Our Life, Our Girl

POV Cas:

She was up before their alarm went off. I knew because the sound of the TV floated into our room and dragged me from slumber. "Get up Dean," I said poking the man who lay face first on the pillows in the side. Dean grunted and pulled the blankets over his head. It was just past 7:30 in the morning. I reached over and turned the alarm off. It was set for eight, but I was awake already so there was no point in going back to bed. I poked Dean once more before getting out of bed. Dean barely stirred, so I headed into the living room alone.
"Already awake?" I asked and the little girl jumped. I went over and kissed the top of her head. Getting her to bed last night had been a struggle. She was extremely anxious about starting first grade.
"Wanted to watch Arthur," she murmured and I headed into the kitchen smiling.
"In that case, what can I make you Clea?" I asked and she shrugged. I knew that shrug and walked back over to her. I ran my finger through her brown curls and started twisting them into a braid, a task Dean still couldn't manage to do. "That wouldn't be your I-want-pancakes-but-I-won't-ask-for-them shrug would it?" she giggled.
"No daddy," she told me.
"Are you sure?" I asked and she giggled. "I guess I have no choice other then to make oatmeal," I sighed and she scrunched up her nose and turned her green eyes up at me.
"I don't like oatmeal," she said and I smiled lifting her up. Dean scolded me each time I picked her up saying that she was getting too old, but then I'd turn around and Dean would be carrying our little baby girl off into the sunset completely forgetting what he'd just told me. I carried her into the kitchen and started taking bowls and pancake mix out. "With bananas," she reminded me.
"I know, I know," I chuckled and set her on the counter. She reached over and turned on some music letting classical float through the air.
"Are you going to be at the restaurant today when I get home?" Clea asked and I nodded. "So can we eat dinner there?"
"I can cook the same food at home," I reminded her.
"But daddy won't cook at home and I like when he makes food too," she said. That was true. Dean rarely cooked when we were at home. He'd cook for hours at the restaurant and come home and claim he left all his skills at the restaurant.
"I'll talk to him when he about it later. It depends on what he does at the shop," I reminded her. Dean helped the elderly Mr. Mason run his body shop.
"Is he gonna pick me up?"
"Yes Clea-bee," I said and kissed her forehead as I got plates out of the cupboard over her head.
"Good because I don't like your car," she laughed and I picked her off the counter and set her at the table. "I'm going to get Dean. You start eating."
I headed back into the bedroom where Dean was still asleep face down in the pillows. I crawled onto the bed and rubbed Dean's back trying to stir him from sleep. "Your music making me sleepy Cas," he murmured and I kissed his shoulder.
"It's your ipod."
"S'not," he murmured.
"Is too," I laughed and kissed the back of Dean's head. "You're harder to wake up then Clea," I claimed trying to roll Dean over.
"I hate when summer ends and school begins. Those days are the worst," he whined.
"From the way you complain you'd think it was you who had to go to school," I told him and he wrapped his arms around my waist laying his head in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair.
"What's for breakfast?"
"Pancakes at Clea's request."
"You made me ones without bananas right?" he asked and I laughed.
"Of course Dean. I left some plain ones for you. Now come on and get up." he groaned and I untangled myself from him and climbed off the bed. He took forever to sit up and stretch and stand. He gave me a sleepy smile and padded into the kitchen after me.
"Morning daddy," Clea said to him and he sat on the stool next to her.
"Did daddy make us pancakes?" he asked her and she nodded.
"He made special ones for you too," she said passing Dean his plate. I sat across from them and handed Dean a cup of coffee while sipping my own.
"You taking her to school?" he asked me and I nodded. "And then?"
"I thought I'd go into the studio before going and opening the restaurant," I said. Over the summer I hadn't been able to go into my studio as much as I'd have liked. Now with Clea in school I might have more time. Especially since the restaurant didn't open until one o'clock for lunch. The restaurant ran from one pm to eight pm on weekdays and eleven am to one am on Friday's and weekends. Dean smiled and ate.
"So then I pick her up?"
"Yes!" Clea answered him. "And in your car. Not daddy Cas' car," she informed Dean who smiled.
"I know. I don't drive that ugly thing," he smirked and I rolled my eyes.
"I'm going to shower. Get her dressed," I said and headed back into our bedroom listening to Clea whine and beg not to go to school. It made me kind of sad that she was so anxious, but I knew Dean would find some way to bribe and convince her to go and that it'd be okay.

