In which Dean and Cas buy their daughter 7 dresses.
The first time they buy her a dress, they haven’t even met her yet. Dean is touching every tiny little garment he can possibly get his hands on, marvelling over how tiny everything is and how “d’you think she’d like pink? Or maybe blue? Ohhh, Cas, look at this orange one, it’s got pockets!”
Cas, meanwhile, is too busy fawning over the miniature patterned-socks to pay any real attention.
The second time they buy her a dress, she’s four years-old and is skipping between them, practically vibrating as she swings on their arms and thanks them profusely. “Thank you thank you thank you!” she gushes as the store clerk scans the large poofy white thing. Her dark brown hair is tied in a messy ponytail and her green eyes are bright behind her small glasses, freckled nose scrunching up as she smiles, toothy and wide.
“Can I wear it now pleasepleaseplease?”
The tiara she’s wearing falls into her eyes and she pushes it up, one of the straps of her overalls falling with the movement. Cas looks at Dean expectantly and the latter sighs. “’Course, bug.”
When they emerge ten minutes later, Chevy Marie Winchester is dressed in an over-the-top poufy taffeta number, black clunky boots on her feet and tiara on her forehead. She launches herself into Castiel’s arms and her papa helps her into her tiny leather jacket.
“Our kid is a total badass,” Dean murmurs to his husband as she sleeps in her carseat on the drive home.
Cas grins back.
She really is.