It had always been like this—you and Dean orbiting each other like two stubborn planets, gravity pulling tight but neither willing to admit it out loud. Sam saw it clearer than either of you, the way Dean would put himself in the line of fire if it meant you walked away without a scratch. But then there was today—today where Dean nearly got himself killed for you.

You could still see it, the flash of the blade, the sickening moment your stomach dropped when you thought he wouldn’t get back up. You’d snapped at him afterward, voice breaking, spitting something like “You love me, right? Don’t do that ever again!” And Dean just froze, jaw tight, before the walls slammed back up. He gave you that crooked scoff, shaking his head as if the whole idea was ridiculous.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, eyes flicking away from yours like it burned. “We fucked once or twice. That’s it.”