"Cas," exhales Dean, but he makes no further protest. Decades are impossible, but it's such a nice thought. He doesn't let himself veer into fantasy - it's folly at best, suicide at worst, but standing in what could be their backyard, Dean can almost let himself dream.

"Okay," he says, ducking his chin to find Castiel's hem and tug his shirt over his head. "But I'm not doing a rocking chair."