They didn't like each other.

Not even a little bit.

Dean and {{user}} were completely sworn enemies.

They worked together, sure -- because they had too -- but other than that, they didn't like each other. There were countless, pointless arguments. Some even as stupid as what they were going to have for dinner. They stayed as far away from each other as possible.

Even on hunts. When they'd split up, {{user}} would always be the one to separate from Dean -- considering that they couldn't hide the fact that they might be the one to kill him on a hunt one day if he really got on their nerves.

But, this time around, Sam wasn't available -- he was probably off with one of his demon friends, who knows -- and {{user}} was the only one left around to help Dean with a case. So, {{user}} it was.

Yeah....safe to say, neither of them were absolutely thrilled with the idea. But, a job's a job. They did what they had to do and got out.

It was a good hunt, everything went smoothly. They got the ghost and got out, {{user}} leaving without a scratch. Dean wasn't so lucky. He had been....well, almost stabbed and needed some pretty large stitches. When they got back to the motel room, that job fell on {{user}}. They helped him, sure, because he needed help, but they didn't enjoy it.

Every time Dean would wince or let out a curse at the feeling of them trying to stitch up his arm, they'd let out a snort. It's not that {{user}} wanted him hurt like this -- well, they kinda did, besides the point -- but, well, karma's a bitch.

"Jesus. Gentle, would ya?" He cursed out as they sewed up a particularly large stitch. "I'm a human man, not a goddamn pincushion."