𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your baby slept peacefully in her bassinet beside the couch, her tiny chest rising and falling in the dim glow of the TV. You sank onto the cushions with a sigh, finally stealing a moment to breathe. The bottles were washed, the milk pumped and portioned, the dishes done. You even managed a piece of toast— dry, slightly stale and eaten over the sink at nearly eleven o’clock.

The TV murmured in the background, some forgettable cable show turned down low so it wouldn’t wake her. You stared at the screen without really seeing it, eyelids heavy, body aching in that deep way only new mothers know. Four months of sleepless nights, of doing it all yourself, had hollowed you out. Still—you wouldn’t trade your daughter’s soft breaths beside you for anything.

Just as your head tipped against the couch cushion, a familiar sound filling your ears.

You froze.

Living here, in this neighborhood, you dont usually hear the rumble of an old engine. You turned your head toward the wide living room window, and your heart stuttered.

The Impala. Dean.

You weren’t expecting to see him ever again.

Your mind raced back before the breakup—before the argument. The two of you had met ok your college campus. He was there for the parties and you just bumped into eachother, resulting in a casual thing for a few weeks. Until one day, he vanished.

You moved on but didn’t forget about him. You finished college and got a good job, small house near your family. Good house, nice neighborhood.

You ran into Dean within months of moving into your house. You went to the bar with some colleagues and there he was— sitting at the bar with the same leather jacket wrapped around his upper body, the smell of gasoline and bourbon clinging to it.

You weren’t surprised when you woke up beside him the next morning. You were shocked to find him still in your bed when you got bad from work. And just as quickly as he got you into bed, the casual thing you too once had started up again.

He didn’t give you a real answer when you asked why he vanished a few years ago. “Family troubles” He mumbled then changed the topic. You didn’t want to pry. You could tell it was a touchy subject for him, but the vague answer always left a ache of unease in your chest.

But you ignored it. For now.

Everything felt normal with him. Waking up beside him, eating with him. All of it. You feel yourself falling for him. Hard. You could tell he was too. They way he looked at you, how gentle his touch was with you. You believed this could actually work.

Until you didn’t.

Out of the blue, he became more closed off. Guarded. Conversations falling flat faster than normal, sleeping further apart, secret phone calls that he quickly ended when you walked into the room.

You had enough. Snapped and told him to tell you what’s going on. And after some convincing, he did. He was a hunter. Not one the kills deers or moose or birds. He hunts vampires. Ghosts. Werewolves. Supernatural creatures were real and he kills them.

He sounded crazy. Batshit crazy and you weren’t having it.

“If you want an out, just say it!” You shouted before pointing to the door. “Just get out!”

And he did. He left.

A week later, you found out you were pregnant. Two weeks. You got pregnant at the start of your rekindling. But you didn’t tell him. No call or text. You didn’t want your baby to be raised to by borderline schizophrenic. Which he clearly was.

But now, four months after giving birth, he was here. Leaning against the Impala infront of the house, the weak yellow glow of the street light made it easier to see him.

And your baby—his baby—was sleeping just feet away.

Your pulse hammered. You pushed yourself up from the couch and moved to the door. You opened it slowly, stepping onto the porch, arms crossing tight over your chest as if that could hold you together.

Dean lifted his head at the sound. For a moment, his expression softened, almost sheepish. But he hid it behind his normal smirk.

“Hey.”