Chapter Text
"Happy in beauty, life, and love, and everything; A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres."
October, 2023
Dean wakes up the same way he has every day for the past five-or-so years: warm and safe in his own bed, secure in the knowledge that his family is warm and safe in their own beds too.
Getting out of that bed proves to be difficult, however, with the way Cas is lying half on top of him, one leg curled around one of Dean’s, his face pressed into Dean’s shoulder. Dean has had a lot of practice extricating himself from this kind of situation, though.
Eight years of practice.
First, he untangles his limbs from Cas' and rolls off the mattress, laughing tiredly at the sight of his husband burrowing into the warm space Dean just vacated and pulling the blankets more tightly around himself to hide from the rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains. Then, smiling, Dean leans back down to press a kiss into the mess of dark hair still poking through from the nest of covers, before turning to leave Cas alone for the moment. Trying to get him up before the coffee is on is hopeless most days. That, he’ll deal with later.
The en-suite bathroom is his first stop, where he showers, shaves and brushes his teeth, yawning throughout the process. He tries not to examine the lines at the corners of his eyes too much, growing more evident every day. Cas says he likes them, anyway.
The alarm is still playing rock music quietly from Dean’s bedside table when he re-emerges, but Dean takes caution to be somewhat quiet anyway. He pads over to the dresser to pull out a pair of jeans and socks, and after stumbling slightly in getting into those—his balance has not increased with age—grabs a t-shirt from the laundry basket by the door and pulls it on, something Cas will undoubtedly chastise him for later.
Dean throws one last fond look over his shoulder at the sleeping lump of blankets before exiting the bedroom. The old hinges on the wooden door creak as he closes it behind him. They always have, no matter how much WD-40 he’s used on them over the years. It’s just one of the “charms” of living in an old farmhouse. At least, Cas would call it a charm. Dean just calls it the stupid door.
Now that both he and his husband are taken care of for the moment, Dean turns his attention to the other members of his small family: his kids, likely already awake behind each of their doors.
He reaches Mary’s room first, light from the hallway rushing in ahead of him as he inches the door open and peeks his head through to look at his still-sleeping daughter.
She’s tucked under two blankets, pulled right up to her chin and the stuffed monkey that Sam bought her last year is poking out from under the covers beside her. Mary’s eyelids flutter and squeeze shut as he moves to sit down on the side of her bed gently, just close enough to lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead.
As her eyes blink open slowly, Dean reaches a hand up to brush one lock of light brown hair away from her face. “Hey, baby girl.”
From one second to the next, Mary’s face goes from sleepy and confused to awake and happy, smiling up at him with adoration. That look never fails to make his heart skip a beat, even if it’s a sight he’s greeted with every single morning.
“Morning, daddy!” Mary greets, using Dean as a brace as she pulls herself into a sitting position, swinging her legs off the side of the bed beside him. Then, using the grip she still has on the collar of Dean’s shirt, she pulls harder until Dean gets the hint and wraps his arms around her small frame, standing up with her held against his chest. Her legs dangle farther and farther down each day, it feels, and he reminds himself not to get choked up when he thinks about how much she’s grown in not even six years.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, readjusting her in his arms. Either she’s getting heavier, or he needs to hit the gym in town more often—probably both.
“Mm hmm,” she replies with a nod, still grinning.
“Good.” Dean nods in approval, planting one more kiss on her cheek before she starts to squirm and he has to let her down. “Do you need help picking out clothes for school today?”
Mary shakes her head emphatically at him, running over to the dresser. “No, I can do it!” she announces proudly.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, well, I won’t interrupt your creative process, then.”
“Good,” his daughter says approvingly, making Dean chuckle.
“I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?” he says on his way out the door, closing it behind him.
Robbie’s room is next, and when Dean steps through the door, he’s pleased to see his son is already awake, blue eyes trained on the door, grinning wide the moment Dean comes into view.
“Hi, daddy.”
“Hey, kiddo,” he replies. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah!” Robbie exclaims. Dean is an early riser himself, yet he still thinks it’s not fair, how much energy his kids have at barely 7:00 in the morning.
“Good, then it’s time to get dressed.” He rotates his shoulders a bit, stretching before he goes to lift Robbie out of his bed. There’s a bed rail along the side of it to keep him from rolling over and falling out like he used to sometimes. Every time Dean heard a thud followed by loud crying down the hall, his heart nearly stopped, even though thankfully Robbie was only ever in tears from the shock, never from hurting himself. Still, everyone sleeps much more soundly now that it’s no longer a worry.