The bribe was one of Dean's worn Metallica tshirts. Clea sat happily in the overly large shirt that Dean had folded up and pinned with numerous safety pins and rolled the sleeves giving her a, and I quote, very sweet punk rock look. Along with the shirt she'd chosen to wear an orange cloth skirt and held her green converse out to me. Green was her favorite color followed by orange. I shook my head and tied her shoes.
"Don't you like it?" she asked and I smiled.
"You look just like a little Dean," I told her and she grinned. She loved being just like Dean. Dean would tell me though that when they were together she wanted to be just like me. The teachers said they could see it too. In art she always wanted in paint like me and she had talked cars in show and tell more then once. "Alright, there you go. I'll go get the keys and you're bag and then we can go." She pouted.
"I don't want to," she whispered and I crouched back down.
"I know baby girl," I said and kissed her forehead and folded her hands in her lap.
"But it'll be better then you imagine. I can assure you," I told her and she nodded. "Go out to the car now." She nodded and I grabbed the keys and her backpack with Rapunzel on it. Tangled was one of her all time favorite movies and I'm pretty sure one of Dean's too.
"I'll be back!" I called to Dean who was in the bathroom.
"Open the car!" Clea whined as I came out the front door. She sat tugging on the handle and I rolled my eyes.
"Let go," I told her and unlocked the door when her hands were in the air. She pulled open the door and pressed the button for the lift while I handed her her bag. She handed me a CD. I looked at it and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want to listen to?" I asked and she nodded moving her wheelchair onto the lift and locking it. I pressed the up button and went to get into the van Dean referred to as the eyesore. I guess it was an upgrade though because my last car he called a steaming pile of horse shit. As she closed the door, I slid her Korn CD into the player and started the engine. "Ready?" I asked glancing at her in the mirror.
"Do I have to go?" she asked once more and I nodded. She pouted and crossed her arms as I pulled out of the driveway. "Then at least turn it up," she grumbled and I smiled as I turned the volume up. She was just like us with her music taste. One day it was heavy metal, the next Broadway, then alternative, maybe some classical, then music from the 50s, followed by some pop.

"Do you want me to walk in with you?" I asked and Clea gave me a sour look.
"I'm not five anymore daddy," she told me and I laughed.
"I know, I know," I said and kissed her forehead. "Have a good day and Dean'll be here to pick you up." I watched her head into the building before turning around and heading home.
The Rolling Stones could be heard half way down the block, so I knew Dean was at work in the garage. This gave me the opportunity to slip into my studio; a shed attached to the garage that housed all my painting supplies. I turned on the lights and frowned. Every time I looked at the landscape I was currently working on it looked different and not a good different. I wanted to scrap the entire thing, but Dean hated when I did that. He'd always tell me I'd find a way to fix it or make it work. I set about getting the paint out and my brushes while letting his blaring music become just a rush of background noise. I finally sat on the stool and began mixing a lighter shade of brown for the dunes in the picture.
"I like it." Dean made me jump and almost drop my brush.
"Fuck," I muttered turning to glare at him. He smiled and walked over to slide his arms over my shoulders.
"I do," he murmured. Under the smell of paint in the room I could smell the soap and grease on Dean.
"What are you doing in there?" I asked sliding my hand up his arm.
"Working on the new car," he murmured and kissed my neck. Mr. Mason had somehow acquired a 1965 Mustang and Dean was restoring it when he wasn't working at the shop or at the restaurant or on his own precious baby. Clea liked to help him with it. It was their own little project.
"Should have known," I snorted and he hugged me tighter.
"Was she fine when she got to school?" he asked quietly and I nodded. "Good."
"She'll be fine Dean," I said and turned my head to look at him.
"I know, I know," he sighed and kissed me. I knew Clea's anxiety ate away at him.
"She wants you to make diner tonight at the restaurant," I added and he whined.
"You're the cook, Cas," he groaned resting his head on my shoulder. I ran my fingers through his short hair and smiled.
"Yes but you make amazing food too Dean," I reminded him and he sighed.
"Fine, I'll cook for you two," he said at last and I smiled more.
"Thank you Dean," I said and he kissed me again. He pouted and then rested his chin on top of my head.
"I should have never cooked for you that one day," he muttered and I laughed.
"You would have cooked for me eventually," I told him and felt him shrug.
"That's what you think Cas," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice.
"It is because I'm right Dean," I said and he kissed the top of my head. I watched as he headed back to the door.
"I'll cook tonight, but I'm going to find that apron again ... for later use," he told me and I smiled.
"Whatever you'd like," I said as he shut the door and I turned back to my painting which I now couldn't concentrate on because my mind was now filled with memories of Dean. A naked, wonderful, glorious Dean.