#dad!dean

You didn’t mean to. Chances were you’d woken your eldest, Edie, up from where she was sleeping two rooms down, but you just couldn’t deal.

Dean was home now. Monster guts and blood might’ve surrounded him just hours ago, but he’d only been knee-deep in it for two of them, three max. Now his clothes were clean, that classic grin you’d fallen for plastered on his face, which meant he’d had a chance to shower.

Your last included a whore’s bath because of Edie’s temperature and the extra cuddles you’d been providing her between feeding and changing Henry as much as a six-month-old required.

Let’s not talk about the fact that he was grabbing everything now, nor that he’d gotten into his sister’s toys earlier that day during tummy time. You’d spent way too long looking for Malibu Barbie’s shoe, only to find it in his diaper. You still didn’t want to know how it got there.

The list could go on. Sore nipples, a tooth mark above the left one. Cold coffee, your only one for the day, spilt over your shirt. Chopped-up spaghetti noodles on the floor, Peppa Pig’s laugh on repeat. You supposed you were lucky Henry couldn’t talk yet and fight his sister for control. Jill down the road always told you about her two fighting and how you had something to look forward to.

You honestly just looked forward to Dean coming home so you could get ten minutes of peace over actually seeing him. Ten minutes of no touching. Of having your body to yourself. You’d swerved away from Dean when he’d leant in to plant a kiss on your cheek, and—oh God, you were a terrible wife. He was home and safe, and you? You looked terrible, too.

Hair a mess. Meat sauce clumped through it. Try baby-led weaning, they said. Let him play with his food. No-one told you how much more effort it was after the baby had finished eating to clean up. No one considered the older sibling in the mix, now feeling better and copying her baby brother for the attention.

You sighed, leaning back against the bathroom door. The vanity mirror was a foot away, the light already dim for a fall evening, yet your tears shone on your cheek, pointing out your failures. They pulled more guilt to the surface than you knew was needed. Dean had only been gone two days.

“I can get Sammy to check it out,” he’d said when he first told you about the haunting in nearby Joplin. He’d also ramped it up as a milk run, a simple salt and burn he hadn’t stopped talking about since he’d discovered it.

How could you say no to that?

It was something he needed to feel more than just being Dean, the husband and father, again. Like the supportive wife you were, you kicked him out of the house and sent him on his way. You could handle it. Two kids under five, your kids, a walk in the park for their mother, and yet, here you were, hiding in the bathroom the second Daddy came home.

Down the hall, you could hear the wails Henry made in his father’s arms. He loved Dean, but he was a mama’s boy through and through (but a boob guy like his father).

Edie chattered happily, excited to wake up and find her Daddy home, no doubt. Dean, humouring her back, cool, collected, like he hadn’t walked in on a bombsite.

“Go back to bed, kiddo. Daddy’ll come check on you soon,” he said down to her, brushing his hand over her shoulder-length hair.

He’d never even fathomed a wife, let alone two kids of his own, and the white picket fence after Ben and Lisa. It mightn’t have been wooden, nor existed, but you had normalcy.

Three bedrooms, a backyard with a swing on the tree he’d made himself. A kitchen and a dining table with plastic plates and bowls scattered across the two. He never understood why you needed both besides just to fill space until Edie came along. Sometimes you just wanted to have your nightcap at a table that wasn’t covered by a film of stickiness. As it was, Henry’s highchair was sprouting spurs, while his diaper reeked of sour milk and fermented something that could start a brewery if Dean was clever enough.

“You gotta big one there for Daddy, huh, buddy?” He hoisted Henry’s backend away from his nose in a balancing act that’d leave you more stressed out than you already appeared.

“Can I be an aeroplane too, Daddy?” Edie tugged on his jacket.

“I thought I told you back to bed.” His eyes caught her grin. They also caught the stack of blocks and dolls not too far from her feet.

His brows quirked at the crayons and paper scattered further away near the coffee table, keeping his poker face straight as Edie continued to giggle at him.

You ran a tight ship, even when you lived in the bunker before the kids were born. The amount of times you’d called him out on something as simple as a mug on the library table or a gun on the war room one before you’d become a thing was plenty more than the amount of adult sized plates around the lounge, dining and kitchen combined. Zero.

Had you eaten?

Of course you had. It’d been two days. Yet his own gut churned, and it wasn’t because of what awaited him in Henry’s diaper.

“Bed.” His hand moved between Edie’s shoulder blades, scooting her around the pile of clothes by the couch, and down the hall with him and Henry the aeroplane.

The little tot was all grumbles on the changing table. His legs kicked like he was training for a bike race, stretching the fabric covering the small mattress that’d seen better days. His fists punched his chest as he swiveled his hips left and right.

“Come on, King Kong.” Dean pulled a fresh wipe out of the packet for his poor knuckle, a casualty along with the underside of Henry’s heel. Even on solids, his poop got everywhere, needing an extra two wipes just to get it outta the creases. And he thought changing Edie was bad.

She’d taken some convincing to go to her room instead of yours, leaving Dean no choice but to walk her to bed himself. Lest she burst in on you mid-shower.

The water had stopped running sometime between her closing her eyes and Dean leaving her for the nursery.

He’d tiptoed outta there, avoiding the creaky floorboard outside the main bathroom with precision; Henry’s ass held away from him by both outstretched arms. His nostrils were in dire-straits. The little hairs inside singed to a crisp the moment he pulled the tabs down on his son’s diaper.

He’d cleaned the kid’s ass until it was smoother than it should be. Clean enough thanks to his improvising with the hand sanitiser you kept next to the powders and creams. Only then did you show up, gracing them with your presence after a hesitant step past your daughter’s room.

Dean’s instinct was to joke about taking over once the hard work was done, but the second he saw the puffs under your eyes, he kept his trap shut. His arm looped behind you instead.

His kiss on your head wasn’t a magical cure, though it sure was welcome. The smell of his aftershave and lavender from Sam’s shampoo, grounding you.

If you closed your eyes, you were out on the road again yourself. Your hair, wet thanks to a threadbare towel and not because you’d rushed to get back to Henry, guilt-ridden and embarrassed you’d spent an extra five minutes in the shower.

“Thanks,” you whispered, hand patting your son’s pot belly, sticking above his diaper line. Even when lying down or after a doozy of a bowel movement, his pudge was evident. His little fingers gripping your arm in retaliation made your lips twitch.

There was a defiant glint in his eye already. One that mirrored his father’s as if he were telling you to “quit it” or scolding you with a not-in-front-of-dad bit.

He was growing up way too fast, Edie too, and it only brought on more tears.

What was that saying? Enjoy it while they were still little? They wouldn’t be this way forever. Yet, the second Dean stepped foot in the house, you’d palmed Henry off to him, unable to get away from the same hand now playing with your thumb fast enough.

“You okay?” Dean squeezed your side, and you just nodded, your free thumb swiping at your eyes.

There’d be more questions waiting for you once Henry settled for sure. A half lecture on how you didn’t need to thank him for doing something for his children or you for that matter.

Torn between wanting to take over and seeking further comfort from Dean, you stayed close to his side, watching on as he manhandled one chubby leg after the other into Henry’s onesie. He zipped and picked him up, bringing his cheek to rest over the shoulder closest to you. Both sets of eyes finding yours, one tired, one concerned.

“Here, buddy,” you said to Henry, ignoring those of his father for now. “Daddy’s had a long day.”