Before he can get his arms around his son, though, Robbie declares, “I’m already dressed!” and scrambles to the opposite side of the bed, giggling and clutching his covers around himself.
Dean lifts an eyebrow at him. Robbie is not allowed to pull the same shit as Cas does in the mornings when he’s only three-and-a-half. “Oh really.”
“Yeah!”
“Then I guess you won’t mind showing me.”
“Yeah!” Robbie repeats nonsensically, giggling some more.
Dean sighs. “Come on, little man,” he says, planting a knee on the mattress so he can reach over and pluck Robbie off the bed. His kid is still squealing and squirming and tangled in blankets and stuffed animals as Dean lifts him into his arms. “Maybe one day it’ll be pajama day at daycare, but it ain’t today, buddy. Gotta put some real pants on.”
“It is pajama day,” Robbie tells him, consonants slightly garbled with his signature toddler speak.
“Sadly, it isn’t.”
“It is!”
“Believe me, I wish it were pajama day too, bud.”
Robbie grins at him, so widely and infectiously that Dean has to remind himself not to break out smiling as well, or he’ll never get out of this conversation. His son may be disarmingly cute, but you can’t show weakness around little kids. “We all wear pajamas!” Robbie says.
“I wish.” Not seeing an easy out with the way this conversation is going, and considering how toddler logic works, Dean switches tactics. “How about this: you wear real clothes all week at daycare, and on Saturday, we’ll have a pajama day at home. That sound good?”
Robbie considers this seriously for a moment, still seated in Dean’s arms, his finger tapping at his lips pensively. Finally, he nods. “Okay.”
“Awesome. Your papa will be thrilled.” Dean sighs with relief, today’s edition of ‘Robbie wants to play, not get ready for preschool’ finally over.
Robbie frowns at him. “Daddy, what’s ‘thrilled’?”
“Happy, Robbie. Now come on, what t-shirt do you wanna wear today?”
Once dressed, Dean lets Robbie lead the way downstairs—it’s slow going, one precarious step at a time, Robbie clinging to the railing, but Dean’s patient. In the living room at the bottom of the stairs, Mary is already seated on the couch, having turned on the TV to one of her favourite shows about colourful singing and dancing animals. Robbie scampers over and scales the couch too, Dean only having to give him a bit of a boost.
“What’s for breakfast, guys?” Dean asks, hands on his hips.
“Toast!” Mary says. “With peanut butter.”
“No, jam!” Robbie whines at her.
“How about toast with peanut butter and jam?” Dean proposes. Both his kids look at him like he’s crazy. “Or peanut butter for Mary, jam for Robbie. I think I can manage.”
He wanders over to the kitchen to fulfill the breakfast request, as well as get some for himself. Bread out of the freezer, two slices into the toaster, piece of cake. Most importantly, he gets the coffee going so that he’ll have at least some hope of rousing his husband from sleep this morning.
He takes in the sight of their house as he waits. They found it—and fell in love with it—seven years ago, back when he, Sam and Cas were all still living in the bunker but barely hunting anymore; certainly not enough to justify living full-time in an underground bunker full of resources for a job they were no longer doing. The place was definitely renovated before they moved in—a garage had been added, thank God—but still manages to resemble a traditional-looking farmhouse in all the ways that count. Namely, the white paneling, blue shutters, and a wrap-around porch, plus a few additions that make it all feel more homey and personalized. The comfy porch swing is excellent for lounging the day away in with a book and a cold beer.
Inside, there are exposed wooden beams along the ceiling in some places, and the floors are wooden and creaky, but Cas loves the character so Dean’s never been allowed to redo them. The walls were originally either painted boring, off-white, or deep olive green and orange tones that looked like they’d been inspired by vomit. Some walls even had floral wallpaper, and just remembering that makes Dean shudder. Thankfully, the three of them were restless and had a lot of free time on their hands what with hunting less and less. So even though Cas pouted about tearing all the wallpaper down—Dean’s fine with character but he’s gotta draw the line somewhere—within a few weeks, the interior of the farmhouse was repainted much more to both his and Dean’s tastes.
