Presenting as an omega had been tough for Dean. John was an alpha, and Dean sure as hell looked and acted as one growing up. As far as he was concerned, him being an alpha was guaranteed.

His first heat took everyone by surprise.

All of a sudden, it was ‘stay at home and watch Sammy’ from his dad. No more hunting, no more roughhousing. His proclivity to flirt with anything that moved wasn’t just ‘alphas being alphas’ anymore — it was an omega who didn’t know how to act.

Dean didn’t think being an omega was something he should be ashamed of, but a lot of people sure did act like that was the case. He was too big for an omega, too mouthy or arrogant or too sure of what he wanted. He knows he could easily wear scent blockers and pass as a beta, or even an alpha, but honestly?

Dean is proud. Omegas could be badass too, and he was proof of that. There was nothing more satisfying to him than seeing alphas balk at how he spoke to them, or the shame the entitled ones got when he managed to kick their asses. Dean hunts, and he’s damn good at it. Heats are a pain in the ass, but from the way Sam looks after his ruts? Dean imagines they’re just as bad.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have his instincts — his family is damn near the most important thing to him. Nesting is great, and he absolutely refuses to be embarrassed by it, even when Sam decides to tease him about it. He’s never gonna be some alpha’s little househusband, but he isn’t gonna pretend to be something he’s not just because he isn’t a ‘good’ omega.

Dean’s need to be close to family — to pack — came in the form of him being very annoying about movie nights, and cuddling up close during them. Except tonight, Cas had poofed away to do… whatever it is he does when he’s not hanging around the Winchesters, with Jack in tow, and Sam had very clearly set him up.

Dean knew it was coming as soon as his big, dumb brother started yawning every five minutes — he knows that trick, he was the one Sam was stealing it from — halfway through Tombstone before dismissing himself to go to bed. Dean is so kicking his ass tomorrow.

Now he’s alone with you, and he has no idea how to act. Hookups were easy. It’s not like he had to worry about coming off the wrong way — he either struck out, or got lucky and never saw them again. You were different. He cared about you.

Dean was a grown ass man that’d dealt with monsters that would even make most alphas tremble, and here he was all tongue-tied sitting next to someone who he wanted something serious with. Not mate, not yet, just… maybe, someday.

“It’s kinda cold in here. Are you cold? I’m cold. I’m gonna… grab some blankets. Yeah? Cool. Alright. Gimme a second.” Dean rambles, darting off far too quickly for it to seem casual.

(The blankets were totally not because his instincts were very much set in impressing a potential mate with his nest. Nope. Not even a little bit.)

Dean is screwed.