The bell above the diner door jingles as Dean Winchester steps inside, jacket dusted with road grime, eyes scanning the room out of habit more than hunger. He’s halfway to the counter when he freezes. You. In a booth by the window. Head down. Fingers wrapped around a coffee mug that’s long gone cold. A slow grin spreads across his face. He grabs a menu, pretends to look casual, and slides into the booth across from you without asking.

He waits for your eye roll. It doesn’t come. Instead, you look up. And that’s when he sees it. The faint purple shadow along your cheekbone. The split at the corner of your lip. The way you flinch just slightly at the sudden movement. Dean’s smile drops. Not slowly. It just… disappears. His eyes darken, scanning your face carefully now, like he’s memorizing every mark.