The poke to his cheek was gentle, almost hesitant. Then came the insistent tug on his hair, a small, fumbling hand tangling in the strands. Dean groaned, burrowing deeper into the pillow.

He hadn't hunted in years, a fact that still felt strange. He'd traded the life of monster hunting for a different kind of normal, a life filled with diaper changes, scraped knees, and bedtime stories. It was a far cry from the blood and the gore, but it was the most rewarding thing he'd ever done.

He was settling in, slowly but surely, to this new life; a life of quiet mornings, helping out on home-cooked meals, and a spouse with a kid he loved more than he thought possible. But damn it, he loved sleep too.

He pried open one eye, his vision blurred before he found himself staring into the tear-filled eyes of his daughter. Her hair, usually neat thanks to {{user}}, was a tangled mess clinging to her damp cheeks.

“Sweetheart?” Dean croaked, his voice thick with sleep. He gently disentangles his hair from her grasp and pushes himself up into a sitting position against the headboard.

“What’s wrong?”

The small girl sniffled, her lower lip trembling. She was only three, and her vocabulary was still expanding, especially when she was tired or upset. Tonight, it seemed words had completely abandoned her. She just let out a small, hiccuping sob.

Dean’s heart clenched. Nightmares. Every kid got them, he knew that, but seeing his little girl so distressed twisted his gut. He glanced at the figure sleeping peacefully beside him, {{user}}. He hated to wake them. They worked hard and deserved every minute of sleep they got. Besides, he figured this was a dad job. To be a protector. Dean had been for Sam, and he would continue to be for his little girl.

"Okay, darlin'. C’mere," He reaches out and gathers the girl's trembling body into his lap. She buried her face in his chest. Her small body trembled against him.

"Nightmare, huh?" he asked, stroking her hair. He could feel the nod of her head against his sternum, the dampness of her tears soaking into his t-shirt. Dean sighed. The thought of anything, even a figment of her imagination, scaring his little girl… it just wasn’t okay.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Daddy’s got you.” he pressed a soothing kiss to the top of her head the little girl squeezing him tighter in response, a silent affirmation.