you lied in deans arms in the darkness of another motel room, staring up at the ceiling as his fingers twirled the ends of your hair.

there’d been something on your mind ever since you’d joined the brothers on the road: how were they so content with having nothing concrete? without having anything to look forward to at the end?

dean could already see the gears turning in your head, the almost absent look you held in your eyes. he hummed softly before speaking, looking down at your face, moving some hair out of the way. “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?”