Imagine getting into a heated argument with your favorite television character. You raise your arm to slap him, but he catches your wrist. He backs you up against a wall and leans down to your ear. "Wanna try that again sweetheart?"

JUST AN FYI: (Y/F/F)= Your Favorite Food

                          (E/C)= Eye Color

This was our first fight since you'd moved into the bunker with Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean had been hunting a nest of vamps while you was hunting a vengeful spirit in a nice suburban house in upstate New York. Once they took care of the nest, they were to come help you if you needed it. But, like always, they finished the job even though you clearly could do it yourself. you were done with that. They weren't the only ones who had been raised by hunters.

The second we walked through the bunker door, You snapped, "Why do you always do that?"

"Why do we always do what?" Dean said as he hunched over in the fridge, grabbing a few beers.

"Why do the two of you always swoop in and kill whatever it is I'm hunting. I was able to burn the remains myself. I'm not six," You were getting so frustrated that you had to squeeze your hand to keep from crying.

"Y/N, with that broken hand of yours, it would have taken a million years to dig up the grave and another million to actually do the burning," Dean pointed at the once white cast around your wrist. A few weeks before, a demon had thrown you towards a tree. After you hit it, you fell to ground and tried to catch yourself. That was when you fractured it. The fracture was only minor, and you had to wear the cast for just a few more days. You were not so furious once Dean mentioned the injury, but they "save" you and finish the job every time.

"I understand, but this is not the first time you and Sammy have done this. Even when I'm totally capable of finishing the job, you come in and end it. I'm sick of it!" You turned around and stormed off to your room. You were tired of holding back the unnecessary tears. The second you closed the door, you let them fall to the floor along with the rest of your body.

After having your little diva moment, you sat yourself up and leaned against the door and closed your eyes. You sat there, listening to the beautiful silence. There had been a lot going on in the bunker- the Bitching Men of Losers had finally left us alone, Jack was no longer with us, and Lucifer was Chuck-knows-where. It had been forever since you'd heard silence. Sam and Dean weren't in the library looking up spells and cases, which seemed odd.

When you finally collected yourself, you opened the door. The room instantly filled with aromas of Italy. Sam was making (Y/F/F), your favorite. You forgot everything that had happened and walked into the kitchen, "Hey guys, I, uh, I'm sorry about my little tantrum earlier. It's just that how can I show you that I can do things if you never give me the chance, you know? Sam, I thought spaghetti night was Thursday. Why'd you move it?" The boys were already chowing down and never said a word to you.

"Wow, the silent treatment. Very mature dudes," You walked over to the stove to fix a plate and noticed that there was nothing there. You opened the microwave to see if there was a plate in there already fixed. Strangely there was nothing. You walked over to the fridge to see if there was spaghetti in there. Again, nothing. Did they really eat all of your favorite food?

"Dean, where's my (Y/F/F)?" You kept looking in the fridge. You looked past all of the food in there: past the old take out and mystery foods.

"Oh, you wanted some? Should have told us before we started cooking or at least before you threw your little fit, Sweetheart," He walked over to the sink with his empty plate and began to wash it.

"You son of a bitch! Because I expressed and brought up something that has been bothering me for a while now, I don't get to eat? I live here, too, you know!" Dean dropped his plate into the sink and walked over to where you were standing.

"You will never live here. You are staying here temporarily until you find another place. Once you find that place, you and all of your trash is out of here. I can't wait for that day," He looked through his emerald forest eyes into your (E/C). He had raised his voice at you. He knew that you could not handle that. Your parents yelled and abused you all the time. But Dean saying that you will never live with him and Sam, hurt worse than anything your parents had ever said.

You had never been so hurt before. As those words rolled off his tongue without any hesitation, a new fire found its spark within you. As you held back more tears, you raised my hand. you tried to slap him, but he grabbed your hand and pushed you up against the wall. Not knowing what to expect, you closed my eyes and waited. You waited for more yelling. You waited for a slap. You waited for things that you knew Dean Winchester would never do. Dean, however, only looked you with disapproval; a look that you knew too well. He leaned down and whispered, "Wanna try that again?"

With tears in your eyes, you shook my head. He let go and you went to your room. You had cried enough so you rejected the tears. You sat on my bed and began to write down everything you felt. You would turn your feelings into poems and eventually burn them or something. You would get to the destruction part later.

