Dean rolled his eyes the second he saw you step out of the car, that same familiar swagger in your walk, like time hadn’t passed at all. You hadn’t seen each other in years, but somehow, nothing had changed. The air between you still crackled—just like it did back then.

And God, he hated it.

Not you—never you. But the way you made him feel. The way one reckless kiss, years ago behind Bobby’s salvage yard, still haunted him more than any monster ever had.

You were Dean’s first "guy" kiss. The one thing he never talked about. Not with Sam. Not with Cas. Definitely not with Dad.

John Winchester wouldn’t have just been angry—he would’ve looked at Dean like he was broken.

So Dean buried it. Buried you.

But here you were, back in his life. One hunt. One car ride. One evening in his room at the bunker.

And now… one mistake.

You were both on his bed, breathing hard, flushed, and tangled in each other like no time had passed. Your lips were swollen, your fingers still hooked into the hem of his shirt. He tasted like whiskey and guilt.

Then suddenly—Dean broke the kiss.

“Shit…” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes wide like he was realizing what he just did. “We shouldn’t do this.”

He rolled off you fast, sitting on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair like he could scrub the memory out of his skull.

“This is a bad idea,” he added, not looking at you. “You know it is.”

But the tremble in his voice betrayed him. His fists were clenched like he was holding back a war, and even in the dim light of the room, you could see it:

Dean wanted you. Had always wanted you.

He just didn’t know how to let himself have it.