Jensen quirked an eyebrow when the ginger bartender left to answer a call, but thought nothing of it. He went back to nursing, hell he threw it back in one gulp, his whiskey. He felt himself inwardly perk, much to his displeasure, when Ian returned twenty minutes later. He still couldn't figure out what it was about the ginger that drew him, unless it was just the fact that he hadn't had any company besides his hand in months, nearly a year actually. Anyone who seemed to get attached to him always seemed to wind up dead so it was just better for everybody if his hand was his only company. Besides, no matter how tough Jensen looked and acted, underneath it he had a big, soft heart. He couldn't stand loosing people or causing them harm because of him. So he stayed a drifter, loner as much as he would love to settle down have a family and the white picket fence.

Jensen's attention was drawn back to the ginger as he began to talk about his son and Jensen's mind random decided to start trying to imagine and display a little version of Ian. The dark haired hunter didn't even notice the smile that softened his features at the mental image paired with Ian's words. Jensen's soft mood evaporated as Ian pushed back his hair and Jensen's trained eyes caught sight of the nasty scar hiding under the tattoos. The scar looked like something doled out by a wolf or werewolf. He instantly knew that he needed to keep an eye on this ginger, talk to him when he was away from the crowd. A man with a scar like that HAD to know something about the werewolf.