& long live the look on your face.
“Why did you name me that?”
But the people closest to him knew. Sam, his wife, old friends from their hunting days who’d similarly gathered and adopted a quiet life throughout the years. None of them wanted it, of course; no one ever did, but age takes its toll on everyone. They’d all privately agreed that trying to relive the past did nothing anymore.
Which is why moments like these were so difficult. Dean had nothing left of him. Not a picture or a letter or a souvenir of any kind. Nothing to say that he ever existed, other than the faded, crumbled memories left in his tired, old mind. He has nothing for his son but words, and none of them would make sense. Because both Dean and Sam had agreed to hold back details of their supernatural exploits from their children. The hunting days were over, and their children had no need of a life like that.
A picture would’ve helped. Dean could say, ‘see this man here? I named you after him.’ But there was only ever one picture, burned to ash not even two days after it was taken. The only proof there ever was of an angel who saved his life, and his brother’s, over and over again. An angel who - and Dean could admit this now, finally, after so many years - gave up everything for him, risked everything to be a part of his life and change it in a way no one ever had before.
He exhales slowly and gently looks to his son.
“I just thought it was a really great name, Cas.”