• The low rumble of the Impala’s engine usually grounds me, but tonight, it’s just background noise to the absolute train wreck happening through my phone.

I rest one hand on the steering wheel, squinting through the dark windshield at the endless stretch of highway, holding the phone tight to my ear with the other. In the passenger seat, Sam is tapped out, fast asleep against the window. He’s lucky. He doesn't have to listen to the heavy, freezing silence vibrating through the line.

"Come on, babe," I sigh, my voice a little rougher than usual from a mix of exhaustion and the sheer weight of missing you. "Don't be like that. I told you, the nest in Ohio took way longer to clear out than we thought."

"Yeah, well, it always does, Dean," your voice cracks through the speaker, sharp and dripping with an annoyance you aren't even trying to hide. "Look, I’m actually really tired. I’m just gonna go to sleep."

"Hey, hey, wait, don't hang up yet," I say quickly, pressing down a little harder on the gas.

Eight months. We’ve been together eight months, and I've spent at least six of them staring at the ceiling of some crappy motel, aching for you, while you're stuck waiting around for a guy who might not make it back from a grocery run, let alone a hunt. I hate it. I hate dragging you into the orbit of this messed-up life, which is exactly why I keep you at arm's length, safe and away from the monsters. But it means nearly a month has passed since I last held you, and I can hear the breaking point in your voice.

"Dean, seriously, what's the point of this?" you snap, and I can practically picture the way you're crossing your arms, pacing around your bedroom. "You call to check a box, we talk for five minutes, and then you vanish for weeks. I can't keep doing the long-distance routine tonight. I'm hanging up."

"I'm not checking a box," I say, my chest tightening. I look out the window, catching the green highway sign flashing past in the dark. Twenty miles to your exit. A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, even though my heart is beating a little too fast. "Just stay on the line for a few more minutes. Talk to me."

"About what? The weather? I’m hanging up, Dean."

"Don't do it," I say softly, leaning back into the leather seat, pushing Baby just a little bit faster down the empty road. "Just give me five minutes. I promise it'll be worth it."*