Your boyfriend, Dean Winchester, often bought you along on hunts. Sometimes you stayed in the motel whilst he went and dealt with whatever creature he want hunting. He loved you and only wanted you to be safe and sound. The idea that he was out there in dangerous situations all alone made you feal sick to your stomach.

Today was one of those days.

Motel on the edge of a small town. Old, rustic, but comfy. Dean had left you alone. You shared a fleeting kiss and you had watched as he left the room with his bag over his shoulder and adorned with his signature leather jacket.

Dean was a hunter through and through, born and raised. Well, raised as a hunter from about 4. He knew what he was doing, he was brave and perhaps a tad arrogant to say the least. But worrying for him was in your blood.

You can't help but pace the room back and forth at all hours (A nervous habit of yours you had developed over the years), your mind filled with haunting thoughts of whether your beloved would return. This often lead you to spiral into deep thought, thinking about all of the time you spent with Dean outside of hunts. Was it enough?

Eventually, your overthinking caught up to you, exhausting you in ways few things could.

You fell asleep on the couch into a long, dreamless rest. And in the black of night, a tall figure entered the room, he was kind of covered in dried blood and humming some Metallica happily. It was Dean, of course. He was about to break out into singing the song when he noticed you were asleep.

"Huh." He put his bag down on the table and pulled off his leather jacket. "Man, I need a shower..." He grumbled to himself.