Your open palms inched towards them, but Dean shook his head, taking a sidestep to the left. “So did Mommy.” His green eyes, amber under the nursery’s soft glow, flicked to the door and the direction of your room. “‘Sides, I haven’t had my cuddles in two days. We’ve got stuff to discuss.

“You see that blonde at the playground yesterday, bud?” He matched Henry’s innocence with a lighter tone. “Your mom told me you went.”

He eyed you again before lowering Henry into his crib, keeping it there even while he pretended to reply to things Henry wasn’t saying.

“Oh, yeah?” He chuckled as Henry’s feet swiped at the sheet underneath him. His eyes once again pointed to the door.

Dean had always been stubborn. You knew it. Everyone who knew him knew it. You could argue until you were black and blue; it wouldn’t help get your son back to sleep, leaving you to trust your husband could indeed master bedtime just this once.

You glanced at the kitchen clock as you made your way back down the hall, picking up what you could along the way. Henry wasn’t due for another feed until early morning, which gave you ample time to clean up a little before bed.

You picked up what toys you could, replacing caps on markers and storing Barbie’s other shoe up higher. The matching bright pink heel still sat on the sink, drying where Henry couldn’t reach it.

The dishes were next, salvaging what scraps you could into your stomach and scraping the rest down the garbage disposal. You’d leave running it for the morning just in case, lest there be more tears.

Yours still lingered just below the lids. You’d say allergies were getting the better of you, but your stomach was empty, even with stale crackers, a fish stick, and a warm juice box swirling ‘round in there.

You should’ve been the one to put Henry down. It didn’t matter that Dean was perfectly capable. You were his mom. You’d been in charge throughout the day, Dean had barely been home half an hour.

He’d had a long drive, yes, you resented him for coming home clean, but he’d been out there saving lives and risking his own. He had work in the morning. Your day consisted of laundry and feedings, tummy time and playing. You promised Edie she could have a swing tomorrow on the condition she was no longer feverish, and it would be the highlight of your day.

Your hands were deep-sea diving in the kitchen sink when Dean left the nursery. His heavy footsteps creaked the floorboards beneath the laminate, alerting you he was there, even before his fingers found your waist and the hem of your pyjama top.

Though Henry’s foot had been right there, and Edie’s string-bean arms had squeezed your neck when she’d hugged you from behind earlier, you melted at Dean’s chest pressed against you.

“I didn’t send you outta the room to do this,” he said over your shoulder. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? You shook your head, arms picking up the pace in the dishwater. A stronger urge to do it now, simply because Dean was suggesting he’d do it later. It couldn’t wait til later.

He took a step back, hands taking your elbows to turn you around and face him, concern written in his eyes all over again.

He was used to the occasional weeping after both kids were born. Even before. Tears because the dog on the TV was the cutest thing you’d ever seen, or you just missed Sam.

But Dean had never seen you so stressed out as he had when you’d handed Henry to him. The look in your eyes, the same as in the nursery as you watched him change a diaper, hovering like a fly, hesitant for whatever was going on in your head. You may have stopped crying, but the puffiness was still there along with the falter in a smile you often saved for victims and dumb cops.

“What’s going on, huh?” He tucked a now damp piece of hair behind your ear; watching as you shrugged and sniffed.

Your “I dunno” was as good as silence when you rolled your lips and turned your cheek towards him.

Of course, you knew. You always knew, for you and everyone else, which meant it was something you didn’t wanna tell him.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” His thumbs rubbed the nubs of your elbows, hands daring higher to unfold your arms. But all he got in return was your fingers playing with the edges of his jacket. Your focus, on them and it.

“You feeling alright? ‘Cause you’re kinda scaring me here.” He took your palms in his and squeezed with reassurance, thumbing the dents and the clammy skin.

“I couldn’t handle them today,” you whispered, throat hoarse like you’d been the one wailing earlier.

“Every little thing just built up, you know? Grabby hands—Henry bit me.” You pulled away and pulled your top down for Dean to see the dark red tooth mark above your nipple. “Edie didn’t have a nap, and you know how—” You bit your lip. “I’m sorry I dumped them on you like that.”

If Dean’s gut was still churning thanks to the last diaper change, it was doing backflips now. No hairs in his nose meant he could feel the burn from his eyes and cheeks better, beet red no doubt on account of the sucker punch you’d just given him.

You were sorry for handing over the kids when he got home? He was guilty of doing that on more than one occasion. Poo explosions and tantrums alike. His usual go-to: occupied in the bathroom, much like you had done.

“Hey, no.” He moved to soothe, a thumb now on your bite mark, the other in the air and pointing towards the hall behind him. “I mean, your timing—unbelievable. The second you shut the door, Henry let it rip.”

He dipped his chin to gain your attention. At the very least, you were listening to him if the frown was anything to go by. But you were yet to look his way, looking through him and everything else around you with your eyes glazed over instead.

“You don’t need to apologise.” He frowned himself as he passed over Henry’s work again. “It’s a lot even when I’m here. Hell, I’m a lot when I’m here,” he chuckled, and that had you pouting.

“So what if you needed a breather? What’d that nurse say? You put ‘em down somewhere safe and then you run? You did that.”

“That was for newborns.”

“Same thing.” He pressed his lips to your forehead before you could argue any further.

Yes, he knew it wasn’t quite the same, but it didn’t fit his agenda. The kids weren’t in danger when he came home. You just needed space. He got it. He would’ve dumped Henry on him too if he’d bitten him anywhere. Half the time the kid found pain funny, whether a bump on the noggin or one of you tripping over.

Being a parent was a tough gig. Chef, therapist, janitor, doctor, all rolled into one. Add an extra ass wipe here and there and the occasional punching bag impersonation thrown in, and that was only half of it.

“Raising these gremlins ain’t easy, and you’re running the show. I’m just here for the ride and the moral support.”

But you shook your head. Something he’d said in there done right because your body drew into him next.

Your arms wrapped around him, head ducked in under his chin. He held you back, breathing you and everything that surrounded you in.

The coconut in your shampoo. The body wash from your shower. Smells and scents from your home and the kids mixed into your clothes and skin even though you’d just changed.

“You helped that family, and you came home to ours.” You snuggled in closer. “I just—you gave me those minutes—that’s all I needed. That and you.”

Somehow Dean just made everything better, lighting up the room and you whenever he was near. Just knowing he had your back was enough. Taking the kids for those few minutes so you could feel human again, the icing on the cake.

Of course, “Just me, huh?” he said. The smirk, clear in his voice without having seen it. His hands, smoothing up and down your spine, were also a dead giveaway he’d taken what you’d said and run with it.

“You and the break.” You pulled away to catch his eye. “And now helping me with the dishes.”

You thrust a dishcloth and a wet plate into his hand after that. The transition, quick, before he could make another excuse or distract you.

Your hands scrubbed Edie’s Peppa Pig bowl and mug. His back leaned against the bench, still clad in the gear he’d walked home in.

It wasn’t the bunker or a crappy motel room in a town you couldn’t remember, but the home you’d worked towards. Your little family under one roof, safe and calm in sleep. Such a simple task, relaxing you one step further than Dean’s initial hug and his spiel to make you feel better.

“So it was a spectre?” you said, handing him the matching Peppa plate. His face amused at the change in topic.

He licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah. Y’know I’m always right.”

“I wouldn’t say always. Remember the last time you ran into one of them?”

“Yeah. But I lucked out this time.” He leant down to show you his ear, taking your closest hand and running your fingers across the lobe. “See, no goop.”

“I meant the whole thing with Sam. He didn’t wanna say hi tonight?”

