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Tick Tock Goes The Clock

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It was a well known fact that every omega had a metaphorical biological clock ticking away inside of them, just waiting to spring the alarm and make the poor guy or girl go just a wee bit baby crazy. And as much as Dean Winchester tried to deny it, mostly to himself, the one inside him was gonna blow at any second. The hunter was already in his mid-thirties, but there had pretty much never been a time in his life when it was safe to settle down and start a family. He’d been close with Lisa, closer than any other time, but between Lisa being a beta, and her already having Ben, the question of pregnancy hadn't been brought up yet by the time Dean had to leave.

Even though Dean would never admit it to anybody, especially his brother, he had always felt pretty maternal towards Ben. He’d always wanted a nice, big family with plenty of pups of his own, ever since he had presented as an omega as a teenager. At least, whenever John hadn't been pressuring him to act like the alpha his dad thought he should've been, that is. It had only gotten worse when Sam presented as a beta, so Dean had shoved that dream so far back in his mind that he completely forgot about it ninety-five percent of the time.

That was exactly why the omega knew that his biological clock was gonna kick his ass any day now. Where he used to mostly forget about the idea of having a bunch of pups, it was now taking up the vast majority of his thoughts lately. If a night went by where he didn't dream of a family, his belly round with the latest child, it was practically a miracle. And whenever he went into a heat, even through the suppressants he could still feel the intense pangs of longing.

But true to his upbringing, he never mentioned it. Big, strong alpha hunters never talked about wanting to get pregnant. And as far as John had been concerned, Dean was just an alpha that had been accidentally born in an omega’s body.

Dean was at the nearest super-center to the bunker when the first clanging hint of the clock finally going off hit. He’d been doing a grocery run and was grabbing some extra flannel shirts to replace the ones he and Sam had recently ruined, when he walked past the baby clothing. Normally, he would have either ignored the section completely, or if he was alone he might've let out a small, wistful sigh. But this time, before he knew it, he was shuffling through a rack of colorful print onesies, his brain going through nursery decorating options.

He froze where he was standing, a blue onesie covered in dinosaurs clutched in his fist. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled under his breath, shoving the hanger roughly back onto the rack. He grabbed the last few groceries and left the store as fast as he could.

That damn dinosaur onesie was only the beginning. After that day, Dean often found himself wandering around the bunker, looking into the empty bedrooms and picturing a crib and changing table instead of the Men Of Letters issued furniture. He caught himself mentally measuring the backseat of Baby for car seats on multiple occasions. But when he started to type in the address for that baby names website that had led to Cas being temporarily called Emmanuel, that was the last straw.

He tried distracting himself with cases, and when that didn't work, he hit the bottle. A belly full of Jack muted the clock better than anything. The worried looks from Sam ruined some of the fun, but that metaphorical ticking was just so damn loud any more.

Dean really should’ve known better than to think Sam was just going to let him keep going on like this. The ‘interventions’ started small. In the beginning it was just bitch faces and stink eyes, but they were soon followed by concerned lectures. Yet no matter what Sam did, Dean refused to tell him what was wrong, and refused to stop drinking because it was probably the only thing keeping him from going out and presenting to any alpha that smelled fertile enough at this point. Those dreams about being surrounded by pups, pregnant with yet another one, were starting to intrude on his waking hours, so he just switched up to something stronger.

Then his stashes of liquor bottles started to mysteriously disappear, and that's when Dean had finally had enough. “What the fuck, Sammy?” Dean shouted as he stomped into the bunker’s kitchen.

Sam looked up from the coffee pot, and had the audacity to actually look innocently confused. “Huh?”

“You keep stealing my booze!” Dean yelled in response. He’d finished off his last bottle a few hours earlier, and the more he sobered up, the more he was terrified about the urges his body was screaming at him through a megaphone. He’d heard that it could get this bad when he was younger, but he could’ve sworn it was only supposed to happen when the omega had already found a mate. Dean shook his head, trying to get his concentration back on the moment.

