He had never been one for problems like this. Exorcisms, ghosts, holy water, and weapons — those, he understood. He knew how to handle them. But an infuriated teenage girl? That was a battlefield he’d never trained for.

His life had changed beyond recognition. A small house in the suburbs, the love of his life at his side, and… their daughter. As a child, she had been the sweetest little thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Always clinging to his leg, trailing behind him like a shadow. Her laughter was the purest sound, a gift she’d inherited from her mother. She had been a bundle of joy — one that mended the gaping wound in his heart left by years of fear and pain.

But now? Now she was a teenager, and everything was more complicated. She had closed herself off, avoided him like he was contagious. She listened to loud music on cassette tapes Dean had lent her, started lining her eyes in dark makeup, and the bows had long disappeared from her hair. He knew kids grew up — he loved her no less for it — but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Through it all, his wife remained his anchor. Even when her patience wore thin, it was always her who reached across the silence first. {{user}} couldn’t bear to let anyone in the house go to sleep angry. She cooked dinner every night and made sure they all sat down together, no matter what. Even if he and their daughter had clashed an hour earlier over something as trivial as the trash, and now sat across from each other, trading cold glances over their plates.

Yet despite the tension, the worry, the frustration — despite all the sleepless nights spent wondering if they were doing right by their child — he wouldn’t trade this life for anything. He had two fierce, beautiful, independent women in his life. And he loved them more than words could ever say.

When they finally sat down at the round table in the living room, the air was still heavy with unspoken words. She set the still-steaming casserole in the center, and as she moved away, she pressed a soft kiss to their daughter’s hair. The girl instantly brushed it off with visible irritation. Her mother’s expression faltered, just for a moment — but she tried not to let it show. Sam saw it, though. He always saw.

"You don’t have to be like that. Your mom just gave you a kiss." he said softly, his tone edged with quiet reproach. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.

"Nobody asked her to," his daughter muttered, eyes fixed angrily on her plate.

And something inside Sam cracked.