Where We Belong
Title: Where We Belong
Summary: Sometimes one little moment can change everything…
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader
Word count: 1370
Warnings: Um, lemme think. A smudge of angst and a very brief mention on nigthmares in the beginning. And then it’s all fluff. Fluff, fluff, fluff, fluff, fluff, fluff and fluff. Okay. I’ll shut up now.
Author’s Note: So, this oneshot that was supposed to be a drabble (I tried, I swear) was inspired by a conversation I had with my twin about how cute Dean looks in the gif below (it’s not even surprising at this point, I know.) Anyway, the story took a life of its own after that.
So. Enjoy <3
(Gif used is not mine. You can find it right here.)
It’s a habit really.
One of those stupid little routines you can’t and don’t really want to quit, although it’s a bit more substantial than drinking coffee at midnight or always reading your favorite book with a cup of hot chocolate nearby.
It started a few of months ago, after you and the Winchesters had returned from a nasty vampire hunt in New Orleans, and it’s been happening ever since, but neither you or Dean ever talk about it and Sam probably doesn’t even know.
That’s not what matters though.
What really matters is that Dean Winchester has nightmares.
It’s been going on for years, the ordeals coming and going in the stillness of the night without warning. If he’s lucky, they’re just a few horrible pictures that vanish as soon as he opens his eyes, but if not, then they take him away with them, drown him in tides of loss and despair and leave him so broken that you find it hard to put the fragments back together without missing a piece afterwards.
Most of the times, he comes to you. He shuffles through the hallway quietly and leans against your door, waiting for even breaths and youthful smiles. When he’s sure you’re asleep, he gently climbs into the covers and wraps his arms around you, lips on your forehead in a warm kiss, while words like G’night, sweetheart and Thank God you’re okay, kid make their way into the duskiness of the room.
Sometimes though, the creaky sound of the door and the light padding wakes you up the moment he gets inside. These are the nights Dean will look at you like a puppy caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to and murmur a flustered apology, gaze drifting from your eyes to the floor until you tell him to shut up and c’mere already, pulling him to you. And when you curl up next to his side, body pressed against his firmly, all of his apologies and all of his reticence go away.
But then, there are nights like tonight, nights when you’re the one that tiptoes to his bedroom in silence –just to make sure he’s okay.