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"Did you remember to set the DVR for that documentary?"
"Yeah, did it."
If anyone had asked Dean Winchester when he was twenty if he ever expected to be settled down like this — all domestic, basically married — he'd have laughed in their face and then gone off somewhere alone and gotten viciously drunk. But here he is. Here they are. They're changing into their PJ's in the room they share, about to get into their bed together, and having the most boring conversation on the planet.
"Don't forget we need to call the guy back about the-"
"Yes, it's on my list for tomorrow."
Twenty-year-old Dean had assumed he'd be dead by now, long since put underground by a rugaru or a rawhead. He never saw a real relationship in the cards for himself. He'd gathered all those soft dreams and wishes and he'd done his best to cleanse them from his brain. He'd figured falling in love, having a family, those were things other people did. All it took was an angel to change his mind.
"Do you really think Jack needs glasses?"
"Kid's half-angel, babe. I doubt he's got astigmatism. He's just trying to get out of research because it's no fun."
"I suppose. Maybe he can help with the hunter network in some other way."
"Yeah, Sam and I'll brainstorm about it tomorrow."
Half a lifetime ago, Dean was the loner who blew through town after town, leaving behind a string of lonely hearts to match the one he carried in his chest. He would have scoffed at the idea, but here's the truth: Right now? This moment? Him lying in his marital bed, an angel in his arms, talking about whether he needs to check the spark plugs in the Impala before they make the run to Lawrence for bulk groceries tomorrow? This is the happiest he's ever been in his life.