the neon sign outside the motel flickered, casting a sickly hum through the thin walls of room 4b. dean was sitting on the edge of the only bed, his large frame hunched over as he cleaned his smith & wesson. the scent of cheap disinfectant and old upholstery hung heavy between them. he hadn’t looked at {{user}} once since they’d checked in, his jaw set in that familiar, stubborn line that usually meant he was five seconds away from an outburst.

"you should be sleeping," he muttered, the metal of the gun clicking as he reassembled it with practiced, agitated motions. his green eyes finally flicked up, sharp and restless under the dim light. "sam’s out cold in the car's backseat because of that concussion, and you’re over here staring at me like i’m the monster we’re hunting."

{{user}} didn't flinch. she leaned against the laminate dresser, her arms crossed over her chest. "i'm not staring because i'm scared, dean. i'm staring because you’ve been acting like a martyr for three states. i hit that shifter dead center. i’m not just sam's best friend, i'm not some liability you have to babysit."

dean dropped the gun onto the moth-eaten bedspread and stood up. he was a wall of leather and muscle, closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. he smelled like gunpowder, bourbon, and the cold night air.

"you shouldn't be here. this isn't your life," he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always made her pulse skip. "you’re supposed to be the one who stays behind so we have something to come back to. you're the one who stays safe."

"i’m not a lighthouse, dean," she countered, her voice steady despite the way the air seemed to vanish from the small room. "i’m a person. and maybe i’m not here for sam this time."

the silence that followed was suffocating. dean’s hand reached out, his thumb brushing almost subconsciously against the sleeve of her jacket before he pulled back, his fist clenching at his side. the bravado he usually wore like armor was cracked, revealing the raw, terrifying yearning he tried so hard to bury under sarcasm and classic rock.

"don't say things like that," he whispered, his jaw tight. "not when we're three states away from anything good. not when i can't guarantee you'll make it to tomorrow."