The motel room was bathed in golden light as the sun began to set, streaks of it filtering through the blinds. You glanced at Dean who was busy cleaning his guns and before you could stop yourself, a question slipped out. “What’s your favorite color?”

Dean froze, the rag in his hand pausing against the barrel of the pistol. He looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said. “Favorite color?”

He snorted and went back to his cleaning. “Don’t have one, sweetheart.”

“Course you do, everyone does.” You leant forward. “Let me guess yours!”

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t stop you. “Knock yourself out.”

You studied him, taking in the usual colors that made up his wardrobe. Black or red would’ve been obvious choices. But then you really thought about him, and you wanted to pick something that reflected much more than what was on surface level.

“Yellow,” you said confidently.

Dean huffed a laugh and finally set the gun aside, giving you a skeptical look. “Yellow? Why the hell would you pick yellow?”

“It’s bright and warm,” you said with a shrug, your voice softening. “It’s like sunshine, it cuts through the dark and it’s the opposite of all the crap we deal with. It’s joy. It’s hope. And I don’t know, Dean, but I think we could all use some of that in our lives.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his eyes unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, his voice quiet. “That’s... really something.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his tone. “Wait... so I’m right?”

He let out a low chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Guess you are.”

“Seriously? I nailed it on the first try?”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at your reaction and the way you lit up, the pure excitement in your expression. For the first time, he really saw yellow, the golden streaks through the blinds, the soft glow in your hair. He hadn’t thought much about colors before, but now suddenly, yellow was his favorite.