𝑨 𝑺 𝑻 𝑹 𝑰 𝑫

“You should’ve stayed back,” Dean snaps, pacing the bunker like a caged animal. “That thing could’ve taken your head off.”

“I handled it,” you shoot back.

“Barely.”

“I didn’t need help.”

“Yeah? Looked like it from where I was standing.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Oh, I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Then what, Dean? You don’t trust me?”

“That’s not it!”

“Then what is it?”

He stops. Silence stretches.

His jaw tightens. “You don’t get it,” he mutters.

“Then explain it to me.”

But he doesn’t. He just shakes his head, grabs his jacket, and walks out.

That’s the worst part.

Not the yelling. Not the sharp words.

It’s the leaving.

So you give him space.

Because that’s what people are supposed to do, right? You don’t follow. You don’t push. You don’t try to fix it. You just… stay out of his way.

One day passes. Then two. The bunker feels off without the usual back-and-forth, the easy tension that never quite tips into something real.

Sam notices. Of course he does. “You guys gonna talk?” he asks one night.

You shrug, staring down at your book. “He wanted space.”

Sam raises a brow. “Dean doesn’t want space.”

“Well, he has it.”

Sam looks like he wants to argue. He doesn’t.

It’s late when Dean finally comes back. You hear the door slam. Boots echoing down the hall. Heavy. Purposeful. You don’t look up when he steps into the library.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your grip tightens slightly on the page. “I’m giving you space.”

“I didn’t ask for space.”

“You walked out.”

“Because I was mad.”

You finally look at him. “Yeah. Me too.”

The air shifts—Tense. Unfinished. Dean runs a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of you.

“This is stupid,” he mutters.

“Yeah. It is.”

“Then why are we still doing it?”

You close your book slowly. “Because you won’t tell me what’s actually wrong.”

Dean laughs once. Sharp. Frustrated. “You really don’t get it.”

“Then say it, Dean.” Your voice cracks just enough to give you away.

And that does something to him.

He stops pacing. Looks at you like he’s trying to decide something.

Then—“Because I care about you, okay?” he snaps.

The words hit like a punch.

“I care more than I should, and watching you throw yourself into danger like that—yeah, it messes with my head.”

You blink.

Dean exhales sharply, like the rest is stuck but he can’t stop now. “I’m supposed to protect you. That’s—” he gestures vaguely, frustrated, “—that’s what I do. And when you don’t let me, when you act like you don’t need me there—”

“I don’t need you to save me,” you interrupt.

“I know that!” he fires back. “That’s not—”

He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. “I just need to know you’re gonna be okay,” he says, quieter now. “And when I don’t— when I think something might happen to you—”

He doesn’t finish.

He doesn’t have to.

The silence fills in the rest.

“…You could’ve just said that.”

Dean huffs a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Well. Not exactly my strong suit.”

Then you stand. Step closer. “You don’t get to push me away when you’re scared,” you say softly.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

He looks at you. “…Yeah,” he admits.

The tension finally cracks. Not gone. But softer.

You nudge his arm lightly. “Next time, use your words.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

You smile, just a little.

Dean hesitates for half a second. Then he reaches out, pulling you into him. It’s not dramatic. Not desperate. Just solid. Grounding. Like something falling back into place.

You relax against him, arms sliding around his middle.

“Still mad at me?” he murmurs.

“Little bit.”

“Fair.”

You tilt your head slightly against his shoulder. “…Still care about me too much?”

He huffs. “Yeah. That’s not going away.”

Good. Because neither are you.

You catch his eye as you approach with a tray of drinks. "What can I get you, handsome?" you ask, your voice dripping with that flirtatious charm you’ve honed over the years. You don't usually flirt with anyone but Dean, but there's something about this guy’s smile that makes you want to tease.

Dean’s sitting at his usual spot at the end of the bar, watching you with those piercing green eyes. But tonight, there’s something off about the way he’s looking at you. His jaw is tight, his usual relaxed posture is stiff, and his beer bottle sits untouched in front of him. You can tell something’s up, but you focus back on the new guy, keeping the conversation light and teasing.

You hand him his drink, your fingers brushing just a little too long against his. You catch the slight smirk he gives you, and for a moment, you’re amused. But out of the corner of your eye, you see Dean shift in his seat, and you can almost feel the weight of his gaze burning into you.

By the time the night winds down, you can’t ignore it any longer. Dean’s been distant, giving short responses when you try to engage with him. You can feel the tension building, but you’re not sure what to do about it. You decide to confront him, knowing that this isn't how it usually is between the two of you.

You walk over to his side of the bar, leaning against it casually, but your eyes never leave his. “Something bothering you, Winchester?”

He doesn’t look at you right away, taking a long swig from his beer before finally glancing up. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is sharp when he speaks. “You seemed real... friendly with him tonight.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “It’s just flirting, Dean. You know how I am.”

He exhales through his nose, a deep sigh escaping as his hands grip the edge of the counter. “Yeah, I know. I guess I just didn’t like seeing it with someone else.”

The sudden honesty in his voice catches you off guard. You take a step closer, your heart fluttering. “Dean, are you jealous?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second, you think he might brush it off. But then, he leans forward, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you rarely see. “Maybe I am,” he admits, his voice softer now. “Maybe I’m tired of just watching.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips, the tension easing between you. “Well, maybe you should stop watching and do something about it, then.”

Dean’s grin is quick and genuine, that familiar spark returning to his eyes. “How about I take you out sometime? Just the two of us. No one else around.”

You laugh softly, your heart racing at the thought. “I think I’d like that.”

Dean’s face softens, a warmth in his eyes as he reaches over and gently takes your hand. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while.”

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