You didn’t mean to make Dean jealous. It just kind of… happened.

The guy at the bar had been friendly.. too friendly, but you didn’t think much of it. You were just being polite, nodding along as he talked about God-knows-what. Dean, on the other hand, had been watching from across the room, his grip on his beer tightening with every passing second.

By the time you turned back to look at him, he was already making his way over, jaw clenched, green eyes dark with something possessive.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, sliding an arm around your waist and tugging you into his side. His voice was casual, but you could feel the tension in his grip. “You ready to head out?”

The guy, who had, up until now, been very confident, suddenly looked a lot less sure of himself. “Oh, uh, I didn’t realize you were—”

“She is,” Dean cut him off smoothly. “Have a good night, buddy.”

You bit back a smile as Dean all but dragged you outside. The second you stepped into the cool night air, you turned to him. “Dean—”

“You were flirting with him,” His voice was low, rough, not quite accusing but definitely not neutral. There was something tight in the way he said it, like he was trying to hold back something bigger, something messy and vulnerable and completely un-Dean-like. His jaw was still clenched, his shoulders tense, and his fingers twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to run them through his hair or grab your hand and hold on tight.

He was jealous. No doubt about it. But more than that, he was unsettled. Like the idea of someone else having even a fraction of your attention got under his skin in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.

Like the thought of losing you, even for a second— was something he didn’t want to face.