The house is barely more than a skeleton when Dean first sees it.
Something long forgotten in the middle of nowhere.
Dean stumbles upon it on his way back to the bunker after an easy solo hunt. Somehow he finds himself taking a route he's never driven before and ends up completely lost, far away from any society. Dean doesn't really care, though, (these days he only ever cares about very little things) and so instead of stopping at the side of the road and checking the world wide web for some information about his location he just drives on, taking the nice view in and hoping against all odds that the sights around him might cheer him up at least a tiny bit.
When he spots the house in the corner of his eye, he parks the car before he even realizes what he is doing and stares at it through the passenger's side's window.
He feels stupid and completely silly gazing at an abandoned house like it's holding all the answers of the universe or something, but somehow he can't bring himself to turn away. There is just something that draws him in.
Perhaps it's because despite its messed-up state the house has good bones. Potential.
It doesn't deserve to be left alone to be eaten up by nature.
And it's dumb, but Dean kinda relates to that. He is messed up as well. Messed up for way over six months, back when Cas … well, when he got taken, right in front of Dean's eyes …
Yeah, Dean has not been well and he actually feels like this house looks like.
But beyond all that there is hope and maybe Dean prays that there might be some for himself left as well.
So Dean keeps on looking and gets lost in his own thoughts.
Good thoughts, for a change. He's not thinking about Sam's concerned expression whenever he glances at his brother, he doesn't recall all of Eileen's (so far mostly failed) attempts of brightening his day somewhat, and he most certainly doesn't let his mind stray toward a very specific territory that will most definitely rip his heart apart all over again …
No, instead he wonders how much work it would be to rebuild the house's porch and if the windows are still good enough underneath all the dirt or if they would have to be changed. He considers the surprisingly good looking state of the roof and imagines himself up there, fixing up the few loose shingles he's able to see right now from his perspective. He sees himself giving that house a fresh layer of paint and muses whether a nice white color would be the way to go or whether a more natural tone fitting for the surrounding woods would be best.
He ponders over it all for so long that eventually the sun sets and he finds himself in darkness because there sure as hell is no working streetlamp anywhere close by.
Dean sighs, scolds himself for being so silly and drives off, ignoring the fact that it's much harder to leave than it has any right to be.
---
Dean can't stop thinking about the house.
And so, a week later, he waves goodbye to Sam, telling him some excuse about him having to take a drive to get out of their windowless underground bunker, and heads out before his brother even has a chance to ask a million questions, all originating from a place of concern.
Dean isn't up to answering any of them.
He actually drives around aimlessly for a while, convincing himself that he actually did tell Sam the truth, but rather sooner than later he ends up back at the house again.
It's still standing there, just as the last time, and for a while Dean resumes his apparently favorite activity of staring at it from the inside of his car and imagining all sorts of ridiculous things, like him working on the exterior and calling this place his and whatever else nonsense his brain is capable of coming up with.
Eventually he takes it even a step further as he climbs out of the Impala and walks up to the building. He prods and pokes and looks at the damage of time from a much closer angle and once again he feels absolutely stupid for doing so, but finds himself unable to stop.
That sensation gets even worse when he actually stumbles upon a FOR SALE sign that's been hidden by a bunch of overgrown weed and he quickly shoots a photo of it before he can talk himself out of it.
When he drives back to the bunker at some point (and thanks to google he now knows that the house is just about 40 minutes away which is kinda weird because it feels like a whole different world for some reason) he actually notices a little smile sneaking itself on his face. It's not deliriously happy or any of that, but it might very well be the first one that hasn't been forced since this whole shit show started and Dean takes what he can get at this point.
So if a broken-down house close to collapse is giving his overactive brain a rest for a little while, so be it.
---
That evening he looks up the realtor on the internet and seriously finds the house in question listed right on the bottom of their very long and fancy list.
The photo is clearly older, the house in a much better shape than it is now, and Dean can't help but wonder how long it's been on the market. By the looks of it it actually might have been a couple of decades at this point.
The house itself is ridiculously cheap and the listing is using colorful words just as “charming” and “a lot of potential” and “beautiful safe haven away from the bustle of the daily grind”.
Dean rolls his eyes at all those descriptions, but at the end of the day he actually has to confess that there is a truth to it all and that revelation doesn't let go off him.
---
It takes two days.
Two days of glimpsing back at the realtor's website every chance he's got, like he's a man obsessed. Two days of telling himself over and over that he's being ludicrous, that this is a fucking house and not just some toy he can put in his pocket.
And then he cracks.
