Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean is a bit of an enigma. He’s charismatic, quick-witted and well-spoken if not eloquent, and impossibly perfect. For a guy that looks like him, he’s one of the kindest and most patient people that works at Copland’s Auto Body Repair. He knows his way around cars, enough that it was obviously second nature. He’s a hard worker and you can tell his passion comes from a love for what he does. He’s good at what he does, he’s quick and efficient, and he’s great conversation. He’s just… perfect.

Malorie has been working at the shop since she got out of uni. It’s safe, reliable, and has a good steady paycheck. It’s the perfect amount of human interaction and an even better amount of time spent surrounded by the clatter of metal on metal and sharp, nearly burning scent of motor oil.

Dean came to work at the shop only a year ago, but he has quickly made a name for himself, both in the shop workers and with their customers.

Dean is a big ole flirt but he doesn’t mean anything by it, Malorie quickly learned. Lucky for him, she’s a big ole flirt too, and she has been horribly deprived of the quips and banter.

But, behind the charm is a softie. 

Dean is a private man but that doesn’t stop him from rambling about the one’s he’s got at home for hours. And, well, so can Malorie. It keeps them busy while they’re under the hoods.

And that brings them to today. 

“I just don’t know what to do!” Dean exclaims, voice exasperatedly and high. “He’s old enough to know better, but he just keeps sticking things into the electrical sockets. It’s like he likes being electrocuted!”

Malorie laughs. “How old’s Jack, again?” Jack is Dean’s toddler, who sounds equal amounts exhausting and infuriating. More often than not, Dean is spinning tales that are told with a twinge of madness and fondness.

“Just turned four.”

“Ah, four. They’re curious at four.”

Dean sighs. “Extremely. He’s always been a curious kid. I mean, when we first got him, he was just soaking in information like it was nothing. Copying our every move — which makes you painfully aware of all of your bad habits — and trying to take in everything and anything he could get his hands on. But sometimes I just—” He sighs again. “Did you know that he tried to eat a candle? Because he did. When I asked him what he was doing he said that it was an organic wax and safe for consumption and I just stood there like, ‘Jack. It’s a candle. You don’t eat candles.’”

“He said that?” Malorie asks, eyes wide.

“Well not verbatim. But you get the gist.” He scrubs his face with a hand, smearing a streak of oil on his cheek. “He still doesn’t fully get that things that smell nice aren’t always edible. Not usually edible. Yeah. He still doesn’t get the whole food thing yet. You’d think he would but he doesn’t.”

Malorie snorts. “What has Cas done about it?” Cas is Dean’s wife. Dean has many things to say about Cas, but it’s usually along the lines of “stubborn little shit” to “most gorgeous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on” to “an angel lightyears out of my league.”

“Cas tried to eat the candle too! Went on a whole schpiel about bees — which, just, don’t get Cas talkin’ about bees because you’ll never hear the end of it — and then proceeded to scrape a chunk of wax out of the candle and try it! I swear to the deities floating up and around that one of these days they’re gonna kill themselves. That is, if they don’t kill me first.”

Malorie laughs hard in disbelief. “That reminds me. How’s Cas’s garden going? Any bees?”

“Oh. So many bees. The garden is filled with bees. And Cas just sits there, staring at them for hours. That moron’s lucky the sun doesn’t burn like it does for me.” He huffs. “It’s unfair. Cas’s body just tans perfectly. I mean, I tan well, but I still have to use sunscreen and shit.”

“Ah, the envy of better genes,” Malorie says. “C’mon, Cas has gotta have something wrong. No shellfish allergy? No vitamin D deficiency? No embarrassing tattoos?”

“Cas does have tattoos,” Dean says, “but they’re not embarassing.”

“Cas has tattoos?” Malorie asks, her mental image of his wife rapidly changing in her brain.

“Yeah. They’ve got… special meaning. To both of us.”

“Aw. That’s sweet,” she cooes. “Let’s hope that one day you won’t have to get that removed.”

“Don’t think I will,” Dean says with a dopey grin.

Malorie’s phone dinged in his pocket. “Time for a lunch break.” She stands and stretches until she feels her joints pop. “You gonna join me?”

Dean nods, setting down his wrench. “I could eat.”

They both head to the back. Malorie’s mouth is already salivating thinking about the leftover curry she’s going to eat. She’s staring at it revolving in the microwave when she hears Dean curse.

