wish you were here // paper windows 11 - deancas
The other shoe drops sometime in early April, on a Wednesday. As shoe-dropping events go, this one is quite anti climatic.
For Dean, it isn’t a particularly good or bad day. He’s made his rounds and then some: money is tight, and he and Cas have been looking into buying a new TV set, one of those fancy ones that respond to voice control, although Dean secretly fantasizes about getting a new, bigger place. He’s had his pay raise approved, unbeknown to Cas, and has been sticking a few extra hundreds in a tin somewhere in their closet, but overtime never really hurts. It pays well and Dean is happy to drive for cash if the alternative is going back home when Cas isn’t there.
On this Wednesday, he’s just come out of his last round, close to midday, and Allen and he are sharing the last pack of Lucky’s they have, right outside the station’s break room. They are not supposed to smoke here, but if Chief Bill sees them, he will turn a blind eye.
Allen is waxing poetic about his daughter, Jemma, a beautiful dark girl of eight with a big puff of natural hair and mischievous hazel eyes. The pictures he shows Dean make his heart stutter, the warmth in Allen’s voice so evident that Dean can’t help but itch with longing, and wonder—not for the first time—if he and Cas would ever be allowed to have something like that. Something—real. Something like a family.
When he feels the phone buzzing in his back pocket, he thinks it may be his therapist, or Adela, or Ricardo, or maybe even Cas. He doesn’t expect the clinical female voice asking for a—Mr. Dean Winchester?