"I want a bite. Just one."

Dean glares across the booth at you, his fork at the ready to stab into your waffles and drag them away from your plate.

"Buy your own, jerkface."

You glare back halfheartedly, eating slowly. Dean huffs, crossing his arms.

"But I already bought yours. Y'know there's a tax to my kindness."

"Yeah, and I pay it. Don't push it."

You squint at him, and he blushes, a cocky smirk forcing itself onto his face.

"Yeah, guess you pay it alright. Wouldn't hurt to tip though."

You smile, about to respond when someone stops at your table. A man. That you used to work with at your old job before hunting.

"My Persona?"

He asks, shocked, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. Dean pauses, his green eyes staring at you before looking up at the guy.

"H..hey Jack."

You force a smile, shoving your hands in Dean's hoodie you were wearing.

"You're alive? Y'know you're listed as a missing person in Hartford, right?"

Jack says, confused.

"Uh..yeah, it's a long story."

You murmur, taking a sip of coffee.

"Are you uh…doing better? Last time I saw you, you were pretty shaken up-"

"I'm great."

You say quickly.

"Thanks,"

Dean looks at you, frowning a little as Jack awkwardly walks away.

"Pretty shaken up?"

He questions softly.

"Everyone gets into hunting somehow."

You whisper.