Epilogue

There was a change in Dean after that night, though Castiel was unsure if he was the only one who actually saw the shift, at least at first. He could not pinpoint specifically what had caused it, if it was the reassurances from Azrael that Johnny would be safe and the boy could neither be taken away from nor given away by his fathers, if it was Castiel's easy forgiveness, or if it had been the adult version of Johnny. Maybe it was the young version, the one who was so quick to smile at his Daddy, snuggle against him, and call out for him when the night terrors inevitably came.

Castiel had feared that those night terrors would bring only guilt for Dean, and they had and still did at times, but they also brought out the hunter's protective streak. In the same way Dean could not believe anyone could protect Sam better than he, the man was beginning to really believe he was the best guardian for Johnny, save for Castiel, perhaps.

Dean had also become more tactile over the last few weeks. The small touches became more frequent, and the hunter had taken to eating meals at home with a hand resting on the angel's knee. In public, even if public consisted only of Sam or Bobby, he was not as demonstrative as he was in private. The touches then barely went beyond the casual, and only a trained eye could tell they were signs of affection between these two men.

Yet, if Castiel chose to initiate more, he was never rebuffed. Kisses, hugs, cuddling had all become acceptable public behavior, even if family or strangers were nearby. The very tips of Dean's ears still turned red out of his own self awareness and embarrassment, but the angel found it surprisingly endearing.

Though hunting continued, Dean began to get more mechanic work, which interfered with completing the work on the Valiant. Castiel was growing concerned that Mr. Helmsworth would not take to the extended delay on the vehicle. However, Dean appeared to be intentionally placing the car at the bottom of his "to-do" list. When Castiel asked about it, Dean had told him that he was waiting on a part to arrive, and though the angel could instantly spot it for the lie it was, he also recognized that it was not malicious. Neither brought up the car again until the summer heat had nearly passed and September had finally come.

"I have something I want to show you," Dean said, as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Castiel agreed to go along, in part because Sam had taken Johnny for some "Uncle-nephew bonding" and Bobby was again staying at Jody's house, which was becoming more common of late. Castiel had also been missing Dean—and Johnny as well, though they had spent the entire day together just yesterday. With his "real" job making demands of his time, Dean had been forced to let Castiel and Sam go on a hunt together, though not without much protesting, and they had been away for three days.

The hunt had required use of the amulet, leaving Castiel unable to to just pop home, and he had been further disappointed to find that Dean had very little free time yesterday to spend with Castiel. He had been in the garage all day until the point of exhaustion. Dean had, at least, listened and smiled and kissed the angel while he explained that the siren they had been hunting had been sorely disappointed to realize that Castiel's tastes were very specific and it could not trick him into any form of saliva exchange.

The story had not, to the angel's consternation, brought out Dean's possessive side, and he had frustratingly continued his work, leaving Castiel leaning against the side of the Valiant as Dean labored on.

So, when Castiel saw Dean extending a hand to him and waiting for the angel to take it, he did, but not without feeling both pleased and further confused by Dean's actions.

"Sorry I was sort of absent yesterday," Dean said. "But I really wanted to get a few things done. I still can't believe the siren actually went for you, knowing you were an angel." And there was that possessiveness—though thankfully not jealousy because Dean knew better—that Castiel had been secretly hoping for.

"The siren saw me as a challenge, and the most destructive tool it could have in its arsenal. It tried flirting with me in so many forms, and finally in yours. As though I wouldn't see right through that."

"It probably didn't count on you knowing me inside and out," Dean said as he led them through the salvage yard and along a small dirt road.

"I imagine not."

Then they stopped and Dean gestured with a flourish to the completed Valiant. The pearlescent paint job gleaned in the noon sun. Though the car would soon be given to the woman it it had first belonged to, Castiel was still drawn to the oddly shaped car.

The interior was a shade of green that Dean had, with a disgusted curl of his lips, called seafoam, but the seats were a richer green with white at the edges. None were quite the mossy shade that Castiel had grown to appreciate, but the rich, vibrant color did elicit thoughts of their son's bright eyes.

