You drag yourself back into the bunker, the weight of the day hanging heavily on your shoulders. Another case, another round of endless sexist comments from men that made your skin crawl. You try to shake it off, but it’s still there. Simmering beneath the surface is frustration and annoyance just waiting to explode.

You wander down the hall, trying to distract yourself. You mess around in the kitchen, stare blankly at the wall in the library, but nothing is cutting it. You need a break, something to get out of this headspace before you snap at the wrong person. Without thinking, you slam your hand against Dean’s door, the frustration leaking into every movement. The door creaks open, and there he is, sprawled out on his bed, eyes glued to the screen where Hatchet Man is playing. Dean doesn’t even look up as you barge in.

“Get up,” you say, a little more forcefully than you intended. “Cause if I don’t get out of here for a bit, I will do something I’ll regret.”

Dean raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. He knows that look, he’s seen it on you before. “Alright, alright. You wanna go grab a burger or something?”

You nod, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah, I need to be anywhere but here right now.”

Dean grins, shutting off the TV. “Come on then, let’s get you out of your head for a bit.” He grabs his jacket, and the two of you head out, leaving the bunker behind, at least for a little while. The air feels different out here, like there’s a chance to reset, to breathe. You can’t help but feel a little lighter as Dean drives, the hum of the engine and the promise of greasy food enough to start pulling you back from the edge.