It’s sometime past dawn when Dean stumbles into the kitchen, clad in his hot dog pajama pants, soft blue robe hanging open. He isn’t fully awake and is heinously grumpy, but the absence in the bed next to him annoys him more than the need for more sleep. Dean Winchester, cuddleslut, who knew, right?
The kitchen is filled with soft sunlight and Dean can see that the coffee maker in the corner is full and maybe he won’t commit mariticide this morning. His favorite mug, a good omens mug with a winged handle, is sitting next to the coffee maker and lifts Dean’s mood even more. The kitchen tiles, loving installed, are cold against his feet. He still hasn’t learned to put his slippers on this early.
He fills the mug, steam unfurling, and heads through the house to the doors to the back porch. The sky is a pale blue, the early morning fog lingering and there is a bit in the air. He curls up in one of the outdoor armchairs, tucking his chilly feet under him and stares into the backyard.
Down the small set of steps and past a lovingly tended to garden, Cas is sitting on the grass, surrounded by their small flock of chickens getting caught up on the morning’s gossip. His dark hair is mussed and he’s wrapped in a fleece jacket as his sits crossed legged, a chicken cuddled into his lap, hand softly stroking her. Cas is mostly human now, but that doesn’t stop him from listening to the chickens cluck like he understands every word.
It’s a scene that has become familiar to Dean and comforting, even if it means his husband abandons their marriage bed at the asscrack of dawn, which pulls Dean from his sleep. It is a sign that they have made it, survived Chuck’s plans and can choose this domesticity. Later, Dean will get dressed and drive to the auto restoration shop he runs, and Cas will settle in their library doing research for hunters on the job. Later Dean will come home early, with ingredients for a new recipe for pie and cook dinner in his proper kitchen. Later, they’ll facetime Eileen and Sam, and argue about the dishes in the sink.
But for now he sips his coffee and watches as his husband carefully removes the chicken from his lap and stands, smiling at Dean.
“Forget your slippers, again?” Cas asks as he picks up a basket of eggs and climbs the stairs to Dean, like they don’t have this conversation every morning.
Dean blinks at him and extends a foot to where Cas is waiting, a pair of fuzzy socks withdrawn from his pocket.
“You are ridiculous.” Cas chides as he rolls the sock up over Dean’s foot.
Dean points to his coffee and changes feet to let the other get covered.
Cas finishes and carefully drops into Dean’s lap, head nestled under Dean’s chin.
Dean just drinks his coffee and smiles.