but-bobby's-smile

No hunters allowed - Dean Winchester x Reader

Title: No hunters allowed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,687

Warnings: None

Prompt: Hi was wondering if you could do a one shot where it’s dean x reader but the reader is Bobby’s daughter and she and dean have to date secretly because Bobby doesn’t want her dating hunters? And the reader and dean are always sneaking off for a quickie and then bobby always notices there missing and sort of figures it out?

“Thanks sweetheart.” Bobby gave you a smile as you handed him his beer.

“No problem dad.” you said out of habit as you gave the boys a beer too, smiling softly at both of them and sharing a small look with Dean when your fingers brushed.

“Any news on the case?” you asked as you sat on a chair next to your father and took a look on his computer.

“Nah seems like it’s going to take longer than usual.” Sam replied for him and you nodded your head as you looked at him but let your eyes drift for a moment to Dean who hadn’t take his off you. A small smile played on his lips and you chewed on your own as you looked at him but then tears your eyes shyly.

“All signs show demon possession but when we got at the house there was no sulfur and the body actually showed no traces of possession. So it could also be a ghost if you think about- hey!” Bobby snapped angrily making both you and Dean jump “Eyes here you idjit!” he gave him a glare as Dean shrugged.

“I was just thinking what you were saying!” he said simply, taking a sip of his beer as your father rolled his eyes.

“Sure you were.” Bobby huffed as he looked at you and you scurried to occupy yourself with something.

Keep reading

burning out his fuse up here alone

anonymous asked: How long until Claire makes her way to North Carolina in your Vietnam AU? I don’t really want to know and I’m dying to know at the same time. It is such a beautiful story.     

Vietnam AU

Claire smiled at Bobby Higgins, who returned her grin and even gave her a small bow.

*Thank you,* he signed.

After four days at Dr. Beaton’s speech pathology clinic, she had picked up enough ASL to understand what Bobby was trying to tell her. Corporal Higgins had barely survived a mortar attack in Viet Nam – costing him his right leg, inflicting disfiguring burns on the left side of his face, and resulting in significant brain trauma. That he was able to walk – with crutches – was a miracle. That he was also able to communicate, in a strange hybrid of sign language and speaking short, simple words, was nothing short of miraculous, testament to the dedication of Dr. Beaton and his team.

Bobby was just twenty two. He would struggle for the rest of his life. But he was stubborn, and determined. And clearly very kind.

“You are so welcome, Bobby. It’s been so delightful getting to know you this week.”

Claire watched Bobby carefully blink, then swallow, preparing his voice.

“M-m-m-may I wr-wr-wr-wr-write?”

She flashed another smile. “Of course! Here – let me give you my school address. I’d *love* to hear from you and I can’t wait to see your progress!”

Scribbling her address onto a piece of scrap paper and tucking it in the front pocket of Bobby’s overalls, she helped him to his feet and walked with him toward the door. His wife Amy waited outside – they had married right before he shipped out, and had two-year-old Orrie to keep them busy. Claire had learned all about them in her work with Bobby this week – and, just like it had been the previous three days, her heart clenched to see the look of ecstatic joy on Amy’s face when she saw Bobby come to her in the waiting room.

Yes, Bobby had a long road to recovery – but he also had a fabulous support system to keep him on the right track.

With a final pat on the back, she stepped aside, letting Bobby cross the room on his own to Amy, and sink into her embrace.

Quietly Claire returned to the clinic, now strangely silent that Bobby had gone home. She had learned so much working with Dr. Davie Beaton and his patients this week – the doctor was truly doing some pioneering work, and at Appalachian State in North Carolina, of all places. He had welcomed her with open arms, allowing her to dive right in and learn directly from the very people whom she hoped one day to treat.

Dr. Beaton had about twenty patients at his clinic – the vast majority of which were returned veterans. Several people who had suffered quite traumatic car accidents rounded out the rest of his clientele. He sought to not only study their brains and understand the root cause of their language difficulties, but also to develop a custom program to help them regain their ability to communicate.

In Bobby’s case, it was a mix of speech and ASL. Bobby wasn’t the same man he had been before his injury, but he had clearly come a long way in the six months he had been working with Dr. Beaton. And Claire saw near-identical results with all the other patients.

