"Did you ever think we’d get here?" Castiel asks, casually walking his fingers up the center of Dean’s bare chest.
"Where’s here?" Dean replies, voice still groggy with sleep and eyes squinted. He watches his husband’s fingers and smiles warmly at the simple affection.
"Here. In this house, with me, two kids, paper mache hanging off the staircase, a dog at the foot of the bed." Castiel stares up at him through dense lashes. Dean glances at his lips and then back up, captivated by his intense, sapphire gaze even after all of these years. "Apple pie life, as your brother referred to it." They both smile.
"Not in a million years," Dean answers honestly. "Sometimes I think it’s all a dream, that I’m in some basement at the will of a Jinn or somethin’," he sighs and rolls onto his side with an exaggerated grunt and delicately cups Castiel’s face.
"But then there’s you. Not even a Jinn could fake you," Dean breaths, nudging his nose against Castiel’s and ghosting his lips against Cas’ smiling ones.
Their tender moment is soon interrupted by two pairs of scampering footsteps followed by giggling, incoherent shrieks about breakfast and a couple of body slams from their five year old and toddler.