it’s late when you hear the impala pull up. you and sam exchange a look, knowing it means one thing: dean.

sam sighs and stands up from the couch, heading for the door with you right behind him. opening it, there’s dean, leaning against the car, eyes flicking between you and sam.

“hey, sammy,” dean says, too casual. “got a lead on some vamps. figured you’d want in—just like old times.”

sam crosses his arms, already shaking his head. “dean, i can’t.”

dean’s face hardens. “what do you mean, ‘can’t’? it’s one hunt. we’ve done this a million times.”

“i’m done hunting, dean. you know that.” sam glances back at you, a silent message passing between you two.

dean notices and his frustration grows. “this about them?” he jerks his chin toward you. “you’re gonna let a hunt pass because you want to play house?”

sam’s face tightens. “it’s not about playing house. it’s about living—actually living a life that isn’t just killing.”

“i’m happy, dean. i don’t wanna hunt, not now. not this time. i’m happy,” he says and glances back at you, his eyes softening as the meet yours.