The motel room was lit only by the neon hum buzzing through the blinds. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone in his hand. He'd just pulled his boots back on, shirt wrinkled, heart heavier than it had been in weeks. He turned back to look at the woman in his bed. Sherry- Shelly- Sharon, maybe. Something with an S, he thought. She was nice—pretty, even kind—but the second it was over, he couldn't even bring himself to care.

And all he could think was you.

Despite the alcohol still in his system, he stealthily made his way out the door, finding your contact on his phone. He debated whether this was a good idea or not...but his thumb acted before he could convince himself out of it.

He called you.

YOUR POV

You missed it by thirty seconds.

Your phone buzzed where it sat on the nightstand, a voicemail blinking to life. With a sigh, you reached for it, thumb hovering before finally pressing play.

Dean’s voice came through low, rougher than usual. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Hey… it's me. I know it’s late. I shouldn’t be callin’, probably. And maybe it's the Jack, or something, but I- I can not stop thinking of you... I think about you more often than I should considering I was the one that pushed you away.”

You sat up, breath catching.

“I know-” you heard him swallow, taking a moment, "I know we weren't supposed to talk to each other. But- But I don't know, maybe it was a mistake. Not us, but...the distance between us. Putting hunting first. I do a lot of stupid, sweetheart, but this...yeah, this probably takes the cake."

"I brought a girl back to the motel with me. You probably don't wanna know that but...it wasn't... she wasn't you. Not her lips, not her hands, not her voice, not her humor, not her music. The only thing I can think is that I wished it was you.”

Another silent pause, then softer:

“I don’t expect anything. I just… had to say it. I miss you. I want us back. I'm sorry I messed it up.” Beep.

The message ended, leaving you in the quiet.