Father's Day (Destiel)

6

Father's Day 2034

A teenager, tall and willowy, stood in the doorway to living room. Golden-brown hair spiralled softly down her back, brushing the worn leather of her jacket which hung off her narrow shoulders; oversized and soft as butter. It had been her Grandad's, then her Dad's, and now hers. It was a going-away present from him, before she went off to college.

Tears glistened in her black-rimmed eyes, sparking off the blue and green in mismatched fireworks. Her coral-coloured lips twisted into a distorted smile when she watched her fathers sit on their sofa, faded almost to pink now, and she faced the reality of leaving.

She wouldn't be able to sit with them in the evenings and argue over music and answers to the quiz show on TV and countless other trivialities. She wouldn't be able to pick up a slice of pie on the way home from school and present it to Dean, just to see the glint of pure joy in his eyes. She wouldn't be able to tend the bees with Cas, or water his flowers when his back was too painful to lift the watering can.

But her bags were packed and in the hallway, scuffed leather suitcases pressed against walls that had welcomed her home every day since her birth. She steeled herself and walked through the doorway, spotting the pie and pink milk waiting for her on the coffee table, in between Dean's and Cas' slice just as it always had been.

"Hey, you two."

"Afternoon, Chip. How was your day?" Dean grinned up at her.

"Hello, Lottie-bug. Come and sit down." Cas patted the seat next to him welcomingly. They always reverted back to their old nicknames on days like this.

She snuggled between them; motor oil, watermelon, apples, and cinnamon surrounding her. The tears threatened to overwhelm her, until a short laugh was dragged through her throat.

"Dad, we're wearing the same shirt!" She gestured to hers, and then Dean's shirt. The plaid matched exactly, as it had on so many other occasions.

"Huh, great minds think alike, eh Charlie?"

"Yeah, speaking of great minds, did you make this pie?"

"With a little help from Cas." Pride sparkled in Dean's eyes, and the floury fingerprints on his jawline stood out against his blush.

"Well, it's awesome. Oh! I almost forgot!" She dug around into her rucksack which sat at her feet. "Happy Father's Day!" She said as she brought out a card.

It was handmade, just like the previous seventeen, but was a little more refined than the first glitter bomb. There were two silhouettes, like old-fashioned cameos, of Dean and Cas' faces, close enough to be on the verge of a kiss. Behind them were delicate watercolours of their defining features; the Impala, pie, a watering can, bee hives, the mobile that had hung above her bed from the day it was made, their old red sofa, wedding rings, and a trench coat and leather jacket hung up side by side.

Fat tears splashed onto her hands, and she couldn't tell whether they were hers or not.

"It's beautiful, Charlie. I love you." Dean whispered around the lump in his throat.

"It really is. I love you so much." Castiel agreed, equally choked up.

The three of them stood up and embraced, heads rested on shoulders, chins on foreheads, and arms linked. Almost too tight, almost suffocating, but not quite.

"I'm going to miss you guys so much." Charlie admitted, muffled by somebody's shirt.

Dean choked out a laugh and said, "No chick flick moments." And with a final squeeze, let go. "We need to eat our pie and drink our pink milk. After all, you're not leaving until tomorrow."

"But first, we need to put this one in the box." Cas reminded him.

"The box?" Charlotte questioned.

In answer, Castiel set down a wooden box, covered in achievement stickers from her elementary school days. When opened, it revealed a stack of drawings, cards, and labels from Christmas and birthday presents. Spanning eighteen years, they ranged from wobbly crayon stickmen to her more recent pencil sketches, from misshapen words to her current elegant lettering.

"You kept them?"

"Of course we did."

"I had no idea..."

"Well, we wanted to remember everything, even when you weren't living with us anymore."

"I don't think I want to go anymore. I don't want to leave you two." More tears fell, scalding her cheeks and dripping onto her collar.

Castiel took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. "Of course you want to go, we'll still be here, you can visit whenever you like. As long as Dean has not already eaten it, there will always be a pie waiting for you."

Charlie couldn't help but laugh at Dean's affronted face, and just like that, the sadness melted away. They sat back in the slightly pink sofa and ate their pie, slurped their milk through swirly straws, and reminisced about all of their favourite moments.

Dean and Cas fell asleep quickly, but Charlie fought the droop of her eyelids. She stood up and pulled out her phone, snapping a photograph of her fathers. They were gravitating towards each other, even in their sleep, hands reaching and faces turned towards one another.

She smiled sadly as she noticed the tremor of Dean's hands, and silver flecks that showed up like stars in the night on Castiel's dark head. They had never seemed old to her, but now their age was noticeable. Laughter lines adorned both of their faces, fine criss-cross patterns traced their calloused hands, muscles which used to bulge and ripple, now lay dormant below a fine layer of fat; built up through years of pie and happiness.

Charlie gently manoeuvred her way past sprawled limbs to nestle between them again, just as she always had. She let her eyes close and tried to ignore what was coming tomorrow, instead focusing of the warmth and safety that surrounded her that night.