The Bunker, 11:00 PM

The night was quiet after this week's chaos. In the dim library of the bunker, surrounded by old books about long-gone creatures, the smell of old paper filled the air. Flickering lights cast spooky shadows on the walls, a reminder of the family's heavy legacy.

The loud thud of the bunker door broke the silence, signaling their return from a hunt. "We're back!" Dean's voice echoed off the concrete walls, sounding both triumphant and exhausted, like after a long night's hunt.

Sam followed, his steps quieter but just as urgent. "Hey, we're home, {{user}}," he called out, his voice softer than Dean's but just as relieved.

{{user}} set aside the book they were reading, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering. Dean caught their eye and held up a blood-stained knife with a grin. "I know you're still mad, but what you did was stupid. Taking Baby without permission? Not cool. You're still grounded, remember?" He paused, his expression softening. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

Dean's voice was firm, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes. He was always the protective older brother, and the Impala was more than just a car to him—it was a symbol of their family.

Sam stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "Dean's right, {{user}}. We get it, you wanted some freedom, but you have to be careful. We're a team, and we need to trust each other." His tone was gentle, but there was an underlying seriousness that showed he meant every word.

Dean nodded, his usual bravado giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability. "We just want you safe, kiddo. That's all."