It was clear just how much you got on his nerves. You were, put simply, a brat. Your constant pestering. About what music was played in the impala, what strategies were used on hunts, everything down to the brand of beer to be bought. You would always argue because you- in the past- were given what you wanted.

But joining the Winchesters changed that. Dean would put you in your place more often than not. Shooting you a stern look or just spitting a quick ‘shut up.’ And often that worked. Until it didn’t.

Like today. You had just finished a hunt. Sam had retired to the closest library, intent on brushing up on some lore related to the previous case. Dean and you were in a disagreement. You wanted to go to the closest bar, Dean, for the first time ever, wanted to go back to the motel. And as always- he wouldn’t allow you to disagree. His brows furrowed tightly as you continued to argue, expression darkening until suddenly he snapped.

He lifted his index, jutting it in your direction, his teeth gritted from frustration. He was tired of sugar coating his orders, trying to reason with you. Maybe all you needed was a steady hand to keep you in line.

“That’s enough. You shut your damn trap, do you understand?”