You return from a solo hunt, the door of the bunker swings open, and you kick your boots off. More than excited to catch a break.

Now…It wasn’t often you went on a solo hunt, and it was even less often that you wore actual hardcore hunter-esque clothing. You had heavy boots on as per usual, but were decked out in tactical pants, a muscle shirt, and thick jacket, hair disheveled and a thigh holster, and demon blade in hand.

Sam and Dean are stood in the bunker’s library. Sam perks up, opening his mouth, a question of ‘how did your hunt go?’ on the tip of his tongue—when the keys to the Impala are shoved into his hands.

Dean stands beside him mouth agape, “Just drive. Anywhere. For a long time.” He croaks to his brother eyes not once leaving your rough n’ tough get-up. Sam looks at him in question and Dean tears his gaze away to shoot his brother a most expressive look saying ‘Leave.’

Getting the hint, Sam leaves the bunker’s library with an unamused eye roll. The door shuts.

“Hey….” Dean says with that killer smirk, so much insinuation behind one word.