Dean’s grin died the second the bar door opened.

One second he was standing too close, hand still wrapped around the edge of your wrist from where he’d pulled you aside, finally saying the thing he’d spent weeks avoiding. The next, all the warmth drained out of him so fast it was almost violent.

Hunter Davenport.

Across the room, peeling off his jacket like he had every right to be there.

Dean went still beside you, shoulders tense, jaw locked hard enough to tick. His eyes flicked to you once, sharp and disbelieving, before landing right back on Hunter.

Silence followed, and that was worse, because you couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t explain, couldn’t even look at him properly now that realization was crashing down all at once.

Dean gave a short laugh under his breath “Seriously?”

Hunter noticed you immediately. His expression shifted the second he saw Dean standing there beside you.

The air in the bar tightened. Dean stepped forward before you could stop him, moving slow, until he was directly in Hunter’s space. Chest to chest. Dean was taller by barely anything, but still imposing, fury rolling off him in waves.

“You,” Dean said quietly. Hunter’s gaze flicked toward you for half a second. That was enough. Dean shoved him back hard. “Don’t look at her.” A couple heads turned nearby. Chairs scraped somewhere behind them, but Dean didn’t seem to notice any of it. His breathing was rough now, nostrils flaring slightly like he was trying to hold himself together by force.

Then he looked back at you, and that hurt worse than him being angry because underneath all the rage, Dean looked blindsided.