Now of course, those walls are decorated with artwork they’ve found over the years—the frames are handy to cover up protective sigils, anyway—and family pictures they’ve gotten framed. A lot of the furniture is second hand or DIY, one of Dean’s favourite weekend pastimes, and there are a laughable amount of plaid textiles and cushions.
All in all, it’s cozy. Homey, even. Dean likes the paint colours and the wooden furniture and the fancy-ass curtains and all the couches and lounge chairs they have around for napping—they were very handy when Mary and Robbie still napped every day, since Dean or Cas could just curl up with them in the nearest armchair and catch a bit of shut-eye themselves. Dean rubs at his eyes a little blearily. Early mornings are fine and all, but he does miss naps.
The toast pops up with a light clicking sound, jarring him from his thoughts, so he grabs two plates from the cupboard and places one slice of toast on each, replacing two more pieces of bread into the toaster for himself. Peanut butter on one slice for Mary, and jam on the other for Robbie. They both absolutely refuse to eat anything with the other. Dean finds it adorable. He supposes Robbie does have the advantage of getting to eat Cas' awesome homemade jam, but then, Mary’s the one who likes the peanut butter cookies Dean bakes. So it balances out.
“Toast is served!” he calls down the hallway. Seconds later, the house is filled with the sounds of small feet scampering and stomping towards the kitchen, his kids basically racing each other to the table. Mary clambers onto her chair while Dean lifts Robbie into the booster seat on his, trying to conceal his smile at their contagious enthusiasm.
Backtracking slightly to grab the plates from the counter, Dean places the toast with jam in front of Mary and the one with peanut butter in front of Robbie, barely having to wait a second for them both to shout “Hey!” indignantly. Dean laughs and switches the plates around. “Just teasing,” he murmurs, getting them each a cup of milk to go with the meal.
“Thank you daddy,” they both pipe up before digging in.
He listens to them munch away at their breakfast while he waits for his own bread to toast. In the meantime he pours himself a glass of orange juice, downing it in a few gulps as he checks on the coffee pot.
He tries to eat healthier now. Not because he likes it, but because it sets a good example for Mary and Robbie, and Dean’s kids are gonna be happy and healthy for as long as possible, whether they like it or not. And, he supposes, now that he’s not looking at every day like it’s his last, he’d actually like to stick around for a while. If that means a few more pieces of fruit and a few less pieces of bacon, so be it.
Mind you, he’s still not giving up pie. Especially not the ones that Cas makes with fruit from his garden in their backyard. Yeah. Cas is the enabler here, anyway.
His own toast pops up. Dean spreads a scoop of raspberry jam onto both pieces, taking a bite immediately. That jam is damn good, and he’s starving.
Propped up against the counter, Dean absent-mindedly eats breakfast, taking in the sight of his kids. His kids, sitting at the kitchen table that Dean built himself, bathed in early-morning sunlight shining through the windows, faces and tiny fingers getting sticky with peanut butter and jam.
Dean hasn’t quite gotten to the point where he can look at all this without thinking he doesn’t deserve any of it, wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop. But he’s much better at just accepting that being this happy is a part of his life now, and that’s probably not gonna change.
In the meantime, there’s still one thing missing from this otherwise-perfect image: Cas.
Right on cue, the coffee machine beeps. Licking the jam off his fingers, Dean grabs two mugs and fills them with coffee. With practiced motions he pours just a bit of cream into his own, mixes it and takes a few gulps before stirring two spoonfuls of sugar into Cas'.
“How you doin’, munchkins?” Dean calls, walking back over to the table, coffee in hand.
Mary grins up at him. “I’m done.”
“Me too,” Robbie adds. He isn’t, but he shoves the last bit of toast in his mouth all at once, not to be outdone. Most of the toast and jam ends up smeared on his face.
“Nice going, but I think your sister wins, both in speed and in not getting more toast on your face than in your mouth,” Dean laughs, fetching a damp washcloth from the sink to wipe off Robbie’s sticky face and fingers with, getting Mary’s hands while he’s at it.
“Daddy, can I have a peanut butter sandwich for lunch?” Mary asks.
“Sure thing, darlin’,” Dean replies. Makes his life easier, seeing as all two ingredients are already out. “Now, you kids hold down the fort and watch some cartoons while I wake up your papa, okay?”
They both nod, retreating to the living room as soon as Dean has helped Robbie to the ground.
