#true fluff

Danny sighs dramatically, making it loud enough to carry through the mike. His heart races, just a little, as he says, “But what if I wanted to show you  whole new world, Cam?”

There’s a silence, and then everyone starts laughing, and Danny is elated that nobody took him seriously, but also disappointed that Cameron didn’t take him seriously. 

Stop getting crushes on straight guys, Danny, you know it’s not going to work.

He’d sort of thought being gay as hell would mean he only wanted to actually be with actual gay guys, but… it doesn’t always happen that way. Whatever. Cam wouldn’t have noticed him even if he was gay, anyway - he was in a frat or some shit and Danny figured he probably wears way too much eyeliner for the frat guys to put up with.

But he looks really fucking good in eyeliner.

“Danny!” Ryan calls again, louder this time. “You and I both know you’re not playing right now, you’re just, like, talking shit with those guys - come help!”

“Okay, I mean it, I’m gone for now. I’ll tell him you all sent your fucking love and kisses and whatnot,” Danny says, brightly.

“Definitely tell him we sent our kisses,” Perry says. “Jesus fuck, Ryan Michaelson is hot.”

“Perry-”

“Yeah, yeah, later, Dan. We’ll tell you how hot your brother is when you get back.”

“… well now I’m not coming back.”

“No! We need you! You’re the second-best shot on the team! Only Cam does a better job than you.”

“Wow, what a compliment,” Danny says dryly. “I think I might melt into the fucking floor.”

“Little Danny-puddle,” Cam says, slightly soft, and Danny’s throat nearly closes up. Then he just logs out before he say something embarrassing, tossing his mic onto the coffee table and standing up, stretching his limbs. Ryan’s in the guest room this weekend - Danny had gotten a two-bedroom apartment specifically so Ryan could stay over whenever. 

Mom and Dad fucking hated when Ryan stayed here, and that was half the reason to invite him. 

“All right, dumbass, what do you need?” Danny says as he sticks his head through the door to Ryan’s room. He’s on his stomach on the bed, squinting at his laptop, head titled.

“I need help. I want to write Remy a poem for Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, my God. I am way too gay to help you write a poem for a girl, Ryan. Especially for fucking Remy fucking Alleman, the bitch.”

“Man, fuck you. Remy’s fucking gorgeous and sarcastic and French and like the smartest person I know.”

“What about me?”

“Danny, you are neither French nor particularly smart, but I’ll give you sarcastic.”

“I’m at least gorgeous, though, right?”

“Nah, man, you’re ugly as shit. All those freckles?” Ryan pokes Danny in the cheek, just over his cheekbone, and laughs when Danny shoves him so hard he rolled off the bed and hit with a thump. “Ow! Fine, I take it back! You’re… acceptably attractive under certain circumstances!”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask you to say.” Danny flutters his eyelashes, then holds out his hand to help Ryan back up onto the bed. “So why do you want my help, for real?”

“Well… Gay guys are good at romantic shit, right?”

Danny blinks at him. “Have you met me?”

“… fair point. You’re a dumbass on a good day. Well… you’re all I got, so come over here and look at it, tell me what you think. I want to, like, handwrite it on this really pretty paper I got, and then I’m gonna roll it up like it’s a scroll and tie it to a rose she’s gonna find in that tree we used to climb when we started dating. Does that sound romantic?”

“Yeah, that sounds like a fucking Hallmark card. Let me see.”

Danny flops down to look at the words sitting in the open Word document on the screen. 

“My gaming friends think you’re super hot, you know,” He says, sidelong. “Perry and Jay and Cam and shit.”

Ryan shrugs. “Everyone thinks I’m hot. Comes with being so fucking hot all the time.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you, too,” Ryan says primly. “And don’t you forget it.”

“How could I forget anything about you, you never leave me the fuck alone. Okay, so your poem.” Danny looks at the computer screen, gnawing on his lower lip, thinking. “Oh, man. This is… terrible.”

“Is it really?” Ryan scoots closer. “Like, too terrible to show her?”

“No you should definitely show her, she is going to fall on her ass laughing, and I want to be there to see it.” Danny’s mouth moves as he rereads it - he’s never been the best reader, although he does well enough reading for school. “Yeah, no, this sucks absolute donkey ass.”

“Shit.” Ryan deflates, a little, and Danny looks at him sidelong. “I just wanted to do something romantic.”

“Ryan, this is romantic. It’s just also terrible. It can be both things.”

