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POV: General (N/A; Third)
Neither Sam nor Dean knows how they've made it this far.
They have no idea how they've managed to evade the clutches of monsters, ghouls, demons, and the like; how their curses morphed into luck at the last possible second to save their asses again; how the universe hasn't killed them off for good yet. They don't know why they are still alive, but at this point, they're more okay with waking up each morning than they would be in any other scenario.
In today's life in the Winchester house, the world carries on as it should. No blood is spilled and left cold, no anagrams spelled on fogged up mirrors by dead hands—it all seems pretty vanilla for the first time since the fire. Perhaps this is their reward for not letting the world burn like how their mother did.
Dean's guns have been left to collect dust in the attic. All fifty seven of the weapons once found in Baby's trunk were hoisted into the crawl space upstairs upon moving in, and the key is kept in the junk drawer. The books on monsters and ghosts are back in Sioux Falls and will remain there under layers of overgrown thicket for centuries until the leather is reabsorbed by the earth, especially with Ellen and Bobby having been dead for years. Jody moved away to Sacramento, never to return.
Sam doesn't even think he can remember how to aim and shoot. He can pick a .45 out of a group, but that's the limit to his rusty iron rifle knowledge. It's soothing to not have to sleep with a hand beneath the pillow to aim it at a possible intruder. It's wonderful to be able to sleep at night without the omnipresent desire to check every salt line a fifth time.
It's an amazing feeling to be normal, even if their lives are anything but usual.
The domesticity in their relationship is astounding, quite frankly. Neither of the boys ever thought they'd get even close to where they are now, even after their feelings for one another surfaced. Hell, that was an ordeal in and of itself, as Sam confessed first and it took Dean a good five months to reciprocate. Nonetheless, they're happy with their new lives: ones that don't end bloody, but instead end with probable old age and a slight myocardial infarction on Dean's part.
They no longer bicker over who's hunting what when, but over how many pies the elder bought in lieu of produce. They fight over small things like wall colour, bills, and last names instead of psychic visions, sulphur, and nightmares incarnate. They've truly peaked in the realm of normalcy, and both of them are damn proud to say they found happiness in each other's arms.
Speaking of, they've been together officially for nearly two years, give or take a few hours. It's November twentieth, the day they first kissed in that shitty motel room in Indianapolis to the background noise of Betty Boop on cable television. The day after, the twenty first of November, marks the day they skipped town to escape their father finding out about their secret. His bittersweet death brought them closer in many ways, but the most prominent of which was that there was no longer any wedges between them. The apocalypse had been averted, most of their family was dead, and they had their lives to claim.
They've had their fair share of challenges, including two occasions where their relationship was close to ending, but they've muddled through. With the deaths of Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and Missouri, they've had to find their identities in themselves and in one another, because lord knows nobody can separate the Winchesters, dead or not. In the end, their "unhealthy codependency" was what saved their asses and is what continues to save their asses today.
Even now as they lay together under thin sheets, the cool breeze of Stanford, California wafting in through the slightly ajar bedroom window, they've found comfort in the fact that they're together after everything they've been through. Possessions, deaths, abductions: you name it—but they still go on.
Sam's ring-clad hand rests just above his fiancé's hipbone and he can feel the start of the 'v' in his abdomen as he casually runs his fingers over the skin. The other arm is under his pillow, hand clutching Dean's as he's situated in a similar manner. They idly remain there, tangled legs and mixed hearts, like they have for so long. It never gets old.
The younger is halfway through counting his brother's freckles when he sees a blush creep onto his cheeks, feeling the beet-red heat underneath his fingers. At first, he smirks because he suspects he's gotten a surprise boner.
"What?" Sam whispers with a breathy chuckle, running his hand up Dean's side. Goosebumps creep up in the path of his palm, making the older man shiver.
"'t's nothin'," he mutters with a hand on his own cheek, "nothin' at all."
"Nothing means something with you, De," the brunette sighs comically. He props himself up on his elbow and stares patterns into those emerald green eyes he's memorised every detail of. Every time he looks at him, Dean swears he sees an endless expanse of stars.
With a crude noise and after blowing air between his lips, he flops over like a beluga whale onto his back. "I'm gonna regret asking this question, and I really don't wanna sleep on the couch on the night before our anniversary."
Sam chuckles to himself and lightly hits his brother's shoulder. "I promise not to kick you out. Only 'cause you're warm, though."
Dean scoffs. "You're a bitch."
"Uh-huh, so what'cha got, jerk?" The younger says with a hint of sarcasm between his teeth.
"It just, I dunno, popped into my head," he groans. "My brain's got the worst timing."
