Dean

Dean turned off the TV and stretched his arms above his head, groaning. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, which had gone blurry from staring at the screen for so long, and glanced at the clock. It was almost one in the morning.

He climbed the stairs with heavy footfalls, dragging himself up the stairs with the little energy he had left. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in almost thirteen years. The house was quiet and still, causing every one of Dean's movements to bounce and echo off the walls. Crickets chirped their soft melody off in the distance while the cicadas harmonized. The sounds were drowned out only by the occasional whir of a car driving by. Dean had gotten used to such suburban noises by now. He hardly noticed them anymore.

The rustle of blankets and long, low creak of box springs caused Dean to pause in the hallway. He used two fingers to push his son's door open ever so slightly, leaning back to poke his head into the room.

The little boy—though Dean supposed he should stop thinking of Mason as "little" now that he was hitting puberty and shooting up like a weed—laid on his side, facing the window away from the door. This was a dead giveaway. Mason never slept on his side, and he never slept with his back to the door.

"Mason," Dean whispered. "You awake?"

Mason gave a loud snore. He wasn't fooling anybody.

Dean clicked the light on his nightstand on, shaking his head a little when Mason pretended to squint against the light as if he'd been sleeping for hours.

"Dad," he fake-groaned. "What're you doing? I don't have school today."

"Nice try," Dean said dryly. "You're a horrible actor. Why aren't you asleep?"

Mason sat up and shrugged. "Not tired."

"Is it those scary movies you're watching before bed?" Dean asked, and when Mason's eyes widened, he continued, "Yeah, I know how to work Netflix now. Did you know that the 'recently watched' queue updates itself every time you watch something on my account?"

"I—" Mason stuttered, but he didn't have an answer for this.

Dean sighed, not wanting to argue right now. He supposed it was in Mason's blood to seek out the scary and supernatural. "What's up?"

Mason shrugged again, not meeting his father's eyes. He pulled his knees against his chest and traced circles on the mattress.

"Come on, you can tell me. Is it school? Drama with your friends? Teacher troubles?"

"No," Mason said. "It's none of that."

"Then what is it?"

Mason looked up. "Dad, will you tell me about Mom? And I don't mean the non-answers you give me about having her eyes, I mean everything."

Something in Mason's eyes told Dean that he was already expecting a no. He asked his father every year to tell him the story of how they met, and every year Dean said something to the effect of, "It's late and it's a long story. I'll tell you when you're older." Than he'd kiss the top of Mason's head and say, "You have her eyes, you know."

And he did. Dean dad never seen eyes so blue before meeting Y/N. Even Cas' eyes seemed dull next to hers. Dean was convinced that if you looked hard enough, you could see tiny flecks of gold amidst the ocean blue. There were whole galaxies to explore, entire worlds to get lost in. Dean could've stared at those eyes forever and he would've been perfectly content.

Dean looked Mason up and down, chewed on his lip, and frowned. "I guess thirteen is old enough to know the truth."

Mason instantly straightened, grinning broadly. "Really?"

Dean nodded slowly. "I wasn't lying, though. It is a long story."

"I can stay awake."

Dean pulled his legs up onto the bed and sat cross-legged across from his son. "Should I start with the good ol' fashioned, 'once upon a time'?"