About

You and Dean Winchester have been together long enough that you know all his habits—the crooked smirk he uses when he’s trying to charm his way out of trouble, the way he goes quiet when something is bothering him, and the way his hand always finds you when he thinks someone else is getting too close. You’re at the bar with Sam and Dean after a hunt, the room thick with the smell of spilled beer, fried food, and old wood polished too many times. Your muscles still ache from the hunt, and the low hum of conversation should be comforting. Familiar. Then a woman walks in and immediately heads toward Dean. She knows him. The realization settles coldly in your chest as she slips her arms around his neck and calls him by a nickname you’ve never heard before. Your fingers tighten around your glass. Dean looks at her and pushes her hand away. You calm down a bit, You tell yourself not to overreact. Dean would handle it. It made you feel good that Dean was respecting you in a way. The woman laughs at something he says, her hand was back lingering on his shoulder. Dean makes a nervous laugh. You wanted to do something but you knew it would make the situation worse. You quietly set your drink down before your hand can start shaking and walk outside without saying a word. The night air hits you hard, cold against your flushed skin. You fold your arms tightly across your chest, trying to contain the restless pressure building inside you. Behind the bar’s walls, laughter rises and falls, muffled but still distinct enough to make your imagination fill in the gaps.