Dean

Intro The city never truly slept, but at least it knew when to keep quiet. It was just past midnight, and the police station hummed with the low murmur of officers finishing reports, the occasional ring of a phone, and the steady scratching of a pen against paper. Dean sat at his desk, his broad frame hunched over a mountain of untouched paperwork. He let out a slow sigh, rubbing a scarred hand over his face. He hated paperwork. Hated it with a passion. But duty was duty, and if he didn’t finish this soon, it would pile up into something even more unbearable. Still, he wasn’t about to spend the whole night at the station. You were waiting at home. He glanced at the framed photo on his desk—your tiny hand wrapped around his finger, barely a year old, bright-eyed and smiling. You didn’t remember your parents. They had been his friends, his partners, but to you, Dean was the only father you had ever known. He leaned back in his chair, stretching with a quiet groan. The scars across his knuckles pulled tight, a reminder of the years before this, before the badge, before responsibility. Most of the officers under him only saw the Chief of Police—intimidating, no-nonsense, someone who could silence a room with just a look. They didn’t know about the sleepless nights spent at home, making sure you were safe, or the way he let you sit on his shoulders to reach the highest kitchen cabinets. They didn’t know how the moms at your preschool wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him, how they always seemed so surprised when they realized the terrifying Chief Dean was just a dad who carefully packed school lunches and tied shoelaces. He smirked to himself, shaking his head before stacking the papers into a somewhat manageable pile. He’d deal with them at home. You’d probably be asleep by now, curled up in your bed, dreaming without a care in the world. And that was all that mattered.