#i wrote this to take a breather from my long Serious fic and i'm glad i did because what a masterpiece amiright

[hamburgergod]

here’s that silly little ficlet i said i was writing in this post’s tags where dean has a small conversation with an old man.  ~900 words, destiel. 

special thanks to em, who’s the best. 

It’s a beautiful sunset, and a damn shame for nobody to be here to enjoy it with him.

Dean looks out at the park before him with mild interest, a chewy sandwich in one hand and his phone in the other. The streetlight beside his bench flickers on and off, finally giving its last hurrah before it dies and leaves him with only the sun that’s slowly disappearing from the sky. He barely gives the old man who sits down beside him any attention, until he speaks.

“You know,” the old man says, mid-eighties at least, “I honestly never thought I’d live this long.”

Dean looks away from the sunset, and gulps down his bite. “Um.”

The old man doesn’t look away from the sky, but he wears a slight smile. Seems like he’s not the monster of the week, so what the hell? He looks around for someone who might’ve arrived with the guy, but he doesn’t see anyone else in the park. Sam should’ve made sure of that.

“Yeah?” Dean replies instead. With what he looks like, he assumes he’s been in some wars in his prime time. He texts Sam, why the hell did you let this old guy through??

“Yeah,” the old man says. “Used to think I’d go down in a blaze of glory one day or another, and there’d be no way out of it. But here I am.”

Dean smiles despite himself. Yeah, he gets it. “Here you are.”

“And here you are,” the old man says. Dean blinks. “Almost in your fourties and still miserable.”

“Excuse me?” he stutters. He’s confused now. And a bit offended.

“Hell, I get it,” the old man continues. His phone buzzes, but he’s too taken aback to care. “I’ve been there. Shit’s tough to go through. But sometimes, you gotta go through all that shit to, you know,” he makes a scooping motion with his hands, “dig up what you buried in the first place. Otherwise, you’re just going to end up buried in shit up here,” he taps his head, and Dean’s a hundred percent positive that this guy is the weirdest thing he’s come across this week. And he’s seen a dead guy with his brain eaten out this week.

“Alright,” Dean replies, only for the sake of saying something back.

“Just saying,” he says with an incline of his head. “You never know ‘til you try, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Dean says, majorly uncomfortable that despite the most out-of-context conversation he’s had ever, it’s hitting a nerve. He waves Cas out of his head, and glances at his phone.

What old guy? Sam’s replied.

“Dean,” the old man calls, and Dean jumps. “Sam’s not going to give you shit for being bi.”

He almost drops his sandwich. “The hell are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?” he asks, gripping onto his gun tightly and out of sight. For now.

“And this is going to sound like one of those stupid movies,” the old man continues, “but fuck, live a little. Hunting’s been your whole life so far, but it doesn’t have to be the rest of it. You can take my word for it.”

“What the hell are you—”

Dean doesn’t finish, as the old man’s body starts glowing. He jumps out of the bench, and points his gun at him. “What the fuck?”

The streetlight beside them blinks back to life then, giving Dean a good look of the old man’s face. He has green eyes. 

“Shit, guess time’s already up.” The old man shrugs. “Temporary time travelling’s a bitch.”

Dean gapes.

The old man quirks a smile, calm as the warm glow of light becomes brighter and brighter. “And just ask him to stay, dude. I think that’s all he really needs to hear to make up his mind.”

“Who?”

“You know who, you dumbfuck,” he replies. He can barely see his face as he’s entirely engulfed in the light. “Don’t just make him a mix tape and call it a day. Use your fucking words.”

With that, he disappears.

There are crickets chirping in the distant woods along the edges of the park. Dean stares at the empty bench. He bends over to pick up his buzzing phone on the concrete.

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam yells into the phone as soon as Dean picks up. “I called you six times. I thought you were dead! What happened with the old guy? Was it our thing?”

“No, um. No, it wasn’t our thing.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s starting to sink in a little now that he’s gone.

“I swear I didn’t let anyone go through the gate,” Sam replies, not knowing the emotional turmoil that Dean’s going through. “So was he just a regular old man?”

“Not exactly,” he replies. “Sam, I think I just Marty McFly’ed myself.”

“What?” Sam asks, obviously confused.

Dean shakes himself out of it. Despite having time travelled few times before, it’s still weird as fuck to be involved in one out of nowhere like that. “Later,” he promises.

“Uh… Okay. So you’re good?”

The old man’s words—his own words—ring in his ears. If that was even himself. Why the fuck did his future-self decide to drop on him right in the middle of a case, anyway? That’s for later—maybe much more later. As he put it himself, probably when he’s dug himself out of all the shit he’s piled up.  

Still, it’s a little reassuring to hear the words he needed from the person he needed it the most from.

“Yeah,” Dean replies with a smile as he looks over the horizon. It’s completely dark now, but maybe next time, he’ll bring Cas with him to watch the sunset. “Yeah, I’m good.”