"Oh, I know," Sam mutters, which earns him a dirty look from Dean. He rolls his eyes and scoots over to cuddle up against his side, getting an arm around his shoulders. "Shoot."
"What do you...what do you think about...I dunno, kids?" Dean blushes so fiercely, his fiancé swears he can feel it from where he's laid beside him. Sam goes pale, but listens on. "Yeah I know, it's not the best timing; but think about it: a lil' Winchester runnin' around. We could adopt, o-or get a surrogate...Sam?"
"Yeah," Sam gulps back the dryness in his throat. "I'm listenin'."
The elder knows an angry or surprised tone when he hears it, especially from the moose, so he simply hoists himself up and out of bed, grabbing a blanket and pillow and starting for the door.
"Whoa, where're you goin'?" The younger stops him.
Dean laughs, but the shame of ruining the moment lingers within him. "Kicking myself out before my fiancé can do it."
"Oh, sit down, asshat." He pats the bed. Dean, who's standing in the cold November air wearing nothing but boxers, sprints to get under the blankets next to his cognisant heat source. When he looks back at the taller of them two, he feels his doe eyes piercing his soul. "I'm not kickin' you out, De. I'm just...surprised, that's all. Not at your question, but at your perfectly impeccable timing."
The sandy blonde shakes his head, trying to remove the confusion like he would dandruff. "What? My timing?"
"Yeah, your timing," Sam rolls over to reach the night table, where he opens the drawer and pulls out a small package tied with a bow. Handing it over, he smiles when Dean accepts it in his calloused hands. "Open it."
Puzzled, he shifts his eyes from the box to his brother and back again. "Sammy-"
Sam shuts his eyes momentarily, but opens them again with a grin. "Just...just open it, okay? It was for tomorrow, but it seems relevant now. Happy anniversary, Dean."
Dean apprehensively unites the silk ribbon and lifts the cover from the long, narrow box only to reveal...a stick? Upon closer inspection, he discovers that the white thing in the package has the word ClearBlue printed on it; and when he moves his eyes to the screen, a shock wave the size of Hiroshima hits him with full force.
Pregnant. It says .
The bowlegged former hunter doesn't have enough brain cells readily available to process the useless questions of how, why, when, etc, as they're all going into excitement overdrive.
His bewilderment twists into a crooked smile and teary eyes as he looks up at Sam, who's simply fumbling with the hem of his sleeping shorts. They meet eyes once again and when Sam sees the weepy expression on his brother's face, he stops breathing. That is, until Dean's voice is released from its captivity and he speaks again.
"A-are you serious?" He asks in a hopeful whisper.
Sam cocks his head but then smiles. "Yeah. D-did you read it? It says—"
"Pregnant. I know." Dean wipes his eyes on his bare shoulder. He takes his lover's hands in his and leans in closer. "Sammy, are we...are we havin' a baby?"
In the answer he'd always hoped he'd get, Sam nods and is immediately wrapped in a hug so tender he swears he's being suffocated by teddy bears. In the best way possible, though.
They're both crying, Dean in a carelessly "feminine" way, when Sam's released from his fiancé's grasp and is able to watch him as he falls backwards onto the bed in ecstasy.
"My boys can swim!" He laughs in a loud holler. Yes, he's probably woken up half of California, but he doesn't care. He and his Sammy are having a baby!
Sam's laughing too, and joins the older in lying down diagonally on the king sized bed. Dean kisses his temple sweetly and subsequently pecks his lips, all the while tangling his thin fingers in his brother's bed-ravaged hair.
They lay together like that, silently communicating their zeal to become fathers and excitement for this new chapter in their lives, when Sam breaks the silence.
"Damn," he shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "I kinda wish I'd have waited until our actual anniversary so it could be more special."
"Well—" Dean looks over his shoulder at the digital clock on their nightstand, which reads the numbers 00:07 in a fluorescent blue light. He cockily gestures at it and wriggles his eyebrows. "Happy anniversary, babe."
"I love you," Sam nuzzles his head into the crook of Dean's neck and sighs contentedly.
The elder trails a hand down his back, pausing to hook his fingers around the prominent hip bone beneath his hand. "Love you, too. Both of 'ya. Damn, it feels good to say that."
Sam simply nods and relaxes into the calmness and placidity of the night. The darkness seems to envelop them in a warm embrace, fuelling their eagerness for morning. His eyelids are heavy, but he doesn't care if he falls asleep: he knows that his soulmate always takes care of him.
Just as sleep begins to usurp the throne in his mind, he hears Dean chuckle a bit and feels a kiss being pressed to his forehead and a hand gently laid across his midsection.
"Best anniversary ever."
And just like that, he's home.