Dean pushed the door open enough for you to get in behind him but didn't bother to hold it for you. You sighed agitatedly, making sure it was locked before following him down the staircase. His stiff body language told you that he didn't want to talk about it anymore, but the way he almost hesitated in his quick strides made you believe otherwise.
"Dean, I already apologized like four times!" you exclaimed. "Even though I did nothing wrong!" you added as an afterthought. Sam looked up from his laptop in the library as the two of you came in, eyebrows raised in question.
"What's going on?" he asked. Dean shook his head as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets.
"Nothing." You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course. Leave it to Dean to take something that's bothering him, and shove it down so deep that it never sees the light of day again.
"I was getting information for a case, and your brother didn't like my methods, so now he's mad at me," you explained. Dean plastered on a half-smile, shaking his head for emphasis as he spoke.
"It's okay! I'm not mad!" The smile would have almost been convincing, to his credit, had it not been for the slight twitch developing under his right eye. You glanced over at Sam surreptitiously before leaning over ever so slightly.
"Is it just me, or does he seem mad to you?" you asked under your breath.
"Goddammit, I just said I'm not mad!" Dean snapped, causing you to jolt in surprise. Damn. It wasn't like you had been putting all of your efforts into keeping your voice down, but damn. Sam sighed, shutting his laptop and getting to his feet.
"Run me through what happened." God bless him. He was always trying to find some even ground. Dean cast a warning glance in your direction, again, wordlessly telling you that he didn't want to talk about it, but you ignored him, crossing your arms over your chest as you blew a strand of hair out of your face
"Dean got all upset," you started to explain, "because I was flirting with some guy to get information-"
"No, no, no, he wasn't just 'some guy,' okay?" Dean cut you off. "He was a total douchebag! I mean, what the hell was he wearing, anyway? Danny Zuko called, and he wants his outfit back." You shot Sam an incredulous look, who merely shrugged weakly back at you. He was actively trying to excuse himself from the room by taking small, hesitant steps away from the two of you. Apparently, even he sensed that Dean was being unreasonably... Dean about all of this.
"Did... did you just reference Grease?" Dean went red, a stark contrast to his bright green eyes, which were filled with a bit of embarrassment.
"No!" he exclaimed before sighing heavily. "Maybe! Look, all I'm sayin' is that no girl buys into that stupid playboy leather jacket look."
"Ha!" The laugh came from your mouth before you even realized it was you that had made the sound. That was rich, especially coming from Dean Winchester himself. You had vivid memories of him wearing a "stupid playboy leather jacket" when you first met him. "You mean like the one you wore for some three years back in '05?"
"Hey, I'm an exception! And I didn't act like a playboy!" Even Sam let out a snort at that one, and he was halfway across the room.
"Oh, really?" you fired back. "Because I seem to recall you profusely hitting on me when we first met." He spluttered a bit, and you used his temporary inability to summon comprehensible words to your advantage. "I really don't get why you're so upset! I was just looking for a lead like I always do. The person I was asking just happened to be a guy, and as a woman, I know what gets guys talking! There's nothing to be mad about here!" When Dean set his jaw in his telltale way, you braced yourself for whatever he was going to say next.
"I'm not mad, Y/N, I just brought it up as a general concern, and you're the one who started blowing it all out of proportion." And there it was.
"I’m the one blowing it out of proportion?" you nearly screeched. "When he offered to buy me a drink, you threatened to, and I'm quoting you here, 'turn his face inside-out.' What the hell does that even mean?" You glanced over your shoulder to get Sam's two cents on the situation, but he was gone. He must've finally slipped out when you weren't paying attention. With an exasperated huff of air, you turned your attention back to the older Winchester, whose lips had formed something between his signature delicious pout and a frown, the skin between his eyebrows slightly creased. "It was just for a case, Dean! That's all! It didn't mean anything!" He crossed his arms over his army green cotton t-shirt, taught over his freckle-sprinkled skin.
"Oh, I get it," Dean finally said with a wry look in his eyes. "You've got a thing for me." You felt your eyes go wide as saucers as you began to reel, taking a physical step back.
"What?" Where the hell did that come from?
"No, I get it," he repeated. "That's why you've spent the last half hour explaining yourself." You felt your lip curl back involuntarily.
"I don't owe you anything," you practically snarled. Dean nodded.
"I know that," he agreed innocently, all traces of his frustration suddenly gone. "I never said you did. So, if you don't mind my askin', why have you been so hell-bent on telling me that it didn't mean anything?" Now it was your turn to be trapped in stunned silence. "I'll tell you why," he continued, "you've got a thing for me."
You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about it. How could you not? After years of constantly being around him, it was practically impossible not to. Hell, you had even found yourself thinking of Sam a couple of times, but that was only when you had first met him, and it was never to the extent of how you used to think of Dean. Correction: how you still thought of Dean.
Chewing on your lip to the point that you were afraid it would start to bleed, you shook your head, acutely aware of the way your face had started to heat up.
"You're an ass," you informed him. As you went to leave him in the dust, his hand was on your wrist, whirling you back around and pulling you to him, making your heart stutter wildly in your chest.
Not even the most lucid of your daydreams could have compared to how it felt to have his perfect lips on yours. Dean kissed you with a softness that you had never seen from him before, a warmth that made your entire body tingle, and with a depth that no one had ever achieved before, and you immediately began to feel dizzy with it. One of his hands served to steady you, stationed on the small of your lower back, and the other rested against your face as his thumb brushed tenderly over the apple of your cheek. When his tongue brushed against your lower lip, you gasped softly, parting your lips to allow him access. Dean gave a soft growl that made butterflies erupt in your stomach, and he pulled you closer. If it was actually possible to get drunk on a kiss, you were certainly getting there.
When you were finally forced apart by the need to breathe, you kept your eyes closed, unwilling to let the moment come to an end.
"Don't worry, gorgeous," Dean murmured into your ear. 'The feeling's mutual." Much to your disappointment, he released you, giving your hand a small squeeze before he was out of your reach. Totally frozen in place, you watched him go. He paused in the archway of the library. "And by the way," he said over his shoulder. "I used to flirt with you so much because I've wanted to do that since the day that I met you."
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