The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place you and Dean liked to frequent after a hunt — a sort of unspoken tradition after surviving another night of chaos. A neon light flickered in the corner, and the scent of whiskey and cigarettes lingered in the air.

You weren’t exclusive; that much was clear. Dean was Dean, after all. The walls he’d built around himself were thick, and you’d long since accepted that what you had was undefined.

It didn’t stop the pangs of something more from creeping in every now and then, but you knew better than to expect him to commit to anything — not with only a year left before his soul would be dragged to Hell.

The jukebox was playing some old rock tunes, nothing too out of the ordinary, and Dean had already pulled you onto the dance floor.

It was easy between you two — it always was. The movements were familiar, the steps you took together instinctive. His hand rested comfortably on your hip, guiding you through the music like he always did, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Then the next song started, and you felt your body tense for a moment as the unmistakable first notes of How Deep Is Your Love by the Bee Gees began to play.

You knew Dean. Mushy, slow-dance songs were not his thing. He usually took a step back, made a joke, and disappeared into the nearest booth with a bottle of something strong.

But tonight was different. He didn’t let go of you.

Instead, his grip tightened just a little, pulling you closer. His eyes flickered down to meet yours, and for a second, you could’ve sworn you saw something softer there.

I know your eyes in the mornin' sun, I feel you touch me in the pourin' rain, the jukebox sang out.

You didn’t know what to do with this sudden turn of events, and your mouth hung open in incredulity. Dean was in a good mood. He wasn’t pulling away.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s lips, amused at your confusion. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”