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You’re perfect, doll. You don’t need to change for anyone, just look at you! You could get anyone you wanted if you so much as looked in their direction. Just ignore the losers who make you feel bad about yourself. Dean looked at the message he’d typed, the comforting anonymous symbol down in the left hand corner of the ask box. He’d stumbled upon your tumblr once a few months ago, open on your laptop screen and had been keeping a low-key eye on you. He knew perfectly well that you’d never actually say if there was anything bothering you - you’re the kind who bottled things up until you snapped – but he’d never expected to see the tirade of self-abuse published under a read-more which had just exploded across his phone screen. He’d nearly burst into your room and confronted you, but soon enough remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know about any of the stuff on your blog, so retreated behind the little grey face and settled for positivity instead.
The moment you received the message, your heart swelled and you tapped out a grateful, cheerful reply and posted it on your blog, not knowing that he was waiting impatiently in the next room to see your response. Seeing the little love-hearts you’d tacked onto the end of your reply made his heart thud a little, and he grinned sheepishly at his phone before putting it away.
This pattern continued for a few months; each time you felt down, you’d write a short post under a read-more, Dean would read it and send a positive anonymous message, and the two of you would bob along in your little current of positivity in the bunker. The pattern worked well, until after one particular hunt. You’d been captured, wounded, and nearly put both the boys at risk. Taking the chance of posting photos of your wounds and a lengthy (if deceptive) explanation for them, and the guilt you felt at not being able to protect yourself or your best friends, you waited, unsure if your positive anon would respond. Not more than five minutes later, your phone pinged with a reply.
Hey sweet heart, I know life can be a bitch, but you're tough. Hell! You're tougher than me and Sammy combined. We'll make it through, just know we've got your back no matter what.
It was anonymous, in intent at any rate, but your heart fought its way into your throat as you realised exactly what the message implied. Swallowing hard, you pressed your ear against the connecting wall between your room and Dean’s, and heard a loud exclamation closely followed by the slamming of his door and a frantic knock on your door.
“Y/N?” Dean rested one forearm against the door jamb and squeezed his eyes tight shut. How could he have been so stupid? You weren’t thick, you’d know that last message had been from him…he decided to come clean, but right now that was a lot harder than it seemed. You pulled the door open, your eyes wide and confused, and looked at the conflicted man standing in front of you. Affection rushed through you, and you pressed a hand to his mouth before he could open it.
“It’s ok, Dean.”
“I – I fucking invaded your privacy and I’m so sorry.” He looked at you, his eyes sad and the corners of his mouth pulled down.
“You did it to look after me, I’m not daft.” You stood a moment longer before taking a step back from the door. “Come in, Dean. I think we need to do some face to face talking about this.” You smiled gently at him and tugged him through the door before settling yourself on your bed facing him. “I’m sorry I made you resort to semi-stalking me to find out what I was feeling, Dean.”
“I’m sorry for semi-stalking you…I should have just asked.” He was worrying a corner of the duvet and you pulled it from his hands, taking them in yours.
“Do you think you would have been given a straight answer?” You raised an eyebrow at him.
“Not for a moment, sweetheart.”