“I wouldn't need to if you weren't trying to kill yourself with freaking alcohol poisoning,” Sam shouted angrily back. “Something is obviously wrong with you, Dean, and I'm getting really worried.” He put down his mug and stood in front of his brother. “Please, tell me what's going on.”

Dean was just sober enough to be embarrassed, and he could feel it as his face flushed red. “I don’t wanna talk about it, and I sure as hell don’t wanna talk about it with you,” Dean let out in a rush. “Now I’m going to the store and using your damn money to buy me some more alcohol.” He went out to the hallway and started to yank his coat on, trying to cover up his embarrassment with anger, but Sam still followed him.

“You okay to drive?” Sam asked. You’d think the moose was his mom or something.

Dean recited the alphabet backwards to prove that he was just fine, blood alcohol level-wise. Sam gave him one of his stronger bitch faces, but finally nodded.

“Then at least be safe while you’re out,” Sam said in defeat.

“Yes, mother,” Dean replied sarcastically.

“Whatever, jerk, but I do actually give a shit about you sometimes,” Sam said as he rolled his eyes. “I just wish you’d let me know what was up with you lately.”

“Bitch,” Dean automatically replied, actually bothering to smile a little at his brother. He wasn’t trying to piss off or upset anybody, he just didn’t want anybody to know how stupid he felt like he was acting about all this. “Not like a beta would understand, anyway,” he muttered as he opened the door. If Dean had seen the look of inspiration that crossed his brother’s face as he slammed the door, he probably would’ve went straight for the Everclear. In a different state.

When Dean got home from the liquor store with two bags full of more bottles than Sam could possibly find in a month, his annoying brother was nowhere to be seen. Dean shrugged his shoulders in a ‘whatever’ motion and started hiding bottles a bit of everywhere, like an alcoholic’s dream Easter egg hunt. Keeping out a few of his favorites to spread around in new, better hiding spots in his room, Dean was startled when he walked in and saw Cas sitting on his bed, looking up at him expectantly.

“Dean, your brother called me and asked me to talk to you about your problem,” Cas said, as if it were no big deal.

“Great, you guys are ganging up on me now,” Dean muttered dejectedly. He unscrewed the cap on the first bottle he could grab, and took a long swig.

“Sam's worried about you, and he asked me to try talking to you since you refuse to talk to him. He also thought maybe it was something you could talk to me about, since I presented as an alpha when I fell,” Cas explained. When Dean gave him a confused look, the ex-angel tried to explain further. “You mentioned that a beta wouldn’t understand, so he thought maybe an alpha might?”

“That moose only has super hearing when it inconveniences me, I swear,” Dean mumbled.

“I’m concerned as well, Dean. Sam told me how you’ve been acting, and how much you’ve been drinking.” Cas stopped talking to glare at Dean pointedly. The omega had gone back to taking gulps from the liquor bottle while Cas spoke. “Like that, Dean. I know that you only drink to such an extent when you’re using it as a coping mechanism, so that alone tells me something must be seriously wrong. You’re my closest friend, and I want to help you.”

“I am nowhere near drunk enough for this,” Dean muttered as he plopped down on the bed next to Cas. He took another long pull from the bottle to prove his point.

“Fine, then drink until you are,” Cas replied unexpectedly.

Dean had not planned on that response from the usually staid former angel. But he was thankfully still sober enough to think quickly on his feet, and he remembered how much of a lightweight Cas was when he didn’t have his angelic metabolism that took an entire liquor store to destroy. “Fine,” he said triumphantly. “But only if you drink with me.” By the time Dean was drunk enough to have zero control over his mouth, Cas would be long passed out, snoring like a rusty chainsaw. The omega smiled smugly when Cas grabbed the whiskey bottle he handed over. This was the perfect plan.

Or maybe not. Since Dean had already been working up a buzz before Cas took his first sip, the ex-angel managed to keep up with Dean. Didn’t help matters any that Cas could apparently hold his alcohol a lot better now.

