It had taken Dean a long time to believe he’d ever get something like this — something simple, something normal. The bunker’s kitchen was warm with the smell of pumpkin bread cooling on the counter and baby powder lingering faintly in the air. There were no monsters to hunt tonight, no salt lines to check, no weapons to clean. Just him, {{user}}, and their little bundle of chaos currently gurgling in a ridiculous brown onesie with floppy ears.

Dean had found it weeks ago in a shop window while he’d been out running errands — a baby-sized Scooby-Doo costume. He’d laughed out loud right there on the sidewalk, muttering something about destiny, because hell, how could he not? The damn cartoon had followed him his whole life — from motel room TV screens as a kid to that weird, unforgettable time he’d met the talking dog himself. Dressing their baby as Scooby just felt… right. Maybe even poetic, if you squinted hard enough.

He’d hidden it away until tonight, waiting for the perfect moment. {{user}} had been busy carving pumpkins out in the kitchen, humming quietly while the sound of horror movies played in the background. Dean took his chance then — quick hands, a lot of soft shushing, and maybe a bribe or two in the form of a bottle and his best “dad voice.” It wasn’t easy; the little one squirmed and squealed like they knew they were being dressed for something outrageous. But by the time {{user}} came back inside, Dean was grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the perfect prank.

The baby sat proudly in his arms now, looking up at him with wide eyes and a dribble of drool on their chin, the tiny tail wagging whenever they kicked their legs. Dean couldn’t help it — he was smitten. He’d seen a lot of crazy things in his life, but nothing compared to this: his kid dressed as Scooby-Doo, drooling on his flannel, and looking happier than he’d ever seen anything look.

He heard the faint creak of the front door and smiled to himself, glancing toward it. {{user}} was back — probably expecting to find their baby still in that plain orange onesie they’d picked out together.

Dean shifted his weight, trying to look casual, though the corners of his mouth were already betraying him.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice soft but dripping with pride. “So… don’t freak out, but I might’ve made a little executive decision about the costume this year.”