title says it all. I am no longer taking requests, sorry! enjoy!!
**these are very old and totally suck forgive me for the really cliché ones this was my first book alright
a little slice of heaven life linked above (both literally in the story and metaphorically I mean that's a good song)
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But I hear the voices saaayy!" Your voice reaches an octave previously unbeknownst to man and you laugh yourself silly as you sing an old favorite song of yours. The classic blasts from your stereo speakers as you dance, scream/sing, and bake cookies, just like every other day in your Heaven. Every week the song changes though, and you're glad to have Kansas playing this Sunday to cheer you up. There's clearly some trouble as the angels fight whatever new evil is terrorizing the earth, and because of it, you hadn't seen Dean in a week.
Well, not the real Dean. Your Dean. The Real Dean was presumably still employed in the family business with Sam back on earth, fighting the good fight alongside the angels. And as much as you prayed he'd stay there for a long, long time, you were constantly worried about him, back in the field without you. And since you were one of the few aware of heaven's interworkings before your death, you convinced (okay, blackmailed, but really, who's keeping track?) Fake Dean to start giving you Real Dean's status: alive and well or badly injured. Dead was not a status you would accept. Not now, not ever.
Fortunately, though, now was right about time for Dean to come home. Arriving in heaven you had expected to see yourself and Dean living an apple pie normal life, or maybe reliving one of your good days off with him, but it was neither. It was a day of your own creation spent in your childhood home, and though Fake Dean still hunted and you still worried about his safety, you knew he wouldn't be himself at all if he didn't hunt. And there's no way your perfect life spent forever with Dean was going to be with some version of him that was distorted beyond recognition by fairy tale dreams, no, not on your watch.
"(Y/n)? Is that you?" Right on time, Fake Dean called from the entryway as you abandon your mixing bowl in the kitchen for a moment to run and greet him, music continuing to echo around the house.
"Hey, hey, hey, look who it is! I've missed you so much," you don't hesitate to run into a hug, squeezing tightly. But he doesn't immediately hug back or say hello, and you instantaneously know something's up. Sharply pulling back to look at his stiff form, you give him a confused look.
"Dean? Dean, what's wrong?" You question him, searching his eyes for some reason he's acting so strange. In doing so, you start to notice something about how his torso feels under your arms. He feels solid. Too solid.
"Wow, I just... I can't believe you're actually here, in front of me, not in a nightmare. But... you don't seem too surprised to see me. What's... uh, what's that about? How'd you know I was coming?" The more he talks, the more and more confused you feel, until he reaches the last sentence and you put the pieces together.
This isn't Fake Dean. This is the real deal. This is the love of your life, solid and honest and in front of you.
"Oh my g... Dean? Really the real Dean? Oh, baby, why the hell are you here? N-no, no no no no no, you're supposed to be alive and well! He said you were alive and well last week, he said, he..... Dean, oh, it's really you, it's really you, it's really you," your words are jumbled as your mind tumbles through emotions, partly pissed that he's here, partly devastated, partly elated to have him to yourself... you don't know what to feel.
