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

Sam’s hands lingered on the steering wheel for a moment, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror, checking the empty road behind them out of instinct. He let out a quiet breath, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly as he leaned back, tapping his fingers against the dashboard — a familiar rhythm that calmed the nerves beneath his skin.

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

He stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots, and glanced back at you with that small, earnest nod — the kind that didn’t need words. You knew what it meant: this was your thing, just the two of you, no monsters, no gunfire, no apocalyptic weight pressing down on your shoulders.

You followed him to the hood of the Impala. Sam climbed up onto it, leaning back and resting his arms behind his head, his posture relaxed. You settled beside him, your shoulders close but not quite touching, enjoying the serenity of the night.

The silence was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. You didn’t need to fill it with chatter; sometimes just being together was enough.

Sam shifted slightly, breaking the stillness as he pointed at a particularly bright star. “Look at that one,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I think that’s Vega up there.” He chuckled softly, a sound you always cherished. “Or it could just be a plane.”