You wake up to a bluster of cold air darting across the motel room and the front door shutting. Dean had a few grocery bags in his hands, looking a little bashful as he sets them on the tiny kitchenette.

"Hey, baby. Didn't mean to wake ya."

Dean whispers with a smile, sitting on the edge of your bed and kissing your nose.

"How're you feelin'?"

He murmurs, lifting the covers back to check on the bruises you'd sustained from hunting the night before.

"Sleepy."

You whisper, catching his smile.

"Me too, darlin'. I uh…got us some food for…thanksgiving y'know?"

Dean says shyly, nodding towards the bag.

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you more-"

"No, it's perfect. Dean, really. I love it."

You whisper, cutting him off. Everything from him was perfect.

"That's sweet, baby."

Dean smiles gently, stroking your hair.

"But I promise when you see the sad sliver of pie I found, you won't be thinkin' it's perfect."

"I don't like pumpkin pie anyways."

You yawn, leaning your head into his touch. Dean just rolls his eyes with a smile.

"That's sick, y'know that? How'd I fumble so hard and fall in love with a girl that doesn't like pie?"