“Yeah, but she’s French. They, like, get poetry and shit.”

“She’s French-Canadian, for starters, and don’t ever call her French to her face or she’ll kick you in it. Just give her your terrible poem and the rose and stuff. It’s romantic as hell, Ryan. She’ll laugh but she’ll keep the poem for-fucking-ever, I guarantee it.”

“You think?”

“I know, Ryan. Okay, I’ll help you maybe move some stuff around. I don’t know shit about poetry, but I mean… I can try. We’ll work on it together, get it the best it’s gonna be from the Michaelson boys.”

“So… still terrible.”

“Yeah, but what are you gonna do? If she cared about poetry, she’d date a fucking English major, right?”

“Right. But… but.” Ryan hesitates, just the barest hint of real vulnerability on his face. “She’ll still like it, even if it sucks, right?”

“She likes you even though you suck,” Danny pointed out helpfully.

“Hey now, of the two of us in the room who suck-”

“Shut up, asshole. Let’s get this done so I can get back to gaming, we’re doing really well in the rankings. Cam is talking about doing a couple semi-pro bits, like, signing up for meets where there’s money on the line.”

“Well if Cameron says to do it, of course you have to, God forbid you remember Cameron doesn’t even know you exist. Oooh, let’s write a poem for Cam for Valentine’s. ‘My hair is red, my eyes are blue, when I’m sucking dick, I think about you-’“

“Ryan, shut the fuck up! I do not think about Cam every time!”

Ryan brightens. “So… how often would you say you do? Ballpark estimate.”

Danny groans. “I’m going to punch you in the face. In the face, Ryan.”

“Mmmn, I’d look super hot with a black eye and we both know it. Anyway, help me with the poem first, I need to, like, learn some kind of penmanship or whatever so this doesn’t look like shit.”

“… yeah, okay.”

As you dusted off the shelves in the living room, you stopped at the trifold frame of the family pictures taken at the beginning of the month. The snow was freshly fallen, you and your boys were in coordinating outfits, and even Benny had smiled enough to get some good shots. 

Thinking back to two years and a few weeks before today, when Mandy had first tried to convince you to go on that blind date with Dean, you never would have thought this was where your life would be now. Maybe you had been slow to allow yourself to admit it, but Dean had been The One from the first time you laid eyes on him in that restaurant. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Your thoughts were interrupted by the very object of them. Dean’s cologne invaded your senses as his strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. 

You let out a contented sigh. “Just thinking about how far we’ve come. Two years ago, after the first twelve dates, there was so much ahead of us. There still is, but it’s been a busy two years.”

“That it has,” Dean agreed, kissing your cheek. “Benny’s napping and I’m ready to go — why don’t you let me finish this cleaning, and you go take your time getting ready?”

“I wish I could, but there’s still a couple side dishes I need to get in the oven and —”

Dean pressed his lips to yours, interrupting your excuses. “Pretty girl, I’m here to help you. And you know if we’re not ready to eat right when everyone gets here, it’s not a big deal. C’mon now, you don’t get hardly enough time for yourself anymore.”

“And it’s only going to be less,” you mumbled, handing the duster over to your husband. 

“What’d you say?”

You shrugged and smiled. “Nothing. Thanks for the help. I’ll try not to be too long.”

Before you could get too far, Dean swatted you lightly on the rear with the duster you yelped, then quickly covered your mouth. Both of you paused for a moment, not even blinking, waiting to see if you had woken the baby. 

“You got lucky, woman,” Dean chuckled when no cries were heard. 

“You told me to take my time getting ready, Sparky. He’d be your responsibility then,” you teased back.

* * * * *

While Y/N showered and got herself ready for all of the family coming to invade the house in a couple of hours, Dean finished up the cleaning and got started on boiling and grating potatoes for the funeral potatoes. Frozen hashbrowns were just as good, Dean had assured his wife, but she had insisted on freshly grated ones for today, since it was a special occasion. In the last few weeks, she had been so adamant about having things a certain way — the holidays were doing a number on her this year. 

Just as he was putting the grated potatoes in the fridge to cool for a while, the phone rang. He hurried to answer it before the loud trill woke Benny. A cranky baby at a family function was no fun; Dean had learned that early on. 

“Sammy, what’s up?” Dean greeted, checking what else was on Y/N’s to-do list that he could maybe get started on for her. 

“Hey, Jess’s parents are down with the flu — do you mind if Caitlin and Jeremy join?”

