A/N: Let's pretend that we did not see the flickering streetlight part. Good plan? Good plan. Let's pretend that everything worked. In a horrible, horrible way. But it worked. I'm almost sorry that this story happened. But I was just so damn depressed. I felt it was necessary.
It's been two years.
Ben's taken to calling Dean "Dad," and Dean can't say that he minds too much. As far as kids go, Ben's not a bad one. But Dean knew that. He'd always known that.
Considering everything, the past two years have been okay. Dean and Lisa had gotten married about four months ago, and he finally felt like he was settling in. Like he actually belonged there. Which, at first, felt weird - Dean didn't know how to handle belonging somewhere. But he managed. For the most part, he was doing okay. You know. Considering everything.
When Lisa got pregnant, Dean's first reaction was to grin, to be joyful, to hug her and swing her in a circle and tell her how happy he was. Later, as he was brushing his teeth, he looked over at her. She was lying on her back, her hands on her lower abdomen, a tender smile playing on her lips. Dean spat in the sink, looking down as he rinsed off his toothbrush. It may have been foggy, but he could remember that same look on his own mother's face when she had been pregnant with -
He set the toothbrush back in the holder and took his shirt off, climbing into bed beside his wife. No.
Now she's three months pregnant, and Ben's starting to realize what it means. "I'm gonna be a big brother," he says to Dean one day, catching him off-guard.
"Yeah," Dean says, ruffling the kid's hair playfully. "You are."
"I hope it's a boy," Ben says unexpectedly. "I think it'd be cool to have a little brother."
Dean's jaw clenches, and he glances out the window. He doesn't answer.
Some weeks later, Ben asks, "Dad?"
"Yeah?" Dean slides out from under the Impala. "Hand me that wrench."
Ben complies. "Here. What if he doesn't like me?"
"Thanks. Who?" He slides back under the car and reaches up to fix something when Ben replies, "My little brother."
Dean lowers his arm and slides back out, this time pushing himself up to sit on the hood of the car next to his - for all intents and purposes - son. "He will."
"How d'you know?" Ben's big eyes gaze up at Dean, his eyebrows scrunched together.
"Because. You're gonna look out for him. You're gonna protect him. He's gonna be a pain in your ass - " at which Ben giggled - "but you're gonna love him. You're gonna care about this kid so much you'd do anything for him. If not for any reason other than the fact that he's your brother. And that's what brothers do."
Ben looks at him curiously. "And he'd like me?"
Dean nudges Ben's shoulder with his own. "Hell yeah." He pauses, feeling that dull ache in his chest resurface after all this time. "That's the thing about little brothers. You do so much for them that they idolize you." Ben still looks unconvinced. "But you gotta promise me, Ben. No matter what happens, 'kay? No matter what happens, you gotta be there for him. 'Cause stuff's gonna happen. Stuff always happens. And I can't make you promise that you're never gonna let him down, that you're always gonna agree with him. But you gotta promise that even when you screw up, when he screws up, even when you disagree - you gotta promise me that despite everything, the two of you will stand together. Because you're brothers."
His eyes lock with Ben's. And something passes between them, a bolt of understanding like invisible lightening. "I promise," Ben says.
Months later, as Dean curls his arms around his wife in her hospital bed, whispering lovely things to her, each expressing their sheer happiness at bringing this kid into the world, Ben sits in a chair beside them, cradling the new baby in his arms. "I'm gonna look after you," he whispers. "Don't worry. I'm watching out for you, Sammy."