It wasn't exactly romantic. They didn't sit at a candlelit table with a cheesy tablecloth, they didn't even kiss. But it was something, and that's a hell of a lot more than nothing.
They'd just finished a ghoul in Missoula, and a nasty sonofabitch at that. Once they'd dropped their bags in the motel room, Dean made straight for the bar next door, Sam right behind.
Sam folded himself onto a stool with a sigh. Dean made a beeline for a pretty girl sipping a drink by herself.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" The girl smiled and looked up.
"What?"
"How does it feel to be the prettiest girl in the room?" The girl nearly choked on her wine.
"The hell kind of pickup line is that? And you're so attractive, too, I would have expected better," she drawled. Dean floundered for a moment, before he saw a large man coming towards him from the other side of the room.
"Hey, you tryin' to put the moves on my wife?"
"Oh shit..."
The first punch landed squarely on Dean's jaw, making his ears pop. Dean bounced back with a punch to the man's stomach, which wasn't as effective as he thought it would be. The man didn't even flinch as he kicked Dean away and delivered another blow to his face. Dean tried to counter with a cut to his jaw, but he stepped easily to the side and twisted Dean's arm behind his back.
"Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't snap your damn arm right now," he growled. Dean thought for a moment before suggesting.
"Because I am damn pretty?" in the man's moment of surprise he twisted his arm free and turned to face him again.
Sam didn't usually like to get involved in Dean's bar brawls, but he was in way over his head. He pulled Dean away and sat him down at the other end of the bar, giving the guy a look that he prayed read as "Sorry, this man is an idiot, and he's also drunk", but probably came off more as "Oh god please don't kill him".
"You're lucky your boyfriend was here, asshole," the man spat before leading his wife out of the bar.
"Boyfriend?" Dean muttered. "Damn, Sammy, if you hadn't pulled me out, I'd be -"
"You'd be doubled over with a couple of cracked ribs, dumbass," Sam cut him off, smiling.
"Yeah yeah, whatever. Bitch."
"Jerk. The hell were you hitting on a chick drinking red wine for, anyway? That's suicide." Dean considered for a moment, rubbing his sore jaw.
"Hmm. Yeah, in hindsight, not such a good idea," Dean grunted, a hand to his stomach. "Damn, that was some kick. How about a drink? S'why we came here in the first place," he signaled to the man at the bar, grinning at Sam.
"Whiskey, straight, man." The barman nodded and turned to Sam.
"Just, uh, just a beer, thanks," he said, reaching for his wallet. Dean caught his wrist.
"On me, Sasquatch," he smiled.