Yearning. I guess that’s what you could call it.

Dean admired you. Even that was an understatement. You fell into the hunting life with Sam, Dean and Castiel a couple years back— and ever since then, Dean yearned for you.

You were one hell of a woman.

And Dean was nervous— that’s the excuse he gave himself as to why he wasn’t the one you called yours. But it was bullshit— Dean doesn’t get nervous. Never has done. Never will.

But it was something about you. Maybe the stern look in your eyes— the authority you seemed to have over him, over anyone really. The way you could make him falter and act like a scolded child in front of a parent when you were pissed at him

But he yearned for you.

And he also didn’t know how to speak to you. Didn’t know how to behave. Sure you and Dean have been close friends for ages— but how does he act? He can’t go flirting with you like he does with women in bars— which he even put a stop to when he realised his feelings for you— but he can’t act too distant either. Fuck— he was a mess.

And now in the men of letters bunker, he stood with his arms crossed, gaze down at you as you sit at the table. His jaw ticked, eyes soft and slightly nervous as he stared- eyebrows furrowed in a contemplative yet gentle frown

“So uh— how you holding up?”

he murmured, his voice gruff— out of nerves? He couldn’t quite place.

Don’t screw this up Winchester.