“You wanted to see him?”

You guessed not. The last thing you wanted was for Sam to see you the way you had been, lest the state of the house. You shook your head.

But Dean’s gaze scrutinised you even as you handed him the next plate.

“He could come around more. Maybe even babysit now that Henry’s older.”

“You wanna leave ‘em alone with Sammy?”

If it meant alone time with Dean, you thought. “It’d be good for them. Edie loves him, and—”

“You and I can go make another?” His brows waggled, but they stopped when you shoved the latest bowl into him.

“The shops shut.” There was no way you were letting him knock you up again. Two was enough, though you’d said the same about Edie and having another.

“I know that. But it doesn’t stop us from practicing.” He put the dishcloth down and stood tall, reaching back for your hands and removing them from the dishwater. “Y’know, I’m not just a mechanic, I’m also a very good doctor.”

He was also cheesy, but you humoured him with a curious hum. “I already have one of those.”

“Yeah, but he better not be touching you the way I’m gonna,” he said, taking your hips and pulling you towards him. He traced his fingers up and under your clothes; his lips lowered to hover above yours. “Wanna show me that bite? Let me kiss it better?”

He leaned in before you could answer, tugging down the thin top himself and exposing you to him. Slipping your nipple into his mouth, breath warm, tongue slippery—he was a man possessed. You’d protest at the lack of autonomy, having just skirted ‘round the topic, but he ran it over the cut and then some, leaving you surprised and him humming in appreciation.

“You were just waiting for Daddy to come home and do this, huh?” He holstered you up like you weighed less than Henry, twirling you ‘round and sitting you down on the kitchen bench behind him.

You’d call him an idiot, but it was hard to call him anything when his hands gravitated to your thighs, making room for him and his fingers to trace over more of your skin.

“Well, I’m home now,” he said, before pushing your breast further into his mouth.

It was different, less like feeding Henry. You, waiting for a sting that never came. Dean was gentle, chalk to cheese. His thumb skirting the elastic of your panties had your body already wanting. Your rational mind, worried ‘bout the kids, even as your hand tugged him closer.

You’d scar them for life with the desperation in your eyes alone if Edie walked in now. Your cheeks were already flushed, brows contorted in the simple pleasures Dean was giving. You didn’t want to explain to her why Daddy was kissing Mommy there, let alone why he was playing with your underwear if it did happen.

“Just relax.” His lips reverberated over and around you, grinning wide when you reacted to two thick fingers dipping in as far as their knuckles. “Best not make a sound.”

It was easier said than done. The angle of your hips on the bench curved your inner walls, only making things tighter, sharper. And your body? It reacted like a teenager. You, a faucet, fueled by Dean’s hands tuning you through every subsequent flick and twist of his wrist. You couldn’t be quiet if you wanted to.

Little gasps, his name. The scratch of your nails over his scalp. He pulled back to watch you, and the sounds only grew more lewd. Your wetness; his fingers spreading it.

His grin closed around yours a moment later, his tongue occupied with reconnecting and reclaiming. It worked to silence you, not that it was Dean’s intention. The whole fun of the game had always been the drive to outdo himself between the sheets and you. With age came maturity; with time came, well, him, outside the bedroom. A little added risk to keep things interesting.

Nothing was boring with you, ever, but it was rare to get a moment like this, here of all places.

He increased the pace of his hand, his fingers dragging deliciously through you. When you clenched around him, he twitched with interest. And when he removed himself from you thanks to a sharp twinge in his wrist, you weren’t exactly thrilled about it.

“Dean?” you breathed.

“Cramps,” he chuckled. His hand burned as much as his cheeks did.

“You getting old, doc?”

“M’still young enough to keep up with you. Got you wet.” He watched his fingers push back inside of you, thumbing your entrance and circling over and around it until your thigh trembled. “Got you begging me for it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.” He poked his tongue through his teeth. He could do this back and forth with you for days if you let him.

But you gripped him by his collar and the tent of his pants, drawing his lips an inch from yours, eyes full of mischief. He let out a groan, and they widened. Your smile lifted up to your eyes. “I’m not the one who needs to beg, baby. You still have a mouth,” you said, and Dean’s knees dropped to the floor.

The cutlery and the contents of the fridge shook. With his tongue on you, fingers still keeping you open, your legs soon quaked themselves as the fire ripped through you, just as good as you remembered pre-kids.

Dean still made you feel beautiful and wanted, eating you twice as much as a man starved. Your toes curling, your cunt fluttering as he swiped and sucked.

Your hand had to leave its grip on the bench when you came over the edge, his arms catching you, though he continued to tease. “You gonna beg for me now?”

“Are you?” Your hand ghosted his length to repay the favour, searching for the crown when he stood back up.

He wasted no time pulling his pants down and taking you there in the kitchen. Your hips pressed into the bench. His hands gripped you so tight his fingers left marks on your waist and rear. He’d have made your knees buckle a second time, but he moved you to the living room couch before it could happen. You spread-eagle beneath him, your right ankle hooked over the backrest.

The tip of his cock parted you with the sweetest pressure. Far better than his fingers and tongue, though they worked in tandem, silencing you through a loud cry when a sharp thrust kissed your cervix.

But if he was worried about the noise himself, he should’ve been more careful with the subsequent slapping of skin against skin, echoing louder than any moan you made. He was going to wake the kids, yet he’d told you to relax.

“Damn near gripping me like a vice,” he strung together through a groan as he withdrew and re-entered you, savouring the view with a lick of his lips.

You watched him, watching himself get lost in you, and it only made you slicker. He hoisted your ass into his lap, licked his thumb and made a point of rolling it over your centre.

He grinned like a winner who’d crossed the finish line even when he hadn’t. But when he did, he brought you there a second time, too.

Your thighs clamped around him; he lowered himself back down to you, kissing you like he hadn’t since he’d come home. Your taste on his tongue, his cum dripping out of you—it took all the effort you had not to fuss over a potential mess to clean later.

“You’re not gonna let me just lay here, are ya?” he grumbled in your ear when you shifted beneath him.

“You tend to shoot big.” You patted his side.

Dean took pride in that comment, lifting himself up first to leer and then look over where he still sat seated. “Yeah, I do.” He chuckled and withdrew, only to scoop whatever escaped with him back inside you. “Shame it’s going to waste. We make cute kids.”

“We do—still not happening, though.”

You attempted to swat him that time, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you with him to stand. “Just saying.” He shrugged. “You were on the pill when we got gifted Edie.”

“Because you dragged me out in the middle of the night for a case.” They weren’t lying when they said all it took was one.

Dean’s fingers found your hips and brought you back into him, swaying to the sound of a song you could almost hear when you stared into his eyes. “I missed you while I was gone y’know?” he said, as tender as the tone he used with the kids. “Wanted to turn around the second I left town.

“Maybe we should get Sammy to watch ‘em—just to go out, you and me. Hell, if you wanna go solo, I’ll—”

“Dean.” You pressed your finger to his mouth before you swooped in for a quick peck. “I’m just happy you’re home.”

You woke up to Henry’s cries coming from the baby monitor the next morning.

“You want the boob, huh, buddy?” Dean’s words filtered along with them. “How ‘bout I change ya, and we can let Mommy sleep a little longer. Daddy kinda kept her up last night.”

Henry squealed.

“Yeah, Mommy kept Daddy up, too, but that’s because you bit her. I just nibbled a little.” Dean changed his tone to something much higher. “I’m not about drinking your milk. I’ve got my own.”

