teamackles96

[teamackles96]

⚠️ SPOILER WARNING ⚠️

Damn 🥵

[teamackles96]

This man will be the death of me 🫦

[teamackles96]

It's June 25th!

May the Mark Meachum edits, oneshots, smut and series commence!

[teamackles96]

I'm excited for Countdown but also scared. I think Mark Meacham will be the death of me!

[teamackles96]

The Setup

summary: You try to warn Ben in Nicaragua

pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

wordcount: 1064

Main Masterlist | Solder Boy One-Shots Masterlist

You should have known something was off the moment they split you up.

They sent you to Guatemala to "support" a low-tier Supe group while Soldier Boy and the rest of Payback were shipped to Nicaragua. You and Soldier Boy were the co-leaders of Payback. He hated it until you fell for each other. "The Ultimate Power Couple," they called the two of you, and you loved it. Everyone knew not to mess with you, but now they'd split you up on two different missions.

It didn’t make sense, but the cracks didn’t show until later—when you saw two "soldiers" rehearsing lines in the woods. Literally. Script pages in hand, muttering like frustrated actors.

Everything about the camp suddenly clicked into place. The staged chaos. The soldiers who stood around like they were waiting for a director to yell "Action." It wasn’t real.

It was a setup.

And Nicaragua—whatever was happening there—was the real objective.

You moved fast. Pretending to walk to your tent, you followed the comms wire, searching for the perfect place to cut it. If they warned the other camp, it would be too late. But someone saw you. Alarms screamed as red energy surged from your fingertips. You blasted through the crowd—actors, soldiers, whatever the hell they were—knocking them out of your path. You didn’t kill unless you had to, but that line was blurring.

All you needed was a clearing. Ten minutes in the air. That’s all it would take to reach Soldier Boy.

As soon as your feet left the ground, they hit you with a missile. It exploded on impact, flinging you like a ragdoll. The ground met you like concrete—brutal, final. Your lungs emptied. Your vision swam.

You’d never felt that kind of pain before. You were supposed to be indestructible.

But you had to get up.

Palms digging into the dirt, you forced your body upright, every muscle shaking. Ten minutes. That’s all you needed. Just ten minutes to stop whatever was happening to him.

The camp came into view quicker than you expected. Even from the air, you could see Soldier Boy barking orders at the Vought personnel.

The missile had done more damage than you thought. You didn’t realize how fast you were falling until your body hit the grassland, carving a crater into the earth before crashing into a stone wall.

What the hell did they use in that missile?

Your body screamed with pain. When your eyes opened, your team was around you. Ben knelt at your side.

"Y/N, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, voice low.

"It’s a trap." Your head lolled to the side, too weak to hold it up. Ben's face twisted in concern. He'd never seen you like this.

"What?"

"It’s a trap. They split us up on purpose." You groaned, whispering so the others wouldn’t hear. Their worried looks weren’t for you. They knew their plan was unraveling. You just didn’t know what that plan was.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

You sat up slowly, every movement a battle. You summoned a wave of energy, pulling Ben closer and pushing the others back. "Guatemala was fake. Everyone had a script." You placed a hand on his cheek. "Listen to me, Ben. Something is going on. They know we’re powerful together. That’s why they split us up."

He tried to look away but you forced him to meet your eyes. "Ben! They hit me with a fucking missile. I don’t know what was in it, but something isn’t right."

He looked at you properly now. Noticed the paleness of your skin. The sweat. The red in your eyes.

"Alright! I hear you! Something's going on." He brushed damp hair from your face and kissed your forehead. "I hear you."

The rest of the team was gone.

Gunfire cracked across the other side of the camp. Ben hesitated. You knew what was coming.

He lifted your head and kissed you hard, like goodbye. Then he ran.

Your scream tore out of you before you realized it, throat burning like knives. The earth responded. Bodies flew into the air and crashed back down to their deaths.

You turned the corner and froze. Ben was surrounded. Payback—your team—stood in a wide circle around him. You didn’t understand. You couldn’t breathe.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded, eyes scanning each face, shield raised.

No answer.

Then Black Noir stepped forward, unsheathing a blade. Ben’s posture shifted, combat-ready. “You seriously wanna do this?” Behind him, the TNT Twins raised their hands.

