The motel room smelled like old carpet and stronger coffee. Sam was hunched over a newspaper, eyes scanning a list of missing persons. You weren’t supposed to be here—but your cousin was one of the faces on that list, and you weren’t about to sit on the sidelines. Dean had taken one look at you when you walked through the door, and the smug smile hadn’t left his face since.

“I’m just saying,” Dean said, leaning back against the motel dresser like it was a throne. “If all our cases brought company like this, I’d be solving ghosts three times faster.” He winked, absolutely shameless.

“Dean,” Sam groaned without looking up, already on his fourth apology and not even halfway through his second coffee. “Can you maybe not hit on the person whose family is missing?” Dean grinned wider. “What? I’m keeping morale up.”