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Parenting was exhausting, everyone knew that. Parenting a baby in the body of a teenager was the worst experience of Dean’s life.
He was resting his eyes, lying on the couch they had moved to the library, when he heard voices down the corridor. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The day had been a long one. Dean had thought that the hardest part of raising Jack was over once he had learned how to take care of himself in the bathroom, but the more independent Jack grew, the more difficult he was to handle. Dean was really getting too old for this. But it was his job to take care of that kid, no matter what he stated out loud; he could never give up on him.
He was about to straighten up when the voices stopped. It could either be a good or a very, very bad thing. He listened harder. The walls weren’t trembling and there was no smoke coming from the corridor. Which meant that Sam could handle it. Dean settled back down on the couch. He had spent the entire day chasing their little monster, he deserved some rest.
Soon after, he heard steps on the parquet, then a loud thump when his brother let himself fall on the floor, next to the couch.
“Thanks for giving me a hand,” Sam grumbled, letting his head rest against the arm of the couch.
“Hey, I did my part. He’s your adopted mini Satan as much as he’s mine.”
Sam turned his head to look at him, a tired smile blossoming on his face. You’re so stupid.
“So you finally found him.”
“Hiding under the cars in the garage,” Sam sighed.
“That’s pretty easy; how come you didn’t find him sooner?”
“Because he was teleporting himself each time I was about to catch him!”
Dean held back his laughter. He knew how hard Jack could be when he didn’t want to be found. There was no doubt as to who his father was in those moments.
“Anyway, he’s asleep now, that’s what matters,” Sam continued. He marked a pause and gulped. “I wish he would just talk to us. In a language that we can understand, preferably.”
“It’s not your fault, Sam,” Dean murmured, passing a soothing hand in his brother’s hair. He knew what was going on in Sam’s head; he used to have the same feeling of failure whenever his little brother cried or sulked when they were younger.
“He’s still a little wild; we gotta give him some time, that’s all.”
Dean was surprised by his own words and how sincere they sounded in his mouth, but Sam turned fully toward him and started at him, head tilted to his left. There was so much gentleness in his eyes that Dean felt his throat thicken.
“You’re a good dad,” Sam stated.
“Yeah, right. You be the Dad; I’ll be the cool half-drunk uncle.”
It only occurred to him now that his fingers were still in his little brother’s hair and that Sam did nothing to push them away. On the contrary, he leaned into the touch, pressing his cheek against Dean’s palm when he rubbed his scalp.
“We could both be Dads,” Sam whispered, eyes locked on Dean’s.
It was Dean’s turn to gulp, heart racing in his chest as he prayed that he wasn’t reading this wrong. Bullshit; when did he ever read Sam wrong? With his regained confidence, he leaned closer to his brother until their lips were brushing. Sam closed the distance, shyly, and this kiss was so pure that Dean wanted nothing more than to pervert it. He clutched his brother’s sweatshirt and pulled him until he was straddling him on the couch, without breaking the contact of their lips. He held Sam closer as he sneaked his tongue inside his warm and sweet mouth, swallowing his delicious moans like he could never be satiated.
He would never have noticed the loud noises coming from their protégé’s room if Sam hadn’t broken the kiss. His brother’s nose rubbed lightly against his.
“Your turn,” Sam murmured. “Daddy.”
Dean groaned and resisted the urge to pin Sam’s body against his own and make them both lose their mind. It would have to wait. Yeah, being a dad definitely came with some struggles.