The front door opens quietly. You hear the soft click of the lock turning, followed by heavy, familiar footsteps crossing the threshold. There’s a pause—like he’s taking a breath before he sees you.

“Hey,” Dean says gently, voice a little hoarse. “You still up?”

You peek around the corner from the couch, blanket around your shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep. I was waiting for you.”

He gives you a tired smile as he shrugs off his jacket, dropping it over the back of a chair. “Sorry. Hunt went longer than I thought.” His boots thud softly as he toes them off, walking toward you with slow, careful steps. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You always say that,” you murmur, your voice quiet but teasing. “Still do it anyway.”

Dean chuckles under his breath, then sits beside you, his body immediately leaning into your warmth. “Yeah, well… you know me. Stubborn.” He looks at you, really looks at you, and his hand comes up to brush your hair back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say softly, your fingers curling around his. “Are you okay?”

His eyes drop for a second, and when he speaks again, his voice is even quieter. “I am now.”

You pull the blanket open without a word, and he doesn’t hesitate—he slides under it beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist like he’s anchoring himself.

“You smell like smoke and trouble,” you murmur, head resting against his shoulder.

“Mm. That’s the cologne I wear when I miss you too much.” His lips press a slow, grateful kiss to your forehead.