Dean heads back upstairs, pushes open the door to their bedroom to behold Cas still sprawled out in the middle of the bed, looking dead to the world. He figures most couples probably don’t do this, one of them patiently waking the other up every single morning with coffee and kisses. But Dean spent about seven years knowing Cas and not doing this, so he’s not wasting any more time.
Besides, it’s not like kissing Cas is entirely selfless.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean says brightly, perching himself on the side of the bed and running his fingers through Cas' unruly hair.
Cas yawns, nuzzles his scruffy cheek into their pillows and blinks his sleepy blue eyes up at Dean expectantly.
“Did you bring me coffee,” Cas mumbles, his voice even lower and rougher than usual.
“No, it’s downstairs.”
“You mean I have to get out of bed and go get it myself?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Cas groans, reaches blindly for a pillow to pull over his head, and whines indignantly, “I rebelled for this?”
Dean barks a laugh at that and then rolls his eyes, leaning down to press a couple kisses to Cas' still-exposed shoulder. “Come on, grumpy, up and at ‘em. You wanna see your kids before I take ‘em to school or not?”
“Fine,” Cas sighs dramatically, untangling himself from his cocoon. “Coffee and kids; you make a persuasive argument.”
Dean bends to kiss him on the mouth in reward. “That’s more like it. See you downstairs.” For all of Cas' whining, not once has he missed getting up in time to greet Mary and Robbie before Dean drives them to school on his way to work, not even when he’s been sick.
Back downstairs, Dean puts Mary and Robbie’s lunch boxes together. He’s just finishing off the last sip of his coffee, grabbing a couple apples from the fridge to slice up, when Cas appears through the kitchen threshold. His hair is still in disarray, but Dean likes it like that.
“Welcome to the world of the living,” Dean says, passing his husband his coffee.
“Mmm,” comes Cas' articulated reply into the mug.
“Didn’t expect you downstairs so soon. Don’t you need to shower?” he asks, noting that Cas is still in pajamas.
Cas shakes his hand, still blinking drowsily. “My first and only class today isn’t till 9:30; I’ll get ready once you’re on your way.”
“Okay, but don’t let Robbie see you. He was giving me hell earlier when I made him put on clothes.” Of course, right then he hears little feet stomping down the hallway towards them. “I spoke too soon.”
“I’ll handle it,” Cas says, taking a long sip of coffee before putting his mug on the counter and crouching down to kid-height.
“Good morning, papa!” Mary greets, running straight into Cas' arms.
Cas rocks back a bit with the impact, but quickly recovers to plant a kiss on Mary’s cheek. The sight makes Dean’s heart swell. “Good morning, Mary. Did you have good dreams?”
“Yes,” she replies emphatically.
“Good.” He positions her at arm’s length to look at her head to toe. “I believe you must have grown since yesterday, I don’t remember my daughter being so big.”
Mary’s face lights up the way it does when she has an idea. “We can measure!”
“We just measured you last week, darlin’,” Dean reminds her.
“But papa says I growed since yesterday, daddy.”
Dean throws up his hands. Hard to argue that logic.
He slices up the apples for lunches while their daughter tugs Cas over to the kitchen threshold. The empty door frame there has small lines drawn in marker—blue for Mary, red for Robbie—climbing up the sides. Each one has the respective kid’s name beside it in Cas' neat script, along with the date and height measurement.
As Mary stands up along the wall, Robbie makes his way in, immediately shouting, “Hey, why can papa have pajamas?” with all the rage of a three-year-old who’s been lied to.
“Sorry, Robbie,” Cas says, abandoning his marker in favour of picking up his son. “I was just so excited to see you, I couldn’t bother getting dressed first, but I will soon.”
“Smooth,” Dean mutters, winking at Cas.
“Daddy says we wear pajamas on the weekend,” Robbie announces.
“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Cas replies, putting Robbie down, but not before kissing his cheek and tilting his head for Robbie to press his lips to Cas' cheek in return. “Now, Mary, let’s see how much you’ve grown.”
Mary bounces up and down against the door frame. Cas stills her with a hand on her shoulder, marking her height with the other.
“I wanna measure!” Robbie says, shuffling Mary out of the way and standing against the wall next. Cas dutifully marks his height as well.
“Hmm, I don’t think either of you have quite grown enough to require me to get the measuring tape,” Cas tells them. Both marks essentially overlap the ones from last week. “But I know better than measuring tapes, and I think you’re both bigger.”
