"You're telling me that geek who took pictures of me with his phone earlier is a prophet? And you...? You're an angel?" Dean asks, yet again, in disbelief.
"I am," Castiel confirms for the fourth time.
The three of you are seated in the war room at the table. Dishes have accumulated from Dean's lunch and numerous snacks (apparently his appetite is still adult-sized), but you're in no rush to clean up. You have your chin propped up on your palm, smiling as you watch Dean try to understand his relationship with Cas.
"Like a legitimate, honest to God, halo and wings angel? And you just...follow me around?" Dean asks incredulously.
"I don't know that I would...call it...that...per se," Cas fumbles uncomfortably.
"He totally follows you around," you confirm playfully, peering around Cas to Dean. You pause, getting a thoughtful expression on your face for theatrical effect before adding, "Kind of like a stalker-ish ex, actually."
Seeing the disapproving look Castiel shoots your way, Dean snickers. You grin and wink over at him.
But Cas is not amused. He leans closer to you, speaking quietly as if Dean won't be able to hear him.
"I rescued him from the very depths of Hell and have fought by his side most days since. He may need my help at some point while he is trapped in this...lesser form. He should understand that we share a profound bond," he insists.
"Okay, Castiel," you sigh. "Don't get your wings in a bunch. It's called teasing. He might be littler, but he's still Dean. He's fluent in snark."
"Did he just say he pulled me out of Hell? I was in HELL?" Dean asks in astonishment.
After shooting Cas a discrete look of warning, silently declaring the topic of Hell off-limits, you turn your attention back to Dean.
"And all you got was a stupid t-shirt," you joke.
Dean laughs in amazement, sinking back into his seat and marveling at this latest bit of information.
"But yeah, Castiel has a point," you grant. "Dean, you should know that Cas is pretty much your personal angel. He's saved all of our lives more times than I can even count. If anything ever happens to you, pray to him. He'll always hear you," you assure.
Dean's eyes widen as he looks over at the angel in awe.
"Holy..." he breathes.
"Correct," Castiel agrees, stone-faced as usual.
Sam peeks his head in the door then, nodding to you in greeting.
"Everything good in here?" He calls, though you're not sure which of you he's checking on.
"We're good," you and Dean answer in unison.
"Great," Sam says distractedly before turning his impatient eyes on the angel. "Cas? Get out here and help with these translations, would you? There are at least five dead languages in these books that I know damned well you can read."
Castiel nods before standing from the table and heading to the door, sliding out past Sam.
"Any luck so far?" You ask hopefully.
Sam frowns and shakes his head. "Nothing yet. But we've still got a LOT of books to go through. We'll find it," he assures with more certainty than you know he's actually feeling.
You nod and force a smile.
"Guess it's just us for a while," you sigh to Dean as you watch Sam leave. "You want to watch TV or something? Maybe get some more food?"
"No. It's... I'm okay," he answers quietly.
Your brow furrows and you turn toward him curiously at the suddenly self-conscious tone of his voice.
"What's up?" You ask automatically.
"What do you mean?" He says in feigned innocence, even as he shifts guiltily in his seat.
You narrow your eyes on him suspiciously, taking in his change in posture.
"Something's bugging you," you declare knowingly. "Whatever it is, out with it."
"Geez," he grumbles, frowning deeply at your ability to read him. With a nervous expression, he reaches into the inside pocket of his entirely-too-large jacket. "I, uh... I found this in my room earlier," he offers before reluctantly holding something out for you.
You take it curiously and smile when you get a look at the strip of small pictures. It's you and Dean from one of those photo booths on a very, very rare date. Weeellll, it was actually a hunt, but it had involved a lot of legwork in an old movie theater. The two of you took the opportunity for some brief couple time.
The third and fourth pictures in the set feature a deep kiss. What the photos can't convey is that Dean had been trying (unsuccessfully) to talk you into a quickie, right there in the booth, with only a short curtain between you and the other theater patrons.
You laugh at the memory and shake your head.
His 12 year old self clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the present.
"So... Are me and you...?" He asks nervously. "Are we married?"
You chuckle. "I don't think you're the marrying type," you answer as you ruffle his hair. "But yeah, we're together and we're serious. Don't really need rings to make things official in a hunter's world. It's already 'till death do us part.' You know? Time's too precious to get hung up on ceremony."
He nods and averts his eyes.
After a moment, he asks quietly, "Are we...happy?"
You smile sympathetically, knowing that at this point in his life, he must have had a hard time imagining happiness that didn't involve looking out for Sam or taking orders from his Dad.
"We're extremely happy," you assure with a wide, genuine smile.
Pulling your phone from your pocket, you turn it on to display your background image. It's a selfie-photo Dean took of the two of you lying in the grass on a stakeout. Strangely enough, the picture jogs another memory of him trying to get a quickie... But that time, he'd actually talked you into it. His victorious grin is captured in the picture.
"See? Isn't that the face of a happy guy?" You ask as you slide the phone over in front of him.
He grins down at the image of his older self.
"Looks like I just got my way," he laughs.
"Yeah, you generally do," you assure with a wink.
"We got any kids?" He asks hopefully as he slides your phone back.
You nearly choke.
"Uh, no," you answer awkwardly.
"But... we're gonna someday, right?" He presses.
"Umm..." How the heck are you supposed to answer this one? "I don't think that's really in the cards."
