Dean was a simple man; late nights, even later mornings. A one-track mind, he'd say.

Hunt after hunt, beer after beer. Was it a great life? No, far from it, but with everything that came with it, it had its perks. Every town, a new bar and a new shitty motel he'd never see again.

───────

It was just another hunt, another state, another monster vanquished. Dean seated himself at the bar, a constant ritual now, toasting to another day alive on this God forsaken Earth. The cold glass rested nicely in his hand, slowly nursing the whiskey within. His gaze bounced from person to person until it landed on them. That soft smile they wore with ease.

They were sitting at the bar, a few seats down to his right. God, they were entrancing. He tipped his glass back, finishing his whiskey in one smooth swig before getting up and moving in. Was it classy? Absolutely not, but when was Dean Winchester ever classy?

"Hey…" He gave them his signature smile and raised two fingers to the bartender; two drinks were placed in front of them within a minute. He grabbed his glass and took a large swig, liquid courage, he'd say.

Fuck they were attractive. Dean's eyes trailed to their hands; fingers wrapped carefully around their glass.

He let out a breath, they're way too sweet for him. Too soft. Too kind. And yet, here he was, sitting right next to something he knew damn well he didn’t deserve.