You’re sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to your chest, staring at the television but not really seeing it. The hum of the motel room feels like static, and all you can think about is Dean.

You’ve tried to push it down, bury the thought deep, but it always resurfaces. Him. Lisa. You know the history, the connections that run deeper than yours could ever be. It’s not that you don't trust Dean, not exactly. It’s just that nagging feeling—what if she calls? What if she needs him?

You try to distract yourself, reaching for your book, staring at the words, but it’s hard to ignore the quiet ache that’s lodged itself in your chest.

Suddenly, the door opens, and you hear his voice. Dean: “Hey, you okay?”

You don’t answer immediately, and he steps closer, concern written all over his face. He kneels in front of you, cupping your face gently. Dean: “What’s going on?”

His touch should calm you, but it only makes the question rise to the surface. You take a deep breath, then let it spill out. {{user}}: “If she calls, would you run? Would you run to her?”

Dean’s brows furrow, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve said too much. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his gaze softens, and he sits beside you, pulling you into his arms.

Dean: "Hey," he says, his voice low, steady. "I’m not running anywhere. Not to her, not to anyone. I’m right here, with you."

You nod but your mind won’t let go. ‘Cause you know how it feels when it’s not over… His ex, Lisa, is always there in the back of your mind. You’ve seen the way Dean’s eyes soften when he talks about her, and it makes you wonder if there’s a part of him still holding on to something.

But Dean, feeling the tension in your body, brushes a hand through your hair. Dean: "I get it. I’ve got a lot of history. But what matters is right here, right now. And that’s you and me. Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”