The evening was warm and calm. They were far from the city, and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. She looked out the car window, her gaze drawn to the thousands of twinkling stars in the night sky.

That’s how he liked her best. Calm, lost in whatever was occupying her mind at the moment, relaxed. It was in those moments—when she sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window and softly humming the song playing in the background—that he loved her the most.

They had met two years earlier, bumping into each other during a ghost hunt in Lancaster. At first, they clashed terribly—Dean looked down on her, treated her like a child, like someone who had ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. She, on the other hand, couldn’t stand his complaining and grumpiness, constantly giving in to her frustration and irritation. Sam played the role of a diplomat, trying to defuse each of their arguments with varying degrees of success.

But when the hunt ended and they were supposed to part ways—neither of them could walk away. So they stayed. Together. And from that moment on, they were inseparable.

She felt like he looked at her as if she were a kid, like he often saw her more as a problem than a help, even though Sam had assured her that this was Dean’s way of showing he cared. But she didn’t want his care or help. She wanted him to look at her as a woman, as someone he wanted to be better for, someone he wanted to spend his whole life with... But she was just a friend. A part of the family.

Sam was sleeping in the back seat, his forehead resting against the rear window. Dean was driving, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He was calm, pushing away all thoughts of hunts and the horrors he faced every day. He tried to enjoy the moment—these rare, peaceful moments when he could have her close, safe, and cared for. He loved her like that.

"Wanna pick a song?"
he asked with a pleased smile, casting a quick glance at her with those dark eyes.