Chapter 37.

Dean told himself that he was involving himself in the logistics of the bunker and its inventory to free Sam, whose task it generally was, to spend more time with Eileen and relax a little. The truth was that inventories and supply runs took him away from speculating eyes and knowing looks from the ladies of the bunker, who all seemed sure they could read his mind. He had an uncomfortable feeling that they could.

Being away from Anael would do no harm either. She was good company and their tentative friendship was off to a great start, but he needed to shake off the memories of their night together. It was distracting to remember their physical intimacy and it got in the way of building a solid, calm, untroubling friendship.

Sam had made a token protest that he could deal with the supply run, but he knew Dean well enough to know that he might need to step outside the bunker for a while and gathering groceries at least ensured his return. Dean knew Sam well enough to know that he also wanted that extra time with Eileen. It was good for everyone.

It was good for everyone, including Anael, who watched him too closely, trying to read his reactions, fearing his resentment or his judgement and for some reason, a little too hungry for his praise. He was glad that she liked him and cared about his opinion, but he was well aware that angels could become fixated on particular humans and judge themselves through the eyes of those humans or worse, what they thought those humans thought of them, whether or not they actually thought anything of the kind.

His friendship with Cas had been a steep learning curve and both of them carried the scars of their many mistakes, but at least it had taught him how to handle the delicate feelings of angels and their irrational insecurities and equally strange certainties. He was confident that he could navigate a friendship with Anael. What, after all, was the alternative? To see her leave the bunker? She belonged there in the same way Jules or Charlie or Eileen did, a part of the family.

And family meant everything. Robbed of his mother in infancy and with a stressful relationship with his father all their lives, he had craved what he had now, a safe, loving home, full of life and laughter. In the aftermath of Michael's massacre, he and Sam had both doubted that the bunker would ever feel like home again, but now it did and it had also become a home to many of the people they loved most.

It was hard to think of dark and terrible times when he heard Sam and Eileen singing in the kitchen or saw Charlie working her way through a stack of books, writing notes into a metallic pink notebook. Even Cas treated the place like home and for so long, Dean had been afraid that he would never grasp the concept.

It was enough, of course it was enough. It was more than he had ever expected to have and he had further family in Sioux Falls and Hibbing. Then there was Garth's little wolfpack, safely out of hunting, but always there to help, cheer and advise. He'd never been a romantic. He'd never had an image in his head of a wife and kids, because hunters didn't get those things. And if he had, for a moment, in one of the less bloody moments of his youth, entertained such visions, reality had very quickly slapped him back into the understanding that those things were not for him.

No, he would be happy with the camaraderie of the bunker and his large, diverse family and he would put out of his head all thoughts of hearts and flowers and enjoy the uncomplicated, earthy pleasures of burgers and pie.

He'd tried fatherhood twice and he'd blown it both times, but the skill set for an uncle was very different and the expectations a lot lower. He could do the uncle stuff. He'd make the kid laugh and teach him or her all the stuff Sam and Eileen didn't and when the kid felt that nobody understood, he'd be there, ready to listen, eager to make the kid feel heard, because he knew how it felt not to be.

Not that he expected Sam and Eileen to leave their kid feeling that way. They would be better parents than that and maybe, Uncle Dean would never have to be there to listen, but he would be. He would be there, no matter what and whatever the kid wanted to say, he would hear.

He'd also listen for the things that were not said. Nobody understood better than he did how easy it was to get into the habit of saying nothing, staying strong for people who may not even want him to, until it became impossible to say the things he should have said, the things people needed him to say. Things would be different for Sam's kids, The new generation of Winchesters would be guided by the Pact, not by the family curse of guilt, grief and regret.

Driving around to fill the gaps in the inventory, Dean thought about Sam and how he used these little, domestic chores in the same way Cas used washing the dishes or cooking breakfast, as a distraction, an escape and as a way to feel useful. He himself needed all three, the latter because he felt wholly responsible for needlessly unsettling everything and everyone. By loading up with the supplies they needed, he could put things right, at least a little.

For as long as he could remember, he had needed to be useful, especially in times of doubt and turmoil. Maybe he needed to justify his existence or maybe he just wanted to know that he was more than the whiny, worthless brat he had often felt himself to be.

Even as he thought that, he smiled at the thought of what the others would say. They didn't see him that way at all. Sometimes he wondered where he had acquired a self-image so far from the way everyone else seemed to see him. A lifetime of aiming at perfection and hating himself for falling short seemed to reinforce his judgement on himself, but looked at rationally, he could admit that it didn't make complete sense.

The truth probably lay somewhere between their excessively positive view of him and his almost entirely negative one. He wasn't the hero he had wanted to be as a kid, he was too flawed and weak and selfish, but he also wasn't the worthless, feeble coward he had often feared himself to be.

Eileen's words had registered clearly. She wanted him to change before the baby was born and the change she wanted was not excessive or unreasonable. She wanted a change of attitude and it was one that would help him as much as the others, or more. He wanted to do it, for her, for the kid and for Sam, who wanted it more than she did. He at least wanted to try.

Of course, they all hoped that if he tried, he would reconsider his relationship with Anael, but they were missing the point. Even if he deserved domestic bliss with someone, he did not deserve to clip the wings of another angel and Anael was new to this world of emotion and had no idea how much better she could do than a broken hunter, corrupted by Hell, who would never be able to give her the love she deserved.

It would take time. Maybe a lot of time. He would have to live through the stupid fantasies that had been stirred up by the night at the motel, but he would reach a point where he could sincerely and honestly wish her well in a relationship with someone else and they would be just friends and he would be as happy as anyone else that she was with the right person and genuinely happy. It would hurt, for a moment, but only a moment, because Anael was too good not to find love with someone worthy of her.

L