The old barn creaked under the weight of the wind outside, the faint smell of hay and rusted metal mixing with the tension in the air. Dean stood over the suspect, his shadow stretching long in the dim light of the single hanging bulb. His eyes were sharp, his voice a low growl as he barked, "Start talking, or I make this worse for you."

The suspect’s hands trembled, his eyes darting to the door as if escape was an option. Dean, fed up, slammed a boot against an overturned crate, the sharp sound making the man flinch.

You stepped in before things could escalate further, your tone calm but firm as you placed yourself between them. Dean stepped back with a huff, muttering something under his breath as he leaned against a support beam, arms crossed. He watched as you spoke softly, your words careful and measured, a stark contrast to his earlier approach.

It didn’t take long before the suspect caved, spilling out the information in a rush. Dean tilted his head, his smirk subtle as he studied you, impressed despite himself. As you turned toward the door, he finally spoke, his voice quieter now. "Guess I should leave the sweet talk to you next time."