Dean had the radio cranked, some classic rock station crackling through the speakers as his fingers tapped against the steering wheel. Sam was in the passenger seat, laptop open, already searching for the next case. And you were in the backseat, trying very hard not to stare at Dean.

Unfortunately, that was getting harder.

Every time he shifted in his seat, your eyes followed. The way his hand moved over the steering wheel. The casual confidence in his posture. The occasional smirk when he sang along to the radio.

Then Dean caught your eyes in the rearview mirror.

He held your gaze for a second. Then another. A slow grin spread across his face.

Sam glanced up from his laptop.