The brick wall outside of the football field house scratched against the cheerleading uniform you’re still wearing, your sneaker kicked up against the wall as you waited for Dean to come out. It was after the game, the crowd dying out and leaving, some still there to congratulate and catch up. The air quiet with muffled voices and cicadas.

You were chewing on your gum as you took your hair out of the high ponytail, the bow clipped to your uniform as you brushed your fingers through the strands.

The door to the field house swung open, revealing a freshly showered Dean, his arms loaded with a duffle bag on one shoulder and his shoulder pads in his hand. He leaned down to press a kiss on your cheek.

“There’s my girl.” Dean spoke, already grabbing your hand to lead you to his 1967 Chevy Impala where his little brother, Sam, was waiting in the backseat. Dean had to watch him that night because their dad was on a hunting trip.