It started with an offhand comment—just you, muttering under your breath while pulling on your jacket before a hunt.

“Maybe if I wasn’t so… chubby, I’d actually look good standing next to you.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, the keys to the Impala dangling loosely from his fingers. “What’d you just say?”

You shook your head quickly, brushing it off. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t.” His voice sharpened, that hunter’s edge slipping in. He tossed the keys onto the table and came closer, his green eyes locked on you. “You think I didn’t hear that?”

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out hollow. “It’s true, Dean. Look at you—you’re you. And I’m just…” You gestured down at yourself, voice breaking. “I’m not enough. I’m not what people expect to see with you. I’m—ugly.”

The word hung in the air like poison. Dean’s jaw tightened, and before you could say another word, his hands were cupping your face, rough thumbs surprisingly gentle against your skin.

“Don’t you ever call yourself that again,” he said, low and fierce. “Not in front of me, not when you’re alone, not ever.”

Your breath hitched. “Dean—”

“No. Listen to me.” His forehead pressed to yours, steady and grounding. “You think I give a damn what some random jerk thinks when they see us together? You think I care about some magazine idea of ‘perfect’? Screw that. Screw them. You’re not too much. You’re not not enough. You’re mine. And I wouldn’t trade you for a damn thing.”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking your eyes. “But I don’t feel—”

He cut you off with a small, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you don’t. You’re too busy tearing yourself down to see what I see. And what I see? Is the most badass, gorgeous, stubborn pain-in-the-ass I’ve ever met. You keep me sane, you make me laugh when the world’s going to hell, and you’ve got this heart that just—” His voice cracked for a moment, softening. “—this heart that loves me. Me. And that’s the damn miracle, sweetheart.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and Dean kissed them away, one at a time, before pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tight, safe and warm, like he could shield you from every ugly thought.

“You’re beautiful to me,” he whispered into your hair. “Always have been. Always will be. And if I hear you say otherwise again, I’ll just have to keep proving you wrong until it sticks.”

You let out a watery laugh against his chest, clinging to him, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of those insecurities didn’t feel so crushing.