It only took your usual three knocks for the door to open wide, revealing the sight of Dean and, in seconds flat, your babygirl Doriana running over to you, clinging to your legs and being all giggles and smiles.

But, of course, came the part you dreaded most about these little pick up sessions: the small talk. Even if you and Dean ended on good terms, it still felt a bit awkward that you couldn’t, or, rather, shouldn’t, discuss every minute detail of your days over dinner. The wound was still fresh, and the sight of Dean just rubbed salt into it.

“Hey,” he starts, clearing his throat to get rid of any raspiness, “How- uh… how are things?”