Dean rarely got to sleep in, so you let him. You tiptoed around the kitchen, cooking his favorite breakfast crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes with syrup. By the time you carried the tray to his room, the smell must’ve woken him up because he was already sitting up, hair messy, rubbing his eyes. “Hm?” he mumbled. “Breakfast in bed,” you said, setting the tray on his lap. “Happy birthday, Dean.” He looked at the food, then at you, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You really went all out, huh?” “Only the best for you.” Dean picked up a piece of bacon, chewing thoughtfully. “You know,” he said, swallowing, “I could get used to this.” He set the tray aside and pulled you onto the bed next to him. “What about your breakfast?” you asked, laughing as he nuzzled into your neck. “It can wait,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “This is all I really want right now.”