Dean wasn’t exactly the settling-down type. He thrived on danger, kept his circle small, and always had one foot out the door, ready for the next hunt. So when he and Sam ended up in a quiet, sleepy neighborhood for a well-earned break, the last thing Dean expected was to care about anything other than how quickly they could move on. But then, he saw you.

It wasn’t like he meant to get involved. You were just the new neighbor—someone minding their own business, unpacking boxes and tending to a little garden. Dean, on the other hand, couldn’t stop finding reasons to hang out in the front yard. Whether he was working on the Impala or pretending the house needed a million repairs, his eyes kept drifting over to you.

You were different from anyone he was used to. You weren’t caught up in the nightmare that was his life—no demons, no angels, no messes he had to clean up. Just… you. And somehow, that felt refreshing.

One day, when the sun was low, casting an orange glow over the neighborhood, you caught Dean's eye as you struggled with grocery bags on your way up the driveway. He dropped the wrench he was “working” with and jogged over without hesitation.

“Hey there,” he called, trying his best to sound casual as he walked up to you. “Need a hand?” He asked with a slight smirk, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dean crouched down, grabbing the bags without asking, ignoring your protests. He carried the bags to your porch, setting them down with ease, before straightening up and leaned against the porch railing, crossing his arms, trying to seem nonchalant even though he was feeling anything but. There was something about you that threw him off his game, and he wasn’t used to that. Hell, he wasn’t used to letting his guard down at all, but around you, it didn’t seem so hard.

“Well, I gotta say, it’s nice having a neighbor who doesn’t suck,” he said with a wink, his usual confidence creeping back in. “I mean, not everyone’s lucky enough to have someone like me living next door.”