“Don’t encourage them, babe, they’re already growing like weeds,” Dean protests, smiling.
“Hmm. Speaking of weeds, I need help with watering the plants this afternoon. I wonder if anyone here would be willing to help me …”
Both Mary and Robbie shout “Me!” simultaneously.
Cas chuckles. “Alright, both of you. But for now, you should both go brush your teeth and finish getting ready for school.” While Mary and Robbie head for the stairs, Cas turns back to Dean. “Would you rather lunch or teeth-brushing duty?”
“Teeth. You finish this.” He passes Cas the apples, pecking his cheek affectionately before heading over to help Robbie up the stairs.
Once their teeth are brushed and lunches packed, Dean lets Cas keep the kids company and help them put on their shoes while he runs around making sure he’s got everything for work.
At the front door, Cas kneels down again and scoops both kids into his arms for a hug at once.
“I love you both. Have fun at school,” he tells them.
“Okay, papa!”
“Have fun at work too, papa,” Mary says.
Cas grins at Dean as he stands. “I will try.” Dean knows Cas loves his job teaching physics at the nearby college, but hates the marking that comes along with it, especially going into midterm season as he is right now. Dean sometimes takes pity on him and helps with the multiple choice—that, or Cas bribes him with fresh-baked pastries. Anyway, his job at the garage he now co-owns does generally mean more hours, but less homework, which suits him just fine. Home time is for his family and nothing else.
“I don’t know what the schedule’s like today; you might have to pick up the kids if I call.”
“That’s fine. I should be home this afternoon,” Cas says.
“Don’t get up to too much trouble home alone.”
“Perhaps I’ll actually feed our cats since you won’t be around to stop me.”
“Cas, for the last time, those are not our cats.” Well, they’re not. They’re probably just from the surrounding farms, but Dean doesn’t want them in the house, period. Not that this has stopped Cas from doing everything else to keep them around.
Dean had warned him the first time the two mangy cats wandered into their backyard. “If you feed them they’re gonna come back.”
Cas had rolled his eyes. “That’s the point, Dean.”
Dean rolls his eyes now. “I know I can’t stop you from feeding them, but they are still not allowed inside.”
“Noted,” Cas says with a shrug. Dean thinks they would really have problems if he weren’t so head-over-heels for the guy.
“Before I go, you need anything?” Dean asks him, grabbing his car keys off their hook.
“Just you,” Cas responds, the same way he does every time Dean asks that question, the sap. There’s a sly smile on his face that Dean has no choice but to kiss away, even as Mary yells “Ew!” from below them.
Dean pulls away laughing, kissing Cas again just to embarrass their daughter some more. “I’ll see you later.”
“Mmm. I love you.”
It’s something Dean hears from Cas every day. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the rush he gets from hearing those words, though. Or returning them. “Love you too.”
The Impala has been retrofitted with as many safety features as Dean could manage to squeeze in since there’ve been kids around, but it’s still his same old, reliable car. Just with two kids’ car seats in the back—seats he now straps Mary and Robbie into, before turning the ignition, pushing play on one of his Beatles CDs, and driving off down the lane towards the main road.
In the rear-view mirror are his two beautiful kids, and further through the back window, he can see their white-panelled farmhouse—their home—recede into the distance. And yeah, Dean thinks, it’s not what he expected out of life, or what he would ever in a million years have let himself hope for. But somehow, this is all his, and life can’t really get much better.
July, 2016
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Sam begins. Dean hears him but doesn’t feel the need to raise his head from where it’s craned back slightly to lean against the exterior wall of the farmhouse.
The weather is perfect for a midsummer evening, hot and humid but just enough of a cool breeze to make it comfortable. While Charlie and Cas are facing off in Mario Kart indoors, Sam and Dean decided to take advantage of the outdoors and are sitting in wooden chairs on the front porch, a cold beer cracked open next to each of them.
“Are you ever not?” Dean counters.
Sam snorts. “One of us has to.”
“Hey.”
“Seriously, dude,” Sam insists, with a tone that actually makes Dean crack open an eye and sit up in his seat.
“All right,” he says, taking a sip of his drink to clear his throat. “I’ll bite. About what?”
His brother takes a deep breath as if preparing himself for something big. He now has Dean’s attention for real. Finally, he says, “About … going back to school.”
Before Dean can get a word in, Sam rushes to explain.
