Novocaine-Chapter 10

Summary: Behold the flooooof

Pairings: Dean x reader, Bucky x reader

Warnings: Not one

Word count:1473

Originally posted by dean-sam-winchesterbros

Hushed voices surround you, a deep bass which wraps around your frazzled subconscious soothing the screaming voices in your head, a leftover remnant of losing control A warm, large hand rubs small circles into your back. It’s familiar, safe. You melt into the touch, sighing contently as the action chases away the terror the previous day brought. Your long hair is splayed wildly over the pillow, the highlights shining in the sun, casting a shadow over your face. There are eyes on you. You can feel them, assessing, worrying. Choosing to ignore it you snuggle deeper into the warm blankets, wanting just a couple more minutes

“What happened?” the first voice asks, the concern in his voice is palpable.

Your brain conjures up a shaggy-haired Sam, and you repress the urge to groan.

Sam was a worrier. If he had his way, he’d shut you in a room and wait on you hand and foot like you had contracted some horrible disease.

You smile softly to yourself. How I love Moose, your tired mind supplies.

“She had a moment. It happens, Sammy, you know it does,” Dean replies fondly. “She’ll be alright, My girl doesn’t give up that easy.”

My girl.

The sentence whispers through your mind, and to your surprise, you don’t hate it. The warm rush of happy confirming that yes, you were still head over heels for the eldest Winchester. Reality pokes in its ugly head and whispers, but what about Bucky Barnes.surprise you don’t hate it. The warm rush of happy confirming that yes, you were still head over heels for the eldest Winchester. Reality pokes in its ugly head and whispers, but what about Bucky Barnes.

Shit. Stupid reality.

The hand on your back digs into a particularly stiff muscle making you moan as it released the tension, and you stretch out cat like arching into it, cutting off their conversation rather effectively. The hand stills and you bury your face deeper into the pillow, a small sound of discontent escaping your lip. You reach out blindly, searching for the magical hand, finally coming into contact with it, placing it impatiently on your back, letting the owner know exactly what you wanted.

A wry chuckle escapes Dean when the warm feeling returns.

You want to dip yourself in the sound, coat yourself with it. Bottle it and take it out on bad days. It’s a sound that could chase away nightmares, and you desperately want to hear it again.

“I know it happens, Dean, but why did it happen? Why now? It’s not like her to lose control. She hasn’t had an episode since.,.” Sam lets the thought hang.

Never one to back down, Dean sighs. “The nightmares. I know, Sammy. When I got there Tin Man was running scared, and she had gone nuclear. I haven’t seen it that bad since we found her. Dad always knew how to talk her down,” he replies sullenly.

You crack open an eye, mildly irritated they’d found it necessary to discuss you while you were out for the count.

“You did good, Dean,” Sam says softly. “Dad couldn’t have done better.”

The silence that accompanies Sam’s words is deafening, and you know Dean has retreated into his head, beating himself up over things he had no control over. That were not his responsibility.

You’re just about to open your mouth to give them a piece of your mind and snap him out of it when Dean interrupts the oncoming tirade.

“Sam?” he asks tightly.

“Yeah?” Sam replies instantly.

“Whose jacket is that?”  

You can hear the smirk in his voice

“Uh… It’s Shadow’s?” Sam never was good at fibbing to Dean.

“She wasn’t wearing one.” Dean sounds damn near gleeful.

“You sure? I could have sworn…” Sam tries again.

“Cut the crap, Sam,” Dean interrupts.

“Dean,” Sam pleads.

“You sly dog. Little brother getting down and dirty!” Dean laughs loudly, jostling you as he does.

“No… It-it wasn’t..” Sam answers desperately.

“Was it the busty redhead or the witchy one?” Dean sports a wicked shit eating grin, waggling his eyebrows lewdly.

Having enough, you heave a loud sigh. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a little shut-eye around here?” you snap at the boys, turning onto your back to glare at them both.

