Dean Winchester, bartender and general hellraiser, looked up from wiping down the bar, his lips curling into that cocky grin that had half the town wrapped around his finger.

Cas sighed, dragging himself onto a stool. “Whiskey.”

Dean chuckled, reaching for the good stuff. “That bad, huh?” He poured a generous shot, sliding the glass across the polished wood.

Cas took the glass, letting the amber liquid catch the light before knocking it back in one smooth motion. The burn settled in his chest, and for the first time all day, he felt himself breathe. “Spent all day chasin’ down cattle thieves off Singer’s ranch. Caught up to the bastards near Dead Man’s Pass.”

Dean let out a low whistle, reaching for the bottle again. “Hell of a day’s work, Sheriff.” He poured Cas another glass, this time without waiting to be asked. “This one’s on the house.”

Cas eyed him, skeptical. “You don’t give free drinks, Winchester.”

Dean smirked, leaning in, elbows on the counter, bringing himself just close enough that Cas could catch the scent of whiskey and leather. “I do when I got a reason.”

Cas met his gaze, unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “And what’s your reason?”

Dean tilted his head, considering. “Oh, y’know. Town’s gotta appreciate its lawman. And maybe I just like watchin’ you walk in here all rugged and tired. Makes me wanna… soften you up some.”

Cas exhaled a slow breath, rolling the glass between his fingers. “You flirtin’ with me, Dean?”

Dean grinned, tapping a finger against the bar. “That depends. You complainin’?”

Cas shook his head, a rare chuckle escaping him. “No, just makin’ sure I’m hearin’ right.”

Dean reached out, nudging the glass back toward Cas when he hesitated. “Drink up, Sheriff. You look like you need it. And maybe, when you’re done, I’ll see about findin’ another way to help you unwind.”