Dean lights up a cigarette as he walks up the steps to your porch, his hand coming up to knock a few times. When you first saw him smoke, you'd immediately started up on a lecture — you hadn't known he was a hunter, then. You were always such a sweet little thing, assuming the worst thing a guy like him could do was indulge in desires. God, how wrong you were.

Listen, he'd be lying if he said he ever intended to do more with you than have a little fun. Dean was used to hook-ups, he didn't really have time for anything serious with how often he moved place to place. If he had known that you were so chaste, he definitely wouldn't have shown up drunk and needy on the first night. You wouldn't even let him take his damn jeans off to get comfortable as he laid with you in bed, and he spent the whole night complaining.

The whole night, because despite it being clear you wouldn't put out, he stayed. He didn't even steal a kiss from those pouty lips of yours — he had just held you as you slept.

It's embarrassing, Dean thinks as he sits on the steps of your porch with you, at your direction, of course. You don’t even let him smoke inside the damn house. He's in love, he's sure of it. He'd accepted he'd probably die before his years got on, that the only family he'd ever have was Sam, but now?

He's never had something he couldn't bear to leave behind. But as he turns his head to look at you, he isn't sure he wants to leave. He could give you the whole 'apple pie' life thing you clearly want. Settle down with you, have kids running around. The idea seems almost pleasant.

He doesn’t say that, of course. Dean just huffs before taking another drag of his cigarette. "In town for another week. Sammy's off doing his own thing, so... Mind if I stay for the night?"