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During the day, Dean never had time to consider the future. It never showed up, so it was a backburner topic that didn’t concern him as long as he was in mission mode—which was most of the time.
But at night, after he had waited for Dad to fall asleep, snuck out of his bed, and crawled into Sammy’s crib, there was plenty of time for thinking while he listened to his baby brother’s soft puffs of air and felt them hit his throat.
Dean’s future seemed pretty straightforward. His next eighteen years were booked, thanks.
But Sammy’s future was more intricate. It was more subject to change; to choice. Dean had a job to do, but Sammy just had to be. And that meant that he could be whatever he wanted. Every choice was open to him, as long as Dad didn’t swat them down before they could take off.
As if summoned by Dean’s thoughts, his father grunted in his sleep and flipped over. Through the bars of the crib and over the top of Sammy’s baby-soft brown hair, Dean could just make out the man’s outline in the dark motel room. He settled again soon after, and Dean followed suit.
Fitting his arms more snugly around his baby brother, Dean cuddled down into the ball of warmth and tucked his nose down against the top of Sammy’s head, inhaling the scent of the baby shampoo that Dean had rubbed into his hair this afternoon.
He was glad that it had turned out this way, he decided. Sammy should have all the choices in the world, but Dean didn’t want any. Dad gave him a hard time, but Sammy gave him purpose, and that was the only thing that he really needed. He would have chosen it, anyway.
Gradually, the gentle thump of Sammy’s heart against Dean’s chest and his warm, soft breath on his neck started stripping away his thoughts of the future. His brother was warm and safe and cozy and sleeping in his arms, and Dean felt nothing but satisfaction and contentment as he slowly drifted off.
The present was all they really had, anyway.