herself in an unintelligible language. Dean sat back down at the table, staring at the piece of paper and the pen he had collected from Sam’s desk drawer in the study, one room over. He swallowed and heard Abby laugh again, the sound bright and good and wonderful. Later he’d feed her dinner and give her a bath and dry off her little wiggly body. He’d sing to her and put her to sleep and watch her, standing by her crib, as she slept, her dreams sweet and soft. She would know how loved she was, even when she grew up. Even when she was older and wasn’t big enough to fit in his lap or ride on his shoulders. He wanted to tell someone about all this, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. But he had promised someone he’d try. He was going to keep his promises from now on. Dean tapped his pencil against the table and looked down at the blank sheet. The lines waited patiently for him to fill them in. There was a lot to catch up on. He rolled the pencil in his fingers and then carefully brought it down, hesitating a moment before he finally wrote two words on the top line. Dear Cas.
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