The smell of coffee woke you, only wasn’t the weak motel sludge you’d spent years surviving on. You pushed yourself up carefully, hand resting on the gentle swell of your stomach. The baby had started kicking at night, little flutters that kept you awake, but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything. Not after everything you and Dean had been through to get here.

Dean stood in the kitchen in a well-worn gray shirt and sweatpants, hair still messy, cradling a mug in one hand while the other flipped pancakes at the stove. His broad back shifted under the thin cotton, and you couldn’t help smiling. He looked so happy.

“Morning, baby,” he said without turning.

“Morning, lieutenant,” you responded, leaning against the counter.

Dean had followed his childhood dream of becoming a firefighter soon after you retired from hunting. He loved it... and you loved seeming him so happy.

Dean grinned, setting the spatula down to come kiss you. His lips were warm, coffee-sweet. “You should still be asleep,” he murmured. “Baby's probably tired."

“I’ll sleep when she does,” you responded, rubbing your belly.

“She?” His eyes lit up, playful. “Oh, so now it’s a girl?”

You shrugged and nodded, and it made him smile brilliantly. He set you up with a plate of breakfast. You let him fuss over you, loving every second of it. The Dean Winchester you first met was all hard edges, but this Dean, the one who made you coffee every morning and rubbed your swollen ankles at night, was the real him.

The sound of a screen door creaking open interrupted breakfast, followed by Sam’s voice calling from next door.

“Dean! Gonna return my lawnmower or what?”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Guy moves in next door and suddenly thinks he’s HOA president.”

Sam stepped into the kitchen and shook his head, amused. "I came over 'cause Eileen wants to meet up with your wife later. Getting my mower back was just a bonus."

You smiled, already looking forward to sitting with her on the porch swing, swapping stories about pregnancy cravings and baby names.

The brothers went out back to get the lawnmower, joking and shoving each other along the way. When Dean came back in, he muttered, “Betcha five bucks he’s keepin’ track of every damn tool in his garage just so he can call me out.”

“You love it,” you said, nudging him with your foot under the table.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean tried to play it off, but the truth was clear in his eyes: he did love it. He loved the normalcy, the neighbors, the shared meals, the late-night barbecues in Sam and Eileen’s yard. After a lifetime of motels and monster hunts, he loved being part of a family that wasn’t always one step away from breaking.

After breakfast, Dean insisted on driving you into town. The Impala gleamed in the driveway, still his pride and joy, though now there were baby books scattered in the back seat, an emergency hospital bag tucked where he used to keep salt rounds and shotguns, and a brand new car seat waiting to be installed. He opened the passenger door for you, his hand warm and steady as he helped you in.

“You’re hovering,” you teased as he buckled the seatbelt for you.

“Damn right I am,” he shot back. “Got two girls to look out for now.”

The rest of the day was filled with little moments that stitched themselves into the fabric of your new life: Baby shopping and stopping by the station and cooking with Eileen; Dean resting his hand over your belly as you sat on the porch swing together at dusk; laughter spilling from both houses as the four of you shared dinner outside, fireflies blinking in the warm night air.

And later, when the stars were out and the neighborhood was quiet, you found yourselves in bed. Dean curled around you protectively, his hand splayed over your stomach.

He swallowed, his green eyes glassy. “I didn’t think guys like me… we didn’t get happy endings. Not the white picket fence. Not the wife. Not the kid.” His voice cracked. “But I want you to know, I’m not takin’ any of this for granted. Not for one damn second.”