He’s hunched over his bag, rummaging through it with a frown. “I think I left my lunch in the fridge.”

Malorie softens. “I think I’ve got a protein bar in my bag…”

There’s a soft knock at the door.

Dean’s face lights up, a bright smile erupting, making his eyes crinkle. “Hey you.”

At the door is a tall man, though not as tall as Dean. He has dark rumpled hair, crazy blue eyes and wears a suit and trench coat. Malorie stares at him in confusion.

“You forgot your lunch,” he says, his gravelly voice surprising Malorie and making her jolt up.

“You are a lifesaver,” Dean says. He strides over to the man and takes the tupperware from him and presses a soft kiss to his lips. Malorie’s eyes go so wide, she thinks they’ll bulge straight out of her skull. “Please tell me you fed Jack something other than his awful bacon waffles.”

“Actually, the bacon waffles are quite nutritious considering his incorporation of nutritious proteins such as…”

“Waffles ain’t nutritious. He’s gotta have something fresh.” Dean pauses and buries his face in his hands. “I’ve been damned. I’ve officially turned into Sam.”

Cas takes Dean’s hand and squeezes it gently. “That’s not a bad thing.” He smiles. “And, I managed to convince him to have some broccoli. I had to smother it in cheese and bacon, but he ate it.”

“Why did we introduce him to bacon?” Dean asks.

“Because it makes him eat things,” Cas says. He rubs his fingers up Dean’s arm. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see you when you get home. Remember, Sam and Eileen are coming over tonight.”

“How can I forget?” Dean questions. He kisses Cas tenderly once more, pulling away and staring into his eyes while his thumb strokes his cheek. “Now get out of here. Or I won’t get any work done.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

“I love you,” Dean says softly.

“I love you too.” Cas sends him one last glance before he exits, closing the door behind him.

“That’s Cas?” Malorie finally manages to say.

“Yeah,” Dean says dreamily. “Ain’t he just the best?”

Malorie nods, almost speechless. “Yeah. He is.”

Chapter Text

Emaan sips on her shirley temple. Mae and Hana have dragged her to the bar as their designated driver while they get shit faced because apparently, the guy they both were seeing was the same guy.

Emaan stirs her drink with her straw, scanning the room with a twinge of boredom. She’s been itching to have another hunt. There was a simple salt and burn in Missouri of a vengeful teen that had been murdered by her abuser, but other than that, it’s been pretty quiet.

Actually, it has been pretty quiet for a while. It’s unsettling. She doesn’t quite know what to think of it. 

Of course, she still has her vengeful plot trying to find her parent’s murderer. But, even revenge needs a break. 

She sighs and takes her shirley temple to a table near the back with a good sightline for the door and close to the bathrooms.

“You mind if I join you?”

Emaan looks up and her mouth goes dry.

It’s Dean fucking Winchester. Several Time Savior of the Goddamn World. Every hunter knows about the Winchesters and Emaan had gotten the pleasure of meeting him back in 2006 when she was first starting out.

“Uh, sure.”

Dean slides into the seat across from her and grins. It’s not the suave smolder that she had become accustomed to when she had first met him. It’s genuine. Authentic and cordial.

“Do we know each other?” he asks. “That’s not a pick-up line. I mean it. I swear we’ve met before.”

“March 2006. Anthropomorphic house?” she supplies.

“Right! God, what a case. How could I forget that?”

“Heard you’ve been busy,” she says, cursing herself silently at her bluntness. 

He chuckles. “You could say that.” He shakes his head. “Been taking it easier recently though. Things are settling for the better and that’s a good thing.”

“That’s good,” she says. “You’ve got anything to do with that?”

He just grins as he sips at his beer. “Maybe a little.”

“No tall tales to share?”

“Plenty. Just none that are worth sharing now.” He smiles. “You still in the business?”

“In between jobs right now,” she replies. “Nothing major has popped up.”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed that too.”

“So, you waiting for someone?” Emaan asks.

“Actually, I am.”

Emaan raises an eyebrow. “Your brother?”

He shakes his head bashfully, head ducking as he rubs his neck. “Nope. Just… someone.”

Emaan, intrigued by the look she knows she has given many times before when talking about her girlfriend, Gemma, takes a sip and leans in. “Who’s the lucky person who gets that look from Dean Winchester?”