“I’m hot,” Cas slurred, pushing off his trench coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He had always thought Cas was attractive.

“Ready… to talk now?” Cas said slowly, not noticing the omega staring at his now bare forearms.

“‘S embarrassing,” Dean admitted before taking another drink.

Cas leaned in close to Dean and loudly whispered. “You can trust me, I used to be an angel.”

“The rest’a the angels are dicks, but you aren’t,” Dean whispered back.

“See?” Cas pointed out, as if this drunken conversation made perfect sense. And to them, it did.

“I wanna baby,” Dean said sadly.

“A baby?” Cas asked, tilting his head in a way that always made Dean go a little weak in the knees.

Dean put his hands on his stomach, as if he were already pregnant. “Yeah, I want kids. Like… really bad.”

“Why’s that ‘barrassing?” Cas placed his hand on top of Dean’s, and a warmth rushed through him that the omega definitely liked.

“Gotta be a strong alpha, like Dad always says,” Dean pointed out, but he didn’t move his hands.

“Your dad’s dead, Dean.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean replied as if that were a revelation.

“If you wanna baby, you should have one,” Cas told the omega. He moved his hand so it was under Dean’s and rubbed lightly. Dean almost had to hold back a purr at how nice that felt.

“Yeah, I should,” Dean decided. Then he paused for a second, his brain trying to tell him something through his drunken haze. “Wait, gotta find an alpha to get pregnant.”

“I’m an alpha,” Cas suggested. Right now, Dean couldn’t think of a single alpha he’d rather have sex with, even Dr. Sexy.

“Hell yeah, Cas. Let’s make a baby.” Dean started fumbling with his shirt, and Cas let out a giggle.

“Sure are romantic,” Cas said, still giggling.

“Shut up and get naked,” Dean grumbled, before finally escaping from his shirts. Cas kept giggling, but he at least joined Dean in stripping.

Dean had turned around to slip out of his boxers, and when he turned back he was met with Cas in all his naked glory. “Daaaamn,” Dean let slip out, getting hard already. He’d been with a couple alphas in his time, but even the ones in the occasional skin mags he shoplifted when he was a teenager had nothing on the perfect specimen standing in front of him.

“You look beautiful,” Cas said in awe.

“Not so bad yourself,” Dean flirted back without thinking. He was still drunk enough that he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t slept with Cas before now. Whatever, they were about to have sex now, and that was all that mattered. He could feel his slick starting to leak out, and he noticed Cas carefully sniffing the air.

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments, before Dean finally broke the ice by sidling up to Cas and giving him the raunchiest kiss he was capable of. Unlike most people, Dean was just as an amazing kisser drunk as he was sober, so he had Cas hard and moaning in no time at all. He felt those rough hands everywhere on him, and he finally let out that purr of ecstasy. It had been a while since the omega had had any sex, and quite a bit longer since it had been with an alpha, and now that he was experiencing Cas he wasn’t sure he could ever go back to girls. Everything just felt so perfect, and they hadn’t even gone below the belt yet. Dean felt the slick dripping down his legs as Cas seemed to devour his mouth even harder.

When they pulled apart for air, since they were both currently human and that was unfortunately a necessity when you were smashed so close together, Dean moaned out “Fuck, Cas, need you so bad,” as Cas started sucking the sweetest, tiniest little kisses into his skin that would most likely fade by the morning, but would live in Dean’s mind for a hell of a lot longer than that..

“Need you too, Dean,” Cas murmured as he pushed them both down onto the bed.

The omega was already a mess, and they’d only just gotten to the point of frottage. Dean started to wonder if he’d even survive this. Then he felt Cas grab his dick, and thinking in general started to become impossible. He let out whimpers and moans that would put a porn star to shame, but the alpha only stroked faster. When Dean couldn’t take any more, he yelled “Fuck me, please?” He whimpered as that wonderful pressure left his dick, but went right back to moaning when he felt those missing fingers opening him up.

