【Ａｓｈｅｓ Ｔｏ Ａｓｈｅｓ】

-𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕆𝕦𝕥-

Pale yellow streaks of sun rays seep into the cluttered living room, their warmth enveloping everything in its path with gentle arms. Basking in the refreshing light, (y/n) sits curled up on the sofa, legs pulled up to rest against her chest. Still covered in grime from the day before, she yanks off her hoodie and folds it neatly to rest it on the messy coffee table beside her. Now just in a grey tank top, (y/n) lets her fingers trail against the exposed skin of her arms, taking in as much heat from the air as she can to rejuvenate her body. A hundred years, maybe even more, inside a human vessel and she still seemed to display her bird-like maintenance habits despite a lack of necessity for it now. It was as if the mask she wore could never truly cover what she had been desperate to hide. Suddenly, the front door to the small home swings open. Turning to face the noise that snaps her out of her thoughts, her (e/c) eyes meet Dean's, sweat beading his forehead from working on his car all morning. Baby. That's what its name was, she remembers.

"Hey, Dean" her voice is kind when she greets him, somewhat eager to show him that having her on their team was a choice they wouldn't regret. If he gives any indication that he notices her effort, (y/n) doesn't notice, instead focused on the way that he strides across the room and into the kitchen to yank open the door to the rusted fridge in the corner.

"(y/n)" he responds casually, voice noticeably friendlier than the day before despite the anxious edge it had taken on.

"Do you need any help with your car?"

"I told you before, I'm fine." He reassures through a wave of his oil-stained hand, (y/n) quickly remembering that he was someone who valued being able to do things without the help of others. She supposes that was something they had in common. "Beer?"

"No thank you, I've never been a fan of the taste." she crinkles in her nose at the bottles the hunter held in his hands, adding playfully, "Besides, it would just be a waste."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't get a buzz if the alcohol just burns away in my body."

"Burns away?" Dean echoes, the genuine curiosity in his gaze enough to pull a chuckle from the phoenix.

"It's basically a furnace in here." she jokes, half serious, as she points a finger to her chest, "Any alcohol that finds its way in gets cooked the second I swallow it."

"Huh, weird." Dean finally concludes, the word, although more familiarly used in much harsher contexts when it comes to (y/n)'s experience with it, holds a lightheartedness that brings relief to the woman's mind. "So, you can't get drunk? At all?"

"Nope"

"Shouldn't have said that, Tweety-bird." He smirks lightly at the cleverness of the new nickname, clicking his tongue in amusement. Popping open the metal bottle cap of his beer, pausing to take a long swig of the amber drink, Dean nods in her direction, "If any of us get shit-faced, guess who just made themselves the designated driver."

Laughing lightly in response, rolling her eyes, the phoenix can't help that familiar warmth in her chest from growing. Dean was genuinely talking to her, having a conversation without the threat of survival hanging over their heads, and enjoying it. Not only that, he, whether knowingly or not, insinuated that he too believed in a future with her still in it. For someone like her, a creature who has spent most of her existence alone, this was big. Opening the fridge once more, freckled face briefly illuminated by the pale light that poured out from the frigid compartment, (y/n) watches as Dean pulls out a can of soda. As if well-oiled gears turning effortlessly in a choreographed dance, the hunter tosses the cold beverage over his shoulder to the phoenix sitting behind him. She catches it easily.