You know what's really underrated? That sweet but awkward, liminal phase between "I like you" and "I love you"
And I'm curious who do you think is the first to cross that boundary, Sam or Dean?
Let's say they're seeing someone, and they're dancing around this thing in between them, despite regularly going out with that partner. Maybe they had kissed before, or maybe their friends know about them already. They refuse to see other people and know they like each other.
the boy who overthinks “i love you” until it’s practically burning a hole in his chest
keeps catching himself staring at your mouth when you’re laughing, then immediately looks away, cheeks flushed like you’ve caught him doing something scandalous
his “I like you” is so soft it barely makes it past his lips, but his “I love you”? it lives in every action: tucking a blanket around you when you fall asleep on the couch, brewing your coffee just right, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear without thinking
probably rehearses “I love you” in his head for weeks—out loud in the shower, under his breath in the Impala, biting it back when you hug him goodbye
he doesn’t want to scare you off, so he settles for little slips: “I—like you. A lot.” (the pause is deafening, his heart hammering at what he almost said)
when he finally says it, it’s in a low, raw voice. not planned, not rehearsed. maybe you’re teasing him, maybe he’s half-laughing, maybe it just falls out when you least expect it. and he looks at you like he’s terrified you won’t say it back.
the boy who swears he’ll never say it first, but doesn’t realize he’s been saying it all along
his “I like you” is obvious—he says it like a smirk, like it’s tattooed in the way his hand rests on your thigh when he drives, the way he leans a little too close in diners, the way he calls you sweetheart like it belongs to just you
he’s reckless with affection in every way except the words—because those words are dangerous, sacred, too binding for a man who thinks he breaks everything he touches
but it’s there in how he brags about you to Sam, in how he checks the locks three times when you’re sleeping over, in how he pretends he doesn’t notice you steal his flannel (and then never asks for it back)
the first almost slips out when you’re patching him up. He winces, grins at you, and mutters: “God, I love—uh, I mean, I like having you around.” You catch it. You always catch it.
when Dean finally says “I love you,” it’s in a moment so unguarded he doesn’t even realize it left his mouth until you smile at him. maybe he’s drunk, maybe he’s half-asleep, maybe he blurts it out mid-laugh. and once it’s out? he doesn’t take it back.
Sam would be the one to say it first.
he’s too thoughtful for his own good—he doesn’t throw the word “love” around casually, so if he feels it, it eats at him until he can’t hold it in anymore.
he’ll think about it late at night, spiral over what it means, how it changes things… and eventually he decides keeping it in is worse than the risk of saying it.
so when it happens, it’s not some grand moment. It just slips out when he’s looking at you like you’re it.
Dean, on the other hand, feels it first.
he’s quicker to fall (though he’ll never admit it). dean’s whole thing is that he shows you long before he says it—cooking for you, touching you casually, making sure you’re safe.
but those three words? they’re too raw, too binding, too “what if I lose you.” so he skirts around them, says everything but that.
when he does say it, it’s probably by accident… but it’s always been true in his chest.
Sam crosses the line first with words. Dean crosses it first with actions.
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