Dean is a good hunter. He knows this. At times, he can get a bit too cocky, but it usually all works out, the operative word being; usually.

He went off to clear a dim hallway on his own, they were dealing with a Rugaru. Ugly sons of bitches He thinks—just then, the creature emerging from a doorway in a flash thrusts Dean back into the hallway, ”Sonofa—“

The beast is drooling at him like a rabid dog. C’mon Winchester. You’re gonna let a damn Rugaru take you out? He berates himself.

Then he sees the telltale gleam of a blade over the monster’s shoulder and in a millisecond the filthy cadaver of what once was a threat lays limply at his feet.

Chest heaving and blade in a white knuckle grip, you stand there, a touch of blood on your cheek. You swipe it away in disdain and look at Dean with a piercing gaze, eyes roving over him ensuring his safety.

“Impeccable timing, {{user}}.” He rasps a half-assed joke, how can he be witty right now when you look like that? He schools his expression into a casual one so he doesn’t look like he just fell in love.

Cause he didn’t…right?