Cas’ mouth was crashing into Dean’s as the alpha finally breached his hole. The ex-angel swallowed the gasp of pleasure when he found that perfect little spot that made anal all worthwhile. All Dean could manage to do in return was keep up the kiss, and move his pelvis just enough for their erections to repeatedly brush together, electric jolts coming from both sides of the omega now.

Dean couldn’t honestly tell which way was up by the time he felt the pressure of fingers leaving him. “Cas,” he cried out pitifully.

“I’m here, Dean, I’ll take care of you,” Cas murmured softly next to his ear. Just as Dean was about to start whimpering pathetically again, he felt another pressure, much bigger than a finger now. The omega groaned as he took Cas’ entire length. At the alpha’s first thrust, Dean knew that he was now completely ruined for any other person, ever.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, because the pressure and the pleasure made any more words impossible for the omega at the moment.

“I’m here, Dean,” Cas murmured into Dean’s neck. Without even meaning to, the ex-angel had managed to immediately find the perfect combination of rough and gentle that had Dean nearly to orgasm before they’d really gotten started. But as if he knew exactly what Dean was thinking, Dean felt a controlling hand grab his dick mid-stroke, and felt it exert just enough pressure to keep him going longer.

Did angels have mind reading powers? Even when they weren’t angels any more? Cas slammed into Dean’s prostate even harder than before, and all thought was once again shoved from the omega’s mind, as well as a few debauched moans and a yelp or two from his mouth.

Cas picked up his pace, and Dean followed enthusiastically. There was something about this kind of sex that made even Dean’s insides shiver, and he wasn’t sure if it was really that mind blowing, or if it was just because it was Cas. Or maybe it was both?

As Cas’ thrusts began to lose their smooth rhythm, he released his hold on Dean’s dick. If ‘mind blowing’ were the words to describe it before, the sex had now reached epic proportions. The omega could barely breathe as waves of sensation hit him, and he only managed a strangled scream before he came, experiencing what might have been the best orgasm in the entire universe. Cas paused for barely a moment before thrusting even more frantically. As Dean felt the knot starting to catch on his rim, the alpha shoved his tongue into Dean’s mouth with an intensity that would’ve been considered violent in any other situation. In an indescribable amount of seconds, Cas shuddered once, twice, and then Dean could feel himself being filled in ways that no woman could ever satisfy the craving for.

Tied together for the foreseeable future, Cas all but fell on top of Dean. They were sticky, and sweaty, and Dean could only think of one single thing to say at a time like this: “I love you.”

Startled, Cas looked Dean in the eye in that soul searching way he had, angelic being or not, then smiled in a way that the hunter had never seen before, it was so joyous. “I love you too, Dean,” Cas whispered, cradling the omega in his arms. Sober Dean would never admit it, but drunk Dean was happy to snuggle into the post-coital cuddle session with a sigh of happiness. He’d just had amazing sex, with Cas no less, and his biological clock had been drowned out by the first touch of skin. In a still fairly drunken haze, he decided that life just didn’t get any better than this.

A few hours later, his head pounding and the world wobbling in a very unhappy way, Dean dragged himself out of bed after untangling himself from the chainsaw snoring ex-angel to take care of his ready-to-burst bladder. Ice picks were being driven into his frontal lobe by the time the omega returned from the bathroom. The world was made of pain and nausea, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever been this drunk before, or if he’d reached a new low.

“Dean?” Cas muttered sleepily from under the sheet that had ended up somehow on top of them at some point.

“Y’er too loud,” the omega grumbled, making a face at Cas to show his displeasure. “Sleep in your own damn bed.” Dean’s head was pounding so loudly that even the rustle of the sheets as Cas got out of bed hurt. The alpha quickly grabbed his scattered clothing as Dean further grumbled, now incoherently. Apparently mixing tequila, rum, whiskey, and vodka in the way they had earlier meant a very grumpy hungover hunter. He yanked on a random pair of boxers as Cas left, and promptly fell flat on his face on the bed, unconscious halfway down.

