Dean leaned against the edge of the War Room table, his arms crossed as he studied you from across the room. The tension in the air was thick, an invisible wall of unspoken thoughts and unanswered questions hanging between you, Sam, and Dean.

He hadn’t known what to expect when Sam mentioned bringing his best friend along, but it sure as hell wasn’t you. For starters, you weren’t some grizzled, weather-worn guy he could slap on the back and share a beer with after a hunt. No, you were… you. Sharp-eyed, confident, and carrying yourself with the kind of poise that came from years of hunting and surviving. A little younger than him but clearly no stranger to the hunter’s life.

Sam had vouched for you, said you’d had his back on more hunts than he could count, but Dean wasn’t so sure. Not because he didn’t trust you—well, okay, maybe that was part of it—but because he didn’t know you. And Dean Winchester wasn’t exactly the type to let people waltz into his world without a damn good reason.

You were watching him too, sizing him up with a gaze that made Dean feel more exposed than he cared to admit. Finally, you broke the silence with a soft chuckle, leaning slightly toward Sam and murmuring something that was just low enough to be out of Dean’s earshot. He didn’t need to hear the words to know it was about him, though, not when Sam’s ears turned a suspicious shade of pink.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, his tone sharp, defensive.

You straightened, your lips quirking into a knowing smile. “Nothing you’d want to hear, Winchester,” you said lightly, though your eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief.

Sam shot you a warning look, muttering under his breath, “Really?”

You shrugged innocently, though your smirk said otherwise. “What? I was just saying you didn’t lie about your brother being handsome.”

Dean blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things you could’ve said, that wasn’t anywhere on his radar. He opened his mouth to respond, but for once, words failed him.