You smiled to yourself. The man was a saint—most of the time. His recount of the kitchen, though child friendly, still wasn’t appropriate. But you listened in on their moment anyway, too lazy to move.

Too content to watch from the small black-and-white screen on your bedside, Dean’s back, bare and broad to the camera. Henry’s little foot kicked at his side.

“You know they were mine first, right,” Dean continued as little footsteps scurried across your room.

“Mommy?” Edie said. 

You sat up only to pull her in close to you, snuggling against the headboard as you waited for your boys to join in, too.

“Hi baby.” Your hand smoothed over her head. “How’re you feeling?” You checked her temperature with a kiss to her brow.

“I’m all better.”

“Well good. ‘Cause I think we can get Daddy to make us pancakes this morning. He might even let you help.” You kissed her again.

She was the spitting image of Dean, minus your hair. Henry, too. Her eyes lit up the way Dean’s did when she smiled. You hoped to God it didn’t change.

She’d only be little for so long, and then she’d be a teenager with raging hormones, shooting up taller than you no doubt; Henry, as strong as his dad. Yet they’d always be your babies, even when parenting overwhelmed you.

When Dean came in with Henry, you had to wonder if maybe you did want more if it meant seeing him like this for longer. The sleepless nights and diapers and biting were all worth it in the long run, especially with Dean by your side.

“Here comes the baby,” he said to Henry, landing in your arms.

You just had to talk to him about hunting less…

“Can I be an aeroplane too, Daddy?” Edie’s toes dug into your thigh when she jumped up, but you kept your cool. Your grimace quickly replaced by a smile and Dean’s hand squeezing close to where it hurt.

…and flying.

Well I had fun. And here I thought I would save any dad!Dean and parenting stories for To You I Belong… Should they have another? 😂

*I wrote a sequel with Edie and Henry and co HERE - 26/11/25

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"She has your eyes," you mumbled softly, prodding with careful fingers at the blanket swaddling your newborn baby, covering her rosy and crumpled face. She'd barely been alive twenty hours, and was crying for at least nineteen of them. Her eyes blinked open for a few seconds once in a while, showing you a flash of the mossy green you'd fallen in love with before on Dean's scarred face.

"Oh, don't say that," he responded lightheartedly. He was sitting halfway on the cot in your postnatal hospital room. You were hooked up to a hundred and one machines, and so was the little infant you'd just delivered. The only ones he cared about were both of his girls' heart monitors, silently tuning in to the beep, beep in the background that assured him you both were there with him. Steady. Alive.

He'd seen too many loved ones die in the field to not naturally be on constant high alert.

He brushed a calloused pointer finger over her cheek, which was puffed up in tiny fury that she, like her eyes, had inherited from her father. "That's too mean to her."

"What do you mean?" You had never quite been able to wrap your head around the idea of Dean seeing himself as anything other than handsome. In face, in body, in soul and heart.

"Oh, I just wish she'd got yours. Way prettier than mine, huh? They're gonna be like a little blight on her perfect face," he chuckled, not even realizing what he was saying as the thoughts rolled out of him and onto his tongue before he could chew them up and decide if they were or weren't worth saying.

"Dean," you chided softly, head turning to face him. He hadn't met your eyes since the nurse had handed your baby back after washing her off—he'd been too busy staring at the grumpy angel to look back at you. Yours were deep, sunken in from the fact you hadn't slept in at least 48 hours after a full 28 of labour and 20 more of worrying yourself sick over the new baby girl. "Don't say that. I love your eyes, and everyone'll love hers."

"They'll love hers 'cuz they love her," he mumbled in an almost defensive tone, as if he was insulted that you could find anything about him to love.

"And people love your eyes 'cuz they love you," you scolded.

He stared at you blankly, as if expecting the "psych!" he'd shoot at himself if he was in your place. But that never came, just you staring, brows furrowed in adamance that he was, too, lovable.

"I love you. Sam, and Cas, and... and she will," you held up your baby, "and everyone you've saved. Dean, you deserve love. And you have it."

His eyes filled with water, head whipping to the side to show no 'weakness,' especially not after he'd seen you do the strongest thing fathomable—give new life and tearing your own body apart in the process.

"Wait—Dean, please don't cry, you'll upset her," you pleaded, carefully adjusting your hold so you could reach one arm out and pat his back.

As if on cue, your baby started wailing the second Dean did. Her tiny hands balled into chunky fists, thrashing around underneath the wrap. You sighed, tossing your head back, instinctively starting to rock her gently. Not a second of peace with this one, huh?

Dean wiped his eyes and turned back around, wordlessly scooping her up to cradle to his chest, cooing at her (despite the faint cracks in his watery voice). "It's okay, baby, Daddy's here." Her crying lessened upon hearing her dad's voice—he was sure it was because she recognized it, since he had talked to her in your belly for at least two hours a day, every day, since the day you found out you were pregnant.

You grabbed the corner of your hospital blanket, dabbing at her wet eyes as the tears cleared up. Her eyes, now no longer glossy with hysteria, blinked up at Dean. The same green he'd grown to hate in his reflection in the mirror.

The same green he'd learn to love in his reflection in the eyes of his baby.

moodboards:

» 1.0 - 2.0

chapters:

» synopsis / prologue

» part one

» part two

» part three

» part four

» part five

» part six

» part seven

» part eight

» part nine

» epilogue

early relationship fics/drabbles (young!Dean)

» Hope you dream of me

» I really like you. Like, a lot

» Girlfriend

» A match made in heaven

» Kiss me sober

» I want you forever even when we’re not together

extras:

nothing yet!

I accept requests for this series!

Taglist is open! Leave a comment if you wanna be part of it

a/n: I don’t have a schedule to publish each part and also, I already have everything, BUT it’s in spanish so I need to translate it to post it here (and also change the pov cuz on wattpad is Dean x fem!oc).. so just bare with me lmao (I think I’ll probably post the synopsis tomorrow tho 👀)

You'd been dreading today. As a mother, you shouldn't. But as a mother, you were.

You couldn't believe how you'd aged. There were unavoidable wrinkles on your face. You smiled at the reminder of why you got those. You'd dyed your hair for the ocassion and had them pinned up in an elegant bun. The silk dress cascaded around you, the bodice wrapping around you like a fine layer of second skin. You knew your husband would appreciate the shade of cream beige and the tall heels you'd put on. A slit ran uptil your right knee and you were just pleased that you had enough time to get out of your sweatpants today.

Your reminiscent admiration was interrupted as your younger daughter poked her head in.

'Code red?' you wondered from the pinched expression on your middle child's face.

'Yep. Cold feet,' she relayed seriously.

Your lips pursed to hide your amusement. 'Be right there.'

You set your make-up brush down and chased your youthful daughters quick footsteps to the bridal green room. You'd stepped out only half an hour ago to dress up while your oldest's friends had assured you that they would handle the rest of the dressing up shenanigans.

You poked your head in to see your older daughter, donned in beautiful white with a transperant veil and adorable pumps that would hurt her feet later. She was blowing breaths into a paper bag while her bridesmaids formed a rough semi-circle around her. Her maid of honour had also stepped out to crowd control.

'Reinforcements are here, ladies,' you chirped, stepping in with a smile. 'Can you all give us a minute?'

The girls nodded hesitantly, beelining for the door to get out. Violet, your second daughter, joined them.

Closing the door softly behind you, you approached her like one would a frightened deer. 

'Johnita? Sweetie, we're alone. Wanna talk?' you quietly asked, getting that natural soothing quality you did when your motherhood kicked in - as Dean had once observed.