When he woke up next, the events of the night before were so fuzzy that Dean realized he’d finally hit the point of being a blackout drunk. He remembered Cas sharing a bottle of tequila with him, which was never a good idea, but after that it was completely blank.

Dean tried every trick he could think of to remember his way through the blackout, but by the time he was showered and looking vaguely human, he still had nothing. Then he finally saw his trash can, overflowing with empty bottles. It seemed almost impossible that he and Cas hadn't died of alcohol poisoning, but at the very least he understood now why he had blacked out like he did.

The smell of brewing coffee hit Dean then, and the hunter started towards it, almost floating in the air like a cartoon dog following the scent of pie. Actually, pie sounded really good right now. But coffee first.

Dean made a face at his brother as he wandered into the kitchen, still not awake enough for coherent thought. Instead, he just growled at Sam when the moose tried to start a conversation, then shambled over to the coffee maker, contemplating skipping the mug and just drinking straight from the pot itself. His first proper thought of the morning was Naw, too messy. He damn near chugged the first cup, used to the heat from so many years, so many decades on the road.

Halfway through his second cup, Dean finally felt more like a human and less like the king of hangovers. Sam must’ve picked up on his brother’s increasing mental capabilities, because he pulled the chair out from next to him and gave Dean a smile that screamed serious conversation. Dean rolled his eyes and reluctantly sat down.

“So, how’d the talk go last night?” He asked. “Before the drunk parts,” he added.

“Went fine,” Dean mumbled into his almost empty mug. He got up to get his third cup of caffeine, smiling at the look of impatience and frustration now on Sam’s face.

Sam was about to respond, when a crashing sound jolted them both out of whatever this barely conversation actually was. When they reached the hallway, where the noise had come from, they found Cas. He was beyond obviously hungover, only half awake, and lecturing one of the portraits leftover from the Men of Letters days that they never bothered to put away. It was on the floor, part of the frame broken, and Cas was telling it that it should know better than to get in his way so early in the morning (even though it was past ten by now).

Sam snorted into his hand, trying to not actually burst out laughing. Dean, on the other hand, just shrugged and went back to the table and his coffee. Grabbing the bottle of aspirin that they kept in the kitchen for exactly this reason, Dean downed a double dose and set the bottle on the table, because it looked like Cas was even more hungover than he was.

The sounds of Sam and Cas trying to fix the picture back onto the wall made Dean smile, then wince from the headache that was at least forty percent tequila. When the noise went on, Dean grabbed a second mug and poured some coffee for Cas. His brain was just awake enough for him to stir Cas’ cream and sugar into the coffee, scrunching his nose at the incredibly light brown color that the coffee had now become. He shrugged again, before taking the mug over to the table and setting it conveniently next to the aspirin.

When the other two finally reached the kitchen, Dean laughed when he heard what Cas was saying. “It attacked me first,” the ex-angel told Sam, repeatedly. He stopped to give Dean a death glare, then slumped into his chair. He groaned as he opened the aspirin bottle, then chucked back far more than the recommended dose, and followed it up with a huge gulp of cream and sugar with a little coffee in it.

Cas looked even grumpier when Dean stage whispered, “I believe you, Cas.” The wink and chuckle from the hunter didn’t exactly help, either.

“Okay, now you’re both… technically awake,” Sam started to say.

“Shh,” Cas said, interrupting Sam. He even put his finger to his lips. “Shh, coffee now. Shh.” Then he went back to staring at the wall, drinking his coffee in quick sips. It actually stunned Sam into silence, for which Dean was incredibly thankful.

Ten minutes and almost two pots of coffee later, Dean couldn’t come up with anything else to stall with, since he’d already asked Sam if he wanted breakfast and got an “After we talk,” in response. Cas mostly just looked constipated, his bed hair going so many different directions that it almost broke the laws of space and time.

