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“You’ll never believe this,” Dean said through the toothbrush in his mouth, phone in hand.
“Hm??”
“Sam just texted me.”
You straightened up from where you were shoving clothes into the dresser, digging your palms against your lower back as you arched it in hopes of alleviating some of the achiness.
“Is he okay????” you asked.
This was the first time that Sam had been able to convince you and Dean to stay behind, and it was safe to say, both of you were a bit on edge about it.
“What? Oh, he’s fine.” Dean grinned. “Better than fine, probably.”
He walked over and handed you the phone before going back to the sink to spit and rinse. You read through the chain of consecutive texts from Sam.
‘Just ran into Chris!!’
‘Do you remember her?’
‘She’s hunting the same ghost as me.’
‘And now you and (Y/N) can stop worrying. I have backup.”
And then Dean’s response:
‘Nice. Save some money and share a room ;D’
“You’re disgusting,” you said, handing his phone back. “He’s not going to like that.”
Dean shrugged, still grinning, and set his phone to the side.
“If he even sees it. I got a feeling he won’t be checkin’ his texts anytime soon.”
You snorted and pulled out an old t-shirt and sweats to change into. When you tugged off your leggings and threw them to the side, he whistled lowly and walked up behind you, hands settling on your hips to pull you against himself. You sighed softly, letting your head fall back against his shoulder.
“been feelin’ okay?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“m-hm.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“I have somethin’ to tell you,” he said.
“Oh??”
You twisted around to drape your arms around his neck, pulling him down to give a quick peck on the lips.
“And if you’re mad that I didn’t tell you until now,” he added, “it’s Sam’s fault, not mine. He said you wouldn’t be upset if it was a surprise.”
“Okay,” you said a little more nervously.
“I got a job,” he said after a beat. “A real one, I mean. So we don’t have to credit card scam our way through raising a kid.”
You raised your eyebrows, amused.
“Why’d that need to be a secret?” you said.
“Well, what if I interviewed and all that bullshit just to not get the job?”
You laughed and pressed closer to him. It was getting harder to do so effectively with your bump starting to get in the way. It was a good problem—but still a problem, in your opinion.
“Uh-huh,” you said. “Because that would completely change how I s-”
“Because I know you like to bring up jobs when I bring up houses,” he interrupted gently.
You leaned back a little, tenderly running your fingers over the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.
“So you’re serious about that,” you said somberly.
“Yeah. I told you, I’m not gonna half-ass anything.”
You nodded, gazing into his eyes while tears gathered in yours.
“Don’t cry, baby,” he said. “I’ll cry.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
He huffed softly, his hands sliding beneath your shirt. They came to rest on the small of your back, rough and calloused, but soothing more than anything else.
“And what’s this mysterious job of yours?” you asked.
“At a garage. Up in Red Cloud.”
“Mechanic?”
“Yep.”
“Normal life,” you said, your voice softening.
He nodded.
“A mechanic with kids and fuckin’ mortgage,” he said, quoting himself. “I hope that’s what you want too, baby, ‘cause that’s what you’re getting.”
You kissed him, slow and easy, before giving your answer:
“More than anything.”