dean winchester oneshot

Request: Storm

Request: Can you write one where the reader breaks down to Bobby because she is pregnant with Dean’s baby. Thank you :)

Word Count: 1,069

<3

The rain has been coming down in buckets all night, and the wind whips at the sides of the house in such a way that every now and again, the foundations shake so severely that Bobby nearly ends up waiting out the storm in the panic room.

When he sees the flash of light outside the window followed by a rumble, he isn’t paying enough attention to think of it as anything but another facet of the storm. What he does pay attention to, however, is the frantic, loud knocking that reverberates well beyond the door.

The knocking doesn’t stop until he answers, pulling the door open to be bet with a harsh gust of wind.

“Y/N?” You’re soaked and dishevelled, and he isn’t sure which has smeared your makeup more – the rain, or the tears you’re trying and failing to hold back.

“Can- can I come in?” It’s a stupid question, but it’s the only thing your fuzzy, addled brain can come up with. Bobby doesn’t speak, but he nods, ushering you into the warmth of the house where you grew up and forcing the door closed against the wind.

“What the hell are you doing out in this?” Driving in this weather would be dangerous enough without you being in a complete state. You don’t reply, though, shivering in the hallway and wiping at your face in frustration. It scares him – you’re the closest thing he has to family: he’d raised you since you were six months old and your parents had been killed, leaving no-one to keep an eye on their demon-blood infected child. He’d taken you in, and found that he’d quickly become all too fond of you.

“Y/N, seriously. Where are Sam and Dean?” It must be something to do with them, because it elicits a sob from you, “I don’t want to play twenty questions with you.” He steps forward, resting his hands on your shoulders and pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead, “Give yourself some time, alright? Go get a shower, get changed. Everything’s fine. Nothing is going to hurt you while you’re here. I’ll make you a hot chocolate while you’re gone, just how you like it. How does that sound?”

To his eternal relief, that manages to get a nod and a weak smile from you, and he pulls you in for a gentle hug before letting you go. He doesn’t look away from you until you’re safely up the stairs, and then sighs to himself – he’s never seen you like this. But you need him, and he’ll be damned if you’re not going to have him to go to.

***

It’s nearly half an hour before he hears you coming down the stairs, but there’s nothing wrong with that – especially when he sees how much better you’re looking. Sure, your eyes are still red-rimmed and you’re still shaking with the effort it takes not to cry, but at least your clothes are warm and dry and your lips are no longer bluish with the cold.

You shuffle into the room and take a seat, swallowing hard before looking up at Bobby. He sets the hot chocolate – piled high with cream, chocolate shavings, and marshmallows – in front of you, and then takes the seat next to yours. The storm outside still batters the windows, but the kitchen is warm, and with the pair of you bathed in warm light, it’s almost cosy.

“Talk to me.” Bobby prompts softly, reaching over and resting his hand over the top of yours. He sees the way you flinch at the gesture, and for a moment he thinks the worst, “Is it Dean? Has he hurt you?” He hadn’t been overly happy when you’d begun dating the eldest Winchester two and a half years ago, but you’d been happy, and Dean had given him a heartfelt promise that his intentions were pure – but Bobby had promised in return that the moment Dean so much as breathed the wrong way at you, he’d find himself without the means to do so again.

“Y/N, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me if you want to fix this.”

“I can’t fix it.” You speak properly for the first time since you stepped into the house, “It’s broken. Very broken.”

“Still with the ambiguous, sweetheart.”

It takes you a few moments to muster up the courage to come out with it, but eventually, you do.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence, apart from the sounds of the storm outside, fills the room. For a long moment, he can’t find it in himself to speak – and then…

“Do not drink that.” He wraps his spare hand around the mug and slides it away from you, reminded suddenly of the copious amount of whiskey he just dropped into that, “Is it… it’s Dean’s?”

You scoff, “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Of course it is.” Sorrow and bitterness taint your tone in equal measure, and Bobby winces.

“Have you told him?” He tries, and you nod again.

“Yeah. That’s what the second problem is.” You sigh, pulling your hand away from his in order to run your hands over your face, skilfully masking a sob – but not enough. Bobby knows you inside and out, and picks up on it instantly.