She glanced up from between her manicured hands, her pearly whites drawing in her bottom lip as her smudged makeup did nothing to help her appearance. 

'Why do I feel like this?' she croaked.

'Don't tell your dad I said this, but, uh, if you want, we can get you out of here,' you grinned mischievously. 

'Stop joking,' she cried out emotionally. 'I love him. I'm not gonna do that to him.'

'Then, why are you crying?' 

You sat down next to her on the designer couch. Your arm automatically took her petite shoulders under its wing, the other one going around her back to pull her into you. She was still facing the mirror, and you were facing the door in the opposite direction.  You placed one knee over the other and rested your head on hers when she put it on your shoulder, closing her eyes. 

'What if I'm bad at this?' she wondered, further crumpling the tissues in her hands, knuckles white. 'What if . . . what if he regrets marrying me? I know this is silly, but what if . . . what somewhere down the line he realises this is a mistake?'

You sighed. You just couldn't believe how much of Dean you were seeing in her right now. It often scared you how much of Dean's self-doubt had bled into your oldest. Not that your husband did it intentionally. 

'Okay,' you said. 'What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave the room, okay?'

'What?'

'On the day of my wedding,' you told her, 'I was having a cigarette.'

She gasped, head lifting from your shoulder. Your tactic had worked. She'd taken the bait. 

'After you grounded Jake for a week?' she asked, amusement crowding in her expression. 'You were having a cigarette?'

You levied a stern finger at her. 'Doesn't leave the room.'

She raised her hands a little, imitating zipping her lips and throwing the imaginary key over her shoulder. 

'I only ever had one when I was extremely stressed,' you tried to defend, somewhat embarrassed. 'That punk was doing it to look cool.'

Johnita giggled, ending in a sniffle. 'You were stressed too?'

'Yeah, well, I was marrying a functional alcoholic who pretended his depression didn't exist,' you pointed out. Johnita sombered at that, but you said it with light. 'I love that man with my whole heart, but he can test your patience like a snail.' You snorted, making your daughter smirk. 

Your children knew about Dean's trauma. He'd taken counseling after Johnita had been born, and over the years, in the name of transparency, he'd come clean to your kids. That said, you both kept the information about monsters to yourselves. As in, they knew them as bedtime stories, but they hadn't been intimated to the practice of killing the said creatures. 

'So, anyway,' you continued, 'I was walking outside of the Church in my wedding dress and taking a smoke - when I saw your father.'

'No! Isn't that bad luck?' her eyes widened comically. 

You scoffed. 'I think bad luck was the fact that he was climbing out the window, trying to run from the wedding.'

She gasped for the second time. Utter disbelief was written all over her face. 

'But you're, like, soulmates!' she stated. 'You never fight. You always support each other! You're like one person!'

You laughed. 'Thank you,' you said. 'To be honest, neither your father nor I believe in soulmates,' you told her. Dean hated the idea that a woman would have to be with her just because Cupid plinked him with her. And after the whole God fiasco, you two were relieved to know that Chuck had had nothing to do with your relationship. 'We've worked hard on our marriage, sweetie,' you said. 'And I'm proud of us for that.'

She dabbed the misused tissue on her face, and you took it from her, working on her ruined makeup. If not redo it, the least you could do was clear it away so that she didn't resemble an abused panda. 

'I'm glad I got cold feet that day,' you said. 'I caught mid-escape that way. You should've seen his face,' youchuckled fondly, 'like a baby deer in headlights.'

'What did you do?' Johnita asked. 'Didn't you get mad at him?'

'Mad?' you snorted. 'I was relieved. Finally, a man who was on the same wavelength as me. He saw me and told me I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. I put out my cigarette and hugged him. He apologised and told me he couldn't wait to marry me. When I asked him later about what changed his mind, he said he just needed to look in my eyes to be okay. Marriage scared him. Marriage with me made him brave.' 

'That's so sweet,' she whispered. 

'It was quite the confidence boost,' you said jokingly. 'Jo,' you cupped her cheek. 'I'm so damn proud of you for finding a man you love. He's a good guy, and you are as awesome as they get, baby. I trust you two will make a great marriage.'

She bit her lip. 'Thanks, mom.' Her eyes were tearing up again.

Just as you were about to kiss her on the head, the door was pushed in and the love of your life put his head through, eyes zeroing in on his first loves. 'Jake gave me Code Red,' he said with the secret air of a covert agent. 'Baby is up and running. Let's roll.'

A muffled voice floated through the door. 'I'm standing right here . . .'

'Yeah, one sec,' Dean brushed the person off, and for a millisecond, his sheepish eyes connected with yours. 

One look and you were rolling your orbs till you could see the back of your head. Your husband was the stupid-most adorable man on this Earth. You would have been pissed had you not known that his intentions were in the right place.

'I'm fine, Dad,' Johnita giggled. 'Mom talked me down.'

Dean glanced at you, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. 'Right. Well, if you need anything, just text me. I'll fly you away, if I have to.' Castiel was attending the wedding. Not that the children knew he was the angel who raised Dean from perdition once. 

'Sir, again,' James' voice became clearer, louder. 'I'm right here.'

'Wait, no, it's not needed now-' Dean tried to stop him, but the young man slipped past the concerned father.

'James! You shouldn't be here!'

You suppressed your smile. 'Well, I'll make myself scarce. James,' you nodded towards the polite boy, 'Jo,' you acknowledged, and skidaddled out of there.

You briskly walked out of there, closing the door behind you to let the soon-to-be married couple talk this out. 'You're an idiot,' you told your man.

'Well, sorry for being prepared. He was Plan B!' Dean meekly shrugged. You gave him a look, and he sighed, 'I'm an idiot.'

'Just admit you don't want your little girl to go.'

He pouted, a melancholy in his eyes that stirred your previous anxiety back up. 

'Hey,' you cupped his cheek like you had Johnita's a few seconds ago. 'Our little sparrow's ready to fly, babe.'

His pout amplified. 'She has such a nice nest now,' he huffed. 'That James kid is such an academic. His body strength is a joke.'

'But he loves her,' you told him. Told yourself that. 'She'll be happy. Like we are.'

'I guess,' he sighed, holding your hand in place. 

You rose on your toes and kissed his lips affectionately. 

He hummed. 'You look hot,' he grinned. 

You chuckled. 'Aw, thanks.' You played with his haphazard collar. 'No luck with a vest, huh?'

'I told you, I don't want one,' he said petulantly. You had a strong suspicion that the vest you'd brought him was stashed in a secure location. 

'You look smart in it,' you said. 

'I look like a monkey! Isn't this tail-coat and suffocating bow-tie enough?' he groaned exaggeratedly. 'Haven't I suffered enough?' 

You pressed your lips against your mirth. Your husband was incorrigible. 

It was just one of those days when Sam was left back at the Bunker. No cases in the foreseeable future. Just you and Dean on a long drive that went on for states. No destination in mind except the road. The windows were rolled down, the wind in your hair, the skies bruised with pink and orange: you liked collecting images of the sky from all the places you visited. It was the same yet different. It was everywhere, and so damn free. And it often came with the alternating soundtrack of your and Dean's favourite music. 

