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Jack has a way of making Dean do things he doesn't want to, he's got it from his papa, he thinks with an exasperated fondness. Right now, it's Jack asking all of them to make wishes as he blows the four candles and a slightly bigger 4-shaped candle, one for everyone present at the breakfast table.
Jack puffs his face and with a gravitas of a four year old set to make his birthday wish, blows the bigger candle out. He signals at Cas to go next, and Cas closes his eyes and blows his candle. There’s a small indulging smile on his face when he opens his eyes, and he looks at Dean, the smile growing and Dean mirroring it back. How the fuck he got so damn lucky, he’ll never know. And that’s okay.
Eileen goes next, and she ruffles Jack’s hair after she makes her wish. Dean nudges Sam to go next, and he does, tucking his hair behind his ear and pressing his lips together as he murmurs something inaudible.
Dean’s turn, and everyone’s looking at him expecting, so Dean complies. He bends forward, looking up at Cas and then Sammy, both watching him with a fondness that warms his insides, and then catches Jack’s eye, who is beaming at him.
The thing is, Dean’s not sure what he wants to wish for. He’s got everything he wants right here, and he’s content. He really is. But then again, he knows that’s not what this is about. It goes a little deeper. He’s self-aware like that.
Now that all the candles are blown, and Jack has fed each of them a piece of cake, Dean starts plating the pancakes. Behind him he hears Eileen swipe some frosting off the cake and smear it on Jack’s face, followed by Sam tutting. There’s a shriek of glee not seconds later, and Dean looks back to see Jack’s little palm covered with blue frost and an imprint on Sam’s cheek.
A chuckling Cas stands beside him, filling three mugs with coffee and two glasses with a green and an orange juice respectively. And Dean thinks.
Dean thinks that perhaps, this was worth it all. Well, maybe not, but he’s happy, he really is. The kind of happy he never thought he would be. The kind of happy that he’d never known to exist. He hardly remembers his birthdays from when he had a family, and he’s not sure he wants to try, not when it’s all bitter no sweet. But he remembers trying to celebrate Sam’s birthdays.
He remembers saving up on food money by eating less in the last weeks of April so he could get Sam a present and something other than boxed mac 'n cheese for dinner. He remembers Sam tearing up after he hastily tore open the newspaper wrapped package and out came a book Dean sneaked in from the library a town ago. He remembers being drunk after John shoved him out of the motel room when he came between him and Sam. He remembers palming the bruise on his bicep as he follows after Sam, meek yet unafraid, and Dean patted his cheek.
“Leave if you gotta leave. Go,” he remembers saying and he remembers spending the next week lurking outside the Stanford campus, not brave enough to find Sam and give him the package tied with yellow paper.
He remembers so much; after all that has happened, he thought maybe these memories will never see the face of the earth, and yet, here he is.
No, actually, he corrects himself, here he is, cutting pancakes into stars and flowers with a cookie cutter. Here he is, in a kitchen that is his, with people he would die for, but doesn’t need to anymore, sharing home-made cake and breakfast and making wishes. Here he is, raising a kid who loves being spoiled as much as he loves spoiling him, and here he is, watching Sammy making moon eyes at his wife. Here he is, brushing his shoulders with his husband, his best friend.
He is here, and he wants to remember.
“Dean?” Cas shakes him out of his reverie. “Are you okay?”
Dean smiles. “Very.”
“Do you know what I wished for Eween?” Jack asks, spearing strawberries on his fork as Cas cuts his pancakes into bite sized pieces. He continues, not waiting for an answer. “I wished for a baby lee-phant like Dumbo so I can show Miss. Amy that lee-phants can fly! What’ju wish for?”
Eileen grins. “I wished for a crime podcast free spotify.”
Jack hums, as if that’s a valid enough wish, and looks up at Dean. “Dee?”
“Huh?”
“What’ju wish-” breaking off when Cas pushes a forkful of pancake in his mouth. “What’ju wish for?” Jack folds his arm, chewing with his mouth open.
Heh, as if Dean’s telling him.
“I’m not gonna tell you, kid. If I do, then it won’t come true.”
Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say, because Jack’s eyes widen and his chin starts wobbling. “But I telled my wish to Eween!”
Shit.
Offering another bite of pancake dipped in chocolate, Cas glowers at Dean and says, “That’s not true, slugger. Dee’s joking. I’ll tell you what I wished for, and then Sam will tell you his wish and then, ” pointedly, “Dean’s gonna tell us his wish.”
Oh-kay then.
Okay then. Cas’ voice drifts away, and Sam starts, but Dean’s not listening. See, Dean’s not gonna tell him his wish, because one, it doesn’t matter if it’s true that sharing cancels wishes, because his wish is too important to risk a chance, and two, it is true.
Dean has never known to make wishes. Never learned, maybe. His fourth birthday had pie, and he wasn’t smart like Jack to inquire into the semantics of wishing. When he got older, and kept getting older, It seemed like a selfish thing to do, to wish, when you don’t deserve it. But, he’s only human. So obviously, he doesn’t know how to make wishes, but he did nonetheless, not reigning it in.
It’s everything in this nothingness. Dean wishes for this: many more mornings like this, wants to see Jack grow up and grow old. Wants to see Cas’ smile lines deepen, to count his grey hair. Wishes for Sam to have everything he never could give to him, and more. Wants Eileen to stay, forever, if that’s not too much to ask, with his too smart for his own good brother. Wants to cut the pancakes in silly shapes and wants to make fun of Sam’s green drinks and wants to wipe Jack’s face with the hem of his shirt.
Dean wants, and he has, but that’s not enough. That’s never enough.
“Dee’s turn!” Jack says, tugging at his sleeve.
Dean wishes for a promise of things to remain . Hell if he’s gonna confess that at breakfast. Wouldn’t be him if he did.
“Actually,” he makes a faux-pensive face. “I too wished for Dumbo to be real.”
It’s gonna be okay if that doesn’t come true. They’ll live. Right now there are presents to give, food to prepare, rooms to clean.
He has a birthday to manage.