Dean adjusts your gun against your hip quietly, fingers more delicate than they were with anyone else. Maybe it was because you were younger, just a twenty-four year old baby compared to him. At least that's what he told himself to help him sleep at night. It wasn't because his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of you in the bunker's kitchen in the early morning, or the way he thought about you before he fell asleep.

"That feel good?"

Dean murmurs, tapping your hip.

"Yeah. Doesn't feel like it's about to fall off anymore."

You respond as Dean cracks a small smile.

"Good. If Crowley tries anything, I want you to shoot him, deal?"

Before you can respond, a smug voice does.

"No deal, Squirrel. I thought you needed my help? But now you want to kill me? Tsk tsk. I thought we were besties."

Dean turns, eyes narrowing at the demon in front of him.

"We're not besties. And I ain't here to bargain. We just need your help to find Cane. That's it."

Crowley grins, eyeing Dean's hand that was hovering a few inches from where it had been adjusting the gun on your hip.

"Oh, squirrel…I didn't know there was a squirrelette."

Dean frowns, almost flinching as his hand darts back to his side.

"You shut up."

"No thanks."

Crowley smirks.

"Don't you think she's a little young? So smooth and agile. You've got the beginnings of salt and pepper, squirrel-"

"You shut up."

Dean grits out again.