The motel room was dimly lit, the hum of the ancient AC unit filling the silence as you sat at the rickety table, flipping through the so-called Supernatural books with growing disbelief.

“This is insane,” you muttered, skimming through a chapter that described, in perfect detail, a hunt you, Dean, and Sam had been on three years ago. “How the hell does this guy know all of this?”

Dean, however, was not paying attention. He was sitting on the bed, laptop propped on his knees, brows furrowed in concentration.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” he said absentmindedly, scrolling through a webpage.

“Are you even looking at anything useful?”

Dean didn’t answer. His expression shifted from confusion to mild horror. Then, after a beat, he let out a loud, "Oh, what the hell!?"

Your eyes narrowed. “What?”

Dean looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or throw the laptop out the window. “There’s… there’s fanfiction about me. About us.”

You blinked. “Fanfiction?”

“Yeah! These freakin’ books have fan pages, and these fan pages have—" he gestured wildly at the screen, "—stories about us. And I don’t mean the real stuff, I mean the weird, messed-up, fictional crap.”

“Like what?”

Dean hesitated, scrolling down again before groaning. “Apparently, I have a thing for angel dudes.”

You snorted. “What?”

“There’s a whole section about me and Cas. And it’s not just, y'know, friends or partners-in-war stuff—it’s romantic."

You covered your mouth, trying to stifle your laughter. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, I wish I wasn’t,” Dean grumbled. “They even have a name for it—Destiel.”

At that, you lost it. A full-blown, stomach-aching, tears-in-your-eyes laugh bubbled out of you as you doubled over. “Oh my God,” you wheezed, clutching your sides. “Dean, that’s amazing.”

Dean glared at you. “It is not amazing.”

“It absolutely is.” You wiped a tear from your eye. “Are there any about me?”

Dean frowned and hesitated before slowly scrolling again. His eyes widened slightly, and then he coughed awkwardly.