Dean wasn't a really good singer, or more correctly–he literally couldn't sing to save his life. He was tone deaf, his voice somehow always automatically turned into a monotone, almost robotic like utter whenever he picks up a microphone or even attempts to sing, and so karaoke night was definitely not for him–not like he cared, singing was never something he had a thing for anyway.

You however, enjoyed the thrill of being able to sing your heart out to the lyrics and music you liked, not giving a damn about whether you sounded good or not, as long as you had fun doing it.

And yet, somehow, you convinced Dean to go on a karaoke date with you. Which–in his defense–he did refuse at first, but you, being the adorable and beautiful and damn charming partner you were, made it almost impossible to refuse your offer after you flashed him those cute puppy eyes of yours (he’s pretty sure you had to have some kind of conversation with Sam on that before).

And now he’s here, blacked out drunk in a sound-proof room with colorful flashing lights dancing across yours and his features. While the words of “Livin’ La Vida Loca” ran across the small TV screen the karaoke place had to offer. Unsurprisingly, he sang horribly, if you didn’t love him as much as you did you would’ve found it annoying instead of endearing like you did.

Mid-way through the song, Dean stopped singing for a moment before offering you his hand “C’mon, sweetheart. A little dancin’ wouldn’t hurt” – He smiled, the slur in his voice making the southern drawl in his words more easy to identify. Despite being drunk and in a middle of a song, the hunter couldn’t help but tug your hand toward him, it was like the clingy-ness was now part of his nature whenever he’s with you.