You and Dean stood side by side in a tiny motel room, staring down at the baby lying on the bed between the two of you. The baby — round-cheeked, blue-eyed, and utterly adorable — looked up at you both with wide, curious eyes.

"Dean," you said, your voice tinged with disbelief. "How did this even happen?"

Dean, leaning against the doorframe, rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. His usual bravado was nowhere to be found. "Hell if I know. One minute we’re on a routine hunt, and the next thing I know, we're playing babysitter to the spawn of a witch." He glanced at the baby, sighing. "This was supposed to be easy. In and out."

"Great," you muttered, shooting Dean a look. "So what now? We’re supposed to fight off a coven while changing diapers?"

Dean gave you a playful smirk, but you could tell there was tension beneath it.

He'd been keeping his distance from you lately, ever since that night after the last hunt—when your bodies had been so close, breaths mingling, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. But nothing had happened. You both had acted like it never did.

Still, it lingered. That almost moment.

"Hey, it's not all bad. Maybe we can figure out what kind of formula this little guy likes while we’re at it," Dean teased, but his eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

You shot Dean a glare, crossing your arms, ignoring the warmth of his gaze. This was going to be impossible. The tension between you and Dean, the fact that you both could barely manage to take care of yourselves on a good day — fuck. Could the ground just swallow you up now?

Dean pushed himself off the doorframe, walking over to the bed, his hand brushing yours as he reached to adjust the blanket around the baby. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you tried not to react, biting the inside of your cheek.

"Look," he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone he used when things got serious. "We’ll figure it out. Besides, it's just a baby. How hard can it be?"