"Hello Beautiful." A thick, muscled arm slid around Mary Winchester's waist, pulling her close.
"Hello John," she said with a warm smile, looking up to give her husband a kiss. John Winchester's kiss was like she always remembered, firm and loving and just a little scratchy.
"What are you up to?" John asked amiably. Mary looked back down over the edge of the cloud bank they stood on.
"Just checking in on our boys," she said, slipping her hand into his. John peered over the ledge as well, brow furrowing.
"I only see one of ours," he said gruffly, as they watched two men, one short haired and sandy brown, the other dark with eyes like the Kansas sky. The pair strolled down a park path, swinging a laughing little girl between them.
"His name is Winchester too now, you know that," Mary said, prodding his side gently.
"A piece of paper in a courthouse don't make him a Winchester," John grumbled.
"No," Mary agreed, "but love does. And Dean loves him. So Castiel is our son, the same as Dean or Sam."
"You and your lovey dovey nonsense," her husband said, shaking his head, "Up here in your picture-book-bible Heaven." Mary looked at him, brow raised and lips pursed.
"If you don't like it, you can go back to your own Heaven and sulk," she informed him. Chastised, John wrapped his arms more tightly around his wife's waist, burying his face in her neck. Mary kissed his cheek in forgiveness as they watched their sons play with their granddaughter. Mary looked to see John with something like sadness in his eyes, or what passed for sadness among the Beloved in Heaven. Wistfulness, she guessed it would be called.
"Why didn't he tell me?" John murmured into her shoulder as his oldest son kissed his husband in the dappled morning light, their little girl tangled in their legs.
"What?" Mary asked him smartly, "Tell his ex-marine semi-alcoholic father that he thought the boys were just as cute as the girls? I can't imagine why not." She smiled as she said it, and John smiled too, Heaven being one of the few places where one could say such things and incite no anger.
"I would have come around," John rumbled, blushing, "Eventually."
"I'm sure, dear," Mary agreed. They watched their children in silence for a few minutes before John spoke softly again, running gentle hands through Mary's long blonde hair.
"She looks like you." Mary smiled, a little wistful herself.
"Just a coincidence, I'm sure," she demurred, as she watched the little girl run in the spring grass. John Winchester huffed a laugh, lacing their fingers back together as he stood by her side.
"No such thing."