The motel room was quiet — miraculously quiet — considering there was a baby involved.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, one strong hand cradling the tiny shapeshifter against his chest, rhythmically bouncing just enough to keep the little guy soothed. {{user}} stood by the bathroom door, watching the two of them like she’d been frozen in place.

The baby — once a dark-haired, dark-eyed bundle of squirmy anxiety — had changed sometime during Dean’s soothing hums. Now, he had soft dirty blond hair and striking ocean-blue eyes.

Her eyes.

Dean didn’t seem surprised by the change. If anything, he just gave the baby a little smile, like the kid had just passed some kind of unspoken test.

“I think he likes me,” Dean muttered, voice low and amused.

“You’re holding him like you’ve been doing this your whole life,” she murmured, arms crossed loosely over your chest.

Dean glanced up. “Well, I mean… I kind of have. Sammy used to cry nonstop if I didn’t hold him like this.”

She stepped closer, drawn in by the steady warmth of the scene — Dean Winchester, tough-as-nails hunter, sitting in a rickety motel room in the middle of nowhere with a baby in his arms, humming Led Zeppelin under his breath like it was a lullaby.

“Still,” she said softly, “it’s not exactly second nature for most people. And yet you’re in full-on dad mode.”

Dean glanced down at the baby, who gave a soft coo and nuzzled against his shoulder. “Yeah, well… he’s not screaming, so I must be doing something right.”

She sat on the bed beside them, close enough to brush her fingers over the baby’s impossibly soft hair.

“He changed to look like you,” she whispered. “Well… like us.”

Dean glanced at her, eyes dark with something unreadable, but warm. Always warm with her. “Guess he figures we’re safe.”

She smiled a little. “Do you ever wonder…?”

His brow lifted slightly. “Wonder what?”

She hesitated — not because the words weren’t there, but because she weren’t sure what they’d do once they were out in the open.

“What our kid would look like,” she said finally, voice almost too quiet to hear. “If we ever… y’know. Had one.”

Dean didn’t speak right away. He shifted the baby a little, holding him closer, more protective, as if even the thought stirred something primal in him.

“He’d be lucky,” Dean said at last. “Any kid would be. Having you.”

Her chest tightened.

“I think about it,” he admitted, softer now. “Sometimes. When things are quiet. When we’re not knee-deep in corpses or blood or demon crap. I think about… this.”

She looked at him. Dean’s eyes met hers, green and vulnerable in a way he never let show with anyone else.

“At a version of life that’s... more than just surviving.”