“Not at all. The more the merrier, right? Y/N’s got gifts for them and the twins, anyway.”

Sam thanked Dean for being so flexible, then the brothers ended the call. While Dean went to work on the next thing, he thought about all of the kids — Eli, Hunter, Benny, the twins — playing together while the adults sat around and chatted. The twins were just about in the middle of Hunter and Benny, so having them all together usually worked out nicely. 

When Y/N came down, ready to finish tackling her hostess preparation duties, Dean took the potatoes out of the fridge to finish putting the casserole together, and informed her about the extra guests. 

Immediately, she began to panic. “What if we don’t have enough food? Are they going to feel awkward around everyone? Should I change the sheets on the guest bed in case they need to sleep over?”

Dean chuckled and pulled her into his arms. “Babe, why are you freaking out? There’s plenty of food, there always is. They’ve been around the rest of our family before. Why would they need to sleep over? They don’t live very far, the weather is fine. You’ve got to take a deep breath. You love Christmas — what’s got you so pent up this year? Is it something I did?”

She swallowed so hard, Dean could almost here it. “Not — not exactly.”

He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not exactly?”

Y/N looked anywhere but at him. He hooked a finger under her chin and directed her attention back to him. 

“‘Fess up, pretty girl.”

With a sigh, Y/N pulled away from from his hand and went into the front room. When she returned, she handed Dean a small, flat package. The wrapping paper was a green plaid, and there was a gold bow stuck to the top corner. The tag read, ‘To: Daddy’, but the ‘From’ had been left blank. 

Wondering how any present from Benny could have been the cause of his wife’s tension, Dean tore into the package. He opened the lid to the box. Nestled carefully into white tissue paper was a positive pregnancy test and a framed sonogram. Above the picture was the caption, ‘And then there were four …’

Dean set the box on the table, then took out the frame and stared at it. He remembered the first time he had seen Benny on an ultrasound; he was sure that nothing would ever take his breath away quite like that first peek at his firstborn. In this moment, however, Dean was breathless and speechless. 

“Really?”

Y/N’s eyes watered with tears. “Yeah. I know it’s sooner than we planned, so I was going to get through tonight then give that to you, but this seemed like as good a time as any.”

“When do you think …?”

She let out a deep breath. “Sometime around Halloween, I think. I’m about nine weeks. Due around Fourth of July.”

Dean set the frame down and pulled his wife into his arms. He remembered the first time he had hugged her, and about every moment in between. Each of those moments had made his life better and better. He removed his hands from around her to kiss her before kneeling down to kiss her abdomen. 

“Another baby,” he whispered to himself. “More feedings, more diapers … I still can’t wait.”

She smiled and blinked out a few happy tears. Dean stood and wiped them away before hugging her around the shoulders again. 

“I’m glad you’re happy and excited. I was a little worried,” she confessed. Y/N looked up at him, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Merry Christmas, Sparky.”

“Merry Christmas, pretty girl,” Dean returned, leaning down to kiss her. 

* * * * * * * * * *

The Whole Shebang: @illisea​ @ashleymalfoy​ @busybee612​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @sherlock44​ @ravenesque​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @atc74​ @theplaidshirtmadness​ @blacktithe7​ @moonlessnight14​ @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @melbrandes​ @xtina2191​ @spnbaby-67​ @emoryhemsworth​ @goldenolaf25​ @gabriels-trix​ @applesugar88​ @rainflowermoon​ @deansgirl215​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @calaofnoldor​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @chances-and-miracles​ @sandlee44​ @foxyjwls007​ 

A baby crying broke through the epic sleep you were in the middle of — had been in the middle of. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it was some part of a horrible dream, but the cries continued. 

With a sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed. When you had come home from your overnight hospital shift, you had barely had the energy to change from your scrubs into actual relatively-germ-free pajamas. Dean had planned a day in the garage, working on his new project. He had offered to stay home, but since your son was in a reverse-cycling phase, you figured he would be sleeping all day with you. 

Of course, today would be the day the universe threw down a reverse card on the reverse-cycling. Thank goodness you’d slept with one hearing aid in and the baby monitor on high volume, just in case. 

You threw the blankets back and sighed, making way for the nursery. Though you were exhausted and had a family dinner to be at later for Thanksgiving, one end of your mouth turned up in a smile as you padded down the wood floor toward the baby’s room. 