“Okay,” Sam started, not even allowing a tiny bit of food first, which should be a crime as far as Dean was concerned. “Let’s just cut straight to the point, since you guys look more like zombies than most zombies do. Did you get any talking done before you got drunk?” He glared, mostly at his brother, like those strict old school marms running a single room of misbehaving kids would.

Dean rolled his eyes into the coffee cup, using it as desperately needed cover. Cas just yawned loudly in response.

Finally, after a very slow slurp of coffee, Dean shook his head, as emphatically as the shards of glass digging into his brain would allow. “Can’t remember a damn thing,” he said, somewhat proudly.

“Seriously?” Sam asked in disbelief. His brother’s nod looked authentic. “What about you, Cas?” He tried, hoping for better odds of the ex-angel remembering something.

Cas screwed up his face in deep concentration, his nose all scrunched up like an angry kitten’s. And no matter how much you bribed him with, Dean would never, ever admit to having thought that comparison. Obviously, he was still at least a teensy bit drunk. Obviously.

When Cas finally spoke, Dean made sure to pay attention, because maybe the guy could remember at least something about last night. Even a five second clip reel would be better than total emptiness.

“There was… Dean had said he wasn’t drunk enough for the conversation, so I decided to make him drunk enough,” Cas said, pausing for a few moments to try and get a better picture of the events. “It involved my drinking as well, though. There was… Great amounts of alcohol, then nothing until I woke up in my bed feeling as if Crowley had lined up this headache as a personal punishment just for me.”

Dean let out a snort. “If hangovers were Crowley’s doing, I’m pretty he’d’ve gotten way more promotions by now,” he quipped, happy that at last some of his brain was starting to work again. Then he winced as another giant ice pick rammed itself right into his cerebellum. So much for that.

Sam let out a tortured sigh as he slowly shook his head in annoyance and momentary defeat. “I just wanted to get this all figured out, and all you guys did was get drunk and party.” He let out another, longer sigh. “I was seriously worried about you, Dean. I wanted to help you. But…”

Dean quickly sobered up in a completely different way. “I know, Sammy, and I’m sorry. It’s just… just something I really didn’t want to talk about, is all.”

“Are you just going to go right back to killing your liver?” Sam looked dejected almost, hurt by Dean’s unintentionally selfish behavior. Selfish behavior that Dean could now see for what it was.

“Actually,” Dean said slowly, repeatedly checking to see if he was about to tell the truth, “I’m feeling pretty okay now, except for this hangover from Hell’s scarier neighbor.” He nodded after he finished, knowing it to actually be true now. There was no ticking, no alarms blaring in ways that could be used in torturing spies for information. Hell, his brain and body were almost acting like all that crazy had never happened. Dean shrugged, both physically and mentally. At least all that baby obsession crap was finally over and done with. He had probably just had to wait it out. He gave his brother a real smile, which Sam happily returned.

Cas, on the other hand, was staring into his empty coffee mug, complaining in what could only be Enochian. One look at his intense face made both brothers crack up, which only made Cas complain into his mug louder. And while he couldn’t speak Enochian, Dean at least recognized a few angel swears in there. It was probably funnier in Enochian, though.

It wasn’t until after lunch that Dean’s head declared a truce from the atomic war that had been ravaging his poor little neurons since waking up. Now that the worst of the pain was over, he decided that the Impala needed a bath, since that was probably the only activity he could do right now that didn’t involve loud noises or a bunch of tedious book reading. Unfortunately, Sam was observant, and caught Dean’s escape to his most common avoidance method.

“Dean,” Sam called out from the other end of the garage.

Dean grimaced and muttered a drawn out, “Son of a bitch.” He threw the sponge back in the bucket of soapy water, Baby still completely dry, and turned to glower at his brother. Sam may be the emotional firing squad, but damn if Dean was going out complacently. Even if the human-baby mania thing was already dead and gone.

“Dean,” Sam repeated as he reached his brother. “You might not remember anything from your party for two, but can you at least tell me why you were doing all that drinking beforehand?” He gave his brother the Sam Winchester Puppy Dog Eyes (patent pending), which was Dean’s kryptonite at least sixty percent of the time.