“Name’s Cas. Cas is… just, how do I even put it into words? Cas is like the tether that keeps me from orbiting away. Just… gets me. Gets me more than I get myself. Knows how to read me. Cas makes things make sense. It’s like, it doesn’t make sense, and then Cas says one thing and it’s like this rush of clarity. Just knows how I work.

“And I… I’m still learning how Cas works, but I think I get it. I get it enough. We work enough, and that’s… enough for me.” He laughs to himself. “I think I’ve had more to drink than I thought.”

“It’s okay.” Emaan looks at him softly. “You’re lucky to have each other.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. We are.” He takes another sip. “Don’t know how I’d manage without that insight and all-knowing knowledge.” He snorts. “You know what I mean.”

“I hear you,” Emaan says.

Dean’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out. He guffaws loudly, covering his mouth with his hand.

“What?” Emaan questions.

“My kid got into the glitter again. It’s gonna be a mess when I get home. My brother’s birthday is coming up and Jack wanted to do something special.” Dean turns his phone around to show her a picture of a large black t-shirt covered in neon puffy paint and rainbow glitter reading the words “World’s Best Sam.”

“That is just adorable,” Emaan cooes. “How old is he?”

“Four,” Dean says, voice filled with pride. 

“Wow. Four.” Emaan is surprised that a man like Dean Winchester has kids, let alone a kid that age. How long had he been a father? How had he done it when he was doing… well, she doesn’t know all the details, but word spreads around. 

“He’s just… the light of my life. We had a rocky start, but he’s grown on me. He’s my kid, you know? May not be by blood, but he’s mine.”

“Not by blood?” Emaan asks.

“Adopted, sort of. Though he imprinted on Cas more than he ever did his birth dad.”

Emaan bobs her head as she listens. She used to always dream of becoming a parent, but now she’s not so sure. Her and Gemma haven’t really talked about it. After everything that happened with her parents, she has been too focused on finding their killer before even feeling remotely comfortable with having a family.

“If you would’ve told me I’d be a parent one day, I wouldn't have believed you, but it’s just… right. I’m not good at it. Not yet. But I love it. I love him.”

“I can tell,” Emaan says. She can. The way Dean talks about his family is admirable. It’s how everyone dreams to be seen. Purely, utterly, undeniably loved.

“They should be on their way now now that they’re done,” Dean says, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Emaan’s eyebrows shoot up. “They’re both coming?”

Dean nods. “Jack just loves the fries here. You don’t mind me keeping you company while I wait for them, right?”

“Not at all. I’ve got nothing better to do but babysit my friends and…” she scans the crowd and sees Mae twerking (poorly) while Hana downs a disgusting blue drink, “they look like they’re doing fine on their own.” She rests her arms on the table. “So, you and Cas, are you married?”

“As married as we can be,” Dean says with a shrug. “Marriage has made me soft. I like bubble baths and chocolate bon bon kinda shit. Cas makes us have self care days because apparently it is one of the many joys of humankind and human bodies deserve extra pampering and non-obligatory maintenance.” Dean lets out a huff of laughter. “God, Cas just loves skin care. ‘s got the craziest skin care routine before bed.”

“My girlfriend is the same way,” Emaan says. “I wonder what products she uses. I’m sure her and Cas would love to swap products.”

“I’m sure h… oh! Cas! Over here!”

Whatever Emaan was expecting is not what she sees. Two men approach the table, both covered in copious amounts of glitter.

“Dean!” The blonde exclaims with a toothy smile. He goes to give him a hug, but Dean scoots back.

“Nu uh. You are not touching me until you have taken at least three showers. That shit is the herpes of arts and crafts and I had enough of that when I was raising Sammy.” It’s only then that Dean remembers Emaan is sitting across from him. “Cas, Jack, this is Emaan. She’s in the same business as us. We met on a case back in 2006.”

The dark haired man shakes her hand, covering it with magenta glitter. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Castiel.”

The blonde holds a hand up enthusiastically. “I’m Jack!”

“You’re Jack? But you’re—”

“Yeah, it’s confusing, I know.” His eyes fall to the necklace on her chest. “You do know that that’s enchanted, right?”

Emaan stills. “What?”

“Yeah! It’s got a memory enchantment! Blocks memories and stuff!”

Emaan’s eyes go wide. “My girlfriend gave this to me.”

Jack’s smile fades. “O-oh.”

Emaan rips the necklace off of her neck and a rush of memories hit her.