“He reacted badly?”

“If saying I’d ruined everything and needed to get the hell out of his sight is reacting badly, then I’d say so, yeah.” You spit, but your voice breaks and before you know it, your head is on his shoulder and you’re sobbing openly into him, everything coming out. He holds onto you tightly, a silent promise that he’ll never let you go; that you always have him.

***

It’s nearly three hours later, by the time he’s managed to calm you down and get you asleep. You’re still asleep on the sofa when his phone rings. He answers, begrudgingly, when he realises who it is.

“Dean?”

“Bobby? Have you heard from Y/N? She’s gone and we’ve been trying to track her all night, but we haven’t found anything.” He rattles off, his voice frantic and shaking.

“Why? What happened?” Bobby asks, watching you sleeping form.

“We got in a fight. I said something stupid. God, Bobby, I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t…” He cuts himself off, and swallows hard, “Have you heard from her?”

He pauses, “Nope. Nothing. I’ll let you know if I do.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

I Think I Wanna Marry You...

Pairing: Dean X Reader.

Warnings: none.

S/P/N- Sister’s Preferred Name.

Summary: The reader, distraught over not having a date to her sister’s wedding, considers asking one of the Winchesters to pretend to accompany her; will Dean manage to save the day and play pretend for two weeks, or will his feelings get the best of him?

A/N: I’m a sucker for these “fake relationship” stories ;))



                                                   ~*~*~*~

Y/N pulls the phone from her ear, her frustration drawn out in the creases in her brow.


“Well?” Dean asks, sat opposite her at the library table. Before him lies an open lore book, on a page about Nordic gods and how to kill them, and his cup of coffee sits dangerously close to the irreplaceable relic. With Sam out doing some shopping, it’s just the two of them at home, trying to dig up some info that might be useful for future use.


Pinching her brow, the young girl shakes her head, waving a dismissive hand.  “Nothing. It’s fine.”


“Ya’ sure?”


“Yes.” She says, trying to sound convincing, but its of no use, because the elder Winchester has known her long enough to see past her facades.


Living together for nearly five years now, calling her his best-friend even feels like an understatement. They got to know each other a while back through a hunt involving a Tulpa in California; Y/N’s kill, but the boy’s happened to jump in on it and help out. Surprise surprise: a friendship sparked,  and ever since then, the relationship has flourished greatly.


To Dean, Y/N is family, just like Cas or Charlie or any of the other members of their little rehabilitation program they’ve picked up over the years. And with that, he knows—well enough—that despite her efforts to dismiss it, something is nudging at her mind.


“Obviously not. You seem like you’re about to explode. What is it?” He shuts the book and leans forward. Y/N still looks exasperated; still tries to act like she isn’t, and fails terribly. When she finally lifts her gaze, her expression is that of defeat.


“It’s my sister.” She says mournfully. “She’s calling me about her wedding coming up this month, and wants to know if I’ve been signed up to the family news letter that allows me to see all the updates on things like which floral arrangement we’re going to have. Surprise surprise—I’m not.”


“Damn.” Dean says plainly, still not seeing the reason behind her chagrin. Y/N rolls her eyes at him, trying to look annoyed, but the smile that she suppresses says otherwise.


A sardonic laugh escapes her. “Yeah, damn indeed.”  She rises from her seat, downing her coffee. Dean glances at his, then stretches it across to her. She finishes it in a single glug.


“So….what now?” He leans back in the chair. “You don’t know the floral arrangements? Doesn’t sound so bad.”


“I don’t know anything about this wedding, Dean. I don’t know where it’s gonna be, I don’t know who’s gonna be there, and—until I few seconds ago—I didn’t know I’m going to have to be in Boston next week. S/P/N mentioned it in the newsletter but….” Her voice drifts off and she folds her lips into a straight-line, shrugging.


“What’s in Boston?”


“The wedding, apparently. Who even gets married in Boston? Yuck.” Y/N scowls.


“Your sister, apparently.” He almost rolls his eyes. “Right, so…go to Boston. Show up for the rehearsal, see your family, have fun, and then get back here once everything’s done.”


