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A wise man once told me, 'family don't end in blood.' But it doesn't start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them family's there; for the good, bad, all of it. They got your back, even when it hurts. That's family.
We’ve got everything we ever wanted – mom, Cas, our little, make-shift, messed up family.
I have a family.
The thought hits Dean at random moments: when he trudges into the kitchen in the morning and Cas hands him his first cup of coffee; watching Eileen teach Claire and Kaia curse words during a long stakeout for a hunt; the first time his toes touch the sun-burned-hot sand at the beach, but he’s too busy watching Sam take in the view of ocean for the first time with Eileen by his side, Cas struggling to set up a tent with Jack, and Claire trying to throw Kaia into the water to feel the pain.
I have a family.
In those moments, he’s struck by how sharp happiness can be. He smiles so hard that his face hurts, and he doesn’t try to shut it down anymore out of fear that feeling it means he will lose it. His chest feels tight and his throat dry, but he breathes through it. Tears threaten to, and sometimes do, spill, and he’s grateful to have so many people to care about as much as he does that he can’t keep the feeling from spilling over. He realizes how lucky he is. He would take any discomfort to never lose this feeling now that he’s found it.
I was never supposed to have this, he thinks. He was meant to die young and bloody and that was that. That was always the way the story was written for him and he had made his peace with it.
Until they tore up the story and set fire to it. Now, every day is a blank page that he intends to fill.
Dean calls Jody up for advice, or just to chat about how she’s doing with the girls, with work, with hunting.
When Claire, Kaia, and Jack head out the door after a visit, he presses kisses to their heads, saying, “You kiddos take care of yourselves.” They text him when they get to their destination, just like he asks them to, and he sends a thumbs up emoji, Cas’ love of the little icons having rubbed off just the tiniest bit.
He keeps a little pocket calendar with birthdays noted and sends the goofiest cards he can find, writing cheesy messages inside before mailing them out. He knows the lady at the post office well.
The biggest change is that he hunts less. He doesn’t know how to not hunt – not completely. But the drive isn’t there in the same way it was in the past.
And over time, the little voice in his head fades to a whisper. Not his own, but his dad’s – John’s – voice: Telling him not to trust others. Telling him to be a man. Telling him in words and actions that whatever he does, he’ll never be enough.
Replacing that voice with his own takes time and more effort than he wants to put forth most days, but he’s found that, like everything in life, it gets easier with practice. His own voice gets stronger the more he uses it, and he likes how that feels. Even easier is letting the voices of his loved ones drown it out, giving the weight due to their words to let them smother the ghost of John’s. The combination of both efforts gives him hope that one day he’ll wake up and the haunting will be over. Even if that day never comes, he knows now how to fend off the lies and hurt.
He thinks about his mom and how she never wanted her sons to grow up in the life. He thinks she’d be happy to know that he’s found a way to straddle the line. After her second time on earth, she would understand that it’s not as simple as in or out, but it can be better. He’s made the choice to make it better.
His main job now is running a little bar outside of Lebanon. It’s not as big as The Roadhouse was, but he thinks he captured the feeling and that’s what matters. It’s a haven for his friends to stop in when they need rest, community, and comfort. It’s a way to show them love by taking care of their needs – not that he’d ever put it that directly out loud, but it’s the truth.
This bar, this work, is Dean’s way of paying tribute to the first taste of community he ever got. Hunting, especially the way his dad did it, is isolating. The Roadhouse was his first time being faced with the idea that there was a community that he could be a part of – not just a companion for a night of fun, but true company as long as he needed - wanted. A lifetime even. If he can give a fraction of that back – well, he’ll consider his job done.
It’s early and he’s stocking the bar. The repetitive action of the daily opening tasks is soothing to him. He’s so engrossed in it that he doesn’t hear Cas come up behind him. Cas, knowing how being startled affects Dean, clears his throat to let him know he’s there.
Dean turns around to face Cas. Maybe there will be a day when he’s not struck by the man in front of him, but this isn’t that day, and frankly, he hopes that day never comes. Even in faded jeans and one of Dean’s old t-shirts, the sight of Cas knocks the breath out of Dean. When Cas gives him a soft, crooked smile, Dean’s knees feel weak. He pulls at Cas’ – his – shirt, dragging him flush up against him.
“Hi,” he says, smiling softly, staring at Cas’ bright blue eyes, not having to try to hide what he’s doing anymore.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas smiles with his usual greeting, then presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. “You were gone before I got up this morning.”
“Sorry,” Dean says, “I couldn’t sleep – too much energy, and too much to do today. Believe me, I’d rather be still in bed with you.”
“Maybe the boss will let you take a break in a little bit,” Cas says, before pulling Dean in for another kiss.
“I think he’d be okay with that,” Dean mumbles into Cas’ lips between kisses. “Give me five to finish up what I’m doing?”
Cas nods, and hoists himself up on the bar to watch Dean work. Dean works, pretty distractedly, before giving up and dragging Cas outside to the car.
As Cas slides into the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean goes through their upcoming plans in his mind, an activity that’s become soothing for him: This weekend, Garth, Bess, and the kids are coming for a visit. He told Claire last time they talked on the phone that they could hunt together on the next case she finds, so he has that to look forward to, probably sometime this coming week – looking forward more to the time with Claire than the hunt itself. He owes Donna a call, having missed her call the day before, and makes a mental note to give her a call after dinner tonight.
It’s not the apple pie life. Turns out he was right; that wasn’t meant for him. What he has is better than that. It’s a real life, full of people who see him and love him for everything he is, and he loves them right back. The words still might not come easy to him, but he shows it as best as he can:
When Sam and Eileen visit, he cooks that healthy shit Sam loves, just because it makes him smile. He and Eileen eat bacon cheeseburgers. Cas has a little bit of everything. They talk late into the night every time.
When the anniversary of Cas’ return from the Empty comes up, even though it’s painful for Dean, too, he takes special care of Cas. He holds him tight through the nightmares and kisses him softly to bring him back to the waking world. He makes sure that Cas knows that there’s nothing in the dark they can’t fight together.
And he drives an hour in the middle of the night to pick up Claire and Kaia, when they have a few too many drinks after celebrating a successful hunt, and he’s the closest person they know – and the person they most trust to help them, but not give them too hard of time about it. He settles them down on the couch and leaves out two glasses of water and a bottle of Ibuprofen. In the morning, he’ll make something greasy and wake them up with a “One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer” blasting at the highest volume his radio will go.
This cobbled together family – it’s messy, difficult, and full of laughter. It’s the truest thing he’s known in his whole life. They have each other’s backs and they hurt each other from time to time; they forgive, they try to do better, and they love each other.
That's family.