Gemma was the one that killed my parents?!

“I have to go,” Emaan says, standing abruptly. “It was… great talking with you, Dean. Have a good night.”

“Bye!” Jack waves obviously. As she’s walking away, she can hear him ask, “Can I get the delicious fries?”

Chapter Text

Trog’thizan has been following Dean Winchester for quite some time.

The man has dissolved into domesticity, his hunting becoming scarcer yet more efficient. He sheds his facades like the layers he wears and his many faces blend and blur into nuclear shadows left behind by the people he had once been. The man he used to be is locked away, taped behind the cellophane confines of muddled memories. Dean Winchester is a broken man that has been pieced together with chipped and shattered shards. 

But despite all of this, Dean Winchester is dangerous. He is a threat to Trog’thizan. To his life.

Dean Winchester hunts demons. Trog’thizan is a demon. Therefore, Dean Winchester will hunt Trog’thizan.

Trog’thizan didn’t mean to get so attached to Earth. Earth with its many quirks and idiosyncrasies. Earth with its endless flaws and imperfections. Earth with the chance for escape.

Trog’thizan has a little farm, secluded in the backroads and fields of Kansas. He tends to his animals, grows his blueberries, and spends his days in peaceful monotony.

He talks to his animals. They are very captivating conversationalists and keep him company in his solitude.

He… he doesn’t know what happiness is. But this is the closest he will be. This is his happiness. 

He has hidden from humanity for years but when bloodthirsty hunters get a whiff of demon scent, they rush to the slaughter.

Trog’thizan cannot have this. He just wants peace. He just wants his solitude.

It all started when Dean Winchester came to Trog’thizan’s farm, inspecting it, investigating for indiscrepancies. 

Trog’thizan stayed hidden. Trog’thizan watched and waited.

Dean Winchester was called away, dubious glances pointed at Trog’thizan’s home as he exited.

Trog’thizan realized then that he must act. He must protect his life. 

So Trog’thizan follows Dean Winchester. Trog’thizan observes Dean Winchester and catalogues the things he learns in neat categories. 

Information that is irrelevant. Information that is already known. Information that is of worth. And information that he can use against Dean Winchester.

And now Trog’thizan has the upper hand. He knows Dean Winchester’s weakness.

Dean Winchester lies on a hammock in the park, arm covering his squinting eyes as he laughs while talking on his cellular device.

Dean Winchester looks carefree. Jovial and uninhibited, unguarded in a way that Trog’thizan can use to his advantage.

“Cas, come on. It’s not like you’re some trophy wife. You are the best parent Jack could have and being at home with him is important, especially when he needs guidance through this whole,” Dean Winchester gestures vaguely. “Being human is hard. It’s boring and it sucks especially when Jack is, you know, and I know you’ve spent forever doing… doing everything. Doing so much and never taking a moment to step back, but even though you’ve had literally all the time in the world, maybe it’s time for you to find your own time. You’ve spent millenia fighting. You deserve to rest.”

Dean Winchester shakes his head. “I know. Pot to kettle. Still, I’m sure there’s some psychobabble shit about how when you’re out of a traumatic situation and finally at rest that everything you’ve been holding back and building up comes hitting you at once. And maybe that’s true. But… well, we’ve never done things in halves, and I’m sure if certain things were hitting you all at once, it’s gotta be…” 

Dean Winchester sighs. “I’m just saying, I’m here. I’m gonna be here. I’m staying here. And I will support you no matter what you choose to do with your newfound life.”

Dean Winchester chuckles. “I love you too. I’ll see you when I get home. There’s just something I’ve gotta check out.”

Dean Winchester nods. “Yeah. Something’s going on with that farm. Don’t know what, but it ain’t good.”

Trog’thizan feels a chill rush through his vessel. 

“Yup. Talk to you later.”

Trog’thizan hurries to his home and prepares. He prepares for ambush. He prepares for confrontation. He prepares for his content little life to finally be ripped away.

There is a knock at his door. He knows it is Dean Winchester.

He opens the door and plasters a pleasant smile on his vessel’s lips. “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

“Are you Eddie Anderson?” Dean Winchester asks.

“That would be me. Oh! Are you here about the blueberry shipment? Just harvested yesterday.”

Dean Winchester. “Uh, no. I’m actually with the HFA. I was hoping I could get a look around your farm, make sure everything is up to… standards.”

