the flickering neon sign outside the motel hummed a low, jagged tune that matched the thrum of the impala’s engine as it finally cut to silence. inside the room, the air smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap floral disinfectant. {{user}} didn't look up from the bedspread where her medical kit was already spread out, the silver needles and antiseptic bottles gleaming under the harsh yellow light of the bedside lamp.

the door creaked open, admitting a draft of cold night air and the heavy, uneven tread of leather boots. dean leaned against the frame for a second, his breath hitching as he clutched his side. his jacket was torn, the dark leather stained a deeper, wet crimson that mapped the jagged gash beneath.

"you’re going to get yourself killed just so i have something to do on a saturday night, winchester?" {{user}} asked, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. she finally looked up, her gaze tracing the tension in his jaw and the weary shadows under his green eyes.

dean huffed a dry, pained laugh and stumbled toward the bed, sinking onto the mattress with a grunt that seemed to vibrate through the springs. he started to peel back the ruined leather, his movements stiff and clumsy until {{user}}’s hands moved in to help. her fingers were warm against his cold, tacky skin, a sharp contrast that made him hiss through his teeth.

"missed you too, doc," he managed to grit out.

she didn't respond with words, only a stern look as she cleaned the wound with practiced, clinical efficiency. she worked with a focused intensity, her brow furrowed and her hair falling forward as she leaned into his space. the proximity was a heavy thing. the heat of her body, the scent of her vanilla soap, and the quiet, rhythmic sound of her breathing.

as she threaded the needle, dean watched her. he didn't look at the injury or the blood; he looked at the way her hands never trembled. he looked at the soft curve of her face and the fierce, protective light in her eyes that she tried so hard to hide behind her medical training.

the first stitch pierced his skin, and dean winced, his fingers digging into the worn duvet. he didn't pull away, though. he leaned into the contact, his gaze fixed on her.

"maybe i just like the way you look when you're bossing me around," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, low rumble that felt far too intimate for a cramped motel room.