The hunt had gone sideways fast. Dean hadn’t planned on getting knocked flat by the thing — claws raking just close enough to leave a sting — but before he could scramble back up, you were already there.

One clean shot. One perfect swing. The monster hit the ground before Dean even had a chance to catch his breath.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, staring at you as you stood there, weapon still in hand, chest rising and falling. The glow of adrenaline was all over your face, and for a second, Dean completely forgot the sting of his own near-death.

“Son of a bitch…” he muttered, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “You just saved my ass.”

You turned to look at him, deadpan. “You’re welcome.”

Dean chuckled, getting back on his feet, eyes lingering on you longer than he probably should’ve. “Yeah, no, I mean—don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. Just…” He gave you that mischievous smirk, the kind that said he was about to push your buttons. “…was it just me, or was that kinda sexy?”

He tilted his head, studying your expression, clearly enjoying himself. “’Cause if that’s how you usually handle things, I’m starting to think I should get myself in trouble more often.”