"Want to take it for a spin?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded and started to walk to the passenger side. A gentle but firm hand on his arm stopped him, and he realized belatedly that he was being handed the keys.

"I can't," Castiel said. "What if I wreck it? What will Mr. Helmsworth say?"

"I'll fix it again if you do. And he won't care. It turns out his wife hasn't exactly been faithful, so he wanted to see if I could help him find a buyer. I did."

Castiel was not unintelligent by any means, but he struggled when things made no logical sense. Like they did just now. There was a simple solution right in front of him, he knew, but it had one major stumbling block: "But you hate this car."

"And you like it. That's what mattered." Dean placed the keys in Castiel's hadn and folded the angel's fingers around them. "I finished the Camero early and had finally gotten the last of the parts for this. I was pushing to get it finished yesterday."

Castiel opened the driver's door and waited for Dean to take his spot beside him to instruct him on what to do.

#

Though the car had been a pretty obvious romantic gesture on his part, teaching Cas to drive, even on a deserted road, without losing his patience was not easy. Cas was no driver, not yet, and Dean had stomped on the floor a few times wishing he had installed a secondary brake pedal.

When his nerves couldn't take any more, he told Cas to pull over and put the car in park. Dean cursed those damned big blue eyes as they looked at him apologetically. With Cas, Sam, and Johnny now all capable of giving him a look resembling a kicked puppy, Dean knew he was screwed.

The car lurched to a stop as it was put in ger before being properly stopped with the brakes. "You'll get the hang of it eventually. It takes time." He placed his hand at the back of the angel's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. "But this looks like as good a spot as any."

"For what?" Cas asked, breath tickling over Dean's lips.

He opened the door and noted with some satisfaction that his partner lurched forward when he moved. Apparently Cas hadn't wanted to break the contact between them. The angel did amazing things for Dean's pride, even if his fearless PDAs were sometimes a little embarrassing.

Dean walked around to the back of the car, pulling out his familiar keyring—with its two new keys attached and opened the trunk to remove the old metal cooler and a relatively clean canvas tarp. Maybe he should have gotten a quilt and done this "right," but he didn't see the sense in getting a good blanket dirty.

He began to spread the tarp on the ground, when Cas seemed to get the idea and help. "This is a picnic," he said more than asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Nothing special. Just some beer, some pie, and a couple of sandwiches. If that's okay."

"I have no need to eat, so anything would be enjoyable."

Dean smirked. "Does that mean I can have your pie?" he asked as he opened the cooer and twisted the top off of one of the beers.

"Not on your life," Cas said as he took the beer from Dean and settled down onto the paint and grease-splattered tarp. "Am I to assume that you had a hand in sending everyone away today?"

"I might've, though sending Bobby to Jody's isn't exactly a hardship. He's apparently got a drawer at her place."

"Making room for another's clothing holds special significance?" Cas asked with that little quirk of his head. He was probably already putting the pieces together that Dean had done the same for him long before anything had actually happened between them.

"Yeah. It usually happens before people move in together," Dean said, turning to the cooler to avoid Cas's curious stare. "Or just that they're making room in their life for you. Something like that." He vaguely remembered sitting in a hospital waiting room once reading an old edition of Cosmo that had said something like that. He didn't like sounding like Cosmo. Or admitting even internally he'd read it.

"Oh." That was all the angel had to say on the matter, but when Dean handed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, because the dude was a sugar fiend and would be unimpressed by ham and cheese, he saw a contented little smile on Cas's face. And, yeah, it felt really nice to know he'd put it there.

"This is very nice," Cas said after they sat in silence leaning against the cooler and finishing up their sandwiches.

"Yeah. It is." His hand found Cas's and they just sat there, finishing their pie and listening to the sounds of the steady South Dakota winds.

