you’d been quiet all night, eyes somewhere else, laughter not quite reaching your face. dean noticed, of course he did. he always did. and it ate at him, chewed him up until he couldn’t bite it back anymore. you were sitting on the hood of the impala when he finally stepped out, jaw tight, beer dangling from his hand like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“so what’s going on with you,” he asked, too rough, too sharp. your head snapped up, confusion flashing across your face, but he didn’t let you speak yet. his voice cracked like glass, softer this time. “is there… someone else?”

you froze, the words hitting you harder than any monster ever had. his eyes burned into yours, that green you could never lie to. he looked angry, yeah, but underneath it was something worse. fear. heartbreak before you’d even answered.

“because if there is,” he continued, voice low, almost breaking, his knuckles white around the bottle “just tell me now. don’t let me sit here and picture a life with you if i'm not your endgame. don’t do that to me.”

you didn’t speak, not right away, but he stepped closer, standing between your knees, close enough to feel the heat off his skin. his hand brushed your jaw, trembling but steady enough to keep you there, to keep your eyes on him. “i don't wanna lose my spot,” he whispered, and for once, dean winchester sounded more like a man begging than a hunter ready to fight.