The hunt was over, and the Impala’s engine hummed steadily as Dean drove back to the motel. The silence in the car was comfortable, the kind that came after a job well done. Sam was staring out the window, his face lit by the passing streetlights, lost in his own thoughts. Dean kept his eyes on the road, but his mind wasn’t fully there either. It never was, not after a hunt.

He glanced over at Sam, who seemed like he had something on his mind, but he didn’t press it. The drive back was always the same. The weight of the case lifted, replaced by that quiet emptiness, the calm before the next storm. They’d be back at the motel soon, cleaning up, getting ready to move on to the next job.

Another day, another ghost down. Nothing new. But Dean couldn't shake the feeling that something about tonight had been different. Maybe it was the quiet in the car or the look on Sam’s face, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.