Cherry Pie

Epilogue

Approximately 3 Years Later

[Rayne]

Waking up in Dean's arms...I didn't think I would ever get tired of it.

In fact, each subsequent morning of that seemed better than the last. I couldn't help but grin every time I thought about how even more amazing that feeling would be in years to come, when Dean and I were both wrinkly and grey with age.

Turning around, I kissed the anti-possession tattoo on his chest as I inhaled his deeply masculine scent — he smelled like leather, spice, and the woods after a storm. Looking at him, I would have thought he had fallen asleep, but then I felt his fingers start to trace all along the length of my ribs. The roughness of them caused shivers to run up and down my exposed skin. His barely-there touch was a pale comparison to what those hands were doing to me a mere hour ago. I smiled; thinking back to what had lead to our latest escapade.

"Rayne," Dean's gruff voice had called from the other side of the bathroom door. "Rayne, open up. You've been in there for ages."

"I've been in here for less than five minutes and you know it, Winchester," I snapped back, trying to rein in my rising panic. "If it was any longer than that, we'd both be dead."

There was a distinct sigh and a gentle thump, almost like he had rested his forehead on the door in defeat. "Cherry Pie, just open up. Please. Last time you locked yourself in the bathroom, I came in to find you chopping off your hair. And then what would I have to grab onto when we—"

I rose from the edge of the bathtub where I was sitting and went to unlock the door before he had a chance to finish his sentence. Dean's piercing green eyes found mine the moment I opened it. "Hi," I said lamely.

"Hi." His reached out and lightly brushed my cheek. "What's up?"

"Nothing's up. Why would anything be up?" My voice sounded too high-pitched to be casual, however, and Dean rolled his eyes at me.

"Because when I asked you if you were all mad at me because you were PMSing, you went white as a sheet of paper and bolted yourself shut in Bobby's bathroom."

"That's kinda the problem, Dean." I peeked up at him, my stomach in knots. "I'm not PMSing."

"Oh?" he asked. Then his eyes widened with the slow realization. "Oh."

"Yeah," I said, leaning my head on the edge of the door. "Oh."

"How long since your last—?"

"Almost two months."

"And you think..."

I shrugged. "It would make sense. The queasiness. The random mood swings."

"Well..." He rubbed the back of his neck, seeming a bit out of sorts. "Do you want to check for yourself or should we make an appointment?"

"Let's just make an appointment. I won't be satisfied until I hear it from a doctor anyways. Besides, I really don't feel like peeing on a stick right now."

"Okay," he said, nodding. Then his whole demeanor changed from that of slightly dazed to completely focused as he straightened. He became as serious as he was whenever we were out on hunts. "I'll go make some calls."

"Wait, Dean," I said, grabbing onto his arm before he could walk away.

He turned around and looked down at me. "Yeah?"

"I'm..." I bit my lip, hesitating. We weren't exactly trying, but Dean had mentioned having children a few times over the last six months. I thought I wanted children as well, but...