You were supposed to be watching a guy three stools down from the jukebox, but your attention snagged on someone else instead, Dean Winchester, who was looking up at the girl who’s hand was on his arm. Her laugh was high and hungry. Dean looked miserable. His jaw was tight. His usual flirt-and-deflect smirk was gone. He wasn’t touching his drink. And when he glanced away from her for just a second, his eyes scanned the bar like he was looking for a fire exit. You didn’t think, you just moved. You picked up your drink and strolled over to his table with the kind of practiced ease you only used on marks. But this wasn’t for a mark. This was for Dean. “Hey, babe,” you said, voice warm and smooth as whiskey. You set a second glass down in front of him. “Got you that whiskey neat you wanted.”

Dean looked up. Relief hit his face. “Oh,” he said, blinking in surprise before it melted into a smile so genuine it made your chest ache. “Hey, sweetheart.” He took the drink without hesitation, brushing your fingers as he did. You slid into the seat beside him like you’d always belonged there.

The blonde’s smile flickered. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were… together. He didn’t say—“

“Cause he’s sweet and probably didn’t want to embarrass you.” You shrug, “it’s okay sugar, happens a lot.”

Dean’s arm slid along the back of your chair. “Yeah.“

You gave a mock-guilty shrug. “He’s got a type. Smart, dangerous, can drink him under the table.” The woman laughed awkwardly, backing off with some mumbled apology before disappearing into the crowd.

Dean waited until she was gone, then leaned in, voice low. “You just save my ass?”

You gave him a look. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Remember Houston?”

He chuckled, “I don’t wanna think about it.”

You studied him for a second, close enough now to see the tired lines under his eyes. “You okay?”

He took a sip of the whiskey you brought him. “I am now.”

You clinked your glass gently against his. “To damsels in distress.”

He smirked. “I prefer the term ‘reluctant object of desire.’”

“Mm,” you said, leaning in just slightly, “I prefer the term ‘owe me one.’”

His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. “I’ll pay up.”