the training room smelled like old paper, sweat, and the sharp, metallic tang of gun oil. the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a steady vibration that felt like it was rattling right through your bones. you adjusted your stance, your sneakers squeaking against the concrete floor of the bunker. every muscle in your legs was screaming, but you didn't dare move. not with dean winchester standing three inches behind you.

"your weight's too far forward," he muttered. his voice was a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate in the small space between your shoulder blades.

before you could adjust, you felt his hands settle on your waist. his grip was firm, his calloused palms pressing into your sides through your thin t-shirt. his thumbs hooked slightly over the top of your hips, anchoring you. the heat from his touch was immediate, blooming through the fabric and making your breath hitch in your throat.

"keep your center of gravity low," he said, leaning in so close his breath stirred the loose strands of hair by your ear. "if you’re top-heavy, a demon’s gonna put you on your back in two seconds."

you tried to focus on the heavy punching bag in front of you instead of the way his chest was almost brushing your back. you could smell him. leather, sandalwood, and a hint of cheap whiskey. "like this?" you asked, your voice coming out steadier than you felt.

you shifted your weight, feeling the solid strength of his hands guiding the movement. for a moment, the room went silent. the air felt thick, heavy with everything neither of you was supposed to say. his grip didn't loosen. instead, his fingers seemed to press a little deeper, his touch lingering long after the correction was made.

"yeah," he whispered, his voice sounding tighter than before. "exactly like that."

he cleared his throat and stepped back abruptly, the sudden loss of heat leaving you feeling strangely cold. he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere over your left shoulder.

"you’re a quick study," he said, trying to regain that effortless, cool-guy persona. "sam should’ve taught you this months ago."

you turned around to face him, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead. "sam doesn't want me to fight, dean. he wants me to stay in the library. he thinks he’s keeping me safe by keeping me behind a desk."

dean's jaw tightened, his green eyes flashing with something that looked a lot like frustration. "well, sam’s a romantic. i’m a realist. i can’t... i won’t let anything happen to you. not on my watch."

you took a step toward him, the adrenaline from the workout making you feel bolder than usual. "is that because of sam? or because it’s me?"

dean didn't flinch, but the look he gave you was intense enough to make your heart skip. he took a slow step back, his hand reaching for the leather jacket draped over a nearby chair.

"don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet level.