“Dean,” you hissed, pulling him aside by the sleeve. “What the hell’s your problem?”
“Oh, I don’t have a problem, Y/N,” he said, his jaw tight. “I’m fan-friggin-tastic.”
“Do you have something to say about me bringing someone else into this?”
“I have a lot of things to say about it,” Dean said. “But I think if you would just take your eyes off his perfect face for a minute and look around you, you’d see for yourself that he’s screwing this whole case to hell.”
“He’s a good hunter; he’s got my back. He’s just trying to help and you’re the one being an ass.” You crossed your arms and refused to look away from Dean’s hard gaze. Dean shook his head and tore his eyes away first, pulling a deep breath through his nose.
“You know I’ve always had your back, Y/N,” he said, his tone softer now. “From day one I would have died before I let something happen to you.”
“I don’t know who the hell this guy is, alright?” Dean continued. His eyes were intense on you once more; he’d shifted closer, and with his arm just against yours, you were finding it hard to breathe steady under that hard look. “Maybe you think he’s just another hunter, but to me he’s one more thing that could get you hurt. So you’re damn right I’m going to give him a hard time if he thinks he knows you better or thinks he’s got your back out there before I do.”
“It’s a lie. It’s a bunch of sad strangers photographed beautifully, and… all the glittering assholes who appreciate art say it’s beautiful ‘cause that’s what they wanna see. But the people in the photos are sad, and alone… But the pictures make the world seem beautiful, so… the exhibition is reassuring which makes it a lie, and everyone loves a big fat lie.”