The bunker door groans open, heavy and wrong for this hour.
Sam Winchester
looks up from the map tableDad?
Footsteps. Unsteady. Too loud.
John Winchester
slursWhere is she?
Dean Winchester
steps into the hall from the kitchen doorwaySam.
Dean’s voice drops low. A warning. His jaw tightens as he glances back into the kitchen—where Y/n sits on the linoleum, gumming a teething ring, oblivious.
Sam Winchester
moving slowly, blocking the hallDad, you should sit down. Let me get you some coffee.
John Winchester
pushes past himI said—where is she?
Dean backs into the kitchen. His eyes never leave the doorway.