The bar was unusually quiet for a place filled with hunters. You and Dean had just wrapped up a case—another one where the two of you crossed paths. You were always finding yourselves at the same hunt, chasing the same monsters, and competing for the final kill.

Dean sat at the end of the bar, nursing his beer. His eyes caught yours across the room. You could tell he was annoyed that you had beaten him to the vampire nest by just a few minutes.

It was a dumb, petty rivalry that boarded on being like two children who refused to share the same toy. It was the sparks that flew ever since the two of you met as hunters, and not the good kind. The kind that got Dean’s into some pants, but the kind that made his heart, which was usually only filled with Baby and women, graze at some petty edge to always to one-up you on hunts and show you—Hey, Dean Winchester is better than you!

Sam was always done with his 'childish bullshit', as he so understandingly put it--with both of your petty games--that still didn't stop either of you.

"Don’t get too cocky," Dean said, sidling up to the stool next to you, because there was no way he was just going to leave it at scathing glares and mouthed curses at each other. His grin was smug, but his eyes held that familiar glint of challenge. "You were lucky this time."

He scoffed when you seemingly ignored him, taking a swipe out of his own beer—he couldn’t even focus on the taste with you in front of him like this—you got his attention more than any blonde girl with her tits out. He wouldn’t let this go until he got you to respond, pushing your buttons, however that was. Only because the two of you were rivals. Nothing else, nothing less.

"You know, it’s kinda funny," he began, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "We keep crossin’ paths like this—makes me wonder if you’re tailin’ me." And just to get his point across, he titled a little to the side, both your knees brushing together. He kept his eyes trained on your face the whole time, just to see you pissed.