“It’s just, now that we’re not hunting as much, and things are sort of settling down for the first time in … forever, I thought maybe it’d be a good time to at least look into it? I mean, better late than never, right? And I wouldn’t go too far away, and it’s not that I don’t love this place too, but … it kind of feels more like yours and Cas' than mine?” He seems to say those words carefully, as if he feels like Dean might object or get defensive on the subject.
Again, Dean opens his mouth to speak but gets cut off. “Plus, it would just be part time. At least for now, while everything’s still getting settled and …” His words halt suddenly as though he’s realized how long he’s been talking. “Well. What do you think?”
Dean pretends to consider it for a moment just because it’s fun to watch Sam get progressively more fidgety. Then he smiles, leaning back and balancing his chair on two legs. “Do you honestly think I’d say no?”
Sam half-shrugs. “I didn’t know what you’d say, that’s why I asked.”
“Dude, you could’ve guessed. You sure you’re smart enough to get into one of these schools?”
“Shut up,” Sam says, nudging the leg of Dean’s chair so he loses his balance and its feet slam onto the wood floor of the porch. He scowls. Sam laughs.
Dean rolls his eyes and takes another sip. “Seriously, dude, I think it’s a great idea.”
Sam smiles a bit. “I can start as just a part time student, see how things go …”
“Why?” Dean cuts in. “Do you want to go back to school full time?” After a minute, Sam nods. “Then do it. What’s stopping you? Like you said, for the first time in a long time, doesn’t look like the world’s about to end anytime soon, so carpe diem, man.”
“Ha, sounds good,” Sam admits. He looks pretty casual about the whole thing, but Dean can see the relief in Sam’s posture, knows that this has been weighing on him for a while now. Well, that’s stupid. He’d like to think they’re past all that unhealthy dying-for-each-other stuff. Time to live for themselves a little.
“Actually, I’m glad you’re down for this plan, because … I’ve already applied to a few places.”
Dean laughs, shaking his head. “Well, did you get accepted?”
“Yeah, to most of them. For classes starting in the fall.”
Dean hums in assent. “Sounds great.”
“I only applied to schools in Kansas to save a bit of money with in-state fees. But I’ll get an apartment wherever I go. Leave this place to you and Cas, like I said.”
“You sure?” Dean asks. He’ll admit, at least to himself, that he’d kind of always hoped this could be a place for him and Cas to settle down, to make a home out of. But he doesn’t want Sam to feel unwelcome, or like they don’t want him around.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Honestly, ever since we signed off on this place, it’s been pretty clear this place was for you guys, not me.”
Dean forces himself to scoff a bit. He raises his bottle to his lips again, swallows a few sips and turns his head out towards the road again to hide the heat crawling up his face.
“And I’m fine with that,” Sam adds. “I’m happy here, but I’ll be happier visiting now and then. This isn’t the ending I imagined for myself, but you guys … well. You deserve it, Dean.”
Hearing that sort of thing always makes him horrifically uncomfortable, makes him want to laugh it off and argue that he doesn’t. But he’s learning that protesting isn’t gonna make people change their minds when they say that, so he just keeps quiet.
“Thanks,” he gets out after a while. And maybe it’s the light from the sun settling just below the trees in front of them, or the slight tingle in his bloodstream from the beers, but he manages to add on, “For what it’s worth, um. You deserve to go to school and all that, too.”
Sam smiles for real at that, leaving them to lapse back into the comfortable silence they’d been enjoying before.
After a few minutes, though, Sam huffs a small laugh. “Wow, I’ll probably have to adopt a puppy when I get my own apartment, or something else nauseatingly cute, just to cushion the shock of not living around you and Cas anymore.”
“Ha fucking ha,” Dean retorts, before downing the last sip of his beer.
“And man, this place is gonna be empty too. Charlie and I will only be visiting from time to time, it’ll just be you and Cas. What are you gonna do with all those extra rooms?”
It’s said teasingly, but Dean’s drink catches in his throat, causing him to choke slightly at the shock. Truth is, he has been thinking about it, at least subconsciously imagining what those other rooms could become eventually.
Sam’s looking at him in concern after the slight choking episode. Dean clears his throat a couple times, unable to stop his cheeks from heating up as he explains. “Uh, you know. We’ll keep them set up for you guys to visit. Or maybe other people will live in them. Not right now, but … someday.
“People?” Sam asks, searchingly.
“Yeah! Like … you know, people. Small … baby … people …”