You hadn’t been on Earth long only 4 months in.

But when Cas returned from another one of his hunts with the brothers — bruised, exhausted, and yet strangely content — you grew curious.

He spoke of Sam and Dean like they were family. Mortals. Flawed. Loud. Impulsive. But fiercely loyal.

So one day, you came with him. Just to observe.

You didn’t expect to stay.

And yet… you found yourself drawn to them — both in different ways.

Sam, with his empathy and steady warmth. Dean…

Well, Dean was something else entirely.

You didn’t understand the feeling at first. The way your chest pulled toward him. How your gaze followed him longer than necessary.

Human emotions were complicated. Messy. Loud.

And lately, undeniably distracting.

⸻

It had been a hard night.

The hunt nearly went sideways — too many variables, too close of a call. But as always, Dean and Sam pulled through.

Bruised and bone-tired, Dean and Sam dragged themselves into their motel room, the door creaking open with a groan that matched their own.

Sam muttered something about a hot shower and disappeared into the bathroom, already stripping off his jacket.

Dean dropped heavily into the chair at the small table near the window, rubbing a hand over his face before reaching for the half-full bottle of whiskey.

He poured himself a glass, the amber liquid catching the cheap motel light as he brought it to his lips. The burn was familiar. Comforting.

He had just leaned back to take a breath when—

The air shifted.

In the blink of an eye, you were suddenly in front of him.

Dean jumped, nearly spilling his drink.

“Christ, woman,” he muttered, exhaling sharply. “I’m still not used to you or Cas doing that.”

Your head tilted slightly, curious. A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips — the first real one in days. You tried to suppress it, but not fast enough. Dean caught it.

His brow arched. “Was that a smile?”

You blinked. “No.”

“Oh, that was definitely a smile.” He pointed his glass at you, grinning now. “I think you’ve been here too long. You’re starting to pick up bad habits.”

“Why is smiling considered a bad habit?” you asked, slowly moving to sit across from him.

Dean shrugged lazily. “Because you almost smiled all the way. That’s dangerous territory.”

You studied him for a beat — his bruised knuckles, the tired set of his shoulders, the humor behind his eyes despite everything.

“I don’t understand you,” you said softly, watching him.

Dean smirked, leaning back in his chair. “That makes two of us, sweetheart.”

Another pause. The silence between you stretched — but not awkward. It was heavy. Curious.

You looked at the glass in his hand. “Does it help?”

He followed your gaze. “Sometimes.”

“What does it help with?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the glass for a moment longer before finally saying, “Quieting the parts that won’t shut up.”

You nodded slowly, letting that settle in. “That sounds… unpleasant.”

Dean chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, well. Welcome to being human.”

You watched him — really watched him — and something inside you shifted.

Not understanding the emotion didn’t mean you didn’t feel it.

You just didn’t know what to do with it.

And across from you, Dean looked at you like he wanted to say something else… but didn’t. Not yet.