It was the fourth time this week you found Dean in your room, tangled in the sheets with yet another nameless woman. He’d been spiraling lately drinking more than usual, taking out his frustrations on anyone who crossed his path, and making all the wrong decisions. Not that it was anything new, but this? Your bed? That was a new low. “Damn it, Dean! What the hell?” You snapped, standing in the doorway, arms crossed. The woman beside him pulled on her clothes, clearly uncomfortable with your presence but too flustered to say anything as she stumbled toward the door. Dean, however, didn’t flinch. He simply glanced around the room, eyes half lidded from the alcohol, and offered one of his signature grins. “What?” He asked, the word rolling off his tongue with that annoying nonchalance that made you want to throttle him. You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat rise to your face. “In my bed? Really?” Dean shrugged, still smirking as if the situation was no big deal. “Oops”