Beginning note: This is a series I've also posted on ao3, under sonofabitch_awesome (basically, my username here is a very shortened version of my blog yahtzee-awesome-sonofabitch over on Tumblr). So I'm cross posting, not stealing! :P
Series background: One vignette for each year in Cas and Dean's lives with their daughter Dessie. Cas and Dean are married. (Yay!) They adopted Dessie when she was about 7 months old. They currently live in the Bunker; Sam has a house very close nearby with Amelia and their son Robbie (3 years older than Dessie) and daughter Maryann (3 years younger).
Unspecified time, but Cas is still an angel, and the trials / humanized Cas / Metatron / Mark of Cain / etc don't play any part. So it's kind of AU after mid-season 8.
Enjoy!
Happy Birthday, Dessie! (age 1)
Sam and Amelia's place has been seriously girlified. Actual pink and white streamers have been hung in twisty arcs from one wall to the next, there are pink helium balloons drifting along the ceiling as people move under them and stir up air, and there's even those pink triangle decorations strung up along the walls. One strand says Happy Birthday with one letter on each triangle thing. Another, Birthday Girl.
Dean can't stop grinning. It's all so ridiculously, gloriously normal. It's awesome. After five months, he sometimes still is amazed how domestic things have become, and how happy he actually is. Here. With Cas, and with their daughter.
They actually have a family.
He still can't believe it.
The birthday girl in question is toddling back and forth on newly-mastered feet. Her dirty-blonde curls shift slightly as she makes her way to Cas, who's sitting on a sofa talking to Sam and Amelia. "Dessie incoming," Dean warns, and Cas's face lights up as he turns his attention to their daughter.
"You guys are really good with her," Sam says as Cas picks her up and sits her on his thigh. "I'm proud of you. Really."
Amelia nods. "I've always thought you would've been good parents," she adds. "I'm glad you finally got over yourselves!" She glances over through the scattered crowd of parents and spots her own son, Robbie, sitting in a small group of kids and toys. "Robbie, you doing okay? Robbie?"
He finally looks back and scowls. He doesn't like being interrupted.
"Just checking!" Amelia laughs.
"I'm gonna go check how much soda's left," Dean says, turning and making his way to Sam's kitchen. "See if anything's running low."
Sam gets to his feet. "I'll go with you," he cuts in. On their way through, he reaches down and ruffles Robbie's hair. "Hey, buddy," he tells him affectionately.
Dean swings the fridge door open to check. Yahtzee. He was right. There's plenty of Sprite, but Coke and Diet Coke could both use refilling. Once they stock the fridge from the 24-packs on the back porch, Dean snags an already-cold soda and leans back against the kitchen counter, thinking. "Probably about ready for the cake," he considers. "You wanna go grab it?"
"Sure," Sam says, and disappears into the pantry.
They collect a small crowd of oohing parents and kids way too excited about more sugar as they bring the main cake and smash cake out to the dining room. Word quickly spreads and soon there are several people in the room as Dean drags Dessie's high chair over to the table and sticks a single My Little Pony-shaped candle into the larger cake. A generous stack of napkins is set aside, next to the pink-splotched plates and forks.
"Cas? Birthday girl!" Dean yells out. "Cake time!" He glances in the direction of the kitchen. "Sam, grab me a bit of pie, huh?"
A few minutes later, everything's ready. The kids are in the chairs around the table, Robbie just to the left of Dessie's high chair, and the adults are all standing back. Cas fits the tray section to Dessie's high chair, and Sam leans in to light the pony candle. "Ready?" he asks, pulling back.
They all launch into a very off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Cas especially sounds terrible, his rough voice cracking every other word. Dean manages to get to "dear Dessie" before he breaks into silent laughter, but the others carry on without him.
"Blow out the candle, Dessie!" Sam encourages, sliding the cake closer to her high chair. Dessie seems to be confused, and dark blue eyes frown up at him. Sam shrugs, and with a glance at Dean, they both blow at the candle. Cas gets the idea too late to be of much help.
Smoke curls up toward the ceiling as everybody applauds. "Yay!" Some redheaded girl, about nine years old, sings the obligatory "and many mooooooooore…" add-ons.
Dean sets his piece of apple pie down for a second as they place the smash cake in front of Dessie. "Here you go, kiddo," he says. "Have at it!" Cas actually grins as they watch Dessie obediently dig both fists into the frosting.
Sam's been cutting the cake into ridiculously even squares. Quickly Dean and Cas move to help. They work as if they've practiced; Sam sets cake on the plates Dean holds out, and then Cas passes them to first the kids and then parents in the room. Once everyone has cake, Dean grabs his pie again.
The three of them, plus several parents and kids, all watch as Dessie grows less and less recognizable, squishing her baby-fat fists to her mouth to stuff in bits of cake while icing starts covering her face.
"Look at that," Sam says with an upward quirk of his lips. "She's not complaining!"
Dean is about to agree and then notices a glob of frosting dangerously close to his daughter's right eye. "Hang on a sec," he says, setting his plate down on the closest empty space, which happens to be right next to the smash cake. He snags a napkin. "Hold on, Dess." Dessie squirms away, but he manages to get the frosting off of her eyebrow. "There you are."
Oh, son of a bitch.
The second he pulled the napkin away, Dessie had dug both fists into the pie and is now bringing handfuls of filling to her mouth. Her eyes light up, and everyone chuckles at her enthusiasm.
"She's your kid, Dean," Cas says, amused.
Dean shakes his head. "Dammit. I can't even be mad," he finally laughs. Kid's got good taste. Literally.