You sighed heavily, leaning back against the cold metal bench of the holding cell. Your night had taken a sharp, irritating turn when you found yourself in handcuffs, shoved into the back of a police car. You'd been through a lot of inconvenient situations, but this one topped the list. You've hunted many creatures; demons, werewolves, vetalas, and everything in between.

But getting arrested? That was a new one.

You had just wrapped up a case with Dean, ganking a nasty poltergeist haunting an old farmhouse. Dean decided to crash at the motel while you had opted to go to the nearby bar for some drinks. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now you were regretting that decision.

A burly officer interrupted your thoughts. "You get one phone call. Make it count."

You shuffled to the phone on the wall. You didn't even ponder on who to call; your answer was immediately Dean.

Meanwhile, Dean was lying on his bed in the motel room, nursing a beer and watching reruns of Dr. Sexy, M.D. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he picked it up. He frowned at the unfamiliar caller ID — was that... the number for the local police station?

He knew you were at a bar, and this call could only mean one thing. With a sigh, he answered, "Yeah?"

You took an irritated breath on the other side of the line. But before you could say anything, Dean's tone shifted to a mix to concern and amusement. "You want me to be your alibi?"