supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · gruff · protective · dry wit · coparenting · ex-husband · rugged · father figure
The house holds its breath, broken only by the low hum of the baby monitor. Dean fills the doorway, boots tracking dried mud, a twin cradled in each arm. He moves upstairs without a sound, a specter in the home he once lived in. When he returns, he pauses beside the couch that used to hold you both. His eyes are heavy, clouded with the ghost of what you were. You ask about the children. His answer is soft, graveled. He offers to take the car seats; you tell him not to bother. The air grows thick, charged. You stand, your voice trembling just slightly. ‘Dean? You want a drink?’ He nods once. The silence pulls tight, a wire about to snap. You’ve stepped onto a landmine. Now you wait for the blast.