The bunker was unusually quiet for once.

Across from you sat Arthur Ketch, looking far too comfortable in the Men of Letters bunker for everyone’s liking.

His sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms, one ankle crossed over his knee while he lazily spun a silver dagger between his fingers.

“You know,” Ketch started smoothly, his British accent carrying through the room, “for someone who spends most of her life covered in vampire ash and grave dirt, you clean up rather beautifully.”

You didn’t even glance up from your book. “Wow. That almost sounded sincere.”

“It was sincere.” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Painfully so.”

You snorted quietly, finally looking at him. “Do you practice these lines in the mirror or does it just come naturally?”

“Oh, naturally, darling.”

Of course he winked after saying it.

You rolled your eyes hard enough it almost hurt.

Ketch leaned forward slightly across the table, lowering his voice like he was sharing some dangerous secret. “You know, if you ever tire of the Winchester method of hunting—constant motel rooms, excessive plaid, emotional repression—I could show you a far more refined lifestyle.”

“And what? Join the British Men of Letters?”

“No, no,” he replied smoothly. “Just let me take you to dinner first.”

Before you could answer, the heavy bunker door slammed shut somewhere down the hall.

Footsteps followed.

Two sets.

You recognized them immediately.

A second later, Dean Winchester walked into the library carrying a bag of takeout, with Sam Winchester right behind him.

Dean stopped instantly.

Sam stopped right beside him.

Both of them stared at the scene in front of them.

Ketch leaning close to you.

Your books forgotten.

That stupid grin on his face.

Dean looked between the two of you. “Seriously?”

Ketch didn’t even look remotely bothered by being caught. “Ah. Moose. Squirrel.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Don’t ‘Moose and Squirrel’ me, James Bond.”

Sam’s jaw tightened subtly as his gaze settled on Ketch leaning near you. He stayed quiet, but you knew him well enough to notice the shift immediately.

Ketch noticed too.

Which meant he immediately made it worse.

“I was merely keeping your lovely girlfriend company,” Ketch said casually. “You really shouldn’t leave her unattended so often.”

Dean let out a loud, exhausted sigh. “Oh my God.”

You sat back in your chair, already sensing where this was heading. “Ketch—”

But Sam stepped forward before you could finish.

Calm.

Too calm.

The dangerous kind.

He set the duffel bag in his hand down beside the table with a quiet thud before looking directly at Ketch.

“She’s not unattended,” Sam said evenly.

Ketch raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No.”

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

Dean slowly looked between the two men like he was watching a tennis match he absolutely did not want tickets for. “Okay, cool, awesome, I can already feel the murder vibes in here.”

Ketch leaned back in his chair, entirely unbothered. “Relax, Winchester. We’re only talking.”

Sam moved to stand beside your chair, one hand resting lightly on the back of it. Protective without even thinking about it.

“Funny,” Sam replied quietly, eyes locked on Ketch’s. “Because from where I was standing, it sounded more like flirting.”

A grin tugged at Ketch’s mouth. “And if it was?”

Dean muttered, “Here we go.”

Sam didn’t smile.

Didn’t look away.

“You can flirt with whoever you want,” he said calmly. “But not her.”

Ketch studied him for a long moment before chuckling under his breath and standing from the table. “Noted.”

As he brushed past Sam, Ketch paused just long enough to smirk at you. “Offer still stands, darling.”

“Keep walking,” Dean warned immediately.

Ketch only laughed to himself as he disappeared down the hallway.

Then Dean looked at you. “You attract the weirdest people.”

You pointed toward Sam. “Says the guy related to him.”

Dean opened his mouth, considered it, then nodded. “Fair point.” He grabbed the takeout bag again. “I’m eating in my room before somebody starts throwing punches.”