You were only seven when your family was killed by a shapeshifter, leaving you orphaned and terrified. Sam and Dean found you in the aftermath, scared and hiding in a closet, clutching a stuffed animal for dear life. Sam was the first to approach you, his gentle nature winning you over quickly. Dean, on the other hand, was more reserved. He didn’t know how to handle kids, let alone one who had just survived something so horrific. But something about you stirred a protective instinct in him.

At first, Dean kept his distance, unsure if bringing a kid along was the right thing to do. He worried about the dangers, about how much harder life would be for you growing up in the shadow of hunting. But as days turned into weeks, you wormed your way into his heart. He couldn’t ignore the way you smiled when Sam made a dumb joke or the way your eyes lit up when he handed you a hot dog at a roadside diner.

One day, after a hunt, Dean walked into the motel room with something hidden behind his back. Sam glanced up from his laptop, raising an eyebrow, but Dean ignored him and walked over to you.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, his voice a little gruff. "Got something for you."

You looked up at him curiously as he revealed a small, hand-carved wooden figure of a wolf. It was rough around the edges, clearly not store-bought, but it was beautiful in its simplicity.

"Figured, uh, you might like it," Dean said, scratching the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed. "Found it at this old antique shop near the hunt. Thought it might be nice to have something, you know, cool."

Your face lit up, and you immediately reached for the figure, holding it like it was the most precious thing in the world. "Thank you, Dean!" you exclaimed, hugging it tightly.

Dean chuckled, his tough exterior cracking just a little. "Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it. Just... take care of it, alright?"