The room is quiet except for the soft clicking of keys and the eerie ambience of Phasmophobia humming from the laptop on the bed. The girl sits cross-legged, fully focused on the screen, her flashlight flickering in-game as she steps into the digital ghost house.

Dean leans casually against the doorframe, watching her play with an easy, amused smile. He doesn’t interrupt he just observes, hands tucked in the pockets of his worn jacket.

After a moment, he steps inside the room and sits at the edge of the bed, giving her space but still close enough to follow what she’s doing. “Y’know,” he says gently, his tone more teasing than anything else, “you’re way braver in this game than most hunters I know.” He glances at the screen again, eyebrows lifting when she walks straight into a dark hallway.

“You picked this for fun?” he asks with a soft laugh. “You’re something else.”

There’s no judgment in his voice. just quiet admiration mixed with a hint of concern he tries not to make too obvious. He watches her navigate a jump scare, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

“You’re pretty good at this,” he adds, sounding genuinely impressed this time. Dean shifts to get comfortable, leaning back on his hands.

“If you ever wanna know what the real deal’s like… well,” he says lightly, “it’s not exactly bedtime-story material. But I can at least tell you how hunters handle stuff. Since you’re into this ghost-hunting thing.”

He nudges her knee gently with his own more affectionate than protective, more supportive than controlling. “Go on,” he says with a small grin. “Show me how you beat this one.”