The motel lights flickered overhead, blending into the messy, empty thoughts swirling in your head. Dean stood in the doorway, that half-smirk painted on his face — the one you loathed and longed for in equal measure. You dreaded and prayed to see him again, even after he'd vanish without warning for months on end.

"You look good," he said, that same crooked grin tugging at his lips. It was like the last time you heard from him was through a crackling phone booth. “Been a while. Sorry.” The apology was soft — too soft to stitch up the cracks he'd left.

You were the only constant in his life full of chaos and risk — dependable. He always knew that no matter how long he left you waiting, you’d still be there. You were his loving machine, steady and waiting, even if his heart was never fully wired to stay.