Supernatural, John & Baby Dean, first touch of snow

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Mary had barely finished wrapping Dean in layer upon layer of clothes and bundled him into the thickest coat John had ever seen on a baby. His baby boy was still grinning though, little arms and legs waving back and forth stiffly in the air, reminding John of nothing more than an offspring of the Michelin man.

Mary stood back for an instant, her gaze assessing as if wondering whether to take off the outer clothes and try to cram yet another layer beneath them or whether to just refuse to let Dean out of the door. John couldn't stand the excitement any longer and swept in to take hold off his beautiful baby boy, relishing the giggles. He was glad they'd taken this trip to visit friends further north up near the Canadian border, and more than grateful that winter had lingered. Life with a baby was a journey of new experiences, John had discovered the world was an awesome place when explored with his son.

He carried Dean tucked in safely to his chest, a quick reminder to his wife to bring the camera and he was already heading for the front door. Sweeping out on to the porch, he heard Dean's breath catch in the cold, his tiny baby hands bat against his father's chest and when he looked down he half expected to find himself turning to go back inside but already Dean's soft smile was back, his breathing fine as if he was already adjusting. John was sure it was just his own imagination that ready eager anticipation in his son's eyes as if he knew his Daddy was taking him to learn something new.

He heard Mary close the front door behind him, heard her worried, "Is he alright? He's not too cold, is he?"

John brought a finger up to caress his son's cheek, laughing as tiny hands batted at his and said softly, "You're not too cold, Deano, are you, my boy? You're ready to have some fun!"

Mary was at his side, peering past his arm to check anxiously on her son as if not entirely sure that her husband was telling the truth. They walked together down the path and into the sheltered garden. "Maybe we shouldn't have come," Mary said. "I don't want him to catch a cold."

"We'd have missed the wedding if we didn't come and Dean's fine," John reassured softly. "His momma wrapped him up all nice and warm and we'll take him back inside soon. For now let's just enjoy the fact it's dry, this lovely snow while we've got the chance." John picked his way carefully to the bench and lowered himself and his precious burden down, turning Dean to face out into the garden, watching as his son seemed to soak up everything around him.

Mary sat down beside him, "It's cold though, John and he's still so tiny."

"Does he look worried? Trust me, it's just a few minutes . . . otherwise we have to wait almost a year for this."

"For what?" she asked.

"For Dean finding out what snow is," John said, his voice filled with awe.

"He'll have forgotten by next year," Mary smiled back.

"Even better, means we get this twice!" John laughed. Dean turned at the sound of his father's laughter, patting his hands together until John lifted his up, resting his feet on his own thighs and bouncing his son up and down to a chorus of laughter.

Moments later and Dean's attention was on something past John's shoulder, his hand reaching out as John laid him against his chest so he could reach the back of the bench. Tiny hands reached out for the fresh white powder lying there, only to draw back startled at the cold. It didn't take long for Dean to reach out again, this time his fist closed round a small handful of snow, bringing it back in towards him, only to mash it against his father's cheek, while the tiny icicles caught in the hint of stubble until they melted and ran down to drip back on to Dean's hand where it rested back on John's shoulder.

Mary laughed and watched as Dean repeated the process. "Just you wait, young man! Your Daddy will get his own back when you're bigger. There'll be snowballs all over the place."

At the sound of his mother's voice, Dean reached for her and she took him from John's hands as her husband wiped the last of the melting snow from his cheek. He reached for the camera, taking the shot as his boy buried his cold pink nose into the warmth of his mother's neck. It was a memory John would always treasure even if Dean was too young to ever remember it and next year, they could find some more snow and make some more memories, just as precious as these.

Author's Note : Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this little ficlet. x