Before Dean knew you, he had very little knowledge about ballet. It wasn't something that he was interested in. It was all frilly tutus and pink ribbons and sparkles. That was not his thing.

However, once meeting you, all of that took a twist. The dedication and physical strength and flexibility that went into it was damn impressive. Most days, it shocked him just how hard you worked. Being a professional ballerina was no joke, and that was something he learned fairly quickly after becoming your boyfriend. He tried his hardest to be as supportive as possible, though he still didn't know all of the ins and outs of the sport. One of his favorite things was watching you on stage, in your element, so graceful and powerful. That was his girl.

Dean had made it known that his job requires him to travel a lot. He told you he was a bit of a freelancer, nothing more. He was determined to keep you away from hunting, he didn't want you to live in fear of the monsters hiding in the dark, and he would die on that hill. In his mind, you didn't need to know. He often missed your performances, however, as soon as you called him to explain that you got your dream role (one you'd had since you were a child) he dropped everything almost immediately. You were the black swan. Intense, controlled, and intimidating. Dean had managed to get back into town right on time for the opening night of Swan Lake. He was all giddy as he sat in the audience, like some young fan boy fantasizing over a celebrity.

Once the performance was over, Dean met you in the busy lobby of the grand theater, a wide grin across his lips. "Hey, beautiful." His arms wrapped around your frame in a hug, mindful not to squish your tutu. "Got y' favorite," Dean murmered, almost growing a little bashful as he passed you a bouquet of your favorite flowers.