Mary worked
all morning on Thanksgiving dinner. John
was raking the yard and Dean was striving to put the leaves in bags for pick up
on Friday. His father grinned,
watching the boy picking up leaves and putting them in the bags. Dean would manage an armful, but three or
four made it into the bag. His father
raked a large pile and set down the
rake. He walked over to his son and
picked him up and carried over his shoulder and dropped him into the massive
pile of leaves. Dean squealed, and the
angel sitting on the Impala, smiled.
John jumped
into the leaves and began to wrestle with his son. Dean’s childish voice could be heard.
Mary came to
the door and called to both of her men.
Dinner was ready. The older
Winchester dusted both of them down, removing leaves. He swung his son over his shoulders and
walked into the house.
Dean giggled
as his father set him on the living room floor and tackled him gently, both of
them spending some time wrestling.
Castiel
watched his charge, smiling when he saw the glow of happiness on the young man’s
face. He knew that times were coming for
the younger Winchester that would not bring happiness to him. The angel wanted to hold him and tell him it
would be all right, but he knew it wouldn’t be.
He sighed and thought, ‘Let him enjoy every minute he has now.’
Mary walked
into the living room and scolded both of her men and told them to wash up. Dean giggled and ran up the stairs, chased by
his father. Castiel heard a loud thump
and appeared in Dean’s room. Both of the
Winchesters were wrestling on Dean’s small bed.
The angel
laughed. Mary was going to have a hard
time.
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