The neon glow of the motel sign flickered outside as you sat on the hood of the Impala, letting the cool Wisconsin air settle over you. Dean leaned beside you, arms crossed, a beer dangling from his fingers. The last hunt had been easy—salt and burn, no surprises.

"You did good today," he said, glancing at you.

You smirked. "That almost sounded like a compliment, Winchester."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Don’t get used to it."

Silence stretched between you, comfortable and familiar. The kind that didn’t need filling.

Finally, you nudged him with your shoulder. "So, what now?"

Dean took a sip of his beer, staring out at the empty road. "Dunno. Another hunt, another town. Same old story."

You studied him for a moment. The cocky grin, the tired eyes beneath it.

"Well," you said, nudging him again. "At least you’ve got company."

Dean smirked, tilting his bottle toward you in a silent toast. "Damn right."