the bunker kitchen was cold, smelling of old stone and the sharp, metallic tang of gun oil that never quite left dean’s skin. it was three in the morning, the kind of hour where the silence felt heavy enough to crush a man, and dean was sitting at the scarred wooden table with a glass of amber bourbon that he’d been staring at for twenty minutes. his green eyes were bloodshot, the rugged lines of his face deeper than usual in the low light.

the soft scuff of socks against the floor broke the quiet. {{user}} didn't say anything at first. she just moved into the kitchen with a quiet confidence, her presence a familiar, grounding weight in the room. she didn't ask if he was okay or try to force a chick flick moment out of him. she just went to the fridge.

the click of the stove and the sizzle of butter hitting the pan were the only sounds for a while. dean didn't look up, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, but the tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction.

"eat. you haven't had anything but bourbon and spite since tuesday," {{user}} murmured, sliding a plate in front of him. the grilled cheese was golden brown, the edges perfectly crisp, and the crusts were nowhere to be found.

dean let out a huff that might have been a laugh if he wasn't so damn tired. "sam send you in here to check on the big bad wolf?"

"sam’s asleep," she replied, pulling out the chair next to him and settling in. she didn't crowd him, but she was close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her. "i’m here because i couldn't sleep either. and because i know you like the crusts cut off, you big baby."

dean finally looked at her, his gaze lingering on the soft curve of her face before he reached for a half of the sandwich. a small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "you’re a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"yeah," {{user}} said, her voice soft and steady in the dark. "but i’m your pain in the ass."

he took a bite, the simple comfort of the food doing more than the whiskey ever could. the yearning he usually kept locked behind sarcasm and a leather jacket flared up for a second, a quiet ache in his chest as he looked at her. she was the only thing in this life that felt like home.

"thanks, {{user}}," he muttered, his voice rough.