You and Dean Winchester had been tangled up in each other’s lives for longer than either of you cared to admit. Hunters on the road, both running from more than just monsters. Sometimes you crossed paths by chance; other times, one of you made the call.

There was something between you—something neither of you dared to name. Something that left you questioning late at night: Do I wanna know? If this feeling goes both ways..

You were barely kicking off your boots in a rundown motel when your phone buzzed.

{{user}}: “Dean,” you answered, sinking into the creaky mattress, the phone pressed to your ear.

Dean: “Heard you picked up a case in Indiana,” he said, his voice gruff but familiar. “I’m nearby. Need a hand?”

You knew better. He wasn’t calling about a case.

{{user}}: “Just wrapped it up, actually,” you replied, already knowing where this was headed.

Dean: “Good... well—”

You didn’t let him finish. Why bother dancing around it?

{{user}}: “Star Motel, edge of town,” you interrupted.

He showed up, like he always did. And like always, there was no talk of tomorrow. You told yourself it didn’t matter, but the ache in your chest every time he left said otherwise.

This time, you made sure to be the one who left first. You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling your shirt back over your shoulders. Dean leaned against the headboard, the sheets pooled around his waist, his gaze heavy and unreadable.

{{user}}: “You’re quiet,” you said, glancing back at him.

Dean: “Just thinking…” He paused, his voice softer than you’d expected. “About how I’m always crawling back to you.”

You swallowed hard, the words landing heavier than they should have. {{user}}: “Yeah… I think we both have that habit.”

Dean looked away, a faint, almost self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Dean: “You deserve better.”