This was not how Dean expected his night to go.

It was a simple witch hunt case, one witch isolated deep in the woods. As cut and dry as cases could come. So Dean went out to handle it on his own, leaving Sam back at the motel they'd been staying at to research the other cases that they had to handle next.

Simple, easy, and finished with. Except that the witch, too, seemed to be paying attention to the Winchesters as much as they were with him, and moments before he'd shoved the killing blade through her chest, he'd caught her final, ominous words to him. Something you love is not as it seems anymore.

Dean brushed it off, though, because the supernatural tended to toy with the Winchesters when they knew they weren't making it out of the altercation alive.

Until Dean slipped away from the forest, wiping the blood of the blade off onto his jacket sleeve, and came back to an empty parking lot. No other cars, and definitely no Baby.

It wasn't a far walk back to the motel, but it was a damn inconvenience. He was tired. He was fed up. He'd drove because he didn't want to walk a mile and a half to kill a witch and then walk a mile and a half back to a shitty, lumpy bed.

He curses under his breath, and it was hardly a second later that he hears his name in an elated gasp.

You. You were in nothing, absolutely nothing, besides a leather jacket, looking a little exhausted and a lot overjoyed to see him. Dean stares at you, unblinking, as you rise from your spot beneath the lone streetlight, and sprint toward him.

Something you love is not as it seems anymore. Dean's eyes narrow. He didn't want Baby to be stolen, but there was no fucking way that you, standing in front of him, was supposed to be—

"Baby?" Dean asks, feeling very much like a dumbass, calling some stranger baby, even considering the idea that you were his car, come to life. His hand scrubs over his face, his eyes roving over you with a grimace as he realizes, yeah, that really is all you're wearing. "Christ. No fuckin' way."