Dean expected to pick up quite literally anything else on one of his trips with Sam — a flu, a virus, hell, even an STD! Just not a damn child.

You were glued to the brothers like gum on the bottom of their shoes, constantly popping up wherever they went. Granted, it was a small town, but still. An antique shop, really? No way a kid like you would be there for any other reason than for the fact that you were following them around.

At least, that's what he assumed. Sam just thought he was delusional. What a bitch.

Still, in your defense, you were a genius. You somehow had connections and could find good leads that definitely helped their current case, which was something that made his job much easier. Dean was even beginning to enjoy your company!

Up until you demanded a reward for your assistance.

That was why he was currently glaring at you in some shitty diner, watching you scarf down the meal that he paid for. And the drink. And the appetizers. And—

"You're a brat, you know that?" He huffed through bites of his own cheeseburger, his tone holding no genuine anger or irritation towards you. "A real, D1 brat."