“Someone’s cranky this morning,” Dean mutters, gracing you with a lopsided grin his eyes sparkling.

“You would be too if you woke up to a congregation of farm animals in your bedroom, Winchester. Sounds like clucking hens.”

Sam grins as he snarks, “Not your bedroom, Shads.”

You peer at the bedroom, the distinct lack of band paraphernalia and star wars posters confirm Sam’s statement. “Why pray tell, am I not in my own bedroom?” you ask calmly.

Dean looks down sheepishly. “I couldn’t find yours, so I texted Sam and here we are. Looks like I interrupted sexy fun time though,” he snickers, shooting a knowing look at a blushing Sam.

You stifle a giggle, putting on your best bitch face. “Are you sleeping with one of my teammates, Sam?” you ask seriously.

“Shads, no that’s not…” he begins but is cut off with peals of laughter from you and Dean, who flings himself backward on the bed, his chest rumbling with mirth. Sam stands up, grumbles something unintelligible while grabbing the jacket off the armchair and mumbling about finding coffee. He makes sure to slam the door behind him as he exits.

“Some people are so touchy,” Dean says, fondness clear in his voice.

You snort out another laugh, turning on your side to face him.

He follows suit, his green eyes shining, his plush pink lips quirked into a half smile.

Something warm twinges in your chest. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you bite down on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze to the sheets, distinctly aware you were alone in a room with a man who had owned your heart and body for many years.

“Thank you,” you whisper, lifting your gaze to his, “for yesterday. I shouldn’t have let my emotions rule me. It hasn’t happened in a while.”

Dean smiles, placing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “It happens,” he states matter of factly. “No need to apologize, I’ve seen worse.”

Your heart warms, the little fire in your chest growing fiercer with each word out of his mouth. “What you said… on the roof,” you begin, taking a deep breath, “did you mean it?”

He stares at you seriously, his eyes roaming your features. “Every word, sweetheart,” his eyes soften as he looks at you, “I meant every word. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me,” he adds.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, determined to let the past lie, not to let it consume you any longer, you make a decision. It’s one that makes you feel lighter, more yourself, for the first time in years. “I forgive you, De,” you reply smiling widely.

Deans answering smile is radiant, and he places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Thank you,” he says simply, tracing a finger along your jawline.

You sigh contently. “I’m afraid I might have hurt Cas’s feelings.”

The things you said played into every insecurity Cas had. He tried so hard to fit in, to be like everyone else. Chuck knows how badly you’d screwed with his head. The answering silence has dread crawling up your spine.

“You saw Cas?” Dean asks flatly, and your panic kicks into full-blown terror.

“What’s going on?”  

Dean sighs. “You ain’t gonna like it.”  

“Spit it out, Dean!” You sit upright on the bed, looking down at him.

He swallows heavily, his chest rising and falling, a deep weariness in his demeanor. “Lucifer escaped the cage, hopped a ride in the president of the U.S of A and knocked up his staff manager. We got him back into the cage, but his staff manager - Kelly Kline - ran, got mixed up with a knight of hell. We roped in the Men of Letters. That went to hell like usual. Afterward, Cas got it into his thick skull  Kelly and the baby was to be protected. He’s been AWOL ever since, and now Lucifer’s escaped the Cage, again, and is jonesing for a hit of Winchester blood. Cas doesn’t return calls or listen to reason anymore, and neither Sam or I can get through to him.”

You contemplate his little monologue for a second, pushing down the terror his words inspired. Making up your mind, you nod to yourself. “What do you need me to do?”  

Dean deflates, relief coating his handsome features. “Track him. We couldn’t find a psychic strong enough, not after Pamela,” he says, guilt bleeding into his voice.

“Okay,” you reply. Determination and worry mixing together, you jump out of bed. “Let’s get moving then!” Glancing around the bedroom, you search for your shoes.

Dean sits bolt upright, worry etched onto his face. “What? You mean no breakfast?”

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