He's having a bad day and an even worse night, with unbidden memories hitting him full force at all times, and as he's drowning in misery and alcohol while being tortured by the reminder of Cas' teary eyes and the unsteady waver in his voice when he … when he said … yeah, Dean finds himself desperate to force himself to focus on something else, anything else, and that house has proved itself to be a very effective distraction recently.
So Dean decides then and there, in his dazed state, that he's got a right to live a little, doesn't he? Charlie provided them with a limitless bank account and so far Dean had barely used it for anything but everyday life and a few personal purchases that aren't even worth mentioning.
So why the fuck not buy a house with it, right?
Even if Dean would end up not doing anything with it, too old and tired to deal with the entire mess, the poor abandoned thing would at least have an owner again. It wouldn't be abandoned anymore.
That at least is what Dean tells himself as he, at 2 am in the morning, in a drunken stupor, writes a hopefully eloquent email to the realtor.
---
The realtor gets back to him the very next morning, at 8 am sharp. As though she discovered the email first thing and almost tripped over herself in a hurry to catch up with Dean before he would be able to change his mind.
And the truth is, Dean seriously might've had a change of heart if she would've waited a little longer. But as she calls him at such an early hour (because Dean apparently decided to give her his real phone number, too?) Dean is still a little buzzed and agrees to a viewing later that day. After she made sure three times that he honestly meant the house in question and didn't just get it wrong somehow.
So Dean meets up with her later and she is young and peppy and more than a little enthusiastic as she leads Dean throughout the house.
Like in the listing she is talking about charm and potential and “all this magnificent building needs is a bit of love and care” while Dean only listens halfheartedly and inspects everything in excruciating detail.
He worked construction long enough to know what to look for and despite everything (aka the fact that it's not exactly his own money he's spending) he wants to make sure that he's not falling into some sort of trap. But from the inside the house is just as sturdy as the outside, its good bones keeping it together, and eventually Dean is just unable to not imagine himself bringing it back to its full glory.
The first floor is basically an open space, but thanks to an intelligent design everything has its own special nooks, making it homey in all the right ways. On the second floor there is the master bedroom and two additional rooms that have pretty decent sizes all in all. Only the bathroom is not particularly huge, but it has all the important necessities and enough storage space to fulfill Dean's needs. He doesn't need more.
Furthermore there is a spacious basement, a garage and an attic which is very basic right now, but might easily be transformed into yet another room.
So yes, the potential part of the realtor's description is totally right.
And so, on a nondescript Thursday afternoon, Dean buys a house.
---
He doesn't tell Sam about any of this.
Sure, if he were to look closer at their bank account it might raise some questions, but a) they barely don't have to because Charlie built in so many security measures nothing out of the ordinary could ever happen without them being notified, and b) since additional money is always flowing into the account (also thanks to Charlie) the number changes all the time anyway and Sam probably wouldn't notice anything amiss. Not without further inspection at least.
And so, since Sam has no reason to become suspicious, Dean doesn't tell him a damned thing.
He knows it is weird, but he's just not ready to face any questions just yet. He can't look Sam in the eyes and come up with some explanation if he's barely able to admit it to himself.
He just can't.
Telling Sam that he took one look at this rundown house and found himself relating to it in manners nobody is able to understand sounds absolutely stupid even to his own ears. And he's certainly not ready to see Sam's reaction at the fact that Dean hopes that if he would manage to fix the house he might be able to fix himself as well along the way.
And if both house and man would be fixed and as good as new, maybe everything else would fall into place.
Maybe the house would become a home.
For Dean.
And perhaps someone else by his side.
Someone very particular.
Dean chases those kinds of thoughts off as soon as they start to rise, but they're getting more frequent since he signed the contract.
Because his stupid brain keeps asking him over and over, why buy a house when you don't intend to share it with someone special?
Yeah, that's another question Dean is not ready to answer.
---
Also, the thing is, Sam doesn't know.
He's completely oblivious to the real extent of Dean and Cas' relationship.
Sam might be college smart and an observant guy all around, particularly on cases, but when it comes to Dean he can be as dense as a brick wall. He's got a certain image of his brother in his mind and he barely entertains the possibility that it might mostly be a facade.
It's not really Sam's fault, though. If they would've been allowed to grow up in a normal way, if they would've been siblings and nothing else, then maybe he would've caught up to it one of these days. But as it was Dean ended up not only being Sam's brother but his father and mother, too. And when do kids really know their parents? They form a picture of them in the early years and most of the time they stick to it, deeming it the truth.
