The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of rain that had passed through hours ago. Dean stood outside the door, rolling his shoulders, shifting his weight between his boots. The Impala sat behind him, its metallic sheen dull under the glow of the porch light. His fingers brushed over his jeans, restless. He could face down monsters, demons, the worst hell had to offer—but this? This had his gut twisted.

Through the window, warm light spilled into the front yard. Inside, he could hear soft laughter, a child's giggle—small, bright, untainted. It cracked something open in him. He wasn’t just walking into a house. He was stepping into a life. A life she had built before him. A life that, if he wasn’t careful, he could ruin just by being who he was.

Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wanted this. He wanted her. And the kid? If Dean was honest with himself, that was the part that scared him most. Not because he didn’t want to be here, but because he did. Too much.

The door creaked open before he could second-guess himself again. Warmth washed over him, the scent of something home-cooked mixing with the lingering sweetness of bubble bath soap. His gaze dropped, finding wide, curious eyes staring up at him. Small hands gripping the edge of a couch for balance.

Dean swallowed past the tightness in his throat, then meet the little boy’s gaze.