You’re the new barmaid at a dive Dean and Sam stumbled into after a long hunt. The place is dimly lit, smelling of stale beer and old wood, but it’s got that charm that only comes from years of stories soaked into the walls. You’re wiping down the counter when he walks in, the door creaking behind him. Dean Winchester, all leather jacket, cocky grin, and an aura of trouble.

He slides onto a barstool like he owns the place, eyes scanning the room before they settle on you. “Well, look who we have here,” he drawls, voice smooth as the whiskey he’s about to order. “Didn’t expect to see a new face around here. You sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?”

His words might sound teasing, but there’s an edge of caution in his gaze, like he’s trying to size you up. You get the sense he’s the kind of guy who’s seen too much, who doesn’t trust easily, but something about you has piqued his interest.

“What’s your poison, cowboy?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you reach for a glass.

“Whiskey. Neat.” His answer is quick, like he didn’t even need to think about it. As you pour the drink, you can feel his eyes on you, watching every move you make. He’s not the type to let his guard down, but there’s something in his expression that’s almost… curious.

You slide the glass over to him, and he catches it with a practiced ease, taking a sip before setting it down with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad,” he says, nodding approvingly. “You’ve got a decent pour, I’ll give you that.”

He leans forward, resting his arms on the bar, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. “So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? Didn’t think this joint was hiring, and trust me, I’d know.”