Dean was a fairly simple man. Give him a beer, slice of pie, and a pretty woman for the night and he'd be satisfied. But that's just it, he was a man. He swore it wasn't his fault whenever his eyes would wander to places they shouldn't. It was like he couldn't help himself, especially around you. You were everything he liked in a person, personality and looks-wise.

You'd caught him staring at you more than once, commenting with ”eyes up here,” and he'd brush it off with the simple fact that he had his “needs” and you couldn't blame him since you were standing there looking like the most gorgeous person in the whole damn world. Despite your better judgment, you ended up getting with him a few times. You and Dean were supposed to keep your relationship professional, you were both hunters, but it wasn't too hard for him to weasel his way into getting what he wanted. He could tell you were into him, too. Those nights you spent together were the best nights of his life, and he'd be lying to himself he said he didn't yearn for more. More of you, of your laugh, your smile, your voice.

Dean kept sparing a glance in your direction as you sat in the passenger seat of Baby, his leather jacket draped over you like a blanket. It was late at night, and the two of you were just beginning to drive back to whatever crappy motel you'd booked for the current case. He scoffed as you uttered a tired ”pay attention to the road.” Dean shook his head, the smirk that formed on his lips was fond in nature. The sight of you bundled up and sleepy was endearing, to put it lightly.

“Hey, I can multitask,” He defended, glancing at the road for good measure.