you leaned against the impala, the night silent except for the faint hum of a diner’s neon sign. the hunt was over, but the weight of it lingered. dean stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his jaw tight as he finally spoke.

“you ever wonder why we keep doing this?" he said, voice rough and low. he wasn’t just talking about the hunting, and you knew it. "why we keep coming back to... this?"

he stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours. “i’m still your favorite regret, aren’t i?" the words cut, but he didn’t stop. "you keep picking this— picking me— even though you know it’s gonna hurt. like i’m some weapon you can’t let go of, no matter how much damage it does."