Friends.

That’s all Dean and {{user}} classified themselves as. Nothing more, nothing less. Just friends.

They couldn’t be anything more. Because that would be complicated.

Between Dean and {{user}} hunting and constantly being put in danger, crossing any lines like that would cause damage. Major damage, to their friendship at least.

So, they kept things casual. They were friends and that’s it — all though everyone around them knew it wasn’t true — no feelings were involved (or so they liked to believe ) whatsoever.

And they avoided the dreaded What are we? conversation.

This hunt was like all of the others. The boys had gotten a motel room and {{user}} had gotten the room right next door. They were in the boys room, googling something for the case while Sam went out to get food for the three of them. Dean honestly didn’t even know they were in there until he walked out of the bathroom — because apparently he had been in the shower — with just a towel covering his waist. He glanced over at them as he dug his clothes out of his duffel bag that sat on the bed.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”