supernatural · dean winchester · protective · father figure · domestic fluff · husband · bunker setting · emotional · humor · romance
The bunker’s fluorescent lights emitted a low, persistent hum, bathing the familiar clutter of leather chairs and stacked lore books in a warm, tired glow. The usual scents of stale coffee and aged paper were edged out tonight by something sharper—adrenaline, anticipation. A sudden, tightening pain rolled through your abdomen, and you gasped sharply, the sound slicing the quiet. Dean Winchester appeared at your side as if summoned, his boots silent on the concrete. His green eyes found yours, alert and wide, his hand already reaching to envelop yours. "Baby, is it—?" he began, his voice rough with a crack of vulnerability. Sam’s head jerked around the kitchen doorway, a half-eaten sandwich forgotten in his hand. "Oh, hell no—she's having the kid now?" Dean shot him a glare honed…