“TNT—detonate!” they shouted, their palms lighting up. The blast slammed into Ben’s chest and hurled him into a burning jeep. He groaned, staggered, but got up. Smoke curled off his uniform. Rage burned in his eyes.

“You fucking traitors,” he spat. Mindstorm lunged. Ben swatted him aside with a brutal backhand that sent him flying. Then Noir charged. The blade sliced into Ben’s arm, but he didn’t flinch. He grabbed Noir by the collar and slammed his head into a flaming car hood—once, twice, again. You could hear the crunch. Flesh sizzled.

Ben roared and raised his shield. You looked away when it came down.

“Get him, Mindstorm!” Tommy yelled. “Scramble his fucking brains!” Mindstorm staggered up, dazed, but his powers sparked. Ben’s steps faltered, eyes glassy. It wasn’t total control, just confusion—enough for her to move in.

Crimson Countess. She stepped out of the shadows with a mask and canister. Before Ben could recover, she slammed it over his face. The hiss of gas filled the air.

He thrashed. His knees buckled. His green eyes found you across the field. You screamed his name—but you didn’t realise it until your throat tore open, raw as fire. You crawled, dragging yourself across the dirt, blood in your mouth, limbs heavy.

Ben was still staring at you when his body collapsed.

Then hands grabbed you.

A second mask pressed to your face. You tried to fight, but your powers fizzled at your fingertips. You sucked in a lungful of whatever drug they were using, and it hit hard—fast.

Everything slowed. Their faces blurred. The night spun. And as your body gave out beside his, you had one last, searing thought:

I’ll make them all pay.

Inspiration from Scarlet Witch.

[teamackles96]

Just Need a Minute Part 5 - Christmas at the Bunker

summary: It's your first Christmas with Rosie!

pairing: Dean Winchester x reader (pure fluff)

wordcount: 1153

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Mini-Series Masterlist

Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The bunker was unrecognisable.

It was your daughter Rosie's first Christmas, and the place had transformed into something out of a festive dream. Rosie, now ten months old and crawling up a storm, had to be watched constantly. You were proud of her reaching milestones, but it meant you needed eyes everywhere.

Thankfully, Bobby had taken over for the moment, holding Rosie as he walked her around the bunker, pointing out the lights and decorations. It gave you, your mom, and Mary time to finish tucking the last of the presents under the tree. A massive 7-foot fir now stood proudly in the library—taller than the boys, just as you'd planned—decked in colourful lights, glittering ornaments, and more tinsel than you’d admit to buying.

Rosie was especially enamoured with the lights. Every rail and doorway was wrapped in strands of them, and she often crawled to one just to stare at the colours, mesmerised.

You were sitting cross-legged at the base of the tree, organizing the presents efficiently (and yes, Rosie’s pile was the biggest—no surprise there). Across the room, Dean, Sam, Jack, and Castiel were attempting to make eggnog at one of the library tables. Dean kept sneaking more rum into the mix whenever Sam’s back was turned. Your mom and Mary shuffled in with even more presents, courtesy of Charlie and Jody, who had just arrived. Meanwhile, John and your dad were already planted on the sofa Dean had dragged in, beers in hand, catching up like old friends.

“Who’s ready for presents?” Mary called out with cheer.

Everyone made their way into the library, settling on whatever chair or cushion they could find. Dean sat on a chair, and you settled on the floor behind his legs, Rosie now back in your lap after Bobby handed her off. She clapped and bounced with excitement, even though she had no idea what was happening.

“Look, Rosie,” you said softly, pointing at the tree. “These are all for you.” She squealed and immediately tried crawling toward it.

“Someone’s eager,” Dean chuckled behind you, reaching out to help rein her back in. Rosie stood with your help, grinning proudly at her dad. “Hey, baby girl,” Dean murmured, his voice soft and awed.

As Rosie opened present after present, gasps and laughter filled the room. Your dad filmed everything with his old-school camcorder, while John and Mary snapped photos. Rosie, completely spoiled, was showered with toys, clothes, and a colourful walker for when she was ready to take her first steps. Of course, the real winners were the boxes and the crinkly wrapping paper. At one point, she placed a piece of paper on her head like a crown, earning a fresh wave of laughter when the static made her fine blonde hair stand on end.

