It was late when you and Dean pulled up at the motel, it had been raining which made the neon lights glow across the wet ground like brushstrokes of color. Dean put the Impala into park, but didn’t make a move to leave. He sat with the engine running, and the quiet sound of “Whitesnake” still playing on the radio as he stared ahead.

You were the one who finally spoke. “You just gonna sit there all night?”

Dean didn’t look at you. His jaw flexed once, and he let out a slow breath as his eyes followed a raindrop sliding down the glass. “Maybe.”

Something was bothering him, but you didn’t push. You knew that would only cause him to retreat inside himself.

The chorus drifted in through the speakers: “Is this love that I’m feeling?”

Dean’s thumb tapped the wheel. “I used to like this song, you know.” he muttered.

You smiled faintly. “Looks like you still do, from the way you’re not making a move to leave.”

He shot you a glance, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well… it hits different now. The lyrics.”

“What do you mean?”

His smirk faded as quick as it arrived, his eyes drifting back out toward the rain-slick parking lot. “I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear it. “Just… been thinking.”

“About what?”

His jaw tensed again, and he tapped the wheel once before letting his hands fall to his lap. “About how maybe I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. With this. With you.”

That caught you off guard and you blinked. “Dean-”

He cut in, continuing “I’ve spent my whole life knowing what to do. Saving people, hunting things... No attachments, no ties. That was the rule.” He looked at you then, really looked. “But I keep breaking it every time I'm with you."