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He stops at the door and toes off the heavy, plodding boots, and tip toes up the stairs.
First door on the left, he checks the unbroken salt line at the window. Devils trap still intact under the soft plush carpet. This task completed, he quietly walks to the crib in the center of the room and stares down into the face of an angel. Not one of those “douchy” kind but the sweet, angelic kind of all the cheesy portraits. His daughter. She has her mother’s curly brown hair, his bowed lips and a mocha color in between his own pale color and her mother’s deep mocha.
He contents himself with placing a careful hand on her chest and feeling her breathe. He would stop the apocalypse, let Sam jump into the box and Jo and Ellen blow up all over again to keep this one child safe. The need to keep her safe governs his choices and makes him hide this family, this life, from even Sam. He kisses her softly on her head and says “Hey Jude, daddy’s home”. A soft snuffle, sigh and Jude is back to sleep.
Dean walks down the hall to the bedroom he hardly ever shares with his wife, checking salt lines, hex bags and devil’s traps as he goes. He thinks about the day they bought the house. She was six months pregnant and more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. When they pulled up in the Impala she knew it was the house she had seen in her vision. He trusted her visions and got out to talk to the realtor about making the house theirs.
More than six months later, it still felt new to him. He knew it was because of the fact that he was hardly ever here. He felt a pang of guilt at that but knew it couldn’t be helped. If he settled with them for too long, they would be exposed. Something would come looking for and find him. It always did.
Shaking off this thought and determined to enjoy this one night at home, he stepped into the bedroom. He looks at her deep mocha colored skin and thinks how beautiful she looks in the moon light. He pulls his shirt over his head, unbuttons and takes off his jeans. He slides into bed behind her and pulls her close to his chest. “Dean?” she mumbles sleepily. “Yeah, babe. It’s me. I’m home tonight. Go back to sleep”. His wife settles against his chest and drifts off again. Feeling the tension drain out of his body, Dean falls asleep.
He opens his eyes to the grey morning mist and the feel of his wife tucked against his side. This is the part he hates. The leaving. Quietly, he slides out from underneath her and dresses. She rolls over lazily and opens her eyes.
Smiling a cocky smile to rival his own, she asks “off to save the whole world again?” Dean loves her for this. For giving him a smile and smart ass remark where there could be tears and sullenness.
“Nope. Just your world.” He leans over kisses the top of her head and walks out. Back down the hall to his daughter’s room, a quick peck on that tiny head, a lingering look and he’s gone. Again.
But he always comes back.