The night you had gone into labor, you had been exhausted like this. You were less worried about the contractions and your water breaking, and more worried about losing sleep. At the time, you were coming to the end of your clinicals for nursing school — something you were also irritated about missing the end of, despite the fact that you had prepared the school for the fact that you could go into labor, and you had done extra clinical shifts to make up for it. 

“Hey, baby boy,” you softly greeted the chubby-faced, almost-six-month-old snorting and crying and squirming in his crib. You reached down to pick him up and snuggled him against your chest. “Don’t cry, Benny. We’ll get you a bottle and you can lay down with Mama.”

By the time the bottle was made, Benny was calm, but still eager to eat. You settled against the pillows, balancing Benny carefully on your arm, propped up by another fluffy pillow. He suckled eagerly at the bottle while you took a deep breath and dozed off, trying not to fall too deeply back into sleep. 

There was a time when it had bothered you to feed Benny formula in a bottle. You had so looked forward to breastfeeding, but once Benny arrived, your milk didn’t. The doctor and the nurses assured you that, sometimes, that was normal. But then the lactation specialist came and your milk still didn’t. There was a medical, explanation, of course, but all you felt like, was a failure. You blamed it on the head injury, although there really wasn’t anyway the two could be connected. You blamed it on the prenatal vitamins — maybe they hadn’t worked correctly, hadn’t been enough. Then, finally, you blamed yourself. You held your newborn in your arms and cried your eyes out. 

Just like he had always been, Dean was at your side. He sat down on the couch next to you, pushed your messy hair away from your face. He kissed your temple, then caressed Benny’s face. 

“We have a beautiful, baby boy. He is healthy, he’s chunky. This is not your fault.” You shook your head, crying harder, but Dean only hooked a finger under your chin and forced you to look at him. “You gave me a beautiful gift, Y/N. My son. As a man, when a woman has your child, it’s an amazing thing. I hate to be that guy, but to have a son — you don’t understand how much that means to me. How much more you mean to me.”

You sniffled and looked at him like he was crazy. Dean chuckled and kissed you, yucky breath and all. 

“I’m not saying your value lies in our son, pretty girl. Don’t make me one of those guys. I’m just saying — we’re happy. You’re healthy, he’s healthy. I’ve never been this happy in my life. If you can’t — if you can’t —”

“Breastfeed, Dean! The word is breastfeed!” 

“Yeah, well, categorize that one with the ’t’ word,” Dean snorted. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter that you can’t. Your value isn’t in the fact that you gave me a son, as much as that means to me, and your value isn’t in the fact that you can’t … breastfeed … Benny. You’re already an amazing mother. You changed your career so you can be there for him when he needs you. That right there tells me that you’ll do anything for him.”

You sniffled and decided that Dean was right. Begrudgingly, you got up and made Benny a bottle. From that moment, it got easier. As long as Benny was healthy and getting the nourishment he needed, did it really matter where it came from?

Thinking of all that broke you from your dozing off just in time to take the bottle from Benny’s mouth and set it on the beside table, then put him on your shoulder and burped him. 

“Ooh, that was stinky one,” you said, wrinkling your nose. As you patted his behind, you realized the burp wasn’t what was truly stinking. 

You got up again and took him back to the nursery, then brought him back to bed with you, even though he probably would have been fine in the crib by now. You laid on your side and put Benny next to you on his back. He drifted off to sleep easily, but, even as tired as you were, you just watched him sleep. You thought about mornings when you would wake up and he would be moving in your belly, and you would just lay there, rubbing your belly. Being a mom wasn’t for everybody, but for you … not one thing in your life bested this feeling. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

You looked up to the bedroom door and smiled to see your husband standing there, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “Hey there, Sparky.”

“Came in to check on things and I see this. Not a bad sight to see,” Dean said, laying on the bed next to you. He put a hand on the baby’s chest; you knew how much he loved to just watch Benny breathe sometimes. “Benjamin John, you’re supposed to let your mama sleep.”

You sighed, entirely content in that moment. “He woke up hungry, then he was muddy. He was sleepy after that, but I couldn’t put him back in the crib. I was feeling too grateful. For both of you.”

Dean leaned over the baby and kissed you. “Which is all well and good, but you’re going to be exhausted when we all go to your brother’s later if you don’t get some rest.”

He picked Benny up, resting the baby’s head on his shoulder and patting his back as he walked him back to the nursery. There was no crying, so you settled back in the bed — but you couldn’t sleep. 