It was just two lovers

Sittin' in the car, listening to Blonde

Fallin' for each other

Pink and orange skies, feelin' super childish

He'd made you a cassette tape after you kept showing up in his life. Both of you were too stubborn to admit it, but the rock songs had grown on you, and the cheesy romantic ones had captured Dean's heart. And since both of you acted guilty of this, a silent truce had been agreed upon, and neither of you ever brought it up to tease the other. So used to each other's company that you could practically pen a whole book on each member of Bon Jovi, while Dean could sing the lyrics of every JVKE song, front and back.

'What'cha thinkin', sweetheart?' Dean asked, hand coming to rest on your thigh, eyes on the road. 

You smiled up at him. 'The sky was of this colour the day we met,' you quipped. 

He chuckled, taking a peek at the ether himself. 'That was a wild day.'

Wilder, because you both might've fallen for each other that day. 

'Hey,' your honey-soaked timbre greeted the handsome man in front of you. His forest green orbs turned up, the whiskey glass halting halfway between his mouth and the teak wood surface. 'I'm Y/N. I saw you across the room and I-'

'I'm waiting for someone,' he shot you down.

'Oh.' You almost appeared disappointed. 'My bad. I thought you were the guy my sister set me up with. Dan Williams?' you asked with much too hope. 

'You're mistaken,' he flatly told you - shifting in his seat, away from you, so that it was clear that this conversation had reached its full stop.

You left him alone, going to stalk the bar, but his eyes were now fixated on you. 

He pitied himself for turning you down - the most gorgeous woman he'd seen in a while. Perfect for his standards of a one-night stand. But something told him he didn't want that tonight. No matter what the touch-starved parts of him demanded, he craved more after the hard hunt and the long day he'd had. 

And dating was definitely out of the question. Hell, it wasn't even in the syllabus of his life. He was basically a mix between a pirate who could swear all day, an alcoholic who never gets drunk, and a warrior who kills monsters as his profession by committing identity theft. Which absolutely meant that he was screwed in this life except for the departments that consisted of sarcasm, humour, and movie/music references.

So, why, oh, why would he want to destroy someone's life with his? 

Why would anyone ruin a beautiful girl like you that way? Dean found himself staring at you longingly. 

And then he did a double-take at his thoughts. 

Since when did he even think about dating?

He hadn't since Lisa. But the hunt had set something caged in him free. And then he just happened to stumble on a beautiful girl. 

Just my luck, he thought sarcastically. 

He had told the bartender to keep 'em coming. The guy manning the drinks asked no questions, argued not, just kept sending the waitress to keep his glass filled to the brim. Time flew by, and your date soon showed up. And then Dean was glad he'd kept an eye on you, because it was soon clear that the guy was turning into a nuisance for you.

That guy was throwing himself at you in the weirdest, most creepy way possible. You were getting increasingly uncomfortable, and it was the most obvious thing in the whole damn world. But this idiot must have a PhD in obliviousness, for he could not take a hint. Whenever you tried to excuse yourself, he just stopped you one way or another.

An idea popped into Dean's head. Before he had even finished thinking or started overthinking, he surged forward for your rescue.

'Hi?' he asked, pretending to be confused.

'What do you want?' "Dan" rudely asked of him, his good-guy attitude melting off.

Dean faked innocence, glancing back and forth between you and the other guy. 'I think there's been a mistake. I'm . . . I'm here for a Y/N. My blind date? And I think that's her,' he gestured towards a wide-eyed you.

You cleared your throat, playing along. Looking surprised, 'Really? Damn, uh, my bad. Is your name-?'

'Dan Williams,' Dean offered.

'Ohhhhh!' you said, seeming utterly relieved. You were terrible at hiding it. 'This is awkward. I must have gotten the wrong "Dan Williams",' you said with a fake apologetic look in your eyes. 'It's just too bad.'

'No, she's my date,' the man butted in, addressing Dean as if you hadn't even said a word.

Dean scoffed. 'Fine, man, what's her last name?'

'L/N,' the real Dan confidently replied.

'It's Smith,' Dean smugly said. 

He didn't know your real name, but he glanced at you in warning, hoping you'd catch his drift.

'Can you believe him?!' Dan stood up, and both the men turned to you.

Feeling cornered, you gripped your beer tightly and, in one jerky motion, you splashed the beer on Dan's face. The strange man whom you didn't know stepped away from the mess with amazingly fast reflexes. A laugh spilled from his dropped jaw. 

'You asshole!' you accused him of your made-up excuse. 'You weren't even listening to me! God! You'd think a man would be attentive enough to my last name!' You shot Dean an incredulous look, who couldn't stop laughing. 

'You bitch!' the real Dan roared, ready to retaliate.

And before the stranger could step in and defend you. You easily blocked the guy's hit and judo flipped him right on the spot. 

The green-eyed blond-hair hottie stared at you in absolute amazement with his mouth agape and features puzzled in a way that clearly told you he was in a bit of awe.

'What?' you smoothened your dress as you stood back. 'I learn self-defense.'

That took the cake. 

Before Dean knew what words were leaving his lips, they were out. 'Can I take you on a real date?' 

You'd taken a selfie with him that day in pink and orange skies. 

On yet another long drive, you two were stopped for gas. You stood outside the car, leaning against Baby's shining, sleek surface, waiting for Dean to pick up snacks from the store while you fueled up his precious car. You loved doing it because you'd never done it before, and because it was the symbol of Dean's unadulterated trust.  

No Donald Glover

Missed call from my mother

Like, "Where you at tonight?"

Got no alibi

I was all alone with the love of my life

Through misty, morning silence, Dean's rock ringtone cut in. You opened the door and sat in the driver's seat. Before you could answer the phone that flashed "Mom 🙄" on the screen, the shotgun side swung open, and Dean plopped down with bags of supplies. 

'Hey, sweetheart.'

'Your Mom's calling,' you scoffed with a certain tone. 'What are we, five? Calling to check up on us. I mean, it's not even been three hours . . .' You trailed off when a guilty look trespassed his face.

'Uhhhh.'

'Jeez, babe. Did you not say where you were going?'

'It might've slipped my mind.'

'You're unbelievable sometimes,' you said, swiping the green button. 

'Took you long enough,' Sam's voice came through the speaker phone.

'Hello to you, too, Sammy,' Dean quirked.

'Dean, how long will that supply run be? I got us a case.'

You smirked. 'Hi, Sam. Supply Run speaking.'

Sam said your name in realization. 'I thought Dean was refilling the pantry,' he explained. 'He didn't say anything about meeting you today.'

'I'm kidnapping your brother for the weekend. It's our anniversary.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'She showed up at three a.m.!' Dean protested. To be fair, you did do that. Although, to be fairer, Dean had forgotten, so he didn't feel all that bad about waking him up at such an ungodly hour. 

'I thought he must've told you when he packed a bag,' you said. 

'He was sleeping.'

'Could've texted him,' you mumbled. 

Sam sighed over the call. 'So, I guess I'll ask Garth if he wants to do the case with me.'

'Sorry, Sam!' you chirped. 

'Be careful,' Dean said. 

'Yeah,' Sam said. 'Bring him back in one piece, Y/N.'

You chuckled. 'Sure thing. Anything else, Mom?'

'Use protection,' he quipped, playing into the joke and making you laugh. 

'Oh, gimme that!' Dean took his phone back to promptly end the call. 

'You're a doofus,' you grinned like a Cheshire cat. 

'I'm your doofus,' he cheekily amended. 'And you're driving,' he wagged a finger at you, 'while I finish my sleep.'

'Okay, passenger princess.' 

The wedding commenced. His heart was pounding out of proportion. He'd talked to you before and hugged you desperately to ground himself. 

