The bunker is quieter than usual tonight.

No music humming from Dean’s room. No sound of Sam flipping through lore books in the library. Just the soft buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead and the faint rumble of the old ventilation system echoing through the halls.

You sit at the small kitchen table, fingers curled tightly around a mug that’s long since gone cold.

You’ve faced demons. Witches. Vampires. Things that crawl out of the dark with teeth and claws and blood on their hands.

None of that ever made your stomach twist the way this does.

Because this… this isn’t a hunt.

This is real.

Your eyes drift again to the small plastic test sitting on the table in front of you. Two pink lines staring back like they’re daring you to deny what they mean.

Pregnant.

Your mind fl@shes back to a few months ago — a hunt that went sideways fast. A ghost that should’ve been simple turning violent, the building collapsing around you and Dean as you barely made it out alive.

Adrenaline still pounding. Hearts racing. The overwhelming realization that you almost lost each other.

That night neither of you slept. You held onto each other like the world might disappear if you let go. And somewhere between relief and exhaustion… you stopped thinking about anything else.

Now here you are.

And you have to tell him.

Dean Winchester — the man who’s been your partner on hunts for years, your best friend long before you started dating a year ago.

The man who would charge headfirst into hell to protect you.

But this?

You don’t know how he’ll react to this.

Footsteps echo down the bunker hallway.

Heavy. Familiar.

Your heart jumps into your throat before the door swings open and Dean steps inside, shrugging out of his jacket. He looks tired but relaxed, hair messy from the drive back, keys spinning lazily around one finger.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says easily, glancing toward you.

Then he pauses. Because you’re sitting there stiff as a statue and the smile on his face slowly fades.

Dean sets the keys on the counter, eyes narrowing slightly as he walks closer.

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer now.

His gaze drops to the table.

To the test.

He stops mid-step.

The room goes very still.

Dean stares at it for a long moment, like his brain is trying to catch up with what his eyes are seeing. Then his eyes lift slowly back to yours, confusion, shock, and something deeper flickering across his face.

“…Sweetheart?”

His voice is quiet now. Careful.

“Is this…?”

He trails off, the question hanging in the air between you.

Waiting.