the rain is a heavy, relentless curtain against the black expanse of the impala’s hood. the neon sign of a roadside diner flickers in the distance, casting a sickly green glow over the wet pavement, but inside the car, the air is thick with something far more suffocating than the humidity.

dean’s hands are still gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white, the leather of his jacket creaking with every sharp breath he takes. he doesn't look at you. he can’t. the image of that spirit’s jagged blade whistling past your throat is burned into his retinas, a phantom light that won't fade.

"i told you to stay in the car," he rasps. his voice is a low, jagged edge, stripped of the usual sarcasm he uses to shield himself. "i told you to stay put, {{user}}."

you shift in the passenger seat, the damp fabric of your shirt clinging to your skin. you can feel the heat radiating off him, a frantic, magnetic energy that makes the small space feel even smaller. "sam was pinned. i wasn't going to just sit here and listen to him scream."

"sam is a big boy," dean snaps, finally turning his head. his green eyes are dark, blown wide with a lingering terror that has nothing to do with monsters. he reaches out, his hand hovering near your shoulder before he finally closes the gap. his fingers are trembling, just a fraction, as he brushes a stray, wet hair away from your face. "he can handle himself. but you..."

his hand slides down to your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a possessive, desperate pressure. he’s hovering too close, his chest nearly brushing against yours, the scent of gunpowder and rain rolling off him in waves. this isn't the look of a man worried about his brother’s girlfriend. this is something primal. something breaking.

"you shouldn't have been there," he whispers, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes.

you breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs. "you'd what? sam would never forgive himself if i got hurt? is that it?"

dean’s jaw sets, a muscle leaping in his cheek as he leans in until his forehead is almost resting against yours. the silence in the car is deafening, broken only by the rhythmic thrum of the rain on the roof.

"i wasn't thinking about sam," he says, his voice dropping into a rough, low register that vibrates in your chest.