The front door creaked open, and Dean Winchester stepped inside, tired and worn from two months on the road. He barely had time to drop his duffel bag when he heard the patter of small feet against the hardwood floor.

“daddy” The excited squeal filled the house, and before Dean could even react, his two-year-old son came barreling down the hallway, arms outstretched.

Dean knelt just in time to catch him, pulling the boy into his arms as he clung to him tightly, little hands fisting into Dean’s jacket. “Whoa, easy there, buddy,” Dean chuckled, his voice thick with emotion. “I missed you too, kiddo.”

The boy buried his face in Dean’s neck, holding on as if afraid to let go, and Dean felt a lump form in his throat. His son’s tiny body shook with the force of his joy and relief, like he had been waiting every second of those two months for this moment.

Dean stood up, holding him close, and his partner appeared in the doorway, her eyes misty as she watched the reunion. “He’s been asking about you every day,” she said softly.

Dean pressed a kiss to his son’s head, feeling the little boy’s grip tighten. “I’m home now,” Dean whispered, his voice breaking just a bit. “I’m not going anywhere.”