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A faint sound made itself known in his subconscious, unobtrusive in its familiarity. It gently prodded him awake, pulling him from the darkness of his dream to the darkness behind his eyelids. He slowly became aware of the bedroom surrounding him and the warmth of the bed. He’d been dreaming of driving again, a frequent dream when there weren’t any nightmares; he supposed he’d done enough of it in his lifetime to warrant dreams of mile markers and white lines shimmering under headlights, stretching toward a dim horizon, until the day he died. And probably even after.
As he moved to shut off the alarm, he also became aware of the arm loosely draped over this waist. He looked over to where Cas was sleeping on his stomach next to him, his face almost completely obscured in the pillow, dark bedhead poking out from under the quilt.
Years ago, Cas had joined a quilting circle at the church in town and now every bed in the house had one, each stitched with carefully considered imagery for who it was intended. Cas, never good at following instructions, had drafted his own patterns.
(Early, when Cas started going, Dean asked him how he could stand it, being surrounded by people who believed in something they both knew wasn’t worth their worship. Didn’t it bother him, being around all the god-talk? Cas had told him it didn’t matter because they were still good people who tried to do good things. The gossip also certainly helped.)
Dean gently lifted the arm from his waist to try and slip out of bed with as much care as he could manage. Predictably, Cas shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake.
His socked feet were quiet on the wood floor, the boards creaking under his weight as he left the warmth of their bedroom to start the day. He padded down the stairs, not bothering with lights. The quiet and the dim of the morning hung over the house, blanketed the furniture and the hallways, and he wasn’t ready to disturb it yet. His only company as he entered the kitchen was the sound of the house settling. From the window over the sink, he looked out over the fog covered fields as he waited for the coffee to brew. The world was still dark. The machine rumbled and dripped.
As the smell of coffee began to fill the kitchen, he reached down into one of the cabinets on the floor and filled a little measuring cup with kibble. He carried it outside to the porch and found Agnes waiting dutifully by the screen door.
“Hold on, you’ll get your breakfast, you goddamn wild animal,” he muttered as he inched outside, careful not to kick the little black cat as she did her absolute best to be underfoot. All Dean got in return for his grumbling was a bright and impatient meow. She followed his hand excitedly as he reached down to fill her bowl. The tinkling sound of the kibble was immediately followed by the sound of her knocking the bowl around as she ate. Dean’s back popped as he stood up.
As he headed back inside, he heard the coffee pot begin to finish, its puttering dropping off into silence. He reached into the cabinet above for two mugs; one green with a tractor printed on it, the other orange with flowers. He filled one to the brim and the other with room for creamer. This week Cas had picked out salted caramel to try.
Surprisingly, Cas had pretty normal taste when it came to coffee, love for the seasonal Starbucks menu considered. Dean still drank his black. Some habits were simply too hard to break.
He grabbed one in each hand and began the trip back up the stairs, careful not to stumble in the dark. He pushed the bedroom door open, where Cas was still sleeping, lost under the quilt and pillows. Dean crossed the room and set his own mug on the nightstand, turning on the bedside lamp as he sat next to Cas on the bed.
“Hey, wake up, sleepyhead.”
Dean couldn’t help but smile at the affronted groan Cas gave at being woken up, curling up at Dean’s side. He smiled still as Cas stayed there a moment, clearly reticent to open his eyes.
“C’mon,” Dean said as he gently ribbed him in the side with his elbow. Cas gave one last sound of protest before sitting up and reaching for the cup of coffee he knew would be waiting for him. And okay, maybe Dean was grinning like an idiot, but watching Cas do something as human as wake up cranky still knocked him out every time, even three years on.
Dean watched him considerately take a sip before scooting over so Dean could join him sitting at the top of the bed. Dean automatically reached for the tv remote. They sat in silence watching the weather and drinking their coffee.