Trog’thizan nods. “Come in. Would you like a drink? I can start a pot of coffee. Gotta warn you, though, it’s not the good stuff.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Dean Winchester says. “Cristo, this place’s got tall ceilings, huh?”

Trog’thizan flinches, knowing that he has been caught.

Dean Winchester’s eyes darken. He splashes holy water onto Trog’thizan.

Trog’thizan writhes in pain, his flesh burning and sizzling.

Dean Winchester backs the demon up against his fridge and holds a blade to his neck. “Why are you here?” He sneers.

“I-I just wanted a life. I never meant to stay this long! I was here waiting for a deal but I… I realized I didn’t want that anymore. I just wanted to have a life. Please don’t hurt me,” Trog’thizan pleads. “Please. I know you have it in your heart to find sympathy. What about your family?”

Dean Winchester stills.

“I know about your wife and your child. I heard you talking to them on the phone. I have no malicious intent. My vessel was not even mentally viable when I had taken it over. I have been here for decades and I just wish to have a simple, secluded life.”

Trog’thizan trembles under Dean Winchester’s grasp. “I had spent centuries under the stronghold of the demonic hierarchy. I just want simple domesticity. Please.”

Dean Winchester pulls his knife away. “I believe you.”

Trog’thizan sighs in relief. “Thank you, Dean Winchester. I give you my fullest gratitude.”

Trog’thizan’s door bursts open and two men burst in, one that has the whisper of fallen angel and one that burns with nephilim core.

Trog’thizan gulps.

“Dean,” the fallen angel says gruffly. 

“Stand down, Cas,” Dean Winchester says. “He means no harm, apparently.”

Cas — the “not trophy wife” from Dean Winchester’s phone call — squints at Trog’thizan, scrutinizing him. “I see.”

“Blueberries?” Trog’thizan blurts out.

The nephilim tilts his head. “Blueberries?” he repeats.

“I have a fresh harvest, and my blueberries are the best in Kansas. Would you like some for the journey home?”

The nephilim lights up. “We can make muffins! The kind with the crumbly top!”

Dean Winchester softens. “Jack…”

“Please?” The nephilim — Jack — juts his lip out and bats his eyelashes.

“Fine,” Dean Winchester says exasperatedly. “You don’t mind? You’re not going to…”

“If you are implying that I will tamper with the blueberries, you are mistaken. This is just a gesture of peace.” Trog’thizan goes to his fridge where he keeps his personal cartons of blueberries. “I hope you enjoy. This harvest has been quite tart.”

“I love the tart ones!” Jack exclaims happily.

“Uh, thank you,” Dean Winchester says awkwardly. “I guess we’ll just…” He points to the door and shuffles slowly out. “Uh, good luck, I guess.”

“Thank you, Dean Winchester. I hope you enjoy my blueberries and have a prosperous rest of your life.”

“Uh…” Dean Winchester’s brows knit together. “Thanks.”

Trog’thizan lets out a breath of relief as Dean Winchester and his not wife and nephilim son leave his farm.

Trog’thizan has been spared by the mercy of Dean Winchester.

Trog’thizan pops a blueberry into his mouth and continues his day in his secluded little life.

Chapter Text

Sam stirs awake, his brain a blurry fog. The sound around him is muffled, his temples are throbbing, and his mouth tastes stale and is unbearably dry.

“Oh thank God. You’re awake,” Dean exclaims, relief evident in his voice.

“D’n? What are you doin’ here?” Sam slurs.

“Take it easy, man. That warlock really hit you hard.”

Sam’s brows furrows. “Warlock?”

“Yeah. Weren’t even huntin’ the damn thing. Trespassing on private property must be a big deal to the bastards.”

“What are you doing here?” Sam repeated. “What warlock?” Sam finally is able to crack open his eyes, but squints at the light.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dean asks.

“I just got you back from the djinn. We were heading back to the car and… and then I woke up here.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “God. That was forever ago.”

“Is it… Dean, what happened?” Sam asks.

“De-aging spell. Apparently fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years?” Sam repeats. 

“Yup.”

Now that Dean mentions, Sam starts to notice the differences in Dean’s appearance. His features are rougher. Sharper and imperfect where they had been smooth and unblemished. His eyes are light but haunted, crinkling in ways they hadn’t done when Sam just saw him.

“Woah,” Sam breathes.

