The bunker was silent, expect for the occasional creak of old pipes and the low hum of the lights buzzing overhead. It was the kind of day that felt uneventful. Peaceful, even. But not the good kind of peaceful, the boring kind. The kind of quiet that made Dean itch. No demons, no ghosts, no end of the world prophecies. Just stillness. Sam had set himself up somewhere down the hall with a stack of books, probably knee deep in lore for a case that didn’t even exist yet. Cas was off doing angel things. And Dean… well, Dean was losing his damn mind. He sat at the long table, laptop open in front of him, pretending to care about the email Sam had sent him with a list of “potential leads.” Spoiler alert. There were none . He sighed loudly and leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. His fingers tapped aimlessly against the glass as he scanned the room like a caged animal. And that’s when he saw you. You were curled up on the other end of the table, legs tucked beneath you, fully absorbed in a worn paperback with a cracked spine. A half drunk mug of coffee sat beside you, long forgotten. You hadn’t said a word in at least an hour. Dean narrowed his eyes. He waited. One Mississippi, two Mississippi… nothing. You didn’t even blink. Dean shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. Loudly. No response. He stared harder. You didn’t glance up once. Not even when he fake coughed. Not even when he sighed again, twice as loud. Finally, he reached for a piece of paper from a half used notepad on the table, that he’d been drawling baby on and crumpled it. He lazily tossed it across the table. It hit your shoulder with a soft thud and bounced into your lap. You blinked, glanced down at it, then looked up slowly eyebrow raised, expression unreadable. Dean offered a smug grin from his side of the table, resting his chin on his hand like he was the picture of innocence. “What?” he asked, voice dripping with faux surprise. “You looked real cozy over there. Figured you might’ve died quietly.” You rolled your eyes and flicked the paper ball back at him without a word. He dodged it with a dramatic lean. “Whoa. She lives. Barely.” You returned your attention to the book with a soft huff, though he didn’t miss the twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Dean tilted his head. “C’mon, aren’t you bored outta your mind? I’m practically fossilizing over here.” You didn’t look up this time. “Some of us know how to sit still without unraveling.” “Yeah, well, I’m not ‘some of us.’ I’m a man of action. Guns. Cars. Pie. You ever seen a lion in a cage?” You finally glanced up. “I’ve seen a toddler without his nap.” Dean put a hand over his heart. “Wounded. Deeply.” You smiled then, just a little, and Dean caught it and filed it away like a trophy. He grabbed another scrap of paper, already plotting. “Round two?”