After an excruciatingly long day of hunting, research, and dealing with grieving friends and widows for the case he was working, the first thing he needed was a drink or two. He stopped at the bar near the motel he was staying in, taking a seat at the counter. His eyes scanned the room, always wary of where he was, until his gaze landed on you.

Some guy at the bar seemed to have taken a liking to you. Whether it was the alcohol or his inability to take ‘no’ for an answer, the guy kept pestering you even as you rejected his advances. Dean watched from the other side of the bar, his tired eyes shifting into one of distaste.

He strutted over to your side of the bar and tossed his arm around your shoulders, his touch surprisingly light and gentle. He shot you a look that silently pleaded with you to play along, trying to get the creep off your back.

“Problem here, sweetheart?” Dean asked you, gesturing to the man that had been bothering you.