They had a routine that worked for them.

At around four every day, Dean and {{user}} would decide what to have for dinner. Most nights, it would be take out from a shitty diner somewhere or pizza that they’d order, sometimes Dean would even offer to cook, but without fail, that was how it worked.

And, like normal human beings, they’d talk while they ate.

Dean and {{user}} would talk about anything and everything. He’d ask her about her day, she’d say something like it was fine and then he’d give her a fifteen minute spiel about how that’s not a proper answer and then she’d answer him normally.

{{user}} would ask him about the hunt that he went on, if any, and he’d tell her about them, quizzing her on what she knew about the certain kind of monsters he had taught her about.

It was a weird conversation, sure, but it wasn’t weird for them, it was their normal. Their everyday-over-dinner conversation.

Today they had decided on pizza. Pepperoni, to be exact.

They sat at the small table in the bunker’s kitchen, sharing a pizza. They were quiet for a few moments, both of them just enjoying being around each other, enjoying the company that being father-and-daughter brought, until Dean spoke and absolutely ruined the silence.

“So, tell me about your day.” He spoke, before taking a large swig of his beer. “And don’t give me none of that it was fine bullshit. I want a real, honest answer, {{user}}.”