With his first cup finished, Dean shifted to get up, get dressed, and brush his teeth. But not before Cas reached for his wrist and stopped him for a quick kiss. Dean didn’t linger for long, there were still chores needing to be done, but he smiled into the kiss and recognized as the thank-you-for-the-coffee that it was.
He walked down the stairs again, this time not taking care for the quiet or the dark, turning on lights as he went. He knew Cas would be getting out of bed and waking up Jack soon. He set his empty coffee mug down on the small kitchen island as he passed it and tugged on his boots by the back door, grabbing a jacket off the hook. The cold and damp air bit into the skin on his face as he opened the backdoor and crossed the yard to the stables.
As he went about his chores, mucking the stalls, cleaning and refilling water buckets, he couldn’t help but think about how second nature it all felt, taking care of the horses, making coffee, turning on light switches. It was surprising how easy it had been to fall into a routine, as easy as anything. Some days would pass in quick succession, well-oiled by going to work, making dinner, and helping Jack with his homework. Other days, paranoia would creep up on him. He’d go about the day nervous that it wasn’t real, that he didn’t deserve it, that it was all going to crumble around him. But then the next day would come, and the next, and eventually it would abate.
And almost every second of every day, if he paused in his routine to notice, he was grateful. Sometimes Jack would look up at him while Dean did something as stupid and simple as attach the sprinkler to the hose so he could play in it and Dean would be bowled over by the fact that he got to have second chance with the kid. Dean would look up and Cas would be watching from the back porch and Dean would be certain that there was enough feeling there to kill a man. It sounded like something church ladies were always going on about, “Be grateful,” but, god, he was. He really was.
When Billie had given Jack a second-shot at childhood as a thank you, Dean had been nervous that he’d still be too messed up by what he’d experienced in his first three years that he’d never be happy. But Cas had been right, three year olds are only just forming memories and maybe magic-nephilim-three-year-olds could retain memories from before then, but Jack was a nephilim no longer and he’d taken to running around in the grass like it was what he should have been doing his whole life. Jack had once saved the world and now all he had to care about was making friends in the first grade and learning fractions.
Finished in the stables, Dean could see the light of Jack’s bedroom on, meaning Cas had successfully started getting him ready for school. Dean could practically hear the sound of Jack running down the hallway upstairs, the sound was so familiar. He paused on his way back to the house to feed the chickens and check their water.
(He’d futilely tried to resist chickens when Cas initially brought it up, as if he wasn’t drafting plans for a hen house every time they went to Tractor Supply Company and Jack lit up seeing the chicks in the store.)
Toeing off his boots in the doorframe, Dean could hear the television in the living room was on, playing some cartoon Jack liked. Cas was standing at the island, looking into the living room, his back to the door. Noticing an opportunity, Dean quietly walked up behind him before suddenly putting his hands on his hips. Cas startled, his coffee spilling a little onto his hand. Dean could feel him bristle with irritation and he tried not to be too amused by it. Since becoming human, Cas was now surprise-able and Dean had far too much fun taking advantage to Cas’ liking. It didn’t help that it was exceptionally easy, considering he was often far too lost in his own head, such as now.
(Not long ago, Dean had taught Jack how to sneak up on Cas and startle him before taking his picture with the disposable Kodak cameras he loved to play with which was all fun and games until Jack started doing it to him too. He had an entire photo album full of blurry pictures of bugs and flowers and unflattering candids of Dean and Cas.)
Dean wrapped his arms more fully around his waist and pressed a kiss to the side of his head as an apology. He must not have been in too much trouble because Cas leaned back into him with an exhale. Dean followed his gaze into the living room where Jack was watching tv and eating cereal, already dressed and kicking his feet on the couch.
They both stood there, watching Jack eat his breakfast until Cas looked over at the clock on the wall and patted Dean’s hand to let him know it was time to take Jack to school. They untangled and Cas set his coffee cup down before walking into the living room to tell Jack it was time to go. Jack handed Cas his bowl and ran off to grab his backpack. Dean stopped Cas in the archway to the kitchen for a quick kiss as they passed one another, Cas returning to put Jack’s bowl in the sink and Dean going to follow him to make sure he didn’t forget anything.
