In a short sentence, this hunt killed him.

In a long sentence, this hunt made him take half a dozen of vampires, go to five locations, talk to approximately twenty people and dodge two bullets.

And he wasn't even tired. No, he walked straight to your bar—it was almost automatic at this point—dropping Sam at their motel room and drive towards the alcohol.

Sam wasn't stupid. He knew Dean wasn't there just to have a few drinks and forget about the hunt. But Dean himself wasn't willing to even consider that possibility, so Sam wouldn't even try to talk about it.

So after many days, weeks even, away, they were finally back in town, due to the hunt. And Dean wouldn't miss the opportunity to pay you a visit.

Dean approached one of the stools by the counter, with a cut across his cheekbone and a bruise on his bicep. You could see the slightly change of his warm skintone to purple beneath the sleeve of his black shirt.

He waited for you to notice him, bouncing his leg impatiently. When you finally did, his lips quickly curved into that usual grin.

"Long time no see, huh?" Dean said.