The Bunker was almost clean, seeing as you spent the whole weekend trying to straighten it up before the boys arrived back in town. The only rooms left were Dean's, a few extra bedrooms, and the kitchen. You hadn't wanted to tackle that room alone, which is why you put it off so long, hoping that Sam would help you out a bit once he rested.
You decide it's probably best to finish Dean's room before he comes back. It wouldn't be fair to have Sam's room all tidy and have Dean living in a dump, so you grab the cleaning supplies and enter the room of the eldest Winchester, a room you hardly ever saw. Dean liked to keep his door closed, staying alone inside with the music blasting in the background.
Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as it has been. It did look as if the man tried to clean before he left, as there were folded clothes on the bed and his magazines were in order on the dresser instead of all over the floor.
First, you grab the duster and walk over to the bedside table. You toss some empty wrappers away in the barely used trash can and hum as you dust off the crumbs and dust.
At first you didn't notice a little yellow slip on the pillow. You wouldn't have, actually, if you hadn't knocked over the clock with the duster and have it land right beside the pillow.
For a second, you forgot about the clock and pick up the piece of yellow paper, unfolding it and looking at the messy writing Dean had scribbled on it. Before, it would have been a little difficult to read. Now you were so used to the handwriting that you read it with no problem.
I don't know how to tell you... I've been trying for over a year now. This isn't the first letter I've written and it honestly won't be the last. I'm too much of a coward to tell you to your face. By the time I get the courage, if I ever do, you'll be taken. Have kids of your own... I'll be just a memory you'll never think of again. I'm terrible at this sort of thing... Romance isn't exactly my strong suit and...
It stopped. Just like that, Dean dubbed it unworthy and tossed it aside.
The idea was cute, you thought. And how interesting that he had a crush on someone—but you had no clue who it could be. There were a million girls in Dean's phone you could try, but probably none of them. Perhaps it was a girl from town. He did take a lot of trips into the next town over and spent a good few hours there...
There was a heavy footstep just outside the door and a man clears his throat. You swerve around, seeing Dean standing in his own doorway, looking a bit appalled that you were invading his space.
"What are you doing?" He asks, though his eyes found the slip of paper in your hand and his face turns red as a brick. "Crap!"
"Why didn't you tell me?" You giggle, waving the paper around. "Our little Dean has a crush on a girl. Who is it? Diane from the post office?" You said in a teasing tone, though you knew it wasn't possible. Diane was married, and Dean had better respect for women than that—at least you liked to hope.
"Give me that." He takes the few steps he needs and takes the paper from you, crumping it up into a ball and throwing it at the trash can. "Get out of my room."
"Sweetie," you smile, thinking it's utterly, insanely cute that he was acting all tough guy when his face was blushing redder than a tomato now. "tell the girl. If you really want her, don't let anything get in your way. It'll come around and bite you in the ass later and you don't want that."
"You don't know what you're talking about. She doesn't care about me." Dean huffs and throws his bag on his bed. He starts up his radio and Bad Moon Rising starts to play softly. "I'll never get this one."
"Don't think that way. She has to be amazing if you like her, Dean." You try. "Tell her how you feel, ask her out, bring her flowers. Show her how much you care for her and she can't say no."
Dean pauses from unzipping his bag and looks over at you. His eyes are resting on yours, thinking long and hard about this.
"Really?"
"Really, really." You smile.
"I have a bad feeling about this." He continues to take out his clothes and sort them: shirts with shirts, pants with pants. He pulls out a few guns and knives, too, sorting those into random piles only he knew why. "Something tells me she won't care about me."
With a groan, you walk over and rip the shirt out of his grasp. You place it on the bed and look up at the Winchester. "Just try. Show her how much you care."
As you start to back up, Dean grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. His lips crash into yours. It's blissful, more than you ever thought it would be with a Winchester. The fireworks seem to go off inside your head, which you always thought were stupid ways of saying how amazing the kiss was.
His fingers work their way up your arm, into your hair. He grabs a chunk of it and lets the other hand rest on your hip as he tries to soften the kiss, make it sweeter. He keeps your head tilted up by your hair and rubs a small circle into your hip with his thumb.
The impact of Dean's lips against yours almost make you topple over. It's been years since you were kissed, even longer since it was this passionate. It was a complete surprise.
You pull away, gazing up at the man who just planted his lips on yours. His eyes are full of hope, lust. It's hard at first to tell if he was serious. Was the letter actually meant for you? Of all the opportunities he had to tell you and he never once took them.
"I uh—" you stutter over your words and pull away, leaving Dean's hopeful eyes turn sad and puppy-like. "Give me a second." You finally say, leaving the room in a hurry.
Dean stands there in utter shock, realizing it was better to not have done anything at all.