Dean explains it like it’s so easy.  To him, it is.  Wedding prepping can’t take more than three weeks, can it….? He wouldn’t know. He’s never had the chance to even be part of a wedding, but he assumes that that’s an appropriate estimate.


But, from the way Y/N bites her lip and averts her gaze to the floor, a look teetering between guilt and embarrassment on her face, maybe he’s wrong.


“Yeaahhh….” She draws out, skeptically. “Uhm…about that. It’s not as easy as it sounds…”


“Uhm…?” He quirks an inquisitive brow.


“I…sorta…told them that I have a date to the wedding and,…” Y/N gestures in the air, but doesn’t finish her sentence.


Dean watches her with a knitted brow, waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come, until realizations strikes. His eyes widen and his mouth forms a little “o”.


“Ohhh.”


“Yeah…” Her cheeks are dusted with a feint blush and she looks away.


Dean doesn’t want to say it, but he can’t help but think how cute it is—really cute. The only thing that can compete, he thinks, is the way her eyes disappear into her cheeks when she smiles.


As embarrassing as it is, he has almost an entire list like that about Y/N; things he thinks are adorable about her, things like her laugh, to  he way she’s so awkward around big crowds,  or how she has an undeniable obsession with space. Little things. Cute things. It goes on and on, infinite and growing each day, the more and more he gets to know her…but he’ll never admit that.


Because he can’t.


Because Y/N is family, and she’s just a friend.


“Well…is it like a must to bring one along? You could always just tell your family that you guys…broke up? Maybe he cheated. Maybe the love fizzled out.” Dean offers, shrugging.


Y/N looks at him with an un-amused expression. “Great thing to mention right before a wedding.”


“God, I don’t know.” Getting up from his seat, he rolls his eyes. He shuts the book and a gust if dust billows from it, then fixes it under his arm.“You’ll figure it out. It’s you.”


“Dean…”


“Yeah?”


Y/N doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she looks to the floor, arms crossed over her chest.“Well,…there is something I thought about doing, but—God, I don’t know. What if, like—” She finally looks up.


Dean waits for the bombshell he knows she’s about to drop with a cautious, furrowed brow,


“—I asked Sam?”  She finishes, her expression hopeful; her eyebrows are pulled together and she’s squinting slightly. The elder Winchester feels the wind get knocked out of him at hearing this.


His eyes widen. “Sam?”


“Not to actually be my date!—just to fool my family for the two weeks. Do you think he’ll go along with it?”


“I don’t get it—why don’t you just—“


“I can’t tell them I don’t have a date, because I already told them that I do. Going back on my word now will just make me look ridiculous, Dean. Just…”Y/N sighs and shuts her eyes. Dean can read the desperation in her features. He bites his lip, contemplating Y/N’s offer.


Sam, going on a date with Y/N. The idea is so ludicrous, so unbelievable that it sounds completely silly, like imagining pigs fly or anything of the nature. He can’t bring himself to even picture the two of them together, but…


Still.


He then feels something stir in his gut at the thought, a warmth, a….jealousy? No. Hopefully not. It’s been ages since these feelings have managed to surface. Now is not the time for a return. The elder Winchester quickly suffocates the feeling and averts his attention back onto his friend.


 Before him she stands, imploring y/e/c eyes, a sweet smile stretched across her face and hands clasped together. She looks like a little girl, so young, so desperate. The elder Winchester doesn’t want to say no. Even if he did—with puppy eyes like those—how can you?


“So you have to have a date to this wedding?”


“I do.”


Dean thinks for a moment, raking his eyes over Y/N’s face that speaks mountains of uncertainty.


“You think he’ll say no, huh?”


“I’ll do it.”


“What?” Confusion floods the young girls face as she unclasps her hands. They fall to her side. Dean gulps trying to level his voice to a more confident tone.


“I’ll be your date to your sister’s wedding.” He repeats, hoping he sounds more sure than he feels. His hands go cold, throat tightening.


Y/N’s face speaks volumes of surprise. “You’d…do that?”


Another nod.


“You’ll really do this?” She asks eyes wide. “A whole two weeks in Boston? With my family?”