Once Rosie was occupied, you handed her off to Dean and began distributing everyone else’s gifts. Your parents received matching scrapbooks filled with Rosie’s milestones so far, with plenty of pages left to add more. Charlie got a new D&D dice set and your promise of a game night soon. Sam and Dean gave Jack a “His Firsts” scrapbook, Castiel looked deeply touched by his “human survival kit” full of warm socks, honey for tea, and a poetry book Jack loved. Bobby’s gift was a mug that read “World’s Grumpiest Softie,” which he pretended to scowl at before hiding a smile. Jody’s spa kit made her tear up, and Sam looked thrilled by the new mythology book he'd mentioned months ago.

Eventually, only one gift remained: yours to Dean. He peeled back the wrapping to reveal a leather-bound journal, its cover etched with classic rock emblems.

“I thought you could use it for hunting. Like your dad did,” you explained softly, smiling up at him. “Maybe Rosie can read it when she’s older and hear how awesome her dad is.”

Dean looked at you with that quiet, overwhelmed expression he rarely let anyone see. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s perfect.” But something in his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“There should be something under there for you,” he said, nodding toward the tree.

You turned to check, frowning. “There’s nothing left.”

“I think I put the box in the tree.”

You stood up and began parting branches, searching. “Dean, there’s nothing he—” You turned around—and froze. Everyone had fallen silent. Dean was on one knee in front of you, holding a velvet ring box.

Like an idiot, you asked, “Dean, what are you doing?”

He laughed softly. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.” He took a steadying breath, fidgeting with the box.

“You know... I’ve faced a lotta crap in my life. Monsters, demons, the damn apocalypse—twice. But nothing’s ever scared me like this does. Not ‘cause I don’t want it. But because I’ve got more to lose now. I never thought I’d be this happy. Not with the life I’ve lived. But I am. You’re my happy ending. You gave me a life I didn’t think I’d ever have—a beautiful daughter and a woman I’m completely head over heels for. You showed up and did something I didn’t think anyone could: you fixed me. You made me believe I deserved love. That I could give it. And I promise I’ll spend every day showing you just how much I love you. I want to come home to you, fight for you, laugh with you... grow old with you. I don’t know what forever looks like, but if you’re in it—then I’m all in. Will you marry me?”

He opened the box to reveal a simple, elegant diamond ring. Your hand flew to your mouth, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Babe?” Dean’s voice wavered slightly. “You gonna say something?”

“Oh—yes! Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”

The room exploded into cheers as Dean slid the ring onto your finger, then surged up and wrapped you in his arms, spinning you around as you laughed through your tears. He finally set you down, and Rosie crawled over, tugging at your leg.

You scooped her up, holding her against your chest as friends and family approached, congratulating you with hugs, handshakes, and teary smiles. Rosie giggled and clapped, squealing with glee even though she had no idea what was going on.

Dean kissed her head and wrapped his arm around your waist. “Love you, baby,” he murmured. Then he turned to you with a grin. “And I love you, future Mrs. Winchester.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “My future husband.” You kissed him softly—he tried to deepen it, but a delighted squeal from Rosie made you both laugh.

Dean smirked, his voice low in your ear. “Don’t worry. We’ll celebrate later. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

And this time, forever didn’t feel like a fairy-tale. It felt like home

[teamackles96]

Let Me Help You

summary: You help Dean clean up after a hunt

pairing: Dean Winchester x reader (pure fluff)

wordcount: 697

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester One-Shots Masterlists

“Sit,” you said firmly, nodding toward one of the chairs in the library.

Dean didn’t argue. He just dragged himself forward and dropped into the seat like his bones were heavier than usual.

He looked rough—worse than he ever let on. Dried blood clung to the side of his face in jagged streaks, mostly from the deep gash just above his brow. His skin was littered with smaller cuts and bruises—along his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Like a man who had gone three rounds with a monster and won, but barely.

You set the first aid kit down with a soft thump and placed the bowl of warm water next to it. As you rolled up your sleeves, Dean’s eyes followed you, silent. Not wary, exactly. But unsure. Like he didn’t know how to accept what was coming.

