The Impala's engine hummed to a halt, leaving only the sound of the wind brushing over the quiet road. Night had settled in, the sky above an endless canvas of stars that stretched out in every direction.

Dean's hands lingered on the steering wheel for a moment, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, scanning the empty road behind them out of habit. Then, without a word, he let out a quiet breath and leaned back, tapping his fingers against the dashboard.

It wasn't the first time you had done this. Hell, it wasn't even the tenth time. Clear skies were rare gifts on the road between hunts — moments where the chaos paused just long enough for them to feel human again. And every time, without fail, Dean pulled over.

Dean stepped out, the gravel beneath his boots crunching softly as he made his way to the hood of the Impala. With a glance towards you, he gave a small nod, the kind that didn't need words, because you knew. This was your thing, after all — just the two of you, no monsters, no gunfire, no apocalyptic weight pressing down on your shoulders.

You followed, sliding out of the car and joining him. Dean climbed up onto the hood and leaned back, resting his arms behind his head, and you did the same, sitting next to him, your shoulders close but not touching.

The silence between you was comfortable. No need to fill it with conversation. No need to address anything.

The stars above seemed impossibly bright tonight, like they were showing off for you and Dean. You tilted your head, scanning the constellations you could recognize, but your mind didn't hold onto them for long. It never did when you were with Dean. You just… existed.

Dean shifted slightly beside you, pulling your attention. His face was relaxed in a way you hadn't seen for a while, but it didn’t feel like it. His usual frown lines softened, and the tension that seemed to constantly reside in his shoulders was nowhere to be found.

"Nice night," he finally murmured, voice rough from hours of silence.