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Used to This - Part 1

Overview: You’ve lived with the Winchesters for years as a fellow hunter, and everyone has always stayed well in the friend zone. What happens when nightmares come haunting and Dean offers to help? Will things change, or is it all in your head?

Characters: DeanxReader

Word Count: 1,744

Warnings: This is fluffier than a marshmallow

A/N: This fic was born on the blank canvas of printer paper (3 pieces, front and back) before being typed into an obnoxious iPad and then finally transferred to my computer. Thanks to @wheresthekillswitch for fixing my spelling and titling this for me :) Thanks to @hannahindie for being my personal encourager and cheerleader. Love you both!

I didn’t realize my fingers were shaking until they slipped off of the lower levels of my gun for the second time. The slide simultaneously snapped back into place, and I let out a sharp hiss when it took a pinch of my skin with it. Heavy hands fumbled to pull the metal back again, quickly releasing the now inflamed and aching flesh. My gun clattered to the table, and I leaned back in my chair with a soft sigh while gently soothing over the angry skin with a still shaky thumb.

The gun’s not going to clean itself, Y/N.

I shook out my hand and took a deep breath to try and still the tremors before going to work again. Or, at least attempting to go to work.

“Hey.”

I hadn’t even heard him come in. Dean was standing just inside my door with a tired smile and a perplexed look directed towards me. I looked down and blinked to clear my blurry vision, the two separated halves of my gun coming into focus. I realized I’d just been sitting there, aimlessly holding them.

“You ok?” He came a few more steps into my room and knelt down beside my chair, a worry wrinkle joining his facial features. Dean gently pried my disassembled gun from my grasp and set the parts on the table before gathering both of my hands between his warm, calloused ones. “You’re shaking.”

I tried to smile and managed to pull up one corner of my mouth, “I’m just tired.”

Dean squeezed my hands, “Well the gun can wait. Let’s get you to bed.”

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