So all the macho posturing Dean did for most of his life? Yeah, Sam bought it, at least to a certain degree.
Sure, he could accept Dean's nerdy side, which gradually surfaced since Dad's death, and wasn't too much taken aback by Dean nesting at the bunker and expressing his love for cooking. Those were all things that Dean kept hidden during the first years of their lives, but not that well hidden. He quoted Star Wars at a young age and got experimental with their cooking (more out of necessity than anything else) and Sam certainly picked up on that.
But the fact that Dean might be into guys as well on occasion? That he even might have the ability to fall in fucking love with one?
Yeah, this probably never crossed Sam's mind. He watched Dean flirt with men on cases and saw him basically drooling over Gunner Lawless or whoever else and had reasonable explanations for all of those instances without it shattering the picture of Dean he's got in his head.
Yeah, Sam is freaking clueless, there is no doubt about that.
And of course he gets that Dean is in a tough place right now because at the end of the day Dean didn't make any secret out of it, but Sam doesn't seem to realize that this is about Cas. Not solely, at least. Sam appears to believe that everything is crashing down on Dean at once, that he is currently busy grieving everyone they have ever lost, now that the world is saved and they have a chance at a semi-normal life. He thinks that Dean is hung-up over them all – Cas, yes, but also Mom and Dad and Bobby and Jo and Ellen and whoever else they can think of – and that he's just not coping well with all his regrets and guilt.
And granted, he might have a little point because Dean sure as hell hates the fact that all these people had to die to get them to this point. Of course he misses them all pretty badly and they enter his mind more frequently since Chuck's defeat.
But naturally Cas is a special case …
And Sam doesn't seem to realize that. Not fully.
So why tell him about the house and the fucking midlife crisis Dean is apparently sporting right now when he doesn't even have the whole picture? A picture that Dean is not ready yet to share with him anyway?
Why make Dean's life unnecessarily complicated?
So ultimately he keeps his mouth shut and just hopes that it won't bite him in the ass sooner than later.
---
And so Dean goes to work.
He assesses the damage, makes a plan, gets the necessary supplies and then starts to fix the place up step by step. He doesn't think much, he doesn't overthink much, he's just grateful that the whole process is so time-consuming and distracting that he has barely any chance to dwell on unhappy things. And as an added bonus it's also so physically tiring by the end of the day that he finds himself completely exhausted most nights and he drifts right off to sleep without rolling around in bed hour after hour, unable to find peace. Sure, the nightmares still come more often than not, but at least Dean catches some actual rest in-between and that's clearly something his body desperately needs as he realizes after about a week of that.
Since the house is still a dump so far Dean doesn't stay overnight, but makes daily trips back and forth. Thankfully Sam is on an extended hunt with Eileen that first week and a half, so Dean doesn't have to face any questions about it, but soon enough he will have to come up with some excuse as to why he's away so much.
For now, though, Dean merely enjoys the process in itself. The fact that he's got something to do, something to look forward to.
It doesn't feel entirely hopeless for a change.
He starts with the front porch because it suffered the most from the passage of time and Dean isn't keen on anyone breaking their necks by crashing through the splintered wood before they would have even been able to reach the doorbell. So he gets rid of everything old and broken, reinforces the foundation, cuts new wood panels, measures, lacquers, and eventually fixes.
The whole thing takes time, but Dean is in no rush. The weather is great for early spring, no clouds in sight, and it's nice to work outside. He wants to do it right, not quick.
And so he listens to music and actually feels an urge to sing along more often than not while he drills and hammers and Miracle naps nearby, keeping a close eye on everything, but not with any real intention to get in the middle of things.
It's good.
---
By week two Dean gets company.
He's just in the process of adjusting the last wood panels for the porch when he hears someone approaching from behind. His hackles rise on instinct at first, his hunter days not so long gone that he's forgotten how it works, but he relaxes before even turning around, calmed by the fact that Miracle is not alarmed at all at the slightest by the newcomer. On the contrary, the dog begins to whine happily, his tail wagging as he jumps to his feet.
Dean heaves a sigh and whirls around, totally expecting to find himself confronted with Sam. Dean turned off the GPS on his phone, but Sam is smart and when he's determined enough to track someone down, he does.
Maybe he came back to the bunker earlier than Dean thought and noticed his brother's absence. And as the certified worrywart he started to look for Dean right away.
Yeah, Dean undoubtedly anticipates seeing Sam standing right there.
It's not, though.
It's Jack.
