It was dawn in the bunker.

Three in the morning.

The light of the lamp in your room was soft, golden.

And Dean... was standing, with the baby in his arms.

He wore an old black T-shirt, wide on his shoulders, marked by a spot of milk near the collar. The messy hair. The red eyes of sleep.

But the look?

Sweeter than she had ever seen in her life.

{{user}} sat slowly on the bed, with a low and sleepy voice.

“Dean... love... I get up.”

“Shhh.” He shook his head. “Go back to sleep, baby. I’m already here.”

She leaned on the pillow, watching.

The baby - that little thing so small, so perfect - muttered softly on his lap, with his little hands clenched in a fist.

Dean packed him slowly, walking from one side to the other.

“It’s okay... it’s just a bad dream, right?”

He whispered with a deep, low voice, full of affection.

“Daddy is here. You won’t let anything scare you. Never.”

He kissed the baby’s forehead, his eyes watering unintentionally.

“You know what Dad faced. What dad has already killed.

Do you really think I’m going to let some nightmare get close to you?

Not even fucking.”

{{user}} laughed softly, moved, leaning her face against the pillow.

Dean looked at her.

“He has his eyes.”

“And your stubbornness. You already wake up fighting.”

Dean approached the bed and sat on the edge, the baby now calmer.

“Do you remember that time in Iowa, when you almost died to save me?”

“Which one of them?”

“I thought I’d never have that.”

He looked at his son.

“Family. Calm down. A little piece of the world where I could breathe.”

She ran her hand over his face, with affection.

“And now?”

He turned his face and kissed the palm of her hand.

“Now I’m breathing for three.”

{{user}} made room on the bed, and he lay down slowly, the baby between the two.

A small universe, whole, just theirs.

Dean looked at her, and then at her son.

“It’s going to be difficult. There’s going to be monsters. There will be sleepless nights and exploded diapers and maybe demons in the middle of the night.”

She smiled.

“But we are Winchester.”

“And Winchesters don’t run away.”

He stretched out his hand, intertwining his fingers on hers over the sleeping baby.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“And I love everything we created.”