Fields of Barley (dean/layla, future ficlet)

[bbmarcello.livejournal.com]

Title: Fields of Barley
Pairing: Dean/Layla
Rating: R for swearing
Summary: The happyfairytale ending I so wanted
Spoilers: s2 finale

This is what happens when you spend too much time pondering Dean's 'I don't know' when confronted with his old house and his mom - schmoopy concepts of Home.  Icon is by isis2015, who's Dean/Layla fics always rock.


Fields of Barley

Dean opened his eyes and she was standing right in front of him.

 

“What the fu-“

 

She pressed two fingers to his lips, “ah ah, no swearing here Dean, not on your first day at least.”

 

Dean was actually lost for words – that’d never happened to him before.

 

She smiled at him, “come, sit down before you fall down.”  She pulled him over to a bench.  A bench in a garden, a big garden, with an incongruous mix of cacti and roses and what looked like a hedged maze.

 

“La-“, his voice cracked and he coughed once to clear his throat, “Layla?”

 

“Yes Dean?”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Did you really think we’d let you stay in hell?”

 

“We?  Who…oh…where is she?”

 

She raised an eyebrow at him, “she’s here, she’s coming round later.”

 

“Round?”

 

“Look behind you.”

 

Dean turned around on the bench.  Behind them was a two storey, yellow wood-panelled house with an open porch, the impala parked alongside it and a barn in the distance, two horses grazing nearby.  He turned back to face Layla, grabbed her arm across the back of the bench.  She was real all right.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get there quickly enough, you shouldn’t have had to suffer at all.”

 

“Erm, that’s okay?”  He winced at his high pitch and shook his head, “nah, still don’t understand.  Where are we?”

 

“Where do you think?”

 

“Oh fu-.  Okay, I better be allowed to swear on my second day or this ain’t my idea of-“

 

“Heaven?  I didn’t say that.”

 

“No, you didn’t…but that means…Layla, are you dead?”

 

“Way to sugarcoat it Dean!”

 

“Sorry, but that means I’m-“

 

“Not in hell, yes.”

 

“Layla, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, you’re here now.”

 

“I never thought I’d get to see you again, I thought I’d-“, wait, he was missing something, something important, “I…Sammy, no...”

 

She leaned forward and wiped tears from his cheeks, “he’s okay, Dean, he’s okay.”

 

“I just, I still don’t get it.”

 

She laughed at him, leant forward and mussed up his hair, “you don’t have to get it right away, it’ll come.  Come on, I’ll show you your new house.”

 

Layla stood up and held out her hand to him, he looked at it for a moment, then took it and walked with her through a herb garden and up to the house.

 

“Do you live here?”

 

“No, that would be pretty presumptuous of me, don’t you think?  This is all yours.”

 

He looked up at the door hesitantly and she gently pushed him forward.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Two steps up and he was on the porch, oak boards creaking under his feet.  He opened the screen door and turned the front doorknob.  He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing when he opened the door – an open plan house with a furnished lounge, a den, stairs leading up, and a boxer dog sleeping in the hallway.  Another board creaked underneath him and the dog woke up, stretched and yawned, spotted him and barrelled over to him, paws up on his chest and little tail wagging, slobbering all over him.

 

“Hey buddy, hey, how are you?  What’s your name?”

 

“His name’s Max.”

 

“Really?  And he’s mine?  Really?”  He realised he’d regressed to the ten year old that he’d never had the chance to be, slap happy over a dog and a house and a car.  Max got down and walked to heel with him through to the kitchen at the back of the house.  There were pots of herbs on the windowsill and a stack of cookery books on the kitchen table.

 

“I got you those, I figured you had some time now to learn how to cook, make me a proper meal.”

 

“Yeh, I’d like that.”  He opened the back door and sat on the porch steps, patting the space next to him for Layla to join him.  Max ran out into the fields, scattering birds left and right with a happy woof.

 

“Do I get to stay here?”

 

“This is your home now Dean, though you can come and go as you please – you’d be surprised at who’s close by.”

 

He looked over at her hopefully, “is Dad here?”

 

“Wait and see.”

 

“And Sam’s okay, really?”

 

“Time’s different here, Dean, he still misses you but he’s okay for now.”

 

“So…I did it, I looked after him, did my job, made sure he didn’t come to no harm.”

 

“Yes, you are officially in retirement.”

 

“Do I get old?”

 

“You’re full of questions, aren’t you?  No, Dean, you and everyone else here stay at their best, at their most loved.”

 

Dean stretched his legs out and leaned back against the porch.  He looked around him, listened to the barley blowing in the breeze, watched the horses play and nuzzle around each other.

 

“Are you going to be here?”

 

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, looked up at him shyly, “yes.”

 

“Good”, he pulled her towards him, rested his chin on top of her head, hugged her to him, took a deep breath of fresh air.  “So, what can I make you for dinner?”

 

“Let’s start with spaghettios and work our way up from there, okay?”

 

“Yeh, definitely more than okay.”