#angsty!dean

"Which one?" Dean pressed a kiss to your temple.

"The first time we heard this song." You could feel your eyes sting slightly at the bittersweet memory. You nodded.

"How could I forget?"

Dean sat at the same bar, eight years ago, knocking back his glass of whiskey. The sad lyrics rang clear throughout the bar. Have you ever needed someone so bad? Have you ever wanted someone you just couldn't have? He looked at the jukebox in exasperation, as if that would make it stop.

His jaw clenched, and he motioned to the bartender for another drink. Dean had just told you that you couldn't stay with them anymore. You'd almost been killed on a hunt, and he was afraid to lose you. He was painfully aware of how badly he'd hurt you with his words, but he had needed to harden himself against all emotion so he wouldn't change his mind. You were far away from him now, and that was the only way you could truly be safe. He refused to put you in harm’s way. As the bartender set another glass of whiskey in front of Dean, he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over him.

About twenty miles away, you sat in your car, tears silently streaming down your face. All was quiet, aside from the rain hitting the roof softly, and the same song Dean was listening to (although you didn’t know that at the time) playing through your speakers. You couldn't understand what had gone wrong. Your relationship with the older Winchester had just begun to blossom when he told you that you couldn’t be together anymore, and you had to leave. You were heartbroken. There was something about Dean's expression that had hurt you more than the words he had said. When he told you to go, it was like he was void of all emotion. If you hadn't known any better, you would have said he looked soulless. The Dean that said those words to you didn't look or sound like the Dean you knew and fell in love with. He looked empty and harsh. That's when it finally began to dawn on you - he was scared. Dean had always tried to hide those emotions from you, so you wouldn’t worry. You were always telling him there wasn't any need to, but he did it anyway. Even now, when he wasn’t around, Dean was still trying to protect you. He hadn't turned you away because he didn’t care; He had turned you away because he still cared so much. Your heart began to pound with a newfound hope as you turned the key in the ignition and sped off into the night.

It was nearly midnight when Dean finally pulled up to the bunker again. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't even notice when your car door slammed shut. Your windows were rolled down, and the same song was still playing on loop. Dean began to head up to the bunker, still oblivious to your presence.

"Hey!" you exclaimed. Dean stopped in his tracks, recognition present in his eyes. Blinking furiously, he turned toward you, trying to wipe his face clean of all emotion again.

"I told you not to come back," he said gruffly. Your heart shattered, aching deep in your chest. Hearing Dean say it the second time hurt worse than it did the first time. You were almost expecting him to be glad that you had come back. That you hadn't taken no for an answer. Apparently, that wasn’t the case. Your throat was tight with emotion as you opened your mouth to respond.

"I know," you said, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Dean's jaw clenched.

"Then go," he ordered. His tone was harsh, unlike anything you'd ever heard from him - well, directed toward you, anyway. You almost turned around and got in your car. You almost drove off into the night, never to come back. Almost. Dean's tone of voice and expression burned with anger, telling you to leave, but something in his eyes was begging you to stay.

"No."

"Y/N, why are you here?" he snapped. Your heart squeezed painfully again at his words, and tears trailed down your cheeks. You grit your teeth, clenching your fists. A look you couldn't put your finger on flitted across his face, and then was gone. "I don't want you here," he stated. You shook your head.

"I'm here because you and I both know that's not true." Your voice broke, and tears welled up in Dean's eyes, his wall of defense finally crumbled.

He looked down at his wet boots.

"How did you-"

"Because I can read you like a book, Winchester." You took two steps forward and crashed your lips against his. He reciprocated the kiss instantly, wrapping one hand around your waist, and using the other to cup your face tenderly. You had kissed Dean many times, but never before with such tenderness. For the rest of the song, you both stood there like that, holding each other, lips pressed together firmly, and tears mingling with the rain.

Three years later, when the first notes of the song registered in your ears, you lit up, looking at Dean. He stood, holding out his arm graciously.

"Sounds like that's our cue, beautiful." You grinned back at him.

"Sounds like it is." A smile graced his perfect face, and he chuckled. 

Everyone in the room stepped aside for you as Dean led you to the floor for a dance. His familiar warmth was a tremendous comfort, instantly easing your nerves.

"You are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen," he whispered. You blushed, looking down at the long, cream-colored gown. He gently lifted your chin so that you could meet his eyes. "I mean it, Mrs. Winchester. You make a beautiful bride." You straightened his tie with affection.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Mr. Winchester." Dean lifted your hand to his lips, gazing down at the ring again.

"So beautiful," he repeated softly. A small smile that you couldn't suppress crept onto your lips, and you gazed out at the small crowd of partygoers around you.

"They probably think we're weird," you mused. Dean chuckled.

"What makes you say that?" You shrugged.

"Well, this isn't exactly a touchy-feely love song."

"So what?" Dean replied. "This isn't their wedding." You laughed.

"That's true." He smiled, kissing you on the cheek.

"Besides, it's still our song." You squeezed his hand gently.

"Yes, it is."

"Baby?" Dean asked. "You okay?" You smiled as another wave of nostalgia washed over you.

"Yeah." The bar was almost empty now. "We have a lot of good memories, don’t we?" Dean pulled you closer to him, sighing in content.

"Yes, we do." He kissed the top of your head tenderly. "Happy anniversary, Y/N." Your eyes welled up, the pure overwhelming emotion tugging at your heartstrings.

"Happy anniversary, Dean." As the final chords faded out, your dance ended. But it didn't matter. Who cared whether or not there was a jukebox? Your song would always be playing wherever the two of you were together.

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