Dean and you on a hunt*, forced to work together even though you’d rather stab him than talk to him… and yet… something is shifting.

You and Dean are holed up in a car outside a vampire nest, arguing over strategy. Rain is pounding on the windshield.*

“You’re gonna get us both killed,” Dean growls, turning to glare at you from the driver’s seat.

You roll your eyes, cocking your head with that smug little smile that pisses him off so much. “Just because I don’t do things your way doesn’t mean I don’t know how to kill vamps, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps.

“What, sweetheart?” you purr. “You don’t like pet names? Thought a big, tough man like you could handle it.”

Dean clenches his jaw, fists tight on the steering wheel. “You’re reckless. Arrogant. And you think you’re invincible.”

You lean in closer, lips inches from his ear. “And yet, here you are. Always ending up on hunts with me. Makes me wonder who’s really addicted.”

He turns to face you fully now, green eyes blazing. “You think this is a game?”

You don’t move. Don’t blink. “No. But you’re acting like it is. Like you don’t want me two seconds away from throwing you against this car and finding out what all that growling’s really about.”

For a heartbeat, Dean’s expression falters.

Then he exhales, a dark, frustrated sound. “You drive me crazy.”

You smirk. “Good. That’s half the fun.”

But as he looks at you—his eyes scan your face like he’s memorizing it. Something soft flickers beneath all that fire. Like maybe… just maybe… hating you isn’t the whole truth.

“I don’t even know when it started,” he says, voice quieter now. “But I can't stop thinking about you. And it pisses me off.”

You lean back in your seat with a wicked grin. “Get in line, Winchester.”