You soaked the cloth, wrung it out slowly, and stepped between his knees.

“You really don’t ha—” he began, voice low and gravelly, already trying to shrug it off.

“Just let me help you, okay?” you said softly, cutting him off.

Your fingers tilted his face toward you, thumb resting at the edge of his chin. With the damp cloth, you began wiping gently at the dried blood. You were slow, methodical—barely any pressure, just enough to cleanse the skin.

Dean winced once, but otherwise said nothing.

His eyes, however, never stopped watching you. Not the way most people looked. It wasn’t surface-level. It was like he was trying to read every thought behind your eyes, trace the patterns of your face, memorize the slope of your brow. Like he didn’t quite believe he deserved this moment of care, but he wanted to hold onto it anyway.

You kept your own gaze focused on the task. Looking at him—really looking—would’ve made it harder to stay steady. You knew what this meant to him. What it cost him to sit there and let someone else take care of the aftermath.

The cloth turned pink with each pass, and you rinsed it out again before tossing it into the bowl. The wound on his forehead had finally stopped bleeding. It wasn’t deep enough for stitches, but still raw and angry-looking.

You reached for the butterfly bandages, but before applying them, you unconsciously brought your hand up to cup his right cheek—just to steady yourself.

Dean froze. Then leaned into the touch.

His eyes fluttered shut, and his stubbled cheek pressed gently into your palm like it was instinct. No tension, no pretence. Just stillness. Surrender.

You stopped.

There was something about seeing Dean Winchester—hunter, warrior, protector—seek out comfort so quietly that made your heart ache. It was the kind of vulnerability he didn’t even realize he was showing.

Your thumb brushed over his cheek, slow and deliberate, feeling the warmth of his skin, the scrape of his stubble, the edge of the man underneath all that armour.

He opened his eyes again, heavy-lidded, soft in a way that made your chest tighten.

Then the awareness crept back in. The sharpness. His eyes widened slightly, like he’d only just realized what he’d done. That he’d let the mask slip.

You smiled. Gentle. Reassuring. Telling him without words: You’re safe here. It’s okay to rest.

With careful hands, you applied the suture strips to his forehead. You noticed the shift in his body—the way he subtly pulled back into himself, like he needed to reassemble the walls you’d managed to sneak past.

You let him.

A quick scan told you everything else would heal on its own. Bruises, shallow cuts—just time and rest.

You packed up the kit, rinsed out the bowl, and turned back to him.

“All good,” you said quietly, brushing your hands off on your jeans.

You paused. And then, before walking away, you bent down and pressed a soft kiss to the bandaged wound on his forehead.

It was feather-light. A whisper of affection against skin that had seen too much pain.

Dean didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just sat there, eyes closed again—like maybe this time, he let himself feel it.

[teamackles96]

I'm Bringing Sexy Back

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Drabbles Masterlist

Rom Com Drabbles

Exhausted. Tired. Knackered.

You, Sam, and Dean had finally made it back to the bunker after a long hunt a few states away. The moment you stepped inside, all three of you collapsed in the War Room, too wiped to even speak. Now that you were home, all you could think about was a hot shower and the comfort of your own bed.

“I need a shower,” you muttered, already heading for the hallway. You were halfway down the corridor when you paused, a thought striking you.

“Dean?” You poked your head back into the room. He looked up at you, his body slumped lazily against one of the consoles, barely upright. “Are you coming?” you asked with a small smile, disappearing again without waiting for an answer.

The brothers exchanged a quick glance before Dean pushed himself to his feet, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he followed you down the hall.

He’d been cleaning his guns for the last hour. You were on the bed opposite him, resting against the headboard, a book propped in your lap.

At least, that was the story.

To him, it looked like you were reading. But really, your eyes kept drifting—to his hands, his fingers, the way his forearms flexed with every precise movement as he assembled the weapon.

Your gaze lingered on the way his fingers fit around the slide, how his muscles tensed just so. You weren’t reading a single word.

“Good book?” he asked suddenly.

You looked up, startled, caught like a deer in headlights.

He smirked, nodding toward you. “You’re biting your lip,” he pointed out, tapping the corner of his own mouth. “Must be a real sexy book.”

