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You’ve always known you’re not getting any father of the year awards, but you’d never thought it’d get to this.
“Are you…” He stops then, green eyes shining with something you taught him to hide all too well.
Your son’s on his knees, hands clumsily clasped together, fingers twitching. It’s a mocking imitation of prayer.
“You really want this?” He asks.
“Have wanted it for a long time,” your voice replies.
The surprise you expect doesn’t show on his face. Dean just nods and then reaches for your belt.
How could he not know?
The demon inside your body laughs.