Dean came back to the bed and laid his head on your stomach. You ran your hands through his hair, thinking of the nights when Dean would press his ear to your swollen belly in hopes of hearing the baby swish around in there. 

“I’m going to stay inside,” Dean said, “so how about you take that hearing aid off and turn the baby monitor down.”

You shrugged and followed his suggestion, then resumed brushing your hand through his hair. He moved from your abdomen up to hover over you. He kissed you softly and tilted his head. He made sure that he was looking directly at you, and he spoke clearly. 

“Hey, pretty girl. If you’re not gonna sleep, do you wanna …”

“With you, Sparky?” You pulled him towards you and whispered against his lips, “I always want to.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The Whole Shebang: @illisea @ashleymalfoy @busybee612 @mrswhozeewhatsis @sherlock44 @ravenesque @feelmyroarrrr @atc74 @theplaidshirtmadness​ @blacktithe7​ @moonlessnight14​ @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @melbrandes​ @xtina2191​ @spnbaby-67​ @emoryhemsworth​ @goldenolaf25​ @gabriels-trix​ @applesugar88​ @rainflowermoon​ @deansgirl215​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @calaofnoldor​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @chances-and-miracles​ @sandlee44​ @foxyjwls007​ 

Ten months ago, you had married the man of your dreams. Dean was the love of your life, and while you had been hesitant at first, once you gave in to him, the romance between the two of you had been somewhat of a whirlwind.

The two of you had enjoyed your honeymoon period throughout the rest of the winter. Come Spring, plans went into motion to update the things that needed to be brought up to code in the house. Summer was spent doing a small amount of re-decorating, swimming in the lake, and taking drives in the TransAm.

Fall had come late, but it was in full swing now. The trees were changing colors and the grass was starting to yellow, but the temperatures weren’t entirely unbearable.

Dean took you out to the field late one Saturday afternoon, laid out a blanket, and presented a basket of snacks. You stretched out on the blanket with him, appreciating that you both had this time to relax together.

“Benny and Jo’s Halloween party is next weekend,” Dean reminded you. “You off?”

You nodded. “I am. Guess we’ll have to find some last minute costumes this week.”

Dean chuckled. “Because you know how much I enjoy dressing up.”

You laughed and shook your head. You recalled the same Halloween party the previous year when you had dressed up last minute in a makeshift dog costume that involved an oversized sweatshirt and leggings. Dean, on the other hand, had hidden in the garage with Benny in his usual t-shirt and jeans — since Benny wasn’t in costume either, that was Dean’s excuse not to dress up.

The two of you relaxed in a silence for a while, munching on the food and enjoying the view. Taking a deep breath, you sat up, cross-legged, and cleared you throat.

“So, I enrolled in some classes this week.”

Dean frowned. “Like … college classes?”

You nodded. “Yeah — the university has a paramedic to RN program. With some extra courses that I already took, I can finish in a year.”

Dean sat up then. “You didn’t think you should talk to me about this before making the decision?”

“Well, it’s just that —”

“You going to work while you’re in school?”

You frowned. “I mean, I’ll be part-time, but school is going to—”

Dean stood then. “Damn it, Y/N! This is not the kind of decision we make without talking to the other person. I am your husband — remember that? Ten months ago, you were in the white dress and there was cake and vows? Then you up and make a decision that changes our life and our income without even talking to me about it first?”

You wiped away a tear, hating how angry he was with you just then. “Will you please just hear me out?”

“Oh, now you want to discuss things — sure. Let’s discuss it, Y/N. Let’s discuss how you’re cutting out a part of our income. We don’t have a house payment, okay, I get that — I’m grateful for that everyday. But we have bills! We just updated the house and did some redecorating and that’s all great, but those bills are still there!”

“This isn’t about —”

“Save it,” Dean said, cutting you off. He rubbed the back of his neck before putting his hands up in surrender. “Listen, I’m going to go to Mom’s for a while. I’ll be home later.”

He stalked off then, leaving you, the blanket, and the mostly-empty basket of food behind.

Mary was waiting at the front door for him when he arrived. She held the screen door open while he walked in and told him to have a seat at the kitchen table.

“Y/N called you.”

Mary nodded, setting a cup of coffee and a slice of pie in front of him. “She did. You two had a fight?”

