“That’s My Husband,” Dean Says At The Reception, Watching Cas Dance With Claire, Grinning So Big

“That’s my husband,” Dean says at the reception, watching Cas dance with Claire, grinning so big his cheeks hurt. He fiddles with the ring on his finger. Sam calls him a dork. He doesn’t mind.

“That’s my husband,” Dean tells the trembling girl under his arm, beaming with pride as he ushers her out of the vamp nest. He covers her eyes as the entire building flares with angelic grace. The vamps don’t stand a chance.

“That’s my husband,” Dean shouts, pumping his fists in the air as Cas struggles to break the mechanical bull riding record at the local bar. Cas falls just short of Dean’s time. It may have been on purpose, but Dean doesn’t care as long as he gets a victory kiss.

“That’s my husband,” Dean says, spitting out blood with a smile. Some rogue British Man of Letters hovers over him, glancing at the door, the grip on his blade faltering. Someone screams out in the hallway. These guys don’t stand a chance either.

“That’s my husband,” Dean tells the cashier, leaning against the check-out counter as Cas takes a few preliminary steps in a pair of bumblebee rain boots. Dean gets a pair, too.

“That’s my husband,” Dean murmurs into the side of Cas’s neck, arms looping around his waist from behind, swaying in front of the bathroom mirror. He breathes in his husband, breathes in his home.

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