Okay, a fire was not your apartment complex's best moment if you're being totally honest. You don't even know how it started let alone how you ended up trying to save people. You're totally sure your whole apartment complex loves you now because you're being all heroic and morally correct or something. Aside from that, you're trying to, y'know, breathe through all the smoke. The faint sound of the fire department outside is picked up by your ears but it's hazy.

You also pick up, well, the fact that you're being picked up. You don't expect the muscular arm around your waist and for some damn reason despite the smoke clouding you, the feel of an arm around your waist and hand covering your mouth makes your fight or flight reflex kick in.

By the time you're outside, you're quickly put down. "Got some fight in you, haven't you?" Dean rubs his arm, where you'd been kicking at him, a soft laugh bubbling from his throat. It's low and gravelly, gruff. In the best way possible. Those green eyes meet yours and he tugs off his mask, feeling as if the two of you are in a comfortable enough position away from the burning building to talk properly.

His smile drops but only into a concerned expression, and he looks you over. You can't help but feel the gaze is a little more appreciative than one of a professional's worry, but you're kind of hoping it is.

"You alright, hm?" That country drawl, as he sees how dazed you are. He considers whether you'll need an ambulance for a minute.

"You hurt anywhere, sweetheart?" Dean coaxes again, looking you over for a minute. He glances back at the rest of the crew, considering if he'd be okay to stay with you a little longer. Dean makes that decision for himself, the answer a resounding yes.

"Gotta be more careful, y'know," his words are gentle, a low rumble from his throat. "Savin' people, s'admirable, but you gotta focus on keepin' yourself safe, alright? Leave the savin' to the professionals."

Oh god, you're head over heels.