Dean nodded. “She’s making these big life decisions, and she’s doing it without me. What is that? We’ve never had this problem before. We’ve always talked to each other, we’ve always worked things through. We’ve had fights, but — not like this. I think back to two years ago, I didn’t even know her. Everything went so fast. Did I only marry her because she was the first decent girl that crossed my path who was interested in me? Because she made me work for it?”

“Dean, come on,” Mary chided. “You married her because you love her. Because she made you work for it and you wanted to do that. Timing has never mattered for the two of you — except maybe those twelve first dates. That was all that was important. Do you remember when you came here and told me that she was the one? That you’d met the woman you were going to spend the rest of your life with? That hasn’t changed. Y/N is still the love of your life.”

“I just don’t get how she could make this huge decision without talking to me first.”

Mary pursed her lips together as Dean dug into the pie. There was more she wanted to say, but she knew her son. It was best to let him process his anger for a little bit before trying to talk some more sense into him.

After his coffee and pie were finished, Dean turned on college football and drifted off to sleep on the couch. Mary let him sleep for an hour before turning off the television and shaking her son awake.

“Time to go.”

Dean yawned. “C’mon, Mom. Not yet.”

“Yes. No more waiting. Y/N has a good reason for doing what she did and while I can see your point about her talking to you first, I really think you need to hear her out.”

Dean tilted his head to the side. He was still sleepy, but he was catching on. “You know something, don’t you?”

“I know enough to know that if you don’t go home to your wife soon, you’re going to regret it later. Go.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Damn right I am,” Mary smirked.

After picking up the blanket and putting the leftover food in the basket, you trekked back to the house from where you and Dean had been in the field. You called to tell Mary about the fight and that Dean was on his way to her house, then you let yourself cry it out a little bit.

Once you composed yourself, you started a load of laundry, then got started on supper. Mary had assured you that she would get Dean home before too long, and you wanted to have a warm meal ready to go when he returned.

As it was, you were setting the table and about to break down in tears again when you heard the front door open. Taking a deep breath, you finished setting the table, waiting for Dean to come to you.

You heard him stop in the kitchen doorway and clear his throat. Turning from the counter, you took a breath and held it.

“You okay?” he asked. “Your eyes … they get red when you’ve been crying.”

“I’m okay,” you answered quietly.

He leaned on the doorframe. “Mom said you had a reason behind doing what you did. That I should hear you out. I need that reason, Y/N. I’m sorry that I got so angry so quickly, but I need that reason, because I’m feeling right now like you’re leaving me behind.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” you said, “I’m pregnant. I went down to part-time and enrolled in the nursing bridge program so that I have more options for working, so that I can be home with the baby or work a regular nine-to-five in a doctor’s office or something. So that you’re not doing the majority of the work while I’m on twelve-hour shifts.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. His mouth opened and shut a few times; when words wouldn’t come, he walked towards you until he was directly in front of you. Dean’s eyes glazed over with tears.

“You’re pregnant?”

You nodded. “Yeah. That was going to be my follow-up to telling you about school and everything — that I did it because I’m pregnant.”

Dean blinked and a happy tear fell from each eye. He kneeled in front you, gripping your hips before resting his head on your abdomen. “I’m so sorry, pretty girl.”

You ran your fingers through his hair. “Don’t even worry about it, Sparky. I just want you to be happy. I want us to have a happy family.”

He kissed just below your belly button then stood and kissed you. “We will. We will have the happiest family … and this is just the start.”

“Oh, is that so?” you said, finally smiling as Dean backed you up to the counter.

“Oh yeah,” Dean said, also smiling. “This feeling that I have right now, knowing I’m going to be a dad — that you are having my baby — it’s too good to only experience one or twice.”

Falling into married life with Dean was not exactly the cakewalk you had expected it to be. 

After the honeymoon in Puerto Rico, the two of you returned home and set about the task of making the farmhouse really into home. That’s where the trouble started: the two of you had become so accustomed to having separate houses, it never occurred to either of you that you might need to discuss who would be getting rid of what, what would go in storage, and what would actually be kept for the house. 

“That couch was my grandparents’,” you said through clenched teeth. “Don’t you think it makes sense that it be back here in the farmhouse?”

Dean shook his head adamantly. “Not at all, actually. I think it’s important not to get too sentimental, actually —”

“Says the man who invented the twelve dates of Christmas to win me over!”

“— but if you’re going to be sentimental, how about wanting to start our own memories with a new couch?”

You wrinkled your nose. “That bachelor pad leather … thing you call a couch is not new, Dean Winchester! Who knows how many girls you’ve had on that couch.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh please!” 

