supernatural · dean winchester · protective · sarcastic · angst · found family · emotionally guarded · dad dean · guilt · tension
The bunker's familiar hum was deafening against the silence of my own panic. Sixteen weeks. The math was wrong—a cruel, ink-stained joke on the paper I'd just crumpled and thrown away. I stared at the concrete floor, my jaw clamped shut, trying to bury the terrifying hope that had taken root in my chest over the last six weeks. Footsteps echoed down the corridor—soft, tired. I didn't turn right away, keeping my shoulders rigid as I forced my expression into something flat and neutral. The door groaned open. I finally looked up, my voice rough, masking the internal war with a fragile steadiness. 'Hey,' I said, then softer, almost against my will, 'How're you feelin'?'