You blinked, heat creeping up your neck. “Yep,” you muttered, eyes dropping back to the page as he smoothly pulled back the slide. “Definitely sexy.”

You turned the page—more to save face than to keep reading.

You and the brothers were sitting in the war room, trying to come up with a plan. A demon had been targeting strippers at a local club, and things weren’t exactly straightforward.

You’d suggested going undercover—but the boys weren’t convinced. Dean, especially, didn’t think you could handle it. So naturally, you decided to prove him wrong.

You stood in front of him, your knee propped on the chair between his legs, tilting his face up with a finger under his chin. “You don’t think I can handle it?” you asked, your voice low and challenging.

Dean’s eyes stayed locked on yours, a little wider now. “No, I… I, uh… I think you…” You leaned in, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw.

“I can handle it. Right, Dean?” you nodded slowly. He nodded too—dazed, obedient.

Then you leaned even closer, giving him a generous view down your shirt. “Good boy,” you purred. Dean blinked. You stepped back, straightening up and turning to face both brothers. “See? I can do it.”

Dean looked helplessly at Sam—who was failing miserably at hiding his laughter. Wordless, Dean grabbed a bottle of water from the table, tipped it back, and then poured some straight onto his face.

“That’s one way to take a cold shower,” Sam muttered, smirking.

Dean and Sam were away on a hunt, leaving you behind to guard the bunker. You didn’t mind—tonight was all blankets, books, and peace.

Curled up in bed with one of Dean’s flannels draped over you, the room was quiet and still.

So when your phone rang, the sudden sound made you jump.

You checked the caller ID and smiled when you saw Dean’s name.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his gravelly voice rumbled through the speaker.

“Hey, baby. How’s the hunt going?”

“We just wrapped it up. Should be back tomorrow. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“What’re you up to?”

“Just reading a book in bed.”

“In bed, huh? What are you wearing?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Really, Dean?”

“Humor me.”

You glanced down. “One of your shirts.”

Dean groaned softly. “You miss me that much, huh?” You heard the smirk in his voice. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. When I get home, I’m gonna show you how much I missed you. Not lettin’ you outta my sight. Gonna kiss every inch of that pretty skin ‘til you’re makin’ those sounds I like. Gonna take my time with you... have you beggin’ for more... can’t wait to be ins—”

“Dean! I got the food!” Sam’s voice shouted in the background.

Dean cleared his throat—fast. “Okay, love you, see you tomorrow!” Click.

You stared at your phone.

Did you seriously just get cockblocked by Sam?

[teamackles96]

Befuddled in Burgundy Beau | Big Sky 3.02

[teamackles96]

Priestly One-Shots

Him? - A persistent customer won’t take no for an answer

[teamackles96]

Soldier Boy One-Shots

Tricks - You show Soldier Boy he's not the only one with tricks up his sleeve

The Supies - Soldier Boy says screw it.

The Setup - You try to warn Ben in Nicaragua

[teamackles96]

Dean Winchester Mini Series

Just Needed A Minute - A Glimpse into the life of you and Dean as parents.

Part 1 - It's time for your baby shower and Dean is nowhere to be seen.

Part 2 - Dean wakes you up to feed your baby girl

Part 3 - It was supposed to be date night with Dean

Part 4 - You and Rosie have a surprise for Dean

Part 5 - It's your first Christmas with Rosie!

Part 6 - Coming Soon

Part 7 - Coming Soon

[teamackles96]

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Peace and Quiet - You and Dean find comfort after a long hunt

The Last Four Words - Dean loses you after a hunt gone wrong

The Dean - Dean seems to have quite the reputation

The Moment - You and the Brothers decided to hang out at the Roadhouse after a hunt. But seeing Jo and Dean together, stirs something in you.

Undercover - The boys convinced you to go undercover for a mission.

Up For The Challenge - Dean doesn't like not being in control.

Let Me Help You -You help Dean clean up after a hunt

[teamackles96]

Dean Winchester Drabbles

Sleep, Pretty Darling - Sleepy Dean Drabbles

I'm Bringing Sexy Back - Rom Com Dean Drabbles

[teamackles96]

Sleep, Pretty Darling

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Drabbles Masterlist

Sleeping Dean Drabbles

You reached out in the dark, expecting to find Dean beside you—but the other side of the bed was empty.