Dean shrugs. For some wild reason, his heart is pounding in his chest and his palms are sweating, and he tries to stave off all the anxiety that begins to bubble within his gut. “Yeah. Why not?”


“Dean,” Y/N’s voice is stern all of a sudden. You can tell that she’s just as taken aback by the proposal as he is, but is trying not to show it. “If you say yes to this, I don’t want you to half-ass it? This is a real big deal for me, you know?”


“Look, do you want a date to this wedding or not?”


Y/N  then bites her lip, contemplating. The elder Winchester’s eyes never leave her as he watches, waiting for response, until she finally agrees.


“Okay.” She says. A small smile then twitches on her lips, and Dean can see she’s trying to suppress.


“ Okay. Awesome. I’m gonna call S/P/N and see if there’s anything more I need to know yeah?” She asks. He nods.


“Sure.” Dean says. “It’s fine with me.”


“Sure?”


“Mhm.” He knows he is, because the smile that breaks through Y/N’s authoritative face then is something definitely worth the decision. Her cheeks indented with dimples, she smiles, shaking her head, and then walks out to make the call. On the way out, she makes sure she butts her shoulder into his, just for fun. Dean lets out a nervous chuckle.


She’s gone. The empty library is silent, and that’s when his heart starts to thud.


Over and over, like a vicious doldrums. The silence only accentuates the sound of his rapid heartbeat, as the elder Winchester allows in a deep breath. His eyes flutter shut, and the anxiety begins to melt away gradually.


This is gonna be a hell of a wedding.


                                                  ~*~*~*~

Part 2

I’ve been in my feelings for Dean for the past few weeks so bear with me pls. Also, I’m very excited for this story; more chapters to come, hopefully soon.

As always, likes, re blogs and general feedback is greatly appreciated!

How To Get A Guy To Like You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary:Sometimes, internet can be helpful with love problems.
Warnings: Swearing
Word Count: 2.441
A/N: Thank you so much for the notes on the imagine before this one, people! They make me so happy, and I hope you’ll like it too! Friendly reminder, I absolutely love feedback! :) 
Gif’s not mine!

Growing up as a hunter sure had its disadvantages. Aside from the constant danger, being overall socially awkward due to not having time to get to know people, and always having to be on alert, you also made your peace with having to accept you didn’t know everything, especially when it came to humans, but you knew that you had to look for help when you needed it.

“Sam, I need help.”

Sam’s head shot up and he put the book down, sitting up straight almost immediately, “Sure. Are you in trouble?”

You cleared your throat as you sat down across him, and his eyes searched yours,

“Is this about Lucifer?”

“No-“

“Angels?”

“No-“

“Is it-“

“How do I get a guy to like me?”

Keep reading

Enough is Enough

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,067

Warnings: slight panic attack, language, asshole Dean 

Request: Can I request an imagine where the reader lives with the brothers at the bunker & Dean is always a jerk to her & then one day she has a panic attack & then fluff ensues…

Summary: Reader has lived & hunted with the boys for 3 years & usually puts up with Dean being a dick pretty well. One night, she can’t take anymore and has a panic attack.

A/N: Enjoy!! Feedback greatly appreciated!! And thank you to @mamapeterson for just reading over this before I posted it lol wasn’t too confident on it tbh but I hope y’all like it!!

Keep reading

You Understand Right? (Part 2): What Happened?

Characters: Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader / Friend!Reader, Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader / Friend!Reader, Bobby Singer

Length: 1294+ words

TW: Suicide. Depression. Abandonment. Character Death. 

A/N: There was so much interest in continuing this fic! I am so glad you guys enjoyed it, and I really wasn’t expecting this to become a series! Feedback is encouraged!

SERIES MASTERLIST


“Dammit, Y/N! Don’t you dare hang up the phone! What the hell do you mean?!” Dean paced around his motel room, running his fingers through his hair continuously. They had just wrapped up a case in Nebraska, and was planning on visiting Bobby for some down time. Sam reminded his older brother that they haven’t seen Y/N in over several months, and he had been missing her.

“I understand, Dean,” she answered vaguely. Dean’s heart was thumping against his chest, as he tried to understand her message.

