It was a quiet evening in a roadside motel just outside of Wichita. Sam sat at the small table, books and papers scattered in front of him as he researched their next case, while Dean leaned against the dresser, nursing a beer. Their younger sibling, {{user}}, was sprawled on one of the beds.

Dean’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, and he felt a familiar sense of protectiveness he’d had since they were a baby. They had been a scrawny little thing.

He had been 8 years old and already shouldering more responsibility than most kids ever would. Back then, he hadn’t liked the idea of another mouth to feed, another life to protect. But it hadn’t taken long for that resentment to morph into something else entirely.

Dean had been their constant, their rock, their "dada," as they’d first called him.

Now, years later, that bond was unbreakable. Dean watched as {{user}} tossed their magazine aside, grumbling about how boring it was. He couldn’t help but smile. They had inherited his sass and Sam’s smarts... a lethal combination.