Once you finished writing, you glanced at your clock that sat on your bed side table. It was two-thirty A.M. You had started writing at eight-fifteen. More than six hours of your life was wasted writing about your anger towards Sam, the bunker, your life, yourself, and most of all: Dean. You decided to finally go to sleep and put this horrible day behind you. As you were going to put away your journal that held all of your feelings, you hit your pinky toe on one of legs of your dresser, "Son of a bitch!" You had never yelled so loud in your life. You fell to the ground and continued to swear under your breath. You were still doing it when your door opened and both Sam and Dean ran in.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Sam was looking everywhere for some sort of wound or a bloody spot on your clothes while Dean remained standing and looked at your messy room. You hadn't cleaned it in a few weeks due to all the action that had been going on.

"I just stubbed my toe on my dresser, nothing else. I swear," Sam helped you get up and put away a few of your things. The moment your head hit your pillow, you were out like a light.

When you awoke around noon the next day, you decided to write in your journal more. You wanted to write about the peacefulness and the serenity that you felt now that you did not have anything to do. You walked over to where you kept your journal and pens and noticed that it was not there. You looked under your bed and under your dresser; inside your closet and in the drawers of your bed side table. Still, it was nowhere to be found. You began to worry, thinking that one of the Winchesters had taken it and gone through it. They couldn't know all of the depression stories and relapses. They would only start to pity you and you never wanted pity from anyone.

You put on some sweats and a tee and marched out of your room. Waiting in the kitchen was a huge stack of pancakes and a big pile of bacon. Pity. You took a pancake and walked out.

"Sam! Dean! I need to talk to the two of you!" They came to the library in an instant wearing concerned looks on their faces and plaid on their bodies. "Where the hell is my journal?"

Sam squinted his eyes and replied, "What journal? I didn't know you kept one," he walked off which only left the elder Winchester to answer.

"What does the journal look like?" His focus was on anything that was not in your direction insinuating he was the culprit.

"Dean, don't be a jackass. Either you've a seen or taken a journal or you have not. If you have, would you please return it because it is very important. If you have not, would you please keep an eye out for it?" Your eyes began to fill with tears and you failed at holding them back. Your voice became shaky and that's when Dean finally looked at you. This time, hate and disapproval did not fill the pupils. This time, they were filled with guilt and regret. He walked away only to come back a few minutes later with the journal in his hand and tears in his eyes.

Dean put the journal on the table, "I grabbed it last night thinking it was a hunting journal or something. Once I started reading it, I realized that it was you and your feelings. Whenever I got to last night's writing, I didn't know what to do I felt so bad. I went to the store and got everything to make the pancakes that are in the kitchen. Y/N, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through all of those horrible things. I'm always here you know," A single tear ran down his face as he looked at his boots.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I've just never been one to open up. Since I was 12, I've written down everything I've felt instead of opening up to someone. And, since you have read the journal, you know why," You grabbed the journal and went to put it up.

You decided to go through it and make sure Dean didn't do anything. It seemed like he hadn't until you reached the entry about the previous night. Following the last sentence you wrote was a little letter written to you from Dean,

Y/N, I'm sorry. I should have never said all those awful things. I know I always finish the jobs but that's because I'm scared you'll get hurt. I don't want to see you hurt. You already have that ridiculous cast on your wrist because I refused to go with you on the beer run like you wanted. Please start opening up to me and Sam more. We can help you. I hate to see you like this. I've never gotten around to telling you, but I think you're something else. I'm pretty sure you don't feel the same way and after the way I yelled at you I'm pretty sure it doesn't help my case any. Please let me help you in any way I can. I can't lose you.

-Dean

Tears filled your eyes once more and you let them fall. You had forgotten that you left your door open until you saw Dean standing there. You stood up quickly and tried your best to collect yourself, "I, uh, stubbed my toe again," Dean chuckled and walked over, pulling you into a hug. You had never felt so safe. The two of you stood there for what seemed like forever in that perfect silence. The only noises were your heartbeats. It all came to a crashing halt when Sam walked in,

"Hey, are you going to eat these pancakes- Oh, you two were having a moment. Sorry," Sam whispered as he held a huge stack of pancakes.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Sammy. Join us," Dean and you broke the hug and opened your arms to welcome the younger Winchester. Sam walked over and you all shared one hell of a group hug. Dean's phone rang and that's when the hugging stopped.

When Dean got off the phone, he looked at you and Sam, "Got a case in Abilene, Texas, and if we go now, we can make it by sunset. I'll explain on the way. Let's go," he snaked his arm around your waist as you walked out the door.

"Hey Dean?" You looked up into his perfect eyes as he looked down into your.

"Yea,"

"I think you're something else, too," Dean stopped in his tracks and looked at you with a serious face. "Did I do something wrong, Dean?" Fear and regret began to flow through your mind.

A huge grin spread across the once serious Winchester's face. He grabbed your waist and spun you around, "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Dean. Yes, I'm serious," Dean put you down and pulled you into a kiss. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sammy smiling. You had never been happier.