“The warlock got away, but we can deal with that in the morning. For now, let’s just get back to the bunker because believe it or not, I actually value my sleep and I’ve been awake for over forty hours straight and I need my memory foam like yesterday.”

“Bunker?” Sam questions.

“Base of operations. Where we live at the moment. Been squatting there for a while.”

“Is it nice?”

“Fuck no.” 

Sam snorts. 

“What do you expect from us, though?” Dean asks, helping him up. “C’mon. Baby’s parked out front. I think we’ve got some animal crackers in the glove box.”

Sam stumbles behind Dean, still trying to wrap  his head around the situation.

“The car looks the same,” Sam states.

“She better. I take damn good care of her,” Dean says. He slides into the driver’s seat, rubbing the hood on his way in.

Sam gets into the passenger side, groaning as sore muscles protest.

“You alright?” Dean asks.

“The djinn did a number on me,” Sam replies.

“We’ll patch you up when we get back,” Dean says. 

The car starts with a low rumble.

“Your head okay or can I put on some music?” Dean asks.

Sam, taken aback by the considerate question, gives Dean a nod. “My head’s fine.”

“Awesome.” He slips a Led Zeppelin cassette in and turns it down to a nice white noise.

Sam is about to ask a question when his eyes go wide as he catches the light glinting off of Dean’s left hand. “What is that?”

Dean chuckles softly. “Right. That.”

“You got married?”

Dean nods. “Well, as married as you can get when one of you is legally dead and the other doesn’t technically exist.”

Sam’s brow furrows. “How’d you guys meet?”

“Long story,” Dean says with a snort.

“I’ve got time."

“Let’s just say that Cas pulled me out of hell,” Dean says.

Sam’s jovial expression sobers. “Must’ve been in a pretty bad place.”

Dean’s face contorts in a way Sam can’t decipher. “You could say that again.”

“Tell me about… Cas.”

Dean’s smile becomes a soft, smitten thing. His eyes crinkle as his lips curl up. “Cas is… man, how do I even describe Cas? Cas is an angel. Or… well, always my angel to me. Way too damn good to be with someone like me. Cas just… believes in me. Still don’t get why, but ’s stuck with me for… wow, over a decade. Which is just… can’t believe that.”

“I can’t imagine it was love at first sight,” Sam says.

“Oh God no. We hated each other’s guts. Cas was… stuck up and stubborn and blind to anything but what was being told. But… we learned. We learned how to be together. Cas learned how to think without whatever mumbo jumbo the people upstairs wanted. But, you know, found the other side. Worked damn hard to get there too.”

“Am I married?” Sam asks.

“Planning on it,” Dean replies. “You’ll love her. Eileen. She thought you were a banshee.”

Sam lets out a startled laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah. Tried to kill you and everything.”

“Always knew I’d end up finding someone that way, considering.” 

Dean grins. “She’s great. You’re great together. It’s… yeah.”

A pop song blasts as a glass device glows in the cup holder. 

“What is that?” Sam asks.

“Smartphones, Sammy. Innovation of the future.” Dean takes his eyes off of the road just long enough to answer the call and hold the phone to his ear. “Hey Jack. Mhm. Yup, I’ve got him with me. No, he can’t come to the phone right now. The warlock… no, don’t worry. Nothing too serious. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Dean’s smile is warm in a way that Sam hasn’t seen in a long time.

“You guys made cookies? What kind?” He hums, amused. “Yeah, that’s right. Sam does like oatmeal raisin with white chocolate chunks.” Dean gags silently. “I’m sure he’ll love them.” Dean taps his fingers on the wheel. “Mhm. Uh huh. Oh really? Yeah, of course I’ll watch Dora with you when I get home. No, you’re right, the magical and scientific implications of a backpack that contains a ladder is groundbreaking.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.

“No, you cannot… do not try to fabricate the backpack. You know what happened the last time you tampered with the metaphysical confines of known and unknown space.” Dean sighs loudly. “We’ll be home soon. Uh huh. I love you too. Uh huh. Yup. Alright. Bye, Jack.” Dean shuts the phone off and sets it back into the cup holder. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was that?” 

“Our kid,” Dean replies.

“You have a kid?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Yeah. Kid’s the son of Satan.”

“I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Sam says.

“Oh, he’s not,” Dean reassures. “Nothing like him. Thank goodness.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at the choice of words. “So,” Sam clears his throat, “how old is he?”

“Four years old.”

