Leaves rustled above you, moving slightly in the wind. The dirt was soft underneath your boots, the dead leaves crunching slightly. It smelled musty and moldy, with a slight scent of pine. You loved the forest. The smell, the feel of being surrounded by nature. But it was the also place you wanted to be tonight.

"When can we give up?" You whined, stopping so suddenly that Dean ran into your back. "I really didn't expect to spend tonight mucking about in this damn forest."

With his hand on your back, he spanned the flashlight around the area, making sure the two of you were safe. "Why? Do you have some hot date you want to get back to?" He asked, his voice laced with anger.

"No, it's not that," you sighed. "It's just St. Patrick's Day."

Raising an eyebrow, he waited for more of an explanation. "Dean, I know we don't help celebrate holidays, birthdays. Anything actually. But this weekend had been so quiet, I had really thought we might have been able to celebrate it for once. Just think about it. Cheap beer, yummy food. A rowdy bar. Sounds like a perfect night."

"And you didn't have plans with anyone?" He asked again, finally sliding his hand from your back, and you wanted to lean back into his warmth.

With the flashlight barely creating a glow between the two of you, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw had clenched. "I did have plans," you teased.

He gulped, his eyes narrowing. "With you. And maybe even Sam, if we can pull him away from the books for a little bit."

You could see the moment he started to relax, and you wondered why he cared so much. He had never even attempted to hit on you. Before you could think about it too much, Dean dropped the flashlight, letting out the most unmanly little yell you had ever heard.

"What is...," you started to say as Dean jumped behind you, holding on tight to your shoulders. Cursing and muttering under his breath, he took the flashlight from your hand, searching through the area. "Do you see it? I can't see it!"

"What? What is it?" You asked, looking for any sort of Demon, or other Monster. Because that could be the only thing that could have scared such a seasoned hunter like Dean.

With his hands still on your shoulders, Dean took deep gulping breaths. "Snake. A freaking snake slithered across my foot."

"Snake?" You repeated, turning to face him, letting him pull you against him in a crushing hold. "You jumped that high for a snake?"

Dean brushed his hand up and down your back, no doubt comforting himself more than you. "I freaking hate snakes!"

You started chuckling, shaking in his arms. Amazed that the strongest person you knew was afraid of something like a snake. "Hey, it's okay," he whispered, holding you even tighter. "I won't let that snake anywhere near you."

You leaned back, and in the moonlight, he could see the fact that you were laughing, not crying. "Are you laughing at me?"

"N...no," you stuttered. "But Dean. You're afraid of snakes? You hunt freaking monsters!"

Running a hand through his hair, he rolled his eyes. "What? I don't make fun of you for being scared of sharks. But snakes. They're creepy and slimy, and poisonous! I wish Saint Patrick had come to America instead of Ireland. He could have gotten rid of the snakes here."

You burst into another bought of laughter. "Sure Dean. Let's go back to the bunker and look at some of our books. There has to be a way we can bring Saint Patrick back."

Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, he shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. But we could call it a night and I could spend St. Patrick's day with my favorite girl."

"The bartender from Smith's Pub," you sighed, wishing he had meant you.

Squeezing your arm, he made you look his way. "I meant you, silly. You are, and will always be my favorite girl. There's no one I would rather go drink green beer with."