You, Sam, and Dean walked into the dingy, old motel lobby—your usual choice of accommodations while hunting. You and Dean had been hunting together, as well as dating, for a while before Sam came back into the picture.

But since Sam returned, things changed in subtle ways. You and Sam got along easily, and sometimes the two of you would nerd out about things that left Dean feeling a little out of place.

Like that one time you and Sam had spent hours talking about legends and folklore, discussing the details and historical context while Dean sat with a beer, barely following the conversation. He'd laughed it off later, but you knew it bothered him—the way you and Sam seemed to click intellectually. That it made him feel insecure.

Now, standing at the motel desk, you could feel Dean's mood shift as soon as the receptionist—a friendly-looking woman in her late forties—glanced between you and Sam. "Checking in?" she asked with a polite smile.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, grabbing his wallet. The woman's eyes lingered on the two of you, a slight tilt to her head. "Just one room for you two?" she asked, her tone making it clear she assumed you and Sam were together.

Dean's expression tightened, but he kept his cool, staring down at a brochure on the counter with forced disinterest.

"No, we're not a couple," Sam corrected quickly, laughing awkwardly. "We'll take two rooms."

You couldn't miss the tension in Dean's jaw as he turned away, looking like the whole situation hadn't phased him, but you knew better. As you all waited for the room keys, Dean barely said a word, staring out at the parking lot, his silence heavy.

Back in the room—two adjoining ones, connected by a flimsy door—you settled in while Dean busied himself with his duffle bag. Sam had taken his bag into the other room, leaving you and Dean alone.

"Here," Dean muttered gruffly, handing you one of his t-shirts that you often liked to sleep in. He was still acting like nothing had happened, like he was okay, but you knew that it was just a front.