November 2001, Boston, NY

Another notch in his belt.

Dean smirked as he swaggered up to the lively bar, still donning his, now slightly wrinkled, FBI suit. He was mildly tired and just wanted to unwind with a few drinks and maybe someone for the night, not too much to ask for. Right?

It had been a long two days, the werewolf he had just finished hunting took him on a long run through a maze of alleys before finally taking the silver bullet to the heart. Dean could've sworn he still smelt the flesh burning off the thing's bones, but it no longer bothered him; hasn't for the past 14 years. In fact, it sickly reminded him of hunts he had gone on with his brother and dad.

He even considered calling Sammy, to ask how his and dad's hunt was going, but instead rolled his shoulders and pulled opened the glass door to the bar. Immediately, the alcohol and cigarette smoke overwhelmed his senses, and he knew he was going to be in for a fun night. Dean shuffled and weaved his way through the sweaty, loud patrons and eventually made it to the bar and sat on one of the black barstools.

"What's your poison?" The brunette behind the bar asked Dean as she refilled the shot glass of the man next to him. He almost didn't hear the girl through the thousand overlapping conversations and loud laughs that filled the electric atmosphere.

"Beer's fine," He said, leaning forward against the bar and looking into the mirror on the backbar to stare at the barista's ass in her tight jeans.

"Make that two," A honeyed voice said from beside him.

His eye's shifted from the barista's ass to the woman now pressed at his side.

"Sure," The barista said, handing both of them ice cold beers and then tending to other patrons.

"The name's Emma," The woman beside him said, a pearly smile resting comfortably on her fair face.

"Dean," He said with a small nod, taking a swig of his beer. He slightly tilted his head so he could take in the way her red, form-fitting dress hugged her luscious curves. She was more than easy on the eyes, and Dean was enjoying every bit of it.

"Let me guess, Fed." Emma said inquisitively.

"That obvious?"

"Just a bit." She chuckled lightly before taking a drink from her beer. "I'm guessing that's what brought you to Boston?"

"Yea, I just wrapped up a case in town," Dean said proudly, "I might have saved your life."

"Is that so?" Emma mocked playfully, while her hand found it's way to his knee, "Wasn't too hard I hope."

"Yea." Dean shrugged, his cockiness was oozing off him tonight, "Being handy with a gun makes the job easy."

"Is there anything else you know how to handle?" Her green eyes and mischievous smirk challenged him to a game he knew all too well and was very much willing to play.

Dean leaned closer to her with a smug smile on his face.

"How about we get out of here and I show you."

Emma held her smirk while her eyes darted to the side before looking back at him and leaning towards him.

"My place is just around the corner," Emma said with a smoky voice, her hand inching higher up his thigh— just as the shrill sound of his phone pierced the moment.

He sighed and looked at the caller ID then at Emma apologetically. "I'm sorry, I have to take this."

Emma shrugged and let go of him and after an embarrassed smile, he walked towards the restroom (internally kicking himself) and answered the phone after the door closed.

"Dean?" God dammit, of all the people it had to be that old man calling him. Don't get him wrong, Dean loved the guy like a father, but he needed to work on his timing a bit.

"Yea Bobby."

"Are ya busy?"

Dean gently pushed open the restroom door to peer out and saw some guy flirting up a storm with Emma, and for some odd reason it pissed him off. It's not like she was his' or anything; but they did just make plans so-

"Dean? Ya still there?"

"Still here," Dean said as he watched her stand and walk towards the door. "Uhm, I'm not busy." Not anymore, at least.

He was still watching Emma but just before she opened the door, she threw a sultry smirk over her shoulder; her challenging green eyes meeting his, with unspoken words.

"Dean, I've got a new case for you."