Dr. Beaton was truly having an impact. Just like she wanted to have an impact, once she completed her education.

Just like she knew she’d had an impact on one man, from Boone, three years ago in a humid hospital in Viet Nam.

No. She had resolved to not think about him until the week was through. Her flight back to Boston wasn’t until Monday morning – leaving enough time over the weekend to…to do what? Find Jamie Fraser? Think about not finding him?

Claire swallowed. Her suddenly shaky fingers smoothed the creases out of her scrubs, heart suddenly racing.

“Claire?”

Startled, she looked up to meet Dr. Beaton’s kind eyes.

“I’m sorry – could you repeat that?”

Dr. Beaton was in his late sixties – his research had started with servicemen returning from World War II, continued with veterans from Korea, and now he worked with the boys returning from ‘Nam. He’d done a short stint in Da Nang, where he’d worked with Joe Abernathy and been able to put some of his work into immediate practice for the injured servicemen he’d met.

Claire had taken an immediate liking to him – not only for his skill, and for the fact that he hadn’t cared she was female, but mostly because she reminded her of her dear, dear Uncle Lamb. Lamb, the kind-hearted, scatterbrained, socially awkward elderly uncle who had raised her almost from birth. Whose death had precipitated an existential crisis that had ended up with her hasty marriage to Frank – seeing him as a port in the storm.

Oh, the irony.

Dr. Beaton smiled at Claire. “I was just saying – you are truly gifted with these patients. Especially the veterans – I think it helps that you served, because they can relate to you in a way that’s hard for me to do.”

Claire blushed. “Thank you, Doctor – and again, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity to work in your clinic. I’ve learned so much, I don’t even know where to begin.”

He sat, and gestured for her to take a seat as well. “I was wondering – would you be interested in attending the campus veterans’ support group? It’s mostly attended by returning soldiers who need just the emotional support – they’re not physically injured, I mean. But as I’m sure you know, the emotional wounds can run quite deep.”

She nodded, and watched him fish a crumpled flyer from his coat pocket and slide it across the table. “Here is their information – I believe they’re meeting tonight, if you’re up for it.”

Claire carefully unfolded the paper. The mimeographed message was simple – peer support, veterans helping veterans. Coffee and donuts would be provided.

Then the name of the organizer caught her eye.

“Murtagh Fraser? Is he a student?”

Dr. Beaton laughed. “Oh he was – but he’s close to my age now. The Frasers have been a pillar of Boone since well before the Revolution – and they’ve been attending App State since it was founded. Murtagh served in World War II and then came here on his GI Bill, but he’s always hanging around in some form or another.”

Why did she feel so dizzy?

“Why do you ask?”

Why, indeed.

“I served with someone at Chu Lai whose last name was Fraser – and his uncle was General Dougal MacKenzie.”

Dr. Beaton was visibly taken aback. “The Great Scot’s nephew? Well, that would be Jamie Fraser. He’s a local hero, you know – won a Purple Heart and Silver Star on the same day.”

“So I heard,” Claire said softly. Was that her voice?

“Anyway – Jamie got out of the service a few years back and comes to the group sometimes with Murtagh. He volunteers a lot in town with the different veterans’ groups – he’s really wanted to give back. He’s got a bit of Murtagh in him, for sure – but also he’s so much like his father, Brian. Brian and Murtagh were cousins, and they fought together in the Pacific. Horrific stuff.”

Claire nodded absently, then rose.

“Thank you, Dr. Beaton – see you tomorrow?”

“Of course – have a good evening, Claire. Alec will be in tomorrow – I know he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

She nodded, grabbed her coat, and quickly exited the room.

And walked straight back across campus to her tiny hotel room, where she locked the door behind her and placed her hand on top of her racing heart.

He was here. Jamie was here. He could be here tonight.

She wasn’t ready.

She would never be ready.

She couldn’t just…walk in to a room with others. She had to see him – but wanted to do so on her own terms.

For her sake – and for his.

So she yanked out the drawer from the small bedside table, pulled out the phone book, and dialed Information.

“Hello, Operator? I need the actual street address for PO Box 1746 in Boone, North Carolina…”