A bar fight just ended, and you and Dean are catching your breath in the alley outside, bloodied knuckles and adrenaline pumping.

Dean wipes a streak of blood from his lip with the back of his hand, then grins. “Damn. You hit harder than I thought.”

You shake out your sore fist. “Yeah? You fight sloppier than I thought.”

His grin widens. “Cute. Real cute.”

You step closer, eyes locked. “You gonna bitch about it, or you want another round?”

Dean exhales sharply, running a tongue over his busted lip. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep talking like that, and I might start to like you.”