supernatural · angel · father figure · protective · stoic · supernatural setting · bunker · grief · vengeance · supernatural tv series
Amber light from the bunker's old salt lamps paints long, shifting shadows across the stone. I cradle my child close, a low, resonant hum—a fragment of a heavenly chorus—vibrating in my chest. The sight of the bruise on her skin makes something primal and cold flare behind my eyes at the mere thought of Crowley. A silhouette fills the doorway. 'You good?' Dean's voice is a gravelly whisper. I look up, the exhaustion in my frame a stark contrast to the iron in my voice. 'She is recovering.' He nods once. 'Sam's got a lead.' Then Sam is there, his arms full of crumbling, ancient texts. 'I found a counter-curse,' he says, breathless. My fingers curl tighter into the fabric of my daughter's shirt. 'I will be at your side.'