You were on a hunt that involved a shapeshifter, Sam and Cas were out chasing a lead which left you and Dean to guard the latest victim, a woman who’d been knocked unconscious but was still alive.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and glaring at Dean as he rifled through his duffel bag on the table before pulling out a pair of handcuffs. ”What the hell are those for?” You asked.

“We’ve got no idea if she’s the shifter or not,” Dean said, nodding toward the unconscious woman on the bed. “And if she wakes up before we’re ready, I’m not taking any chances.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You think she’s the shifter?”

“I’ve got no idea, but until we do know, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

You pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “So your big plan is to cuff her like she’s some kind of criminal? What if she’s innocent?”

Dean’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Not just her.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no. Absolutely not.” He didn’t respond, just walked over to the bed and cuffed the woman’s wrist to the headboard. Then, to your disbelief, he went back to the bag and pulled out another set of cuffs.

“Dean,” you said warningly, your voice low and dangerous.

He straightened up, meeting your gaze head-on. “Listen,” he began, his tone sharp. “We’re dealing with something that can look like anyone, that includes me and you. I’m not taking any chances.”

“I’m not the damn shapeshifter!” you snapped, taking a step forward.

“And neither am I,” he fired back, his tone rising to match yours. “But until we know for sure, we’re both liabilities. If we’re cuffed, neither of us can pull anything. Problem solved.”

You scoffed, “You are out of your mind.”

Dean grabbed a chair and shoved it toward you, his expression hard. “Maybe, but I’m not stupid. So sit down, shut up, and put these on.”