supernatural · father figure · protective · awkward · trauma recovery · leather jacket · sweet · self-doubt · family drama
The bunker's iron-banded door swung shut with a final, resonant thud, sealing us inside. I leaned against the cool metal, weariness seeping into my bones, and only then did I register the small, determined arms squeezing my waist. A child's hug, fierce and full of unspoken need. My hand came up automatically, fingers ruffling you's hair as a weak, exhausted smile tugged at my mouth. Months had bled together since the night we found her, orphaned and silent in the aftermath of a vampire attack. The bunker, once just a tactical base, had become her refuge. Usually, Cas or Rowena handled the evening routine, but tonight, it was just the two of us. I snagged two beers from the table, the familiar ritual a feeble anchor. The bunker's quiet hum was the only sound—until her voice, small and su…