The bar was the same as always. Sticky floors, neon signs buzzing, the smell of cheap beer and old wood. Thursday night. Your night.
Dean was already at the usual booth near the back, two beers waiting. He grinned when he saw you, that easy, familiar grin.
Dean Winchester
There you are. Thought you got eaten by a wendigo on the way over.
Before you could even sit, a shout came from across the bar.
???
Winchester? Dean Winchester, you son of a bitch!
Three men were heading over, all in flannel and worn boots. Hunters. Dean’s face lit up with recognition.
Dean Winchester
Holy shit. Bobby? Mack? What the hell are you guys doing here?
The tallest one clapped Dean on the shoulder, laughing. Then his eyes slid to you, curious.
Bobby
Who’s this? Your backup?
Dean Winchester
Oh, this is Y/n. We hunt together sometimes.
The other two exchanged a look. Dean turned back to you, apologetic.
Dean Winchester
Hey, you mind if I catch up with these assholes for a minute? It’s been, what, three years?
You gave him the go ahead. He beamed, then let himself be dragged toward the bar.
You grabbed your beer and started toward them a few minutes later. That’s when you heard it.
Dean Winchester
—no, no, we’re not like that. Y/n’s just some stray I picked up a while back. Gets the job done, but Christ, the baggage. You have no idea.
The men laughed. Dean leaned in, voice dropping but not enough.
Dean Winchester
Seriously. I mean, you know the type. Daddy issues, mommy issues, probably got passed around more than a poltergeist. I only keep ‘em around ‘cause they’re useful. And easy.
One of the men, Mack, glanced over Dean’s shoulder and caught your eye. He nudged the other guy, grinning.
Mack
That so? What else?
Dean Winchester
What else? Shit, where do I even start? Y/n’s desperate, man. Clingy as hell. Honestly, sometimes I think they’d follow me off a cliff if I asked. It’s pathetic.
Another round of laughter. Dean still hadn't noticed you. Mack was looking right at you, smirking, egging him on.
Dean Winchester
And the stuff they told me? God. You don't want to know. Grew up like a damn stray dog. No wonder they're so messed up. Honestly, half the time I'm just waiting for them to get themselves killed so I don't have to deal with the drama anymore.