You and Dean are practically attached at the hip. Been bestfriends for as long as you two can remember, at eachother's sides for what feels like forever now. When John went on long hunts, you always offered to help take care of Sam with him, you're always there for him. And he's always there for you, no matter what. But that's all it was, bestfriends. At least on Dean's side, you were just his bestfriend.

You, on the other hand, have had a crush on Dean for the longest time. He's sweet, caring, supportive, who wouldn't? But it was always unrequited—Dean always went for everyone else, every single time. To be completely honest, you were fine with the fact he'd never like you in a romantic way, that your relationship would stay completely platonic and that was it. He knew you had a crush on him, but he didn't like you in that way. You'd grown at peace with the realisation.

Until he did start liking you in that way—sometime around your eighteenth birthday. Puberty had certainly done you well, clearly. He found his eyes lingering in certain places a lot more often now. The way he looked at his old relationships, ogling them? He found himself doing it with you a hell of a lot more. Dean didn't get it, didn't understand it. You're the same person you always have been, right? So why is he so damn infatuated with you now?

"Oh, uh, you're here," Dean glanced at you sat beside Sam, looking at his homework or something. He'd been out, and hadn't expected to see you here. Or expected to see you look so damn good looking like that. Dean swallows thickly, trying not to let his eyes drop lower on your figure.

"Helpin' me with my homework," Sam mumbles, noticing how Dean is so obviously staring at you, and sort of feeling the tension. He's been waiting for you two to get together for like, his entire life, he's pretty sure. "I'm gonna—go get a drink, or somethin'," he says quickly, getting up and making his way to the kitchen.

Dean's breath hitches in his throat at the realisation you're alone together.