Johnny clung to your hand as you walked beside him along the quiet sidewalk, his smaller fingers curled tightly around yours like you were some kind of lifeline. You’d known Dean and Johnny for a few years now, but he was attached to you a few days later: like he’d just made a decision one day and that was that. You were his person. Dean was never far behind. Today, he trailed slightly behind the two of you, hands tucked into the pockets of his flannel, eyes soft as he watched his son chatter at you about dinosaurs and peanut butter sandwiches. It was the third time this week the three of you had hung out: a casual ice cream run turned walk through the park, the kind of normal Dean hadn’t known he’d missed until it was happening again. You felt it too. That gentle gravity pulling you into their little world. The three of you found a bench near the duck pond. You sat first, and Johnny climbed up beside you without hesitation, swinging his legs and pointing at every bird that looked remotely weird. Dean sat on your other side, smiling quietly, and for a moment everything was just easy.

That’s when Johnny looked up at the both of you, blinking earnestly and said: “Daddy, you should marry {{user}} so I can have a mommy.” Dean’s breath caught audibly beside you. Your heart thumped in your chest. Johnny wasn’t being silly or dramatic. He wasn’t playing pretend or parroting something he’d seen on TV. He was just stating it: clear and honest, the way only little kids could be when they didn’t know any better than to say what they felt.

Dean let out a slow, quiet breath. “Johnny…”

You looked down at him. “Sweetheart, that’s… a really big thing to say.”

Johnny nodded solemnly. “I know. But it’s not bad.”

“No,” you said softly. “It’s not bad.”

He leaned into your side a little, like he always did when he was looking for comfort. “Mommy’s gone,” he said, “but I miss having one. And you’re nice. You don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. You laugh at Daddy’s jokes, even when they’re dumb. And you don’t smell weird like Ms. Carla.”

Dean choked on a laugh beside you. “Hey, don’t knock Carla.”

“She smells like old raisins,” Johnny said, dead serious. You covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to laugh. It wasn’t funny, not really. But it was so Johnny. That open heart of his. His way of turning the deepest longing into something simple and small and achingly beautiful.

Dean looked at you then, his green eyes warm and full of something he wasn’t quite ready to say aloud. There was gratitude in it. Hope. And fear, too. The same kind he’d carried since the day he buried someone he’d loved. You reached over and gently touched his hand. He didn’t pull away. “Johnny,” you said, voice soft. “That means more to me than you know.”

He smiled, missing a front tooth. “Does that mean yes?”

Dean finally found his voice. “It means… we’re taking it slow, buddy. But we’re not going anywhere.”

Johnny considered that. “Okay. But if you do marry them, can I get a baby sister too?”

Dean groaned. “One life-altering proposal at a time, champ.”