The fireworks were still going off when he pulled you into the Impala. The doors slammed shut, sealing the two of you inside that sacred, leather and gunpowder space. The world outside blurred into noise and color, but in here, it was just breath. Dean sat in the driver’s seat, jaw clenched, breathing like he’d just outrun something. Guilt. Restraint. That voice in his head that told him he didn’t deserve good things. You saw it in his eyes, wide and wild, even in the low light. “You sure?” he asked hoarsely, like it physically hurt him to ask.

“I’m here,” you said. “I’m not going anywhere.” And that was it. He surged across the seat, mouth on yours, like he hadn’t touched anything real in years. Like you were oxygen after drowning in blood and smoke and motel walls. You climbed into his lap without thinking. He pulled you in hard, like he needed every inch of you pressed against him or he might come apart. His hands gripped your waist, your thighs, your jaw…almost desperate.

“You feel that?” he rasped against your throat, voice wrecked. “That’s me tryin’ not to lose it.” Your hands ran up his chest, fingers fisting in the flannel stretched over his shoulders.

“Then lose it. I’ve got you.” He groaned; deep and guttural, and kissed you again like he could fuse you together. Like he needed to. Tongue sweeping into your mouth, hands sliding under your shirt, trembling just slightly when they touched bare skin. But when he pulled back, panting, his hands didn’t move.

“I don’t do soft,” he said. “I can’t. I don’t know how to love someone without wreckin’ ‘em.” You cupped his face, your thumb running over that little scar on his cheek.

“I’m not afraid of the wreckage,” you whispered. “I just want to be in it with you.” Something broke behind his eyes then. His arms locked around you, pulling you in so tight it nearly hurt, but you welcomed it: every crushed breath, every aching heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

“I need you,” he whispered, and it sounded more like a confession than a plea. “Not just tonight. All of it. All the ugly shit. The nightmares. The blood. Me.”