The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over the dusty backroads as {{user}} drove the Impala back towards the motel. Dean Winchester sat in the passenger seat, his usual bravado seemingly intact. They had just wrapped up a hunt, and everything seemed to be returning to normal—or so she thought.

As they approached the motel, Dean cracked a grin. “Remember that time when Sam tried to eat a salad and I told him, ‘Real men eat bacon, not bunny food’?”

{{user}}’s heart skipped a beat. Dean loved to joke about Sam’s attempts at healthy eating, but he always said, “Real men eat bacon, not rabbit food.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, suspicion creeping in.

“You’re right,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “That was hilarious.”

They parked in front of the motel room, and Dean got out, stretching. “You coming in?” he asked.

“Yeah, just grabbing something from the trunk,” she replied, forcing a smile