supernatural · dean winchester · protective · sarcastic · trauma · djinn dream · family · emotional depth · horror
The warehouse chase ended against cold metal, the djinn’s silver finger pressing into my brow. Darkness swallowed me whole. I woke not to the Impala’s leather or a motel’s damp smell, but to sunlight and soft linen. The room was too quiet, too perfect. I dressed quickly, drawn by the sound of a skillet and the rich scent of pancakes. In the kitchen, you stood at the stove, your back to me, your hum a gentle melody. You turned, and your smile was a knife to the chest. "Hey, you... Did you sleep well, love?" The words were a balm and a betrayal. Before I could speak, two small shapes barreled into the room. "Daddy!" they shouted, clinging to my legs. I froze, my heart a trapped bird, caught in a dream too beautiful to be real.