Dean's ears picked up on a low rumble and he soon saw a black car approaching in the distance. He knew Baby's engine anywhere, but he didn't know why it was coming here when Sam was supposed to have Johnny for at least another hour. The Impala was there soon enough, parked by the blasphemous thing he'd bought and worked on because he loved the stupid angel. He could appreciate that the pearl white looked cool next to the black, but it was still a Valiant.

Cas was already on his feet, worried something was wrong with their boy.

When the motor cut, Dean could hear Johnny crying and he was nearly as quick to his feet and the door as Cas. Sam hopped out of the car. "He's running a fever, probably from teething." They had done this two weeks ago. "But he was calling out for you two."

Both parents took a side of the car and hopped in the back with their boy. Dean pressed a hand to Johnny's forehead, noting that he was still warm but sticky with sweat, the fever had broken, at least. Dean watched Cas hesitate to touch Johnny. He was trying to resist his instinct to heal him. They'd agreed, the angel reluctantly doing so, to allow Johnny to occasionally get sick and deal with the non-threatening childhood illnesses to let his immune system do what it was supposed to and help him develop without the belief he was invincible.

They proceeded to smother him in comforting touches and kisses. Dean felt a pat on his back. "Take him home. I'll get everything cleaned up here and take the Valiant home," Sam said. With a quick change of keys, Sam led the parents back to the house in the odd white car.

And if Dean heard Cas whisper, "Well, I can make you feel a little better, and we don't have to tell Daddy," he didn't say a word. He didn't like seeing Johnny in pain any more than Cas did. And when he caught Cas's eyes in the rearview mirror while the angel was trying to find out if he'd been caught, Dean just smiled.

#

It's been about two decades since the "Winchester Gospel" came to a close, ending on a note nearly as ambiguous as "And they lived happily ever after." Some of that, I always understood. The fates of my family as well as Lucifer and Michael were better left unpublished. I have picked up the pen instead, perhaps to become the author of the future's version of the gnostic gospels or Dead Sea Scrolls. Who knows?

I just didn't feel like my family's story was done. When they came to visit me today at school looking so young, so stunned, I was reminded that my parents had sacrificed a hell of a lot to get me here, to get everyone here. All of that was still very fresh on their young faces, and seeing that made me pick up the pen again, even after chewing them both out for the lack of warning.

I pull up to the front of the only house I've ever known, technically out of the Sioux Falls limits, yet considered as much a part of it as the town hall—that tends to happen when a person not only has a thriving business, but saves the city a few dozen times. The familiar signs of the white picket fence and manicured law greet me, and I see the sign over the now quite large garage and smile. "Singer Salvage and Winchester Auto Repair." Dad, along with Tad helping with some of the books, has been managing things for years, but the sign remains the same.

There is a light on in the garage, probably my cousin putting in a late shift because that type A personality couldn't stand leaving anything unfinished, and we'll all just ignore the oil and smudges at dinner because "There's no point in going crazy with the shower because I'm going right back to finish once I've eaten" or "You wanted me here, right? It would have taken too long to shower and get here. I'll be cleaned up tomorrow, though. I swear."

I walk up to the front of the house and open the door with the key I'll never relinquish. I look into my parents' livingroom to find them curled up on the sofa together, watching the television. It looks like Tad has won the battle over what is on the TV, given it is a documentary, but perhaps that was the consolation prize, because Dad is too busy staring at my baby daughter asleep against his chest.

I want to give them hell, I really do, but not now. Maybe it is the fact we are headed to my rehearsal dinner in an hour that has me feeling so sentimental, looking at these two men who have been together for the last two and a half decades. Maybe it's the fact that my Dad is busy playing with the small hand wrapped around his finger and my Tad has one of his hands moving through brown hair that is slowly turning a steely gray while watching them. I will give them hell later, just not in front of my future father-in-law—Ramona and Fallyn are already way too familiar with our family to care about something as minor as time travel.

Eventually, the good doctor will understand, too. Winchester weird takes some time getting used to, but soon enough you realize it's pretty fucking awesome.

"We're all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you've been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there's no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn't until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we're ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you're looking for. You're looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, "This is the problem I want to have." Galway Kinnell