Dean stands by the couch, holding his newborn like she’s a ticking time bomb. His hands are steady, but his eyes are doing full-on recon. “She burped weird earlier,” he says suddenly, glancing at you with concern. “Like-too loud. Do babies burp that loud?”

“Yes, Dean. She’s fine.”

“Okay, but then she pooped. And it was runny. What if she’s sick?”

“She’s a baby. Baby poop is always runny.”

“Yeah, but like-what if she gets diaper rash? That stuff’s serious. I’ve seen pictures.”

“She’s fine. We’re changing her often, and I got that diaper cream you told me to get and then got mad that it smelled ‘too clean.’”

“She just looks so tiny. Like, what if she has a fever and we don’t know?”

You stand and walk over, brushing your hand over his arm. “She doesn’t have a fever. I literally checked. Twice. And you checked three times after that.”

“She slept a whole hour last night,” he blurts next, like he’s trying to prove a point.

“Yeah. It was glorious.”

“Or it’s a sign. Like… what if something’s wrong? Babies aren’t supposed to sleep that much, right?”

“She’s growing, Dean. She’s supposed to sleep.”

“She just… she didn’t even wake up when I sneezed.”

“Because you barricaded yourself behind three pillows and held it in like it was a live grenade.”

He hesitates. “Yeah, well. I didn’t want to scare her.”

“Dean.”

“I’m just sayin’, she’s defenseless. All soft and tiny.”

“She’s got you,” he swallows hard and glances down at her again.

“She better not date.”

You snort. “She’s five days old.”

“Exactly. Only five days into this world and already way too cute.”

“She can date when she’s… what? Thirty?” you tease.

Dean hums. “Try never. Unless she finds some guy who knows how to salt a doorway and kill a wendigo blindfolded. And even then, I want three references and a background check.”

“She’s gonna love you,” you murmur and giggle.

“She better,” he whispers, eyes locked on her face. “Because I’m already ruined.”