He feels their eyes on him. Sees their heads turn to follow him. He tells himself it's just because he is So. Damn. Sexy.
And that's part of it.
The women think they walk closer to him because he's hot, because they can feel just the right kind of arrogance. The kind that shows confidence and not control. They think it's because he has that unidentifiable sense of danger they all think they want. The kind of danger that hides behind tired eyes and a child's smile. The kind of danger that guarantees the best story of their lives. But that's not it. They want him, they want to be close to him, because in his stride, in his swagger, he exudes like a pheromone the feeling of absolute protection. They know he'll keep them safe. They just don't know why. They wonder if he's broken. They wonder if they can fix him.
The men know. They can put a name to it. He is that danger the women think they want. He is tough, someone to avoid. This guy will fuck you up. Not can. Will. Beat the hell out of you, steal your girl, and then become the best friend you ever had. They all try for the same attitude, they try when they're kids in the schoolyard, they try as inept and desperate teens, they try when they're grown ass men because they think they should. They are aware as they pass him, careful to not bump him as they go, that they have always failed.
And Dean feels their eyes drop away. Sees their heads turn back, careful to seem like they never looked at all. He tells himself he has to be tough, he has to be hard. He has to be. For them. For all of them.
AN: Something old I had sitting around. I've been struggling to accurately capture Dean. His is close, but not quite.