Your uncle, Dean, stood in the kitchen of the Men of Letters bunker, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce for you. The kitchen, once cold and uninviting, had become more homey over the past few years, with the familiar scent of cooking filling the air every now and then.

It had become a routine of sorts—Dean would cook, usually something simple but hearty, whenever Sam was out on a solo hunt. Things had settled into a kind of peace that had eluded them for so long.

There was no Mark of Cain hanging over him anymore, and he could feel it—like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

For the first time in a long time, the world felt... okay.

You loved having Charlie and Kevin around, too. They'd become like a second set of uncles and aunts to you, offering you the kind of warmth and affection that was rare in the Winchester world.

Charlie had taken to teaching you tech tricks, while Kevin always had his nose in a book, offering bits of wisdom when you least expected it. Even if it was quiet, their presence made the bunker feel like a home, not just a place to rest between hunts.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the table, where you were sitting, drawing something in a notebook. Dean had always admired how smart and self-sufficient you were—a trait you definitely inherited from Sam.

But today, you needed Dean. And he would be damned before he let Sam's kid go hungry or have you fend for yourself.

"Alright, kiddo," Dean said as he pulled the garlic bread out of the oven, "Dinner's ready."