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Bet you Caitlin sat on that couch once or twice.”

Throwing his arms up in frustration, Dean took a step back. “Listen, we keep on like this, we’re going to start saying stuff we don’t mean. I’m going to go cool off, maybe you should do the same.”

He left you there in the middle of the living room, standing between the two couches. You plopped down onto yours and let out a deep sigh. Dean and you didn’t fight very often — and even this you wouldn’t classify as a fight. It was a heated argument, but Dean was right. It had been bordering on a fight, and he was right to walk away. 

After twenty minutes, you went to find him. Dean was laying down on the bed, playing on his phone, but he set it on the nightstand when you came into the room. You laid next to him, with your head on his chest. 

“We can keep your stupid couch,” you ceded. 

Dean chuckled lightly. “No, you’re right. That couch is a mess. We’ll keep yours, pretty girl.”

You shrugged. “I mean, maybe we can go look at new couches next weekend. I like the idea of creating new memories with you.”

With the chilly Kansas winter in full effect, it was especially exciting to get away to somewhere warm with Dean for your honeymoon.

Puerto Rico was a perfect escape. The beach resort was quiet and relaxing; the sun was always shining, and the ocean was right outside of your room.

You were up before Dean on this particular morning, but you knew he needed the sleep. You fixed your hair into a messy bun, put on your bikini, and found your towel and suntan lotion. You jotted down a note so Dean wouldn’t worry when he woke, and headed for the beach for some early morning sun.

The sound of the waves crashing was the only thing surrounding you, it seemed. You closed your eyes and laid back, smiling a little to yourself. How was this your life? You were married to the love of your life, the wedding had been perfect, and now you were laying on a sunny beach. Maybe the beach part wasn’t permanent, but you would take it for now.

You rolled over to your stomach so your back could get some sun as well, and a few moments later, felt warm hands spreading lotion on your back. You startled only slightly, until you turned to see your husband smiling down at you.

“Good morning, pretty girl,” Dean said, leaning down to kiss you.

“Good morning,” you returned with a big smile.

He finished with the lotion on your back, then pulled off his t-shirt and laid down on his own towel. Things were quiet for a few more minutes until Dean’s worried voice broke the silence.

“What if I don’t love you enough?”

Turning to your side, you frowned. “I guess if that’s really something you’re worried about, then you shouldn’t have married me, Dean.”

He scooted closer to you, cupping your cheek. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just – I really get to wake up to you for the rest of my life? I really get to have kids with you? I really get to grow old with you? Y/N, how do I deserve that?”

You leaned in to kiss him. “Because you’re amazing. You and I are blessed because we found each other. We take care of each other and we support each other. Most importantly, we love each other. You’re my best friend, and I’m yours. That’s why we’re here. My love for you grows every single day, and I can feel your love for me grow, too. The truth is, when it comes to loving each other, there is no enough, but that’s why we keep at it, and we keep trying. Everyday.”

Dean shook his head. “I definitely married the right woman. Don’t think anyone could have said that better.”

You smiled, happy that he was feeling better. The two of you spent the rest of the morning on the beach, then went into town for lunch and shopping at the little market the resort’s concierge had suggested when you first arrived.

 Dean could have lived the rest of his life on that resort with Y/N. He was no longer worried about not loving her enough; she had squashed his fears on that matter. He just wanted this peaceful life with her, with no exes and no work problems and nothing that could get to them.

Then, he looked at her on the last day of their honeymoon as she packed her suitcase. She was smiling, excited to go home, and Dean realized why. Yes, the honeymoon had been excellent, but they had so much to look forward to when they got back to Kansas.

“You have the plane tickets, right?” she asked, breaking through his thoughts.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I have them.”

“You okay?” she frowned, coming around the bed to wrap her arms around him.

“I’m great,” Dean answered, holding her close. “Just thinking about everything back home we have to look forward to.”

Y/N smiled. “You mean freezing temperatures and long work days?”

“No,” Dean chuckled, “I mean our life together. You were right on the beach the other day. We’ve got so much ahead of us, and we are more than enough for each other. We’re going to have a great life.”

“We really are,” she smiled.

He snuck his hands around to the zipper at the back of her sundress and slowly pulled the zipper down. “Know what I’m looking forward to the most?”

“Hmm, tell me,” Y/N giggled.

“Making babies,” Dean whispered as he hovered over her lips.