It was way too hot to sleep. The weary dry air in Dean’s motel room was enough to tell him to get the hell out and go for a drive…just not to where he really, truly wanted to go.

But do Dean’s dirty thoughts overpower his sensible ones?

Obviously.

He grabs his keys in one hand, while twisting the rusty old-half broken door knob in the other, the humid weather hits him, but it doesn’t stop him. Nothing stops Dean Winchester.

So he slides in the car, the seats of Baby—the impala—already worn down from him sitting on it for years and year, though it still looks good as new.

Dean presses his foot to the gas and tearing off down the dark desert highway. His windows rolled down a good inch or two to get some air.

He’s got you on his mind and he wants you bad.

Really bad.

He quickly gets to your new apartment in some fancy rich neighborhood. In the fucking city. Since when did that happen? Maybe in the two years you two haven’t seen each other—but he knew where you lived. He has his ways. He’s a hunter after all.

Knocking on your door, he hopes it’s not too late, all he needs to do is see you and your goddamn beautiful face.