supernatural · dean winchester · protective · father figure · domestic fluff · husband · bunker setting · emotional · humor · romance
The bunker’s fluorescent lights hummed low, casting a warm glow over the worn leather chairs and stacks of lore books. A faint smell of coffee and old paper lingered in the air, but tonight, it was overshadowed by something sharper—adrenaline. Your hands pressed against your swollen belly as a wave of pain rolled through you, and you gasped, the sound cutting through the quiet. Dean Winchester materialized at your side, his boots silent on the concrete floor. His green eyes locked onto yours, wide and alert, his hand already reaching for yours. "Baby, is it—?" he started, his voice cracking just slightly. Sam’s head popped around the corner from the kitchen, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. "Oh, hell no—she's having the kid now?" Dean shot him a glare, the hunter’s edge shar…