Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

The Next Step- Dean

His arms were around you, providing warmth and comfort in the night. It is in his embrace that you feel safe and allow yourself to unwind from the horrors of the day.

Your head on his chest; his steady heartbeat under your ear; your fingers tracing patterns over his stomach; his hand playing with your hair. You took a deep breath— it smelled like your husband: leather, books, cologne, and touch of spearmint toothpaste. Dean...

Dean sighed contentedly and stretched against the mattress.

"Memory foam," he said blissfully, "it remembers me."

You smiled despite yourself— how could you not?— and nestled further into his loving embrace. It was just the two of you.

Sam's footsteps drew near to your door. He called softly, "Goodnight." Then you heard the footsteps recede down the hallways. A door opened and closed.

Finally home. Finally alone.

You look up to Dean, his face just a silhouette in the dark room, and kiss his cheek.

You had been married for five years and the magic stayed strong. Through thick and thin, you were at each other's side.

"Y/n?" he mumbled.

You hummed as you lean back against your pillow. Dean continues, "I was thinking... about us."

"Us?" Now that got your attention. You propped yourself up on your elbow and shifted to face him directly. Dean mimicked your moves and coughed awkwardly.

"Y-yeah, us. I love you and you make me feel things I never thought I could... You're strong and brave... I guess I'm sayin' is that we make a pretty good team, you and I."

Though your heart swelled with every word, your eyebrows knitted together. "You know I feel the same, but what about it?" It wasn't often that the two of you got serious about your relationship. What you had was trusting and fun and wonderful already. You were lucky to have him.

He cleared his throat again. "I want to take it to the next step. I think we're ready. I think we can do it. Y/n, this is only if you want it too, but I want a baby."

Though initially caught off guard by his words, you allowed yourself the time to imagine.

Feeling the first kicks with Dean at your side. Laying together, as you were now, and puzzling through different names. Decorating a room for your child in the bunker. Dean being with you in the delivery room. Watching him hold your child.

The first smile. The first laugh. The first step. The first word.

The late nights and early mornings that would surely disrupt your already-broken sleep schedule. The little accomplishments. Watching your child grow from infant to toddler to child to teen. Sending them a school. Dean teaching them to drive in the Impala. Reminiscing with Dean about how small your kid used to be.

Hunting... The monsters that would hunt them. The wounds that would leave scars. The bruises that ached persistently. Broken bones that never seemed to heal. A short lifespan.

Tears stung your eyes. "Dean. We'll never be able to give the kid the life they deserve. They'll never have the comfort of a stable life nor the comfort of knowing that they'll live to see the next day. They'll only learn to sleep with a knife under the pillow and a sigil carved into the bed." And then your voice broke. "What about us? What if one of us dies? Or the both of us? Or Sam? What if they're alone? What if they can't defend themselves?"

"Y/n..."

"I don't want to teach my kid how to defend themselves! They shouldn't have to, Dean! But we're... we're the Winchesters! I'd rather teach my kid about sexuality and the proper use of the comma rather than how to tie their enemies to a chair!"

"Y/n, I love you. I believe in you. I trust us. Us. You and me. And Sam will be there, too. If anyone is going to be a good mother, it will be you."

He reached out to you. You found yourself in his arms again. Dean kissed the top of your head. "I know this life is hard," he said. "But I will protect you and our kid until my last breath. Even if we have to give up hunting for a while— for that shot at normalcy— then I will do it without hesitation. With you, I know I can do anything."

Dean closed his eyes. He exhaled. "I want you to be happy."

"And I want you to be happy," you sniffled.

His thumb brushed against your cheek. His forehead rested against yours. You closed your eyes, too, and savored the moment.

It was a while before you spoke again; your voice a hush. "I want you to be able to take our baby home from the hospital. I want you to teach our child how to properly deal with the bullies of the world. I want us to take our child to Disneyland, just for kicks. Dean, I want a baby, too."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. "So, what's the next step?"

"We have a baby," you responded.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I love you," Dean gasped. His lips were on yours. You could smell the leather, books, cologne and taste the spearmint toothpaste. His touch was comforting in ways words could never be. Any opposition to love melted away. You had never felt surer with your chests rising and falling, your breath in unison, and the warmth of his embrace.