The clock struck midnight.

Dean Winchester lay wide awake beside you, watching the red digits tick over with the kind of anticipation most men reserved for Christmas morning. The room was dim, the only light coming from the bedside clock and the faint glow of the moon slipping through the curtains.

When it hit 12:00, he grinned... boyish, proud, and completely in love. He reached over, brushing his fingers through your hair before whispering softly, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he murmured. “One whole year of you puttin’ up with me. Guess that makes you a miracle worker.”

He kissed your temple, lingered for a heartbeat… and then the stillness broke.

Dean sat up, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as excitement sparked in his green eyes. He looked down at you, trying to stay calm for all of five seconds before he started bouncing lightly on the bed, unable to contain himself.

“You remember what you said?” he asked, grin wide, voice bubbling with energy. “You said one year, and we could talk about it.”

He laughed quietly, rubbing his hands together like a kid with a secret. “Well, sweetheart, it’s officially been a year. So… can we talk about a baby now?”

His voice softened but his whole body was still humming with that infectious energy, hope, nerves, joy.

“I’m serious. You and me? We’d make a damn good team. Little Winchester runnin’ around, maybe with your smile or maybe my smart mouth, God help us.”