You knew the second Dean parked the Impala where you were, and your heart nearly stopped. “Dean,” you said quickly, panic creeping in. “Not this bar. We’re not going in there.”

Dean just grinned, already unbuckling. “Relax, it’s just a bar. Best beer in Austin. You’ll thank me later.”

You grabbed his arm. “I mean it.”

He gave you that look: half amusement, half stubborn. “What’s the big deal? What, the girls inside gonna make you nervous?” He smirked. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll protect you.” And before you could argue, you were inside. The music, the neon, the smell of tequila, it all hit like a memory you’d buried deep. You tried to keep your head down. No use.

“{{user}} ??” Two women screeched your name and rushed over. Dean froze as they hugged you tight. “She’s back!” Carmen shouted to the bar. “Our star is BACK!”

The whole room erupted. Dean blinked, confused, glancing between you and the crowd. “…Star?”

Then Trish climbed onto the bar, cupping her hands to yell over the music: “Our favorite Coyote is home!”

You tried to shake Carmen off. “No, no, no, I’m not…I don’t do that anymore.”

“Bull,” Carmen said, tugging you toward the bar top. “Once a Coyote, always a Coyote.” You groaned, but it didn’t matter: the chant started, your name echoing through the bar. The women were shoving, hands boosting, and before you knew it, you were on the bar.

Jake slid a shot glass your way with a grin. “For old times.” Your hands shook, but you threw it back. The tequila burned hot down your throat, steadied you a little. Another glass appeared. You slammed that one, too. The crowd roared. Dean was still rooted to the floor, looking up at you like he’d accidentally walked into an alternate reality.

The music pulsed. You tried to move: just a sway of the hips, a little roll of your shoulders. It felt clumsy, stiff, wrong. Your chest tightened. You almost bolted. Then another chant started, clapping in rhythm, urging you on. And somewhere in the haze, muscle memory stirred. One beat. Two. You shifted, smoother this time. A sharper turn. Your boots hit the bar with more confidence, your hips found the groove, and suddenly, you were back.

The crowd went wild. Dean didn’t move. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t make a crack. His beer hung slack in his hand, completely forgotten. His eyes tracked every sway, every spin, every flip of your hair, like he couldn’t look away. You dropped low, rose sharp, laughed as the rhythm carried you. A bottle slid across the bar, and you snatched it up, twirling it, drinking, before setting it down with a thud that matched the beat. The cheers grew deafening. And Dean just stared, mouth slightly parted, green eyes burning with something you couldn’t quite place.

By the time you slid on your knees down to the edge of the bar, meeting his gaze with a sly grin, the whole world seemed to roar around you. Dean still didn’t say a word. But the awe on his face said everything.