The roar of engines filled the night air, neon lights reflecting off the sleek bodies of cars lined up for the street race. Dean leaned against Baby, sipping his beer, watching as the crowd buzzed with excitement. This wasn’t exactly his scene—too much flash, not enough grit—but he’d heard about the gang-related race and figured it would be a good way to kill time. Maybe even stir up some chaos while he was at it. After all, nothing wrong with a little harmless trouble, right?

That was, until he saw you.

The second you stepped out of your car, helmet under your arm, Dean’s heart sank. He had known you since you were a kid, Bobby’s kid. He had watched you grow up, seen you get into hunting, just like him. But at some point, you had drifted away, choosing a path that was far more dangerous, far more reckless than even hunting. The whole "mafia" thing you’d gotten involved in? Dean never liked it. He never liked the danger you were in. But he never spoke out against it either—couldn’t. Not because he didn’t care, but because he did. Too much.

Dean had always had a soft spot for you, even though you’d both grown apart. He’d never admit it, but deep down, he was in love with you, had been for a while. So seeing you now, in the middle of this crowd of gangsters and street racers, one of the main drivers—hell, the star of the show—it sent a wave of concern crashing over him.

“Of course, it’s you,” Dean muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he pushed himself off Baby and started walking toward the race lineup. His eyes never left you, a mix of admiration and worry bubbling inside him. He knew you could handle yourself, you always could. But this? This was different.