Dean is so taken aback by the sight that for a moment he seriously considers that he's dreaming. That the hours outside in the sun are making him hallucinate.
It's reasonable enough.
They haven't seen the kid since Chuck's end. Haven't heard from him. Just nothing.
He merely dashed off, all those powers of the universe ripping him away. He probably existed in several dimensions at once, not having the time or energy to even remember those two dead-beat hunters who helped raise him for a day and a half.
Not that Dean really blames him. It wasn't rainbows and sunshine by a mile, so why not take the chance to forget about it, at least for a while?
Now, however, Jack seems intent on reconnecting as he first bends down to greet Miracle enthusiastically and then turns his gaze towards Dean.
For a very long moment they just look at each other, not a word being spoken, not a muscle twitching. It kinda reminds Dean of all the endless staring matches he had with Cas over the years and that thought makes him tingle.
In the end Jack smiles, raises his hand and waves in that dorky way of his that is so fucking endearing that Dean was never able to resist it, even back in the day when he fiercely tried to convince himself that he hated the boy.
“Hello,” Jack says, sounding so casual as though they'd just seen each other this morning. As though he is not literal God right there, the fate of the cosmos in his hands.
Dean chews his bottom lip and doesn't know what to do.
One part of him, a surprisingly strong one, wants to rush right over to him and pull Jack in the tightest hug since the invention of hugs. He wants to grip tightly and never let go, ever. He wants to feel the kid, wants to feel him alive, wants to make sure he's alright.
It's such a parental urge it almost takes Dean's breath away.
But he also can't help but think about all the things that went down between them. Not the nice things like the fishing and cooking lessons, of course, but the nasty memories which haunt Dean to this very day. He suddenly feels so overwhelmed and ashamed and running away actually seems like a reasonable reaction right now. He seriously considers just whirling around and rushing off, Jack solely a little dot in the distance.
In the end he does neither. He merely stays frozen on his mostly finished front porch and doesn't move.
“You bought a house,” Jack eventually says as he walks up to the porch.
Dean narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Have you been spying on me?”
Jack nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders. “I'm just keeping an eye out every so often.”
Dean huffs, but he finds that he kinda likes the thought of Jack checking up on him. It means that he still cares.
“It's nice,” Jack states. And when Dean looks at him in confusion, he adds. “The house, it's nice.”
“It's a dump right now, kid,” Dean can't help but grumble.
Jack keeps the sunshine plastered to his face. “Maybe. But it will be beautiful.”
Dean frowns. “Is that you, looking into the future or something?”
“No,” Jack objects. “I just know. You're good at fixing things.”
Yeah, THINGS, Dean thinks. Relationships, not so much.
He keeps those thoughts to himself, though, and instead acknowledges Jack's statement with a dismissive scoff.
“So, where have you been all this time?” he asks, trying to sound casual even though everything inside him is brimming.
“Everywhere,” Jack answers, his smile never faltering. “Just everywhere.”
Dean blinks, not really sure how to react to that.
Jack, in the meantime, squares his shoulder, as though he's bracing himself for impact. “Listen, I'm really sorry that I didn't come back sooner –”
“Jack –” Dean cuts in, not eager to hear an apology that doesn't need to be voiced in the first place.
Jack, however, goes on. “I'm sorry. It was just – so overwhelming, you can't even imagine. Everything out there is so big and before I even knew what was happening I was lost, dragged into a thousand different directions. Space, galaxies, universes – I've seen it all.”
The kid is right, Dean can't even imagine.
“Damn, that sounds … that sounds like a lot,” he states.
“It was,” Jack agrees with a fierce nod. “And it felt like a millisecond at best, but when I returned suddenly months have passed –”
“It's fine, Jack,” Dean assures him. “This can't have been easy, all of a sudden having all that power. I'm just glad you're okay.” He pauses for a moment and then wonders, “You are okay, right?”
“Yes,” Jack confirms and he's telling the truth, that much Dean can say, but there is also a little hitch in his voice which makes Dean perk up.
Yeah, Jack is okay, but there is more to the story.
However, Dean doesn't feel like he has the right to pry. Instead he steps down the few steps off his porch and finally gathers enough courage to pull Jack into a hug.
He gives Jack enough time to realize what is happening and make up his own mind if he wants this to begin with or not, but when he doesn't draw back, even seems to lean in a bit while Dean raises his arms, Dean chases off the demons in his head and wraps the kid into his arms.
And Jack might be God and he might be almighty, but he still feels just like a young boy.
“Glad you're back, kid,” Dean mutters and he means it with everything he's got.