She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night

I don't need no light to see you

Shine

It's golden hour (oh-ohh)

You slow down time

In your golden hour (oh-ohh)

But this wasn't a panicking nervousness. This was a happy nervous. 

He knew now why he was marrying. For whom he was getting hitched. 

When the doors opened, the crescendo of the music swelled, and you walked down the aisle. 

His inner world stilled. His outer world faded until you were the only unblurred portion of it. 

Alone, with flowers in your hands, beaming with happiness and confidence . . . and just like that - his doubts, his fears, his negative thoughts - it was all gone. 

His darkness went away when his light walked into the room.

His hairs stood at attention when the overwhelming sense of love overpowered him; his eyes became glossy. It was frightening how much love he'd accumulated for you over the last three years. How happy you made him. And here he was: about to join you in one of the most vulnerable relationships known to living organisms. 

Tears brimmed in your eyes, too.

And all he could suddenly think of was how he wanted to spend the rest of his life staring into those very eyes, living and re-living how he fell for those eyes. All he could think of was how he wanted to just stay beloved in those e/c orbs, how he wanted to possess your look, the one that looked up to him like he was your entire world. 

'Hey,' you whispered.

'You're beautiful,' he repeated from earlier that day.

And both of you knew he was not just talking about "in this moment". He wasn't just complimenting your looks. 

He was talking about you, as a whole, and as a soul that completed him. 

So, you knew he would say the same thing when you have a bad hair day, or when you have bruises marring your body from a hunt that you're scared to show, or when you're donning the sexiest cocktail dress ever known to mankind, or when you were old and grey, having spent all your life beside him.

Your smile brightened if that was even possible. 'You, too.'

And each other was all either of you could see. The most gorgeous hour of your lives. The golden hour.

Shining so brightly that this burned holes into your lives, into your memories, so that when you both looked back, even though you couldn't see through your mind's eye what had actually happened, at least you'd be feeling it.

And the time almost slowed down to a stop when it was declared: 'I now pronounce you husband and wife.'

You laughed at the same time as Dean, and you both grew closer till your lips were sealed, in turn sealing your hearts, minds, and souls in marriage.

Dean walked down the aisle (without the vest) with your daughter nervously draped on his arm, walking forward to be given away to the man of her dreams. As her eyes locked with James', yours sought Dean's, who flashed you a wink, smiling more freely than you had seen him do in ages.

Can you even imagine

Fallin' like I did for the love of my life?

She's got glow on her face, a glorious look in her eyes

My angel of light

I was all alone with the love of my life

She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night

I don't need no light to see you

Shine

It's your golden hour

Neither of you wanted to take the light away from Johnita's moment, but it was a special memory for you two to capture, too. Your eldest, the one who had come out prematurely by maybe a week, wailing and covered in blood. She was taller than you now, beauty radiating off of her as everyone in the room stared at her.

She had come to you, your bundle of joy, wrapped up in soft cloth, watching the unknown land of giants with wide eyes and weird, wet liquid babbling from her mouth.

And that was the fastest you fell in love, holding such a pure soul - a soul that came from you and the man you love the most - and you were her mother. Dean was her father.

What more could you have even asked for?

Wiping a happy tear away from your cheek, you turned straight as your husband proudly handed her off to your son-in-law in five minutes, his chest puffed, and just the look in his eyes was worth remembering your whole life. Dean joined your side, reluctant glee all over his face. He was happy for her - he couldn't help it, no matter how much he complained leading up to today. 

And the procession was the second best you had ever attended. The best, of course, being your own. Your hand had snaked around Dean's arm, your body leaning into him, and he had kissed your forehead.

And as nervously and anxiety-ridden as each half of the couple had entered, just as carefree and happily, they left the chapel as a whole. The crowd began dispersing.

'Race me to the car!' Jake exclaimed to his older sister, the middle sibling, who immediately accepted his challenge, chasing after him.

'Be careful!' their Dad yelled as they seeped into the crowd, while your eyes fell on Sam - 'Are you crying?'

'I'm not crying, you are!' he snapped at you, swatting at his tears. 

He really did love his niece, and your heart swelled with love for your brother-in-law, who had never failed to support you more than Dean. He said he was doing that to annoy his brother, or because you were always right when it came to relationships, but you knew it was mainly to never let you feel lonely in their small family. It was so that you never gave up on Dean - he supported you till you knew how to live with his older brother better than he had been able to.

He was the one who made you feel like you had had a family again after your parents' demise, way back at the hands of a Wendigo. And that was a reason why you made fucking sure that he got the woman he loved. You made sure that he'd man up and admit his feelings when he needed to, and you made sure that you got him his deserved family, too. Even after all the shit Chuck pulled. 

Eileen rubbed her hand on his back calmly, signing to you that Sam indeed was crying. And that she'd handle him. The unpaid babysitter of all your children was ushered out of the venue by his wife. He'd been that place of comfort when your children couldn't talk to you or Dean - he'd never let them feel like they had anything to miss, as they didn't have any grandparents. He had been the only army of relatives they needed. And when Eileen came into their lives as their Aunt, she was exactly the same.

'Alright,' Dean steered you away from them, noticing the tears in your own eyes. 'I thought you promised Jo a tear-free wedding.'

'But I'm happy,' you whined.

Dean's eyes were wet too. 'Me too,' he said, moulding you to his side as he walked you out. 

'They grow so fast,' you complained. 

He chuckled. 'I thought that was my line,' he teased. 

Then, everyone hauled ass for the reception, treating themselves to the festivities. You and Dean got separated managing the crowd, while Voilet helped you out, and Jake just gave up on socialising to play video games on his phone.

And it was long before everyone started moving onto the much-needed energy source - food.

The chatter was everywhere, the atmosphere so happy, the wind dancing, the skies cooperating, the moon glowing. It was possibly one of those cliché romantic nights. 

And as Dean saw you glide around the dance floor, sometimes talking and sometimes dancing with the guests and relatives, entertaining everyone and excluding no one, Dean took a backseat. He, like his son, had given up on socialising after the first three hours. He was trying his damndest to be in the moment - something you taught him over the years. 

He was trying to fathom how he fell for the love of his life . . . who was just enough shades of fucked-up to love him back. 

He watched you like a hawk, awe etched in each of his fibres as you smoothly took the world on. A soft glow on your face, a never-tiring smile, and a glorious look in your eyes.

It had just been over and about thirty years, but Dean still felt like a lovesick teenager.

'Take a photo, it'll last longer,' Voilet's voice made her father jump. He chuckled when he realised who it was, unashamed of being caught staring. But his daughter didn't mind pointing it out, still, 'Simply staring is creepy.'

Dean smirked, 'Can't help it. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.'

'She's wrinkly,' Voilet tried to irk her father, not meaning any insult to her Mom.

'I stand by my statement,' Dean played along.

'She's starting to get white hair.'

'Still standing.'

'Is she more beautiful than me?'

'Trick question,' Dean quick-wittedly dodged. 'You're not a woman yet, young girl.'

'Smart move, Winchester,' she teased.

Dean chuckled. 'Why don't you go find someone your age and have fun?'

'Only if you go ask the lady your age to a nice dance.'

'Accepted,' and the older man walked purposefully on the dance stage, tapping on Claire's shoulder.

'May I?'

'All yours,' she granted, placing Dean's wife's hand in his.

'Thank you,' you shot the younger woman a smile, before your laser focus was diverted to your husband. 'Took you long enough.'

'Ah, I got lost - sightseeing.'

