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It’s not like he sat down one day and decided “Hey, I’m going to be a dick to every girlfriend I have and tell them I don’t love them.” But it seems like they all think that’s what happened.
Lisa, Cassie, Amanda, Robin, Ellie, and Carmen corner him at Castiel’s cafe, wearing similar expressions of anger with a side of hate.
“Hey, ladies, what can I do for you?” Dean turns up the charm to hide the fact that if he had a little less bladder control, he’d be pissing his pants right now.
Lisa seems to have taken the lead of this band of sisters. She takes another step forward and points a finger down at Dean. “You owe us an explanation.” Lisa gestures to her fellow women, all of the women who had rejected Dean since he moved into this shitty college town, who nod in unison.
“For what?”
This time, Cassie speaks up, all fired-up with her hair springing every which way. “You broke up with all of us because you can’t love us? What bullshit is that? Are we not good enough for you?”
The other patrons of the cafe have taken notice of this assault but don’t seem to want to do anything about it. Dean wonders if they feel like they’re watching a car crash - it feels like that when he’s a casual observer of another couple’s public fight. Although this has gotta be less of a car crash and more of a multi-car disaster.
Everyone is staring at him, and he feels very conscious of that fact. The blood drains from his face as he tries to sputter out any words at all. But how can he explain to this pack of warmongering women that he just can’t love them the way they deserve? That it’s not them; it’s him. His mouth opens and closes like a guppy’s. The longer his brain refuses to cooperate, the more intense the women’s glares become.
Then, like an angel from Heaven, Castiel’s younger sister Hannah steps in. Her eyes are hard, and her mouth is in a tight line, and Dean think she’s about to join in this estrogen storm against him, but instead, her gaze is directed toward Lisa and company.
“This establishment is not an appropriate venue for your retribution. If you don’t cease, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Holy shit.
Hannah’s never really been in his corner before. In fact, Dean’s pretty sure she’s sneezed on his pie at least once. He’s familiar with her righteous glare, knows how uneasy it makes him, so Lisa and her gang are in for a lot of trouble. Lisa looks Hannah up and down, as if assessing if she could take her, but she thinks better of violence and stands down; the rest of her troops follow.
Hannah holds her stance and her glare until they’ve left the building and the tiny bell at the top of the door has stopped announcing their exit. Dean’s full-on grinning, but when Hannah lets her defenses fall and spins around to face Dean, he quickly turns into a gaping fish again.
“I don’t understand why they would do such a thing,” she says with a frown and a pucker between her eyes. She looks so befuddled that Dean figures he owes her an explanation.
He sighs. “I went out with them. All of them.”
“At once?”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Lady, I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
Hannah only rolls her eyes and silently waits for him to continue.
“Anyway, things didn’t work out with any of us, obviously.”
Hannah’s confusion only seems to have increased. “That’s normal, though. Most romantic relationships end. Why would they be so angry?”
Dean presses his lips together and flexes his jaw. He can barely mumble the words, and when he does, Hannah asks him to speak louder because she didn’t hear him. “I said there’s something wrong with me.”
A flicker of a joking smile graces Hannah’s mouth. “I’m aware.”
Dean halfheartedly glares at her, then casts his eyes back down to the tabletop. “They all wanted something I couldn’t give is all.” He hunches up his shoulders. The admission makes him feel wrong and sour inside, makes him squirm, grimace. He grabs his coffee cup and drinks for lack of anything better to do, but it’s a few degrees shy of lukewarm now and slithers unhappily to his stomach.
“Was it sex?”
Dean’s coffee flies everywhere.
“What?”
“Could you not give them sex? Is that it?”
Dean gives her a look like she’s crazy, because she absolutely is. “What? No.”
Hannah merely shrugs, as if Dean hadn’t just spat cold coffee all over her apron and boots.
“They just wanted… more, I guess.”
Hannah mulls this over, then nods. “I think I understand.”
“You do? Because I sure as Hell don’t.”
She nods again. She hesitates to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder and smiles down awkwardly at him (although her expression is also akin to a grimace).
“It’s okay. Not everyone feels romantic love.”
She pats him once, then turns to leave, but before she can, Dean stands up and catches her by the hand. “What do you mean?”
Hannah looks down at their held hands uneasily, so Dean lets go. Thankfully, Hannah plants her feet in front of him, albeit a little bit too far into his personal space than normal - must be a Novak family thing.
“Am I not correct in assuming you don’t feel romantic love?” Her eyes wander over his face, as if searching for the answer in the lines and freckles there. Dean kind of hopes she does, because he doesn’t know.
Lost and numb-tongued, Dean doesn’t say anything at all.
“It’s called being aromantic,” Hannah explains. “Many people identify this way.”
“They don’t -” He licks his lips, then continues in a low voice. “No romantic love? Like, don’t want to get married, can’t see yourself tied down to one person, even when you’re farting dust?”
Hannah makes a face at his choice of words, but she nods nonetheless. “It’s different for everybody, but generally, yes.”
While Dean continues to stand there like a dunce, Hannah pats his upper arm twice and makes her leave. Dean doesn’t stop her; he’s too caught up with what she just told him.
Aromantic. Huh.