The Impala hummed softly beneath Dean's steady hand, the headlights carving a path through the dark stretch of highway. Sam sat in the passenger seat, flipping through a thick book filled with lore, muttering occasionally under his breath. And there, sprawled out in the backseat, was his little sister, her head tilted against the window, legs crossed, arms folded with that familiar look of defiance plastered across her face.

Dean’s little sister had always been a force of nature. At nine years old, she was every bit as stubborn and sharp-tongued as her older brothers, and maybe a little more so. She wasn’t shy about voicing her opinions, especially about {{user}}. From the moment {{user}} had joined them on the road, she’d been a pint-sized tornado of snark and mischief, making it clear she wasn’t thrilled about another addition to the team.

The kid had a knack for pressing buttons, too—especially {{user}}’s. Whether it was needling about a supposed crush on Dean (which, of course, she made a huge deal about), or bossing {{user}} around like she ran the place, the two of them had found themselves in a handful of petty squabbles. It was as if the kid had a radar for {{user}}’s patience and took joy in testing it.

But something had started to shift. The walls between them weren’t as high as they used to be, and {{user}} noticed the kid seeking them out more, lingering in her presence when she didn’t have to.

After a particularly rough hunt, it was no surprise that the girl crashed hard. What was surprising was that she ended up curled into {{user}} on the motel bed, her small hand clutching {{user}}’s shirt in her sleep. When Dean walked in, he froze, his lips quirking into a faint, almost disbelieving smile.