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Please go to sleep. Please baby, Mary c’mon. Come oooon. Dean tries to will the baby in his arms to sleep. Instead his pleas are met with unhappy wails and floods of tears and snot. He paces around the room, rocking his baby gently. He’s tried singing. He’s tried rocking in the ridiculously expensive rocking chair Castiel insisted upon. He’s tried everything he can think of and nothing is working. The baby is still awake and red-faced in his arms.
“Hush little baby don’t say a word, Papa’s gonna buy you a Thunderbird…” Dean murmurs, hoping…praying that the sound of his voice will sooth the restless child to sleep like those bullshit parenting books Sam bought him said it would. “And if that Thunderbird won’t go, Papa’s gonna buy you a Camaro…” He hums the tune to the song as finally, finally the wailing dies down.
“Now, if you're not a Camaro fan, Papa’s gonna buy you a Chevy Van…” Mary sniffles and whimpers, but the wails have stopped. Dean forces himself to continue. He can almost taste his freedom. “And if something in the van goes clang, clang, clang, well, Papa’s gonna buy you a new Mustang…” Big green eyes stare up at him as he sings. The space between blinks gets longer and longer until her eyes stay closed and the wriggling stops. Dean sings one more line, “And if that Mustang don't bring new friends, Papa’s gonna buy you a Mercedes Benz…” He hums softly as he heads over to the crib, placing Mary down as gently as humanly possible. He waits with bated breath for the crying to begin again, but blessedly, she stays silent.
“The baby is down. I repeat, the baby is down,” Dean tiptoes down the hall, to the bedroom. Castiel sighs in relief, relaxing against the pillows.
“Thank God,” he breathes, rubbing at his tired eyes. Dean agrees. Who knew raising a ten-week-old baby would be so tiring? He’s absolutely exhausted. Castiel hums, watching Dean through heavily lidded eyes as he climbs onto the bed. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s been ten weeks since we’ve had a moment of alone time,” Dean wiggles his eyebrows and Castiel snorts, a slight smirk curling his lips.
“C’mere then,” Castiel spreads his arms and Dean crawls forwards, pressing his lips lightly to Castiel’s. He settles between Castiel’s knees, hands pressed to Castiel’s cheeks. Castiel tucks his hands under the hem of Dean’s shirt, trailing his hands up Dean’s back as they kiss.
“I love you, Cas,” Dean murmurs against Castiel’s lips, trying to crawl closer.
“I love you too,” Castiel replies, inching the shirt from Dean’s back and Dean is almost hesitant to move away from Castiel enough to get it completely off.
Before long, they’re down to just their boxers. Dean ruts lazily against Castiel’s thigh and their lips slide together in languid kisses. It seems that neither are too hurried or energised to really do more. Castiel’s tongue dips into Dean’s mouth, tasting before retreating and Dean follows, surging up trying to tangle their tongues together.
Dean can feel sleep tugging at him, urging him to use this precious time to catch up on the hours he’s been missing. He shoves them violently away. He wants to spend this time with Castiel. Castiel’s hands dig into the meat of Dean’s shoulders, working out the stress from the past ten weeks. It does nothing to hinder the exhaustion from settling on him like a blanket. Dean barely even realises when they aren’t kissing anymore, merely resting their mouths together. Dean’s rutting ceases and Castiel’s hands stop their massage to hold Dean against him. His eyes fall shut and before he can roll off Castiel, he’s asleep, his cheek resting against Castiel’s chin.
An almighty screech wakes Dean from his sleep. He jerks up, jostling Castiel, who still sleeps beneath him. Dean turns, eyeing the baby monitor. It’s spewing Mary’s disgruntled cries into their silent room. Muttering to himself he slides off Castiel, fully intending to go sooth his daughter. He’s stopped by a hand on his wrist, Castiel eyes him. “I got this,” Dean murmurs, “Go back to sleep.”
“Sure?” Castiel sits up, stretching his arms above his head, the vertebrae in his spine popping. Dean winces and Castiel shrugs.
“Yeah,” Dean whispers. He leans back and Castiel rewards him with a lopsided kiss.
“Thank you, Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves him off, stumbling out the door. The screeches rise in volume the closer Dean gets to Mary’s door. “You just want me to finish the song.” He tells the child, picking her up to pick up where he left off. With a deep sigh he begins.