He frowns at you disapprovingly, apparently disliking that answer.
"Why not?" He asks, his tone heavy with disappointment.
"It, uh... Well, we...ummm..." you fumble. "We've never talked about it, to be honest. But I don't know how either one of us would feel about bringing a kid into this life. It's too dangerous and-"
"But I grew up in this life," he reminds. "And all I ever needed was my family." He looks around the bunker. "Besides, this place seems safe. A heck of a lot more secure than any of the motel rooms Sammy and I stayed in. Plus, we have a live-in angel for security."
You sit dumbfounded. You have no idea how to respond to your 12 year old boyfriend's arguments in favor of having children.
"When this gets fixed, and I'm back to the right age, we should at least talk about it," he insists. "I always thought I'd have at least two kids when I grow up."
"I, um..." you try, before finally giving up and nodding. "All right. Okay, Dean. We'll talk about it after this gets fixed."
You somehow doubt that. How the hell would you even broach that subject? 'Hey, Dean. Your inner child wants to be my baby-Daddy.'
And how would that even work? You'd be - what? - barefoot, pregnant, and melting down silver to make ammunition? Breastfeeding while researching how to kill the latest evil monster Dean had to fight without you? Sure, he'd have Sam to watch his back, like always, but you'd feel useless.
And you'd be terrified all. the. time. Worrying about what you'd do if Dean didn't come home... How you'd raise his children without him...
Not that the notion of having Dean's children isn't heartwarming and breathtaking. I mean, seriously - imagining his tearful reaction to hearing that you're pregnant? Seeing that reaction tenfold when he holds them for the first time? Watching him playing with them?
Guh. Right in the feels.
Oblivious to the doubts, worries, and thoughts he's just planted in your head, 12 year old Dean smiles happily. He's apparently content enough with your answer to let the subject drop.
"So, what am I like?" He asks eagerly.
"Huh?" You ask, your brow creasing as his question drags you back from your daydreams.
"Tell me what kind of guy I grow up to be," he presses.
You roll your eyes and let out a long sigh of feigned exhaustion. "Well... You're funny as hell. And a major smart ass."
He grins. "That much hasn't changed then."
"I see that," you laugh. "Hmm... What else? You're smarter than you like to let on and you're, hands down, the best hunter out there. You're also the bravest, most loyal man I've ever met in my life."
His freckled cheeks blush a dark red, but you know he's eating this up. And it is the truth, after all.
"What else?" He asks.
"You always take care of your family and friends. Do whatever it takes to keep them safe. And you're a charmer," you whistle and fan yourself to emphasize your point. "Man, dear, what a charmer. Before we got together, you could get any girl you wanted with just a smirk and a few flirty words."
That doesn't get the amused reaction you're fishing for. Instead, Dean frowns severely.
"But I don't do that anymore, right?" He asks worriedly. "I mean, I'm not like...a jerk to you, am I?"
You laugh and shake your head. "Definitely not a jerk," you assure. "You'd never disrespect me."
"Good," he sighs in relief. "And you'd probably have no problem kicking my ass if I did, right?" He asks purposefully, and you know he's trying to find out what kind of woman he ended up with.
"I'd totally kick your ass," you agree. "But if you ever did something that hurt me, you'd probably just let me pummel you. Even grown up, you don't want to be a jerk."
He nods approvingly. "So, you're a hunter, too?"
"I am."
"Got any weapons on you right now?"
"Yup."
"Can I see?"
You give a mock scowl before sliding the bowie knife from your boot and gun from your waist band, setting both on the table.
"Cool," he breathes in awe. He reaches out and slides your knife over to him, pulling it from its sheath and checking it out. "Have I told you I'm in love with you? Because I definitely am."
You crack up and nod. "You've told me."
"Ever killed a werewolf?" He asks with wide eyes.
"A few."
"Done a salt and burn?"
"So many, I've lost count."
"You a good shot?"
"Just as good as you."
"Did you know my Dad?"
You frown at that and shake your head. "I'm sorry to say I never had the privilege... or the headache of knowing him."
Dean smiles. "Well, I must have told you enough about him then." He looks you over appraisingly for a moment and nods. "Dad would have really liked you," he assures.
You're not sure why that statement warms your heart, but it does.
"Thank you," you say softly.
"Just telling you the truth. Don't need to thank me," he says matter-of-factly.
He leans forward, sliding the knife back across the table to you, but stops suddenly. His body goes rigid.
He looks up at you slowly, a deeply troubled expression on his face.
"Dean? What's the matter?" You ask worriedly.
"Get...Sammy..." he pleads before clutching his stomach and doubling over in pain.
"Sam!" You call over your shoulder and pull Dean onto your lap as he cries out. "What is it? What's wrong?"
He just keeps screaming, trying to curl up into a tight ball.
"Saaammmm! Get in here! Something's wrong!" You scream franticallly.
You're caught off guard when a blinding flash of light erupts from Dean.
He stills in your arms as you try to clear your vision, but its a long moment before you can see anything.
You feel him squirm in your arms, and even before you can focus on him, you know something's off. He's too light. Too small.
"Mommy?" A tiny voice asks shakily.
Your vision clears and you find yourself looking down into the eyes of a very confused, very frightened, 4 year old Dean.
A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Love it? Hate it? Anything make you LOL? Can you see/hear it as you read? Let me know! I adore hearing from readers!