The first time she saw him she wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to plant her lips firmly on his and feel his arms wrap around her, wanting her, needing her.
As she placed the barrel of her rifle against his back and as her tiny fist connected with his nose she wondered what It would be like for their mouths to connect, to collide together and get lost in a sweep of emotion and lust.
She held onto that fantasy for months. When he and his brother stopped by the roadhouse, she would always stare at him out of the corner of her eyes as she wiped down tables or cleaned glasses. She watched the corner of his eyes crinkle as he laughed at something his brother had said, the way his mouth formed a lopsided grin as he responded before taking another sip of his beer. She watched the way he smirked at her when he caught her watching him, she would smile and continue what she was doing.
When her mother would ask her to go down to the cellar to bring up more crates of whiskey or bourbon she wondered what he would do if she pulled him down with her. If she placed her arms around his neck and joined her lips with his, the taste of alcohol wrapping around their tongues.
As she was laying in the small, dank confine, in the abandoned sewer system, being held captive by a 120 year old homicidal serial killer, with a penchant for pretty blondes, she wondered if he would swoop down and save her, like some kind of knight in leather armour.
She wondered as he pulled her dirty, grimy body out of the enclose, would he kiss her, sweep her off her feet and kiss her and tell her everything would be alright. Instead he placed her in the same situation her father had been placed in by John Winchester ten years ago.
As she sat in the backseat of the impala with his younger brother, as he drove them back to Nebraska, her mother riding shotgun, she wondered what it meant when he kept glancing back at her in the rear view mirror. They stopped for gas and bathroom breaks just outside of Lincoln and she watched her mother disappear into the bathroom while the boys filled up the tank. When he came back to the car and handed her a bottle of water and a baby ruth she wondered what the smile he gave her meant.
After finding out the truth about her fathers death, she ran outside, slamming the door with such force that she thought the old 'Harvelles' sign might come crashing down. When he called her name and grabbed her arm, igniting sparks inside her, despite all the anger and hurt she was feeling she wondered why all she could stare at were his lips.
She wondered if despite everything, he was the guy for her.
When his brother found her in Duluth, months after leaving the roadhouse behind and becoming a barmaid for a bunch of rowdy sailors she wondered why he wasn't with him and if he was thinking about her. As he grabbed her hand, she didn't feel the electricity or sparks she had with his older brother, in fact the only thing she felt was uncomfortable. As he teased and taunted her, cutting words into her like a knife, as he told her that his brother thought of her as nothing but a childish school girl carrying an empty flame that would never ignite, she wondered if he was wrong or if he really was telling the truth. When his arm gripped hers tightly, embedding tomorrows bruises under the flesh she felt fear and panic swell up inside her, and for a brief moment she wondered if there would be no happy ending for her.
As he untied her from the wooden beam, cutting her hands free of the rope and stormed out of the bar after his demonic younger brother, without a second glance at her she wondered if everything she had ever thought about him was wrong.
After finding him bleeding to death on the docks, and taking him back to the bar, she pulled the bullet out of his shoulder and placed fresh sutures over the wound she wondered if now was her chance to make a move. As he moved away from her and reached for his jacket, his eyes locking with her, she wondered if his brother had been wrong and if he did see her as more than a silly schoolgirl with a crush.
When he promised to call her she wondered if he really meant it, and four months later after not hearing a single word from him she decided that she his younger brother had been right, and all she was to him and all she ever would be was a liability.
As she sat at a bar in Indiana one night, she watched the way his eyes raked over her body, the way he kinked his eyebrow and he curved his lips. She could smell the alcohol radiating off him, and she noted that something had changed. When he pulled her flush against him beside the pool table and moulded their lips together, she realised what it was. As his tongue traced her lips asking for access she wondered why this felt nothing like she pictured it. As his hands gripped her hips and roamed her body and as the catcalls rang out around the room, she realised why it didn't.
She pulled away and placed a hand on his chest pushing him back, and when he reached for her again, she tilted her head out of reach.
This is what you wanted, isn't it. He asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
I Thought I needed this. She said as she placed a hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble brush against her palm. I always wondered what this would be like, and this isn't even close, I was wrong about you Dean Winchester, your not the guy for me. She said as she removed her hand, giving him one last look as walked away from him, out of the bar, and out his life.
He gazed after her, his chest tight with something he didn't recognise.
Your wrong about that sweetheart, and one day I'm going to prove it to you.