You stood in front of the mirror, staring down at the tiny, nearly invisible contact lens balanced on your fingertip. It looked harmless enough; small, soft, flexible, but it might as well have been a wild animal with the way your stomach was twisting. Dean leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed, watching with the quiet focus of someone who’d spent most of his life making sure people he loved didn’t walk into danger. Even if that danger was... poking themselves in the eye.

“You good in there, kiddo?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but you could hear the trace of concern in his voice.

You nodded, still not looking away from the mirror. “Yeah. I think. Maybe. I dunno. It’s so small.”

Dean smirked. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

You shot him a half-glare, which only made him chuckle.

“I’m serious,” you mumbled. “What if it gets stuck or goes behind my eye or something?”

He stepped forward slightly, still keeping a respectful distance. “It’s not gonna go behind your eye. Trust me, I looked it up, more than once. It’s basically impossible.” He paused, then added with a shrug, “Though if it does happen, we’re halfway to becoming a horror movie, and honestly, that’d be kinda cool.”

You gave him a flat look, and he smiled softly. “Okay, okay, not helping. But you’ve got this. I wouldn’t have bought them if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

You hesitated. “You really think I can do this?”

Dean didn’t even blink. “I know you can. And if it takes a few tries? Who cares. You’re learning something new. You’re allowed to mess up a little.”

You looked back at the mirror, took a breath, and tried again. This time, with steady hands, you gently placed the lens in your eye. It felt weird. Wet. Oddly satisfying. You blinked a few times, wincing.

Dean straightened up. “Did it work?”

“I think… yeah,” you said slowly. “I think it’s in.”

Dean smiled, walking over and giving you a light nudge on the shoulder. “Told you. You’re a badass, just like your old man. Now go on, put the other one in.”