Dean was pacing the small kitchen of the bunker, a half-empty mug of coffee in his hand, his face unreadable. You leaned against the counter, watching him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

"Dean, you’re wearing a hole in the floor," you said, trying to keep the tension in your voice light.

He stopped abruptly and turned to you, his expression softening. "I just… I can’t believe this is happening."

You raised an eyebrow. "You’ve been through worse, Winchester. We’ve faced worse than a diaper and baby bottles."

He gave you a half-laugh but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m not worried about the diapers, though. I’m worried about… being good at this. At being a dad."

You stepped closer, taking his hand in yours. "You’re already good at protecting people. That’s half of it, right?"

Dean looked down at your hand, then back up at you, his voice quieter. "Yeah, but I don’t know if I can protect someone from… from life."

You smiled gently. "You’re stronger than you think. And you’re not doing it alone."

Dean’s lips curled into a small, hesitant smile. "I guess I’ll figure it out." He paused, glancing at the baby clothes you’d laid out earlier. "I just hope the kid doesn’t grow up thinking their old man is a complete disaster."

"You’ve got time to screw that up," you teased. "But you won’t. I know it."

Dean’s grin returned, though still tinged with uncertainty. "Well, damn. If you say so, I guess I can handle it."

"You already are," you replied, squeezing his hand.