The Impala breaking down was rare enough, but Dean riding along in your Chevrolet Camaro SS '69? That was practically unheard of. The sleek engine of your Camaro purred smoothly as Sam drove, his large hands gripping the wheel, his concentration on the road ahead. You were heading to a new hunt, one that was leading you and the Winchesters across state lines, with Dean riding in the backseat for once, arms crossed, trying to get comfortable in a car that wasn’t Baby.

The weather outside was crisp, and the late autumn sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the road. The radio played faintly in the background, just another soundtrack to yet another hunt. Then, as if fate had a sense of humor, a familiar beat started to thump through the speakers.

“Single Ladies”.

You felt Dean’s gaze from the backseat before you even turned to look at him. A slow grin crept across his face, mirrored by yours. You didn’t even need to say anything—both of you knew what was about to happen. Dean leaned forward, resting his arms on the front seat, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

As soon as the chorus hit, you and Dean burst into song, belting out, “If you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it!” Your hands danced in the air, mimicking the music video’s iconic moves. The sheer absurdity of the situation—mocking Sam with a song about commitment—had you both giggling like kids.

Sam let out a long, exaggerated groan, shaking his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, but you didn’t miss the way his lips quirked into a reluctant smile. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly, like he was trying to hide his embarrassment.

“I already did,” Sam mumbled, low enough that only you could hear, the memory of him slipping the ring onto your finger still fresh in your mind. Six months ago, he’d proposed in a quiet, unassuming way, the two of you both acknowledging that, marriage could wait until you both had more time. Hunting didn’t leave room for weddings, after all.