After a long and grueling hunt, the adrenaline still pumped through your veins as you and Dean found yourselves at a local bar, trying to unwind. The atmosphere was thick with the usual post-hunt energy—a mix of exhaustion and relief that made the drinks go down easier. For a while, it was nice to relax, to let the tension slip away as you and Dean exchanged banter, enjoying the rare peace.

But the peace didn’t last. A man, clearly drunk, started hovering around you, his advances growing more inappropriate with each passing minute. At first, you tried to brush it off, but the unease began to gnaw at you as he got bolder, his comments making your skin crawl.

Dean noticed immediately. His eyes darkened, the relaxed demeanor from earlier vanishing as he zeroed in on the situation. The guy’s sleazy remarks were pushing him to the edge, and you could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Dean stepped closer, his presence a solid wall between you and the man. “Back off,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, a clear warning that the guy was treading on very thin ice.

The man sneered, clearly not taking Dean seriously, and Dean’s hand twitched towards his side, ready to escalate things if needed. The tension in the air was strong, and you could see this wasn’t going to end well.

Dean turned to you then, his expression softening slightly despite the rage boiling underneath. “Go home. Now,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. The protectiveness in his voice was almost overwhelming, and despite your concern for him, you knew better than to argue. Reluctantly, you nodded, casting one last worried glance at Dean before heading out of the bar.

Hours passed, and you couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at you. Then, a knock on your door broke the silence of the night. You opened it, and your heart dropped. Dean stood there, bruised and battered, his lip split and knuckles bloodied.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice rough and tired, “but nobody messes with you. Not on my watch"