The Winchesters were staying with Bobby for a while while they caught their breath. It had been a hard few months, and they finally had a break. No battles over Heaven, Sam had his soul back and seemed stable mentally. It felt unreal, having a lull in their lives in which they were not trying to save the world or save themselves. The afternoon was warm, warmer than it had been for a while. The sky was a picturesque blue.
Dean hadn't seen Abigail for a while and went on a search for his wife. He was wanting cuddles and knew Sam wouldn't give him any. She wasn't inside the house. Squinting in the sun, he wandered the yard, coming across her near the garage. Dean leaned against the garage and observed the scene. Abigail, in cut-off shorts and a worn tee; a bucket of soapy water at her feet; strands of hair falling from her bun; sunlight glinting off Baby's wet hood; she was singing absently to Billy Joel on the stereo. Dean had to stop and take a moment. It was beautiful. His baby taking care of Baby. His two girls sharing quality time.
"Oh you're going to look so good!" Abby cooed while standing on tiptoes to reach the far side of the roof. "We'll wash the soap off and shine the rims then do an interior detail job. Dean is going to be so proud!" She spoke and touched Baby adoringly, like they were old friends. And in a way, they were. Sometimes, Baby was the only one Abigail could relate to. But it was more than that: they understood each other. Sometimes, Abby could be found with her sunglasses and a cold drink or ice cream in hand, feet on the dash. Or she would lay on the hood and watch the sunset and wait for shooting stars. Baby had impeccable taste in music; she knew the songs that complimented Abigail's mood. Take now, for instance: the Macarena popped through the speakers. Dean was positive he had never heard it in his car before, but here it was. Abby paused, sang a few words in Spanish, and moved her arms in the traditional dance. Hands on hips, she swung ninety degrees and repeated the steps. Whenever she danced, she was so free, like nobody was watching, nor would she care if they were. Dean couldn't quite forget that she had been a dancer, for the control she had over her body, the agility of her limbs, the natural twist of her hips. After a couple rotations, she resumed sponging. The way she bounced on her feet and occasionally bobbed her head were the only indications of dance.
Dean wanted to continue watching but felt that he was intruding on private girl time. He returned a while later with two popsicles to Abigail circling the car one last time for any final wet spots. Satisfied, she kissed Baby and tossed the towel over one shoulder, grinning at Dean. "Surprise." She had done a fantastic job.
He swept Abigail into his side. "Both my girls are looking fine." She tried to wiggle away.
"I'm wet and dirty. I need to clean up."
"Nah, you look beautiful." He wouldn't let go and she eventually surrendered, accepting the melting popsicle. They leaned against the black car and licked their fingers clean. The quiet between them was comfortable.
Something had been on Abigail's mind off-and-on for some time now. Just an easy conversation, she assured herself. It did not need to be worked up into something more. She gathered the courage to ask.
"Darling, I have a question for you."
"Shoot."
"Do you want kids someday?" This caught Dean off-guard. He was expecting something more along the lines of if they could watch a movie that night. Not this. His mouth opened, then closed. He thought for a moment on how to respond, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Abigail waited anxiously for his answer. Finally, Dean sighed heavily.
"Yes, I would. In a different world. This life… we don't have the luxury of having a normal family. We know too much of what is out there. We have too many enemies. We would always be looking over our shoulders. That is no way to raise a family. I will not raise my kid in this life. I'm not repeating that cycle." Abigail was silent for a time. He knew it wasn't the response she wanted, but was not sure exactly what she would have preferred to hear.
"Okay. I wanted to know. But you're not opposed to kids?" She tried to keep her voice level.
"No, I'm not. But, like I said, this is no life for a child. I can speak from personal experience. Look how I turned out." He gestured to himself, made a crooked half-smile. A thought dawned on him. "You're not… you're not pregnant, right?"
She shook her head. "No, don't worry." He leaned his head onto her shoulder. He wanted to apologize, but did not know what for. So they left the conversation at that.