You spent hours in the kitchen, hunched over the cake you were decorating. It wasn’t perfect, but it was very Dean. The base was chocolate and you decorated it with little plastic figurines a tiny Impala, a toy gun, and even a salt shaker made from fondant. When Dean came into the kitchen and saw it, he stopped in his tracks. “What the hell is that?” he asked, but the laughter in his voice told you he wasn’t mad. “It’s your birthday cake,” you said proudly, holding up a knife. “Want the first slice?” Dean stepped closer, eyeing the cake with a mix of amusement and appreciation. “Is that… a tiny Impala?” You nodded. “And look—” You pointed to the frosting words scrawled across the top: ‘Happy Birthday, Jerk.’ Dean let out a genuine laugh, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He leaned down, kissing your forehead. “Thanks, sweetheart.” When you started slicing the cake, Dean swiped some frosting with his finger and smeared it on your cheek. “Whoops,” he said with a grin, licking the rest off his finger