With a sleepy sigh, you got up and padded through the bunker, searching for him.

You found him in the kitchen, slumped over the table. One arm was curled around a cooling mug of coffee, his head resting on the other, fast asleep.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him for a moment. He looked like a kid on New Year’s Eve, trying his hardest to stay up until midnight—but losing the fight.

Smiling softly, you walked over and gently touched his shoulder. “Come on,” you whispered, holding out your hand. “Let’s go back to bed.”

You walked past Dean’s room and paused when you saw him fast asleep, headphones still on, one hand resting on his chest like he'd meant to change the song but never got that far.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Quiet moments like this were rare.

So, naturally, you took a picture.

That picture is now your phone background—much to Dean’s grumbling protest. But even he can’t hide the smile when he catches you looking at it.

This was the unmistakable sign of an utterly exhausted Dean.

After a long, brutal hunt, the three of you finally stumbled into Bobby’s house. Dean had driven the whole way back while you and Sam dozed off in the car, too drained to do much else.

The second you stepped inside, Dean kicked off his boots and collapsed onto the sofa without a word. No shower. No food. Not even the energy to make it upstairs to the bed.

He just needed rest—and he needed it now.

Sam had gone out to grab food, leaving you and Dean to dig through lore books for the case. You sat on the table, flipping pages, when something finally caught your eye.

“Hey, Dean! Check this ou—” you started, turning to look at him on the sofa. But you stopped mid-sentence.

Dean was fast asleep, the book still open in his lap, his head tilted slightly back in quiet exhaustion.

You smiled to yourself and lowered your voice. “Never mind,” you whispered. “It can wait.”

Ever since his dad told him monsters were real, Dean had slept with a weapon under his pillow. When he was younger, he’d clutch it tight through the night—just in case. As he got older, the habit faded. He didn’t need it as much.

But lately, it had started again.

The only thing that had changed between then and now—was you.

Now he had someone he wanted to protect. Not because he expected the worst, but because for the first time, he had something good. Something worth holding onto.

[teamackles96]

Literally

I did this instead of writing

[teamackles96]

Just Need a Minute Part 4 - Welcome Home Surprise

summary: You and Rosie have a surprise for Dean

pairing: Dean Winchester x reader (pure fluff)

wordcount: 1205

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Mini-Series Masterlist

Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Little Rosie was nearly nine months old now, and the two of you were home alone in the bunker.

Sam and Dean had gotten a frantic phone call from a hunting buddy asking for help. Dean was reluctant to leave, especially with how clingy Rosie had been lately, but after you promised him—five times—that you wouldn’t step outside the bunker, he finally gave in and left with Sam.

That had been two days ago.

Rosie’s soft babbling pulled your attention. You crossed the room to pick her up from her cot, her little arms reaching up eagerly. As you lifted her into your arms, your eye caught on the old scrapbook sitting on the shelf—a lovingly handmade collection your mothers had put together for you and Dean. Feeling nostalgic, you grabbed it with your free hand and made your way to the library.

You settled into one of the long wooden chairs, Rosie squirming into your lap, already tugging at the edge of the book. You opened it slowly, revealing pages filled with photographs of you and Dean as babies. Rosie gurgled happily, occasionally slapping her tiny palms against the page, either in boredom or excitement—you weren’t quite sure which.

“Who’s that, Rosie?” you asked, pointing to a photo of a young Sam and Dean, both barely adults. Dean had a cocky grin; Sam looked mid-eye-roll.

Rosie babbled nonsense in reply, her fingers tracing Sam’s nose.

You smiled and flipped to the next page. Most of the photos now were of you, Sam, and Dean—life on the road captured in motel mirrors, parking lot selfies, greasy diner booths, and the occasional tourist trap. Then one particular picture made Rosie light up.

“Un!” she shouted excitedly, jabbing a chubby finger at a photo of Sam asleep with a spoon stuck in his mouth. Dean had thought it was hilarious at the time, and you’d made sure to preserve the moment forever.

“Yeah, Uncle Sam, that’s right, Ro-Ro,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of her soft blonde head.

Turning a few more pages brought you to a more recent photo: a blurry but joyful selfie taken during movie night. The three of you were curled up on the couch—Dean, Sam, and you all smiling while Rosie climbed over Dean’s chest mid-snap.

