the air in the roadhouse was thick with the scent of stale beer and cheap floor wax, the kind of atmosphere that stuck to your skin like a second coat of armor. bob seger was raspy on the jukebox, singing about horizontal lines and the miles left to go. {{user}} sat at the far end of the scarred wooden bar, her fingers tracing the condensation on a glass of neat bourbon. she didn't need to look at the door to know he had walked in. the shift in the room was instantaneous, a heavy pull of gravity that always pointed toward him.

dean slid onto the stool beside her, his leather jacket creaking with the movement. he smelled like gun oil, old upholstery, and the sharp bite of winter. he didn't say a word at first, just signaled the bartender for a bottle and a glass. his arms, thick and mapped with scars he never wanted to explain, rested heavy on the bar top. when he finally turned his head, his green eyes were dark, tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

"you look good," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in her chest.

{{user}} didn't turn. she watched his reflection in the mirror behind the rows of liquor bottles. she was a decade removed from the girl who used to wait for the rumble of an impala engine in the middle of the night. she was softer, surer of herself, and yet the sight of his jawline, tight with unspoken words, made her feel like she was standing on a fault line.

"you look like you haven't slept since 2016, dean," she replied, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs.

he huffed a dry, humorless laugh and poured a double. "fair point."

they sat in the silence of people who knew too much about each other to start with small talk. the jukebox transitioned into 'against the wind.' dean stared into his amber liquid, his knuckles white where they gripped the glass.

"i thought about calling," he said, the admission sounding like it was being pulled out of him by force. "a few times. usually after the second bottle of bourbon."

{{user}} finally looked at him, taking in the rugged lines of his face and the way he seemed to be trying to memorize her features in return. "why didn't you?"

"because i knew if i heard your voice, i’d drive straight to your front door," dean said, his gaze dropping to her mouth before snapping back to her eyes. "and you worked too hard to get away from this mess for me to drag you back in. i wanted you safe."