Part II: "The Confrontations"

The knock sent your heart into a frenzy.

You stood up from the bed and made your way to the door, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," under your breath. When you opened the door, Dean immediately straightened his posture and took a deep breath in. Quickly flashing you a heart-throbbing smile, he says awkwardly, "Uh, hey, (Y/N). You busy?"

Yeah, you know, just trying to sort out my feelings for you and your brother.

You shake your head, feigning a smile. "Nope, what's up?"

"Can I come in?" he asks softly. You nod and open the door wider so that he can come through, taking a step aside to let him in. He walks in, sans his usual swagger and confident stride. His shoulders are slightly hunched and his movement is careful, his eyes focused on the ground. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looks around your room, and blurts out, "Nice place you got here."

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shut the door and say, "Uhm... I guess? It's the same room I've been in for a year now."

He nods, keeping that ridiculous smile on his face. As he struggles to find his next words, you interrupt him, "What's going on? You look like you're about to have a heart attack."

Dean laughs nervously, looking down at the floor to avoid your gaze. "Yeah, I think I am actually. I haven't been this nervous before."

Woah. That was a really personal confession coming from the rough-and-tough Dean Winchester. You started panicking internally, because him being all emotional and honest meant that this was really important to him.

Fuck times a billion.

"Well, hey," you move closer to him and meet his eyes. "Let's just take a deep breath and we can talk about things. Okay?"

Were you trying to console yourself or Dean?

The world may never know.

Dean doesn't say anything but nods in agreement, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. His right leg begins bouncing up and down slightly, a nervous habit he had that you've picked up on.

You take a seat next to him and pat his back softly, trying to calm him down. He chuckles at that and says, "Don't treat me like a child, (Y/N)."

Then don't act like one, you would usually fire back. You decided not to be flirtatious or playful in any way, hoping that your distance will cause him to reevaluate his confession.

You take your hand away from his back and give him a few seconds to think. Suddenly, he straightens back up, seemingly unable to control the words from spilling out of his mouth, "Look, (Y/N), I know we wanted to keep this... whatever this is, as a friends with benefits kind of thing. And I think you've already picked up on the fact that I feel, well, more than that, for you," he coughs nervously and continues, "But... God, I think I may like you more than I've let on. And this," he gestures to the both of you, "is not my kind of thing - you know that. So, I obviously... care, a lot - a whole fucking lot - about you. I just - " he sighs, stopping himself from saying anything more. He turns to face you and, for the first time, meets your eyes. "What do you think - or - or feel about all this?"

Suddenly put on the spot, you retreat to your emotionally defensive habit of lightening the mood with inappropriate jokes: "Well, that speech deserves a damn Oscar. I mean, that was something," you laugh awkwardly.

Dean's eyes lower to the ground, and he leans forward again on his knees, not responding to your horribly-timed humor.

You take a deep breath and mentally reboot your brain. You're gonna have to be serious; you didn't want to upset or discourage Dean. It took all the strength he had to come confess his feelings for you, and you made a freaking joke about it? Smooth, (Y/N), smooth.

"I'm - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make fun of that. I just get nervous and deflect with bad jokes, you know that." you stutter out.

He blows air out of his nose, attempting a chuckle. The corner of his mouth turns up in a small, weak smile. He's concentrated on his twiddling thumbs.

You feel absolutely horrible, but you didn't want to end up saying anything that you didn't completely mean. You liked him, you knew that much. But you didn't know in what way, yet. You still had to figure that out, but it looked like you weren't gonna have much time. Looking back at this despondent, vulnerable man sitting beside you, your decision was made: you needed to just tell the truth. Well, your slightly censored version of the truth.

"I appreciate you telling me all this, Dean," you begin carefully, trying to censor yourself as much as possible. "I really do. That took a lot of courage, and I know this mush-gushy type shit isn't something you like. So, I'm really glad you stepped out of your comfort zone like that," You take a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

"I like you, Dean. I do. I like you more than I probably should. I want you to at least know that. I just... I don't know how exactly to go about this relationship," Dean's eyes meet yours, still looking defeated. Your breath catches in your throat at his striking beauty. You wanted nothing more than to just fall into his arms and stay there forever, but the thought of Sam kept interrupting this dream. You wanted Sam, too, and you could imagine the exact same dream with Sam replacing Dean's place.

You sigh and continue on, "I need time to figure things out, and figure out what I want or expect from this. It will be so complicated - it's gonna put bigger targets on our backs for horrible monsters, now that they can use us as leverage for the other. We can never have a normal relationship, or just settle down and grow old together. Our job is dangerous, and we could lose each other at any moment. We need to be ready for that."

Dean nods, his eyes returning to watch his twiddling thumbs. You place your hand on top of his, stopping him from distracting himself. He closes his eyes, taking all this information in. It was apparent that he was really taking everything you said under consideration. When he opened his eyes, they met yours. A small smile was apparent on his lips. "I want this to work. I know what I want, and I'm more than willing to wait for you to figure this out. It will be complicated as hell, but I'll fight 'til my last breath to make this work - if that's what you want, of course," His hand reached over and squeezed your knee. "There's no rush. I completely understand."

WHY. WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY. WHY was he so freaking adorable??? And sincere??? And heartfelt??? And amazing???

Dean stood up from the bed, extending his hand to help you up. You grabbed his hand - instantly feeling butterflies from his romantic gesture - and stood in front of him.

He chuckled lightly, muttering, "You're cute when you're emotionally frustrated."

You scoffed, shocked at his sudden playfulness. "I can't help being emotionally frustrated. Not when you dump all this on me."

His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you a little closer to him. "I'm sorry. Just thought you'd want to be wooed with my outstanding charm."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't deny that you were thankful for the lightened mood. "Okay, don't try to be all tough guy now. You were pouring your heart out to me like, five seconds ago."

He chuckled again, leaning close to your ear and whispering, "I can make it up to you tonight, if you want."

You shuddered at his words, images of you two in bed instantly invading your mind. You knew you shouldn't, but you suddenly just wanted something to distract you from your conflicting emotions. Dean Winchester's hands roaming and ravaging your body sounded like the perfect distraction...

Regaining some confidence from this playful atmosphere, you say challengingly, "Who says I'd want that?"

Dean's smile turned into a smirk, and he said lowly, "The way your body is reacting to me right now."

You suddenly noticed how dry your mouth was. You wanted Dean so badly, but you couldn't let a little roll-around in the bed with him confuse you further. As much as you wanted to give in, you responded, "We'll see."

He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. The feeling of his soft lips ignited your skin, but you fought against the urge to reach up and kiss him. You wanted to maintain as much distance at possible. He looked down at you once more, not able to keep that goofy smile off his face, and removed his hands from your hips. He turned and left your room, leaving you feeling needy, sad, relieved, and sexually frustrated all at once.

You let out the breath you had apparently been holding and flop back on to your bed. You put your arm across your eyes, trying to process everything that happened. Were you too revealing? Did you lead him on? Did you need to be more distant? Was that little encounter at the end too much? What does he think you're feeling? What is he feeling?

Your mind swarmed with questions for a solid five minutes until you felt your phone vibrate from somewhere on the bed. When you found it, you unlocked it, which displayed a text from Sam: Hey, can we talk sometime today?

Goddamnit.

(Pt. 3???)