“Hey, hey, hey, c’mere, kiddo—” Dean’s voice was rough, low with that familiar rasp, as he bent down to pry tiny fingers off his worn flannel sleeve. {{user}} clung tighter instead, arms locked around his leg like a vice. It was like trying to peel duct tape off an old wound — every tug made Dean wince, but not from the pain in his jeans.

The kindergarten classroom around them was bright — too bright, if you asked him. Plastic bins of crayons, cheerful alphabet letters on the wall, little handprint turkeys from last fall still taped to a corkboard. All of it felt like a stage for something his life was never built for: normal. Safe. Domestic.

But here he was — Dean Winchester, hunter of monsters, world-class screw-up turned single dad, kneeling on a sticky floor trying to convince a five-year-old to let go of him. He glanced up at the teacher — Ms. Porter, or was it Miss? She gave him a tight, polite smile that said this happens all the time but didn’t make him feel any better about it.

“{{user}}, look at me,” he said, voice dropping softer, a plea only for them. He brushed a tear off their cheek with his thumb. “You gotta be brave for me, okay? Just for a little bit. I’m gonna come back — swear on Baby, okay? Nobody breaks Baby promises.”

{{user}} hiccuped, snot bubbling at their nose, clutching their battered teddy bear with one hand and Dean’s jeans with the other. Their little green jacket hung half-off their shoulder, and their backpack — Cars, naturally — lay forgotten by the cubbies.

Dean felt that familiar twist in his chest — the one that said he’d faced down Lucifer and Hell itself, but this? This tiny heartbreak? He’d take a demon blade to the gut over this any day.

He shot the teacher an apologetic grimace as she bent down, gently prying {{user}}’s fingers away with practiced hands. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Daddy’s gonna come back after snack time and circle time and playground, alright?”

“Promise?” {{user}} croaked, eyes wet and wide, like every nightmare Dean ever had of leaving someone behind.

“Yeah, baby. Cross my heart.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to their hair — soft and warm and smelling faintly of the cheap strawberry shampoo they’d picked out themselves. “You got your necklace?” he asked, tugging the old amulet that used to hang from his rearview mirror, now resting tiny and safe around their neck.

{{user}} nodded, hiccupping. Dean rested his forehead to theirs for a heartbeat longer. He wanted to stay. God, did he want to stay. But normal came at a price, and he’d pay it a thousand times over for them.

“Alright, kiddo. You be good. Listen to your teacher. Make some friends. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He stood, but {{user}} latched onto his hand at the last second — a last desperate anchor. Dean squeezed back, steady, then forced himself to let go.

As he turned for the door, he felt those big eyes on his back — like {{user}} was trying to pin him to the room by sheer will alone. And maybe they did, for a second.

Outside the classroom, Dean leaned against the hallway wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. He blew out a breath, glanced at the cheap paper crown taped on the bulletin board that read Welcome, Kindergarten Class!, and huffed a half-laugh, half-sob.

One hunt at a time, he thought. One day at a time.

And today’s monster was just a normal day without {{user}} at his side. God help him — he hoped he was strong enough to face it.