Upstairs, he pushed Jack’s bedroom door open all the way, knocking a little with his knuckles. Jack was kneeling on the floor surrounded by toys and books and all the detritus of childhood.
“You got everything?” he asked, watching Jack stick binders and folders covered in stickers into his backpack, it’s various pins and trinkets jingling.
“Yup!” came Jack’s cheery reply and gap-toothed grin as he wrangled the zipper shut.
“Well, time to go then,” he said, reaching down to pick him up. Dean’s back was already beginning to protest, he really wouldn’t be able to do this much longer, but he wanted to as long as he could. “We don’t want to keep your dad waiting.”
Downstairs, Cas was leaning against the kitchen table, arms crossed and car keys already in hand. He smiled, noticing them. Dean set Jack down and he immediately ran out the door, ready to hop in the car. Cas stayed put as Dean walked toward him, pulling him into one last kiss before they both headed out the door. Cas unfolded his arms and wrapped then around the back of Dean’s neck, sighing. He tasted like coffee and toothpaste and Dean wanted to stay there just a little longer. He pulled back only as far as he needed to promise, “See you after work.”
“Mhmm,” Cas agreed, smiling, giving him one last peck before pulling away and walking to the door. Dean followed, grabbing the truck keys off the hook.
Outside, Jack had his hand on the backseat door handle of the Town & Country, “I used to be cool” bumper sticker standing out on the back window. Cas unlocked the doors as he walked to the driver’s side, Jack hopping in as soon as he could.
Dean watched them through the windows as he walked past, Cas fiddling with the A/C and radio, Jack buckling up in the back. He knocked on the backseat window and waved goodbye to Jack. When he backed up, he caught Cas watching him from the front seat, his hand lifting from the steering wheel to give a small wave too. Dean smiled and waved back as he walked around the front of the truck where it was parked next to the minivan.
As Dean sat in the front seat, turning the key in the ignition and turning on the heat, Cas pulled out next to him, Ariana Grande audibly playing as he left to take Jack to school. The radio kicked on, harmonica bleeding the beginnings of Nebraska, as he put the car in gear.
As he drove to the garage, he caught sight of their house in the rearview. He remembered house hunting with Cas, who Dean tried to pretend to Sam and Jody was the one making it difficult, but really, he’d been the one who was overly picky. They’d looked, Cas trying to be patient but clearly irritated by Dean’s incessant nitpicking, until eventually Cas pulled him aside and said it didn’t matter if the house was absolutely perfect immediately. They’d make it theirs in time.
So they’d settled on this one in Wyoming because they’d both liked the land and the sky and there were three bedrooms. And Cas had been right, again. After years of working on it was theirs. The blue walls in the kitchen were theirs; they’d picked out the furniture (which Sam said looked like it'd been picked by a Texan grandma, but what did Sam know? He bought his furniture at Ikea so clearly he was allergic to character); they’d planted the garden in the backyard. They even marked Jack’s height on the arch in the kitchen, something so outside of anything Dean thought he could ever have it made his head spin. Their walls were covered in photos and Dean knew where everything was in the kitchen. Every corner and inch of it was a reminder that it was theirs.
And while he was leaving for work, he knew he’d be back in time to make dinner, squinting at the recipe because he refused to wear what Claire called his “old man glasses” even though Cas was always nagging that he’ll get a headache. Then he’d sit at the table with Jack while he did his homework, walking him through the addition and subtraction. Maybe, after, they’d watch a movie and Cas and Jack would fall asleep before it was over like they almost always did. Dean would carry Jack upstairs and put him to bed, brushing the hair off his forehead before leaving the door open, just a crack. Cas would be reading in theirs and Dean would curl up at his side under the covers and try to get him to stop. Eventually, they’d fall asleep and it’d all start over the next day.