“Dada!” Rosie exclaimed suddenly, her little hand smacking Dean’s face in the photo.

You froze. Had she just—?

“Who’s that, baby?” you asked again, pointing at Dean’s face, your heart thudding in your chest.

“Dadadada!” she chirped with a wide gummy grin.

You let out a gasp of joy and stood up with her in your arms, your smile stretching from ear to ear.

“That’s right, baby! That’s your daddy!”

You looked around, suddenly aware that there was no one else there to celebrate the moment with. Your hand reached for your phone—Dean had to hear this—when a voice echoed from the hallway.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean’s familiar drawl rang from the bunker’s entrance.

“In the library!” you called back, voice bubbling with excitement. You turned to Rosie. “Ready to show your daddy?”

Rosie squealed, bouncing eagerly at the sound of his voice. Moments later, Sam and Dean walked through the doorway, both looking worn but happy.

“There’s my girls!” Dean grinned, arms wide as he approached. He gave you a quick kiss and a tired side hug before reaching for Rosie. She squealed again, arms stretching toward him.

“Hey Sammy,” you greeted warmly as Dean scooped Rosie up into his arms. “Rough hunt?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, slumping into a chair. “Salt and burn gone sideways. The remains weren’t where they were supposed to be. Like a really crappy treasure hunt.”

You winced in sympathy and gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “That sucks. You need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” He offered a tired but appreciative smile. You’d always made sure Sam knew he was family too.

You turned back to Rosie, who was clinging to Dean’s flannel like a koala. “Hey Rosie, who’s that?” you asked, pointing at Sam.

“Un!” she cried proudly.

“I think that’s her version of ‘Uncle.’” You smiled, and Sam’s eyes lit up with quiet surprise.

Then, you placed your hands on Dean’s shoulders and Rosie to face him again.

“And who’s this, baby?”

Rosie looked at him with her big green eyes—so much like his—and gently placed her little hands on his rough stubbly cheeks. You could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

“Dada!” she beamed.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Did she just— She said—?”

You nodded, watching as the realization hit him. Sam stepped closer to see too, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Who’s that, Rosie?” Sam prompted, pointing again to Dean.

“Dada! Dada! Dada!” Rosie cheered, waving her arms in excitement, clearly delighted by all the attention.

Dean laughed softly, the sound choked with emotion. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. You felt him exhale deeply, like he’d just received the greatest gift he didn’t know he needed.

You rubbed his arm slowly, seeing the shine of tears in his eyes. He blinked them away, but the smile stayed.

“Dada! Dada!” Rosie chanted again, giggling.

Dean chuckled, voice thick. “Careful, sweetheart. Say it too many times, and you’ll wear it out.” You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

Dean rested his cheek against the top of Rosie’s head, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world—which, to him, she probably was. His arms wrapped a little tighter around her, as if her saying “Dada” had made it real in a way nothing else ever had.

“She really said it?” he asked again, almost like he needed confirmation.

“She did,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through Rosie’s baby-fine hair. “You missed the first time by about thirty seconds.”

Dean huffed a laugh and kissed Rosie’s temple. “Figures.”

Sam tickled Rosie, watching the two of you with a soft, knowing smile. “You’re a dad, Dean. You’ve been one since the day she was born. She just made it official.”

Dean looked up at his brother, emotion flickering in his eyes. He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess she did”

You watched as his eyes drifted back down to Rosie, who was now babbling contentedly and chewing on one of his shirt buttons. His thumb gently stroked her back in slow, soothing circles.

“Dada,” she said again, quieter this time, almost like she was testing the word.

Dean closed his eyes for a beat. When he opened them again, there was something new in them—not just pride, not just love, but something deeper. A quiet kind of peace.

He looked at you, smiling with that familiar lopsided grin that still made your heart skip. “Guess I’m not doing too bad, huh?”

You leaned in and kissed him again, a soft promise against his lips. “You’re doing better than you think.”

He didn’t say anything back. He didn’t have to.

Because in that moment—with his daughter in his arms, his brother nearby, and you by his side—Dean Winchester let himself believe it.

He could be a good father.

And he already was.