'And pray tell, what did you see?' you flirted back, knowing some cheesy line was going to be hurled your way. Dean started moving with you on the dance floor, carefully sidestepping other people as he guided you through the song - it was one of your favourites. Guess your taste was passed down the lineage.

'An angel of light,' he romanticized it, knowing how much you liked it. It was silly, and it was stupid, and this was strongly Dean's opinion. He still had only one advantage out of it - to see you blush. That was all he was in for.

'Uh-huh?'

'She's got glitter for skin. She's like my radiant beam in the night,' he said with a sing-song to his words.

(Remember how he learned all the lines backwards and forwards of all your favourite songs? Yeah, now guess why.)

'How much alcohol did you have?' you giggled, but blushing exactly like he wanted. 

He sighed dreamily. 'I didn't have to drink. I was on high on you.'

'Jeez, eww,' you laughed, thumping your head on his shaking chest as he guffawed along with you. 'Where'd you learn that? Cas?'

'Jake.'

You laughed harder, pulling back. 'Our son's giving you flirting lessons?'

Dean shrugged, unfazed by your laughter, not at all embarrassed. 'I asked him what's new. I'm not disappointed.'

'Oh, he's gonna hear it from me,' you retorted, chuckling harder. 'If that's how he picks a person up, he might end up alone!'

'Yes, Mom,' Dean grinned. That particular tease had passed down to your kids from Dean, one he refused to regret. He placed an errant strand behind your ear as he changed the subject: 'Today was magical.'

'Mm-hmm,' you happily sighed. Silently, you both pulled each other closer. His arms left the dance stance and wrapped around, while yours did the same for him, and you two closed even the tiniest gap that you could have had between your bodies, slowing down to a side-to-side sway.

(One side of his jacket was bulgier than the other - and you would bet Baby that his vest was hidden inside his coat pocket. A fact you'd suspected that morning when he told you lost his vest. It was unendingly amusing to watch this man try and hide these little things from you.)

You put your head on his chest, a soft smile on your lips, and eyes closed in content, his heart beating steadily in your ear. Dean rested his chin on your head, his arms tightening around you as he thanked his lucky stars with all he had. He placed a soft but long kiss on your head, letting your warmth and weight settle into the memories of his muscles.

'Remember when Johnita was just born?'

'You were too scared to pick her up. She was so small and you were terrified of hurting her.'

'Yep. If you hadn't encouraged me, I probably wouldn't have ever even touched her.'

'She was so fragile, a small little princess.'

'Yeah. Our princess.'

'And when you finally picked her?' You'd heard this a million times, but it always tugged on your heartstrings.

'I couldn't believe how a being so small could make me love her so much, so fast. It was almost against my will.'

You snorted. 'She had you wrapped around her tiny finger.'

He shook his head like there was still some disbelief in his mind. 'I couldn't believe I'd just had a child with the only woman I ever could love.' And he kissed your head again, this time harder and longer, afterwards, just closing his eyes as he let his head fall on yours.

He did this every time you asked him about Johnita's first day on Earth. He said this line every time, and no one has to guess why you got gooseflesh every time he said it.

'That's so sweet!' crooned your granddaughter, Maze, the first-born of your eldest, and the twin sister of Emmett. She was very much enjoying your and Dean's love story.

You slow down time

In your golden hour (oh-ohh)

'Yep, I never get tired of hearing it,' Emmett and Maze's aunt genuinely said, the pregnancy making her skin glow. She moved a hand over her eight-months pregnant belly - her later months one of the reasons why you and Dean had come over to help out in the last month, while Violet's husband, Tyler, went to work in the day.

But today, everyone was here. The whole family, and you all had gone and done the whole nine yards for Voilet's baby shower. Jake and his husband, Adam, had flown in from Europe; James, Johnita, and their twins drove in from New York. Sam and Eileen had come in from Kansas with you and Dean, while their kid, Mary, and her fiancé, Percy, had met you halfway on the road.

Both Sam and Dean had quit hunting a very long ago, but neither of the brothers could quit the Bunker. Even when the kids didn't know fight monsters, they thought of the Bunker's library as the most priceless collection of mythological stories. It was no surprise that all four kids were a tight-knit group, having grown up together like that in the Bunker. 

And all special occasions excluded - it was a rule of the Winchester family to meet back at the Bunker at least three times a year. May it be a family vacation or something else. But it was always family above all - a rule bestowed by Dean.

'Food's ready!' Johnita excitedly exclaimed, and her children dashed out of the room, leaving you and Voilet to chuckle. You walked out slowly, helping your kid waddle out into the dining room, which - if the delicious aroma was anything to go by - seemed to be absolutely mouth-watering.

En route, the back door to the house opened, and a huge roar of laughter bled in as the men of the family goofed around and about. As soon as Dean looked inside, his eyes were on you, just at the same time as you looked up.

Dean's eyes twinkled with love for you, and he didn't notice when Tyler broke away from the group and took his wife from his mother-in-law. The men were filtering out to find their own spouses or kids, or just going for food.

But Dean waited. And then the time slowed down as it often did in your company. The happy dredged up a lot of happy memories for him, and Dean could only blame this on one person.

'I have a complaint,' and it was a good thing that everyone else had left, for you had an inkling this was about to get cheesy. Not that he would have cared even if they were listening - he had a reputation to maintain, as he liked to say.

'Sounds serious,' you smirked, your arms going around each other automatically. 'Should I be worried?'

'Yes. It's about you.'

She mock-gasped. 'What did I do?!' you dramatically whispered.

'First, you stole my heart, and made it yours,' he said it very matter-of-factly - with a straight face and everything. 

'Okay, keep going, I'm noting everything down in my mental note-pad that I'll remember forever,' you joked.

'Good because you made my life so happy that it should be illegal.'

'Dammit,' you said, trying hard not to smile.

'Exactly,' how Dean kept his stoicity was beyond you because you were on the verge of breaking character. 'And you know what? You are so perfect that you almost make me cry.'

'It's sad that it's so happy.'

'I know! What's more, is that you walked into my life and turned it upside down. Completely!'

'I see. Anything else, Mr. Winchester?'

'Yeah. One more thing: I never thought I'd have a family. That I'd quit hunting. I never thought I'd be a father, let alone a Grandpa. You gave me the world, woman! Everything. I have a family now!'

'A Winchester's family,' you said with your eyes going wide. 'The audacity of the atoricity!'

'What?' Dean snorted, finally breaking character. 

'Too wordy?' you laughed. 

'Yes!' he exclaimed, struggling to get serious again. 'And too much of a mockery of my plight!'

'Oh, I'm just awful, aren't I?' 

'Tell me about it.'

'Would it make you feel better if I say "I love you"?' you asked, feigning sympathy. 

'Yes. But I want more.'

'Yeah?'

'I want a kiss,' he demanded.

'Well, I think that's fair, now that I've already ruined you-'

'For every other girl on this planet,' he glared playfully.

You snorted.

'This is serious,' he reminded.

'You're right. I'm sorry,' you giggled. 'Come here, you,' and you pulled him down for a sloppy one. 

A kiss that was certainly not the first, and certainly not the last. 

Just like it was certain that it could only be your fault that this family was under one roof. You were the only criminal when it came to the Winchesters' family.

A/N: So - need a dentist yet? ❤😂

By the way - I know this was supposed to come out last week, but I got to know about a surprise test a day before 😭😭😭. So, I had to split my attention for that 🥲🫠. Likewise, my other posts also get affected - I have so many upcoming exams - but I will try to keep posting as much as I'm able.

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