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You didn’t mean to get separated from Dean. One second, you were grabbing drinks. Next, some smug new hunter who called himself Jake had cornered you by the jukebox, clearly confusing your polite small talk for permission to do whatever he wanted with you.
His hand settled on your waist, fingertips gripping your body. “Come on, sweetheart. One dance,” he slurred, leaning too close to your ear so you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “I’ve seen the way you look at me across the bar, baby. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”
Your entire body tensed. You stepped back, jaw tightening. “You’ve got the wrong idea.”
Jake’s grin didn’t falter. His hand grabbed yours—not rough, but insistent.
“You’re playing hard to get, I get it. It’s cute.”
Then his hand slid lower.
And that’s when you heard his voice behind you. Low. Cold. Dangerous.
“Let go of her.”
Jake froze.
You turned, breath catching.
Dean stood a few feet away, utterly still, radiating fury. His shoulders were squared, fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes—God, his eyes. They were burning green fire, locked on Jake like a predator who’d just spotted his kill.
Jake scoffed, releasing your wrist, but not backing down. “Didn’t know she had a babysitter.”
Dean took a step forward.
“You got one more second to walk away,” he said, voice barely more than a growl. “After that, I stop being polite.”
Jake held his ground. Stupidly.
“What, you think she’s yours?” he spat. “She’s not wearing a ring. She didn’t say no.”
Dean’s mouth twitched—not in a smile.
“You think I give a damn about a ring?” he muttered, stepping in closer. “She pulled away. You didn’t stop. And now you’re trying to act like you’re not about to eat your own teeth.”
His voice dropped into something lethal. “She’s mine. You put your hands on her again, and I’ll make sure you don’t get to use them anymore.”
Jake laughed nervously, but the edges of it cracked when Dean took another step.
You caught his arm.
“Dean.”
He didn’t look at you. His whole body was coiled, like a wire stretched to its snapping point. You felt the rage vibrating off of him, held back by sheer will alone.
You touched his chest, palm flat over his heart. “He’s not worth it.”
His jaw clenched. “You are,” he bit out. “You’re worth every broken bone I’d give that piece of shit.”
“Dean.” This time, your voice was soft. Gentle.
Slowly, finally, his eyes met yours. And something in him… eased. Just slightly. He took a breath—deep, shaky—and looked back at Jake with one last, venomous glare.
“Get the hell outta my sight,” he snapped.
Jake left fast.
Dean didn’t move for a long second. Then his hand came up to cradle your cheek, rough thumb brushing just under your eye. “You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse now. Cracked open.
You nodded, leaning into him. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He laughed once. Bitter. “Yeah. Me too.”
You rested your forehead against his. “Thank you.”
He exhaled slow. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t ever think you’re alone. Not while I’m breathing.”
And you believed him. Because you’d seen what he almost became… And what he chose not to, just for you.