“Wow. So, you’ve been settled down for four years.”

“Oh, no.”

Sam looks to him in confusion. “So you were hunting even when you had a baby at home?”

“Jack came along too.”

Sam huffs. “You’re serious?”

“Kid can handle himself.”

“He’s four!”

“His age is… very deceiving.”

Sam rolls his eyes. He’s about to say another biting quip but yawns.

“You tired?” Dean asks. “Try to get some rest.” He turns off the music.

“You sure?” Sam asks.

“Totally. You need it.”

“I think you need it more than me,” Sam says.

“I’ve handled more than this. Don’t worry about me.”

Sam purses his lips, the expression slipping into a frown. “You’ll wake me up if you need anything?”

“I will, but I won’t need to.”

Sam eyes him suspiciously, but sighs knowing that he can’t argue with Dean. Slouching in the seat, he rests his head back and closes his eyes.

When Sam awakes again with a jolt, he is slightly more rejuvenated, though not by much. Dean is shaking his shoulder cautiously as if he’s expecting a vicious attack.

“Rise and shine, Sammy. We’re home.”

Sam looks at the dark tunnel with confusion. “Where the hell are we?”

“C’mon. I’m tired. I’ll explain inside.” Dean leads him out of the car and to the ridiculous giant door. He opens it with a key and it opens to a bright, ornate — well —  bunker. The name really suits it.

“Cas! Jack! We’re back!” Dean announces.

A man scampers into the room with a bright grin. “Dean! You’re home!” His jaw drops. “Sam! You’re… young!” He turns to Dean.

“Warlock,” Dean explains.

“Right.” His face scrunches, deep in thought. “Will he still like the cookies?”

“I’m sure he will,” Dean replies.

“Wait,” Sam says. “You’re Jack?”

He beams, not noticing Sam’s awestruck expression. “Yeah! I am!” He grabs his hand. “C’mon. The cookies are in here.” 

Before Sam can respond, he’s being tugged to the kitchen.

Dean lags behind leisurely. 

“—and I made sure to use the purple raisins because I know you like the purple ones more than the green ones.”

“Uh, thank you, Jack,” Sam says awkwardly.

Jack hands him a cookie and watches him with wide eyed anticipation.

Sam hesitantly takes a bite and lets out a surprised moan in delight. “Oh, wow. These are really good.”

“Cas helped me!” Jack says.

“Speak of the angel,” Dean says as a man wearing fluffy pajama pants and one of Dean’s AC/DC shirts enters. “Hey, sunshine. Thanks for holdin’ down the fort.” Dean kisses the man on the lips — Dean, his brother Dean, kisses a man on the lips — and brushes his fingers through his dark hair.

The man looks past Dean and meets Sam’s eyes. “Ah, I see that it’s another age regression spell.”

“At least he’s not a teen like I was,” Dean says.

“You got turned into a teen?” Sam blurts out.

Dean chuckles. “Yeah. That one was real fun.”

“I recall you saying that it was not optimal,” the man says.

Dean just shakes his head and presses a kiss to his temple. “Sammy, this is Cas.”

“That’s Cas? But… he’s a… he.”

“Well, technically, I myself am not confined to rigid human social constructs such as gender despite my vessel’s biological sex—”

“I mentioned that Cas is an angel, right?” Dean interrupts.

“I thought you meant that like a pet name. Like Cas is your angel,” Sam says.

“Oh. Yeah, I can see where that could be confusing.” Dean stops. “So, uh, yeah. With a dude lookin’ person who isn’t totally dude who isn’t totally human.”

Cas raises a finger. “Actually, I am totally human—”

“Semantics, babe,” Dean says.

“And Jack. He’s… four?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, he’s four,” Dean replies.

“But he’s…” He glances at Jack who is nibbling on a cookie happily.

“Yeah. I know. He’s part angel, part human.”

Sam’s eyes dart between Cas and Dean.

Dean’s face blanches. “Oh, gods no, he’s not, I mean, no, he’s not ours—”

“You are my parents,” Jack states.

Sam’s expression grows even more shocked.

“But not like that,” Dean insists. “His dad’s Lucifer. I swear I mentioned that.”

“His dad is literally Satan?!” Sam exclaims. “Wow. Our lives are… very complicated in the future.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean mutters.

Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “Is there anything I need to know about?”

Jack taps his chin with his finger. “Well, I am God.”