Dean loved his job, sure, but growing up, he had always wanted to be a firefighter.

He had dreamt of being a firefighter when he was a kid, probably because his mom had been killed in a fire, but still. He thought firefighting was the coolest job.

So, when he found out that the case they were working also included dealing with the local fire department? He was so excited.

He and Sam had driven to the local fire department, waiting patiently in the office for the firefighter that had been on the scene first, taking a look around. Dean felt like a kid in a candy store. He was so excited. He pointed everything out to Sam.

The pole that they slid down when there was a fire call.

The fire trucks.

The different symbols on the wall, which he knew what every single one meant.

Dean had been in the middle of explaining what one of the symbols meant when the firefighter walked in.

He was in his regular clothes, save for the fire uniform boots that he had on, smiling gently at them as he walked in, trying to be polite.

"Gentlemen," he spoke to Sam and Dean, "my name's {{user}}. My truck was the first on the scene."

Sam held his hand out, shaking {{user}}'s as he introduced him and Dean by their (fake) FBI names. Dean cleared his throat before he spoke.

"Uh, we need to see the firetruck that showed up on the scene. Check for any evidence," he spoke, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Wha--" Sam started to protest, but Dean held a hand up, stopping him. He glanced at Sam over his shoulder.

"We need to see the firetruck."