The omega finally let out a truly tortured sigh. If they’d used this tactic in Hell, Dean figured he would’ve broken at least a decade earlier. “Fine Sammy,” Dean started, running his hand through his hair nervously. When those alarm bells were clanging twenty four seven, he’d have rather been actually tortured than tell anybody. But now that they were gone?

“It was,” Dean tried starting again. It was like the words were sticking in his throat. He coughed to clear out those sticky words, and finally managed to speak his confessional to a literal brother. “It was this, this omega thing,” he badly explained. “That was why I said you couldn’t understand it.”

Sam looked properly confused. “Wait, like your heat was hitting more often or something?”

“No, it was,” Dean tried to continue, getting more frustrated by the minute, mostly at himself. “That damn biological clock thing, it was kicking my ass with happy unicorn fairies on baby clothes and all the other stuff those things need for a bunch of years.” Then Dean waited for the bomb to fully drop.

It took a few seconds to sink in, but when it did, Sam started laughing loudly and expressively. Bomb has successfully reached its target. “So you just wanted a pup? Dude, that was in no way worth all that alcohol you drank.” He stopped talking to laugh some more.

If looks could kill, Sam would be so dead that even God couldn’t bring him back. But Dean had to just settle with the most extreme death glare humanly possible. “I told you you wouldn’t get it,” Dean hissed. He turned back to the soapy water and already basically clean car, trying to ignore the impossible-to-ignore laugh track. He should’ve known better than to tell Sam. Hell, until now he had known better. Maybe all that alcohol had the right idea.

“Maybe we could get you a puppy?” Sam suggested, still giggling. “You can pretend to be its mommy.” He was enjoying this line of teasing far too much for Dean’s liking.

“You’re the one that wants a damn puppy,” Dean loudly grumbled, wiping the soapy sponge across the Impala’s back window a bit more roughly than necessary.

“True,” Sam conceded with a smirk. “How about a baby doll, then? They have those ones that look exactly like a real pup.” It was so rare that Sam got to tease his brother this much, and he was milking it for all that it was worth.

“Sam,” Dean finally growled. “I can and will hurt you if you don’t shut your trap right now and freaking keep it shut.” And apparently the growling worked, because Sam finally let up.

Before leaving, though, he placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Sorry about that, it was just too good to resist.” He squeezed Dean’s shoulder a little, trying to be reassuring. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting kids, you just didn’t seem the type to be so overcome, you know?”

“I had to be tough to take care of you,” Dean let out against his will. The want-baby hormones were no longer kicking his emotional ass, but they’d been replaced by over-sentimentality, which was almost worse. Ugh. “Dad always told me that,” he added, softly.

Sam pulled him into an extra sappy brotherly hug, which, given the circumstances and the conversational topic, Dean would have allowed anyway. “He did a real number on us both, didn’t he?”

Dean let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed, hugging back just as sappily. This chick flick moment was one that would always be allowed.

When they broke apart, Sam patted Dean on the shoulder, finally starting to get a little too touchy feely. “Well, as long as that stuff’s over now, everything can go back to normal, right?”

“Sure,” Dean said with an actual laugh this time. “Back to almost getting our asses killed on a regular basis by freaky ass monsters that never should’ve existed in the first place.”

Sam echoed his brother’s laugh. “Yep, same old same old.”

Dean smiled as he watched his not-so-little brother walk away. It was a damn good thing that this whole mess was over and done with finally. Though his stomach wasn’t all that happy with him after all that alcohol last night. After seeing the overflowing trash can, it was almost to be expected. But otherwise, over and done with.

That stomachache stayed with Dean, even after the usual hangover limit of two or three days. He didn’t bother telling anybody about it, though, because he just assumed that it was his body’s revenge from him trying to pickle it. When the actual morning sickness started, he was far enough back into his denial to think it was just some minor food poisoning.

But, obviously, it wasn’t.