“What- What is it, sweetheart? What do you understand?” He started throwing clothes into his duffel bag, knocking on the bathroom door where Sam was currently showering.

“You and Sam need each other… But you don’t need me.” With that, she hung up.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Dean shouted into the phone, knowing that it would be futile. “Fuck.” He hung up his phone, and knocked louder against the bathroom door. “Sam! Get your ass out here.”

Sam opened the door with only his jeans, his face lined with annoyance. “The fuck Dean?”

“We’re leaving NOW!”

“What’s going on? Did you talk to Y/N?” Sam quickly put on his shirt, seeing the gravity of the situation in Dean’s eyes.

“Yea, but she kept saying things,” Dean answered vaguely, shaking his head as he continued to pack their stuff. 

“What did she say?”

“She kept saying how she understands- how she knows that we needed each other, but we don’t need her.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Why makes her think that? She knows we love her.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Sam. C’mon.”

Both brothers made their way to Bobby’s house with tension between them. The four-hour trip only lasting 3 hours with Dean’s driving. Nothing else had been said. Nothing else needed to be said. Not until they find Y/N, hopefully alive. 

Keep reading

Confessions

“You’re a good guy.” You whispered into the darkness. Dean lay on his own bed, just a few feet to your right. Sam’s snoring filled the silence while you waited for Dean to respond.

“You always say that.” He whispered back, his voice was raspy and aching for a good night’s sleep that you knew neither of you would receive tonight.

You pulled the blanket up higher up over your chest. The sheets scratched against your ass; once again you forgot to pack sweat pants.

“I always mean it.”

“Huh.” He muttered in response. You heard him flip sides. Was he facing you? You couldn’t see.

Regardless, you turned from your back onto your side, to face him.

“Dean?” You asked.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever…feel lonely?” You asked. After two in the morning, you found that more often than not, your filter seemed to leave.

After a beat of silence he responded, “Most of the time.”

“What about the other times? What helps you get through them?” You hadn’t realized that your grip around the blanket tightened.

His breathing was even. Dean always breathed deeply, you noticed.

“You.” The word slipped out from between his lips so quietly you almost misheard, until he repeated, “You do.”

After hearing that, you weren’t sure if you allowed seconds to tick by, or minutes. Years worth of tension just released itself between these shitty motel walls. You kicked the blanket down to your ankles before quietly stepping out from your bed.

“Move over.” You gripped his shoulder beneath your fingers. He did as he was told and you crawled under his sheets. He didn’t touch you until you pressed your forehead against his chest. His t-shirt smelled like him, and you nuzzled yourself even closer.

“Do you love me?” You asked suddenly, and Dean lifted his leg over your own. In his own way, that was an answer. Laying there intertwined, you allowed yourself to savor the moment of feeling completely whole in his arms until repeating your question.

It felt as if nothing before this moment had ever existed, even though you had never even been this physically close to him.

Hugs, of course.

Kisses on the forehead, always.

But something was different now; suddenly you became more than just his best friend.

“Yes.” He answered, his lips ghosting over your head. “So fucking much.” His voice was shaking as he said it. You raised your hand to plant it firmly on his jaw. You traced circles over his temple and down to his ear.

“Why have you never told me?” You asked.

He gripped your head in his hand. “I never knew what you thought of me.”

“What I think of you?” You said more to yourself than to him, “You’re honest. Strong. Brave. Caring. Hilarious.” You began listing his qualities, “And that smile of yours, it can light up a room.”

He tucked your hair behind your ear as you spoke. When you dragged your fingers to his cheeks, you realized they were wet.

“You’re selfless, Dean.” You added, “And most of all you’re good. The kind of good that makes the best of men yearn to be like you.”

Right there, you realized you had only seen him cry one other time.

“I love you.” He whispered again and tried to pull you closer. There wasn’t any more space but damn did he try.

“Dean?” You whispered his name as if you hadn’t heard him speak just a second ago, “You’re also the guy I love. I don’t know if that fits in with the rest of the list, but I do. So fucking much.”

He was squeezing you so tight now, you nearly began to sweat.

“It’s the only part of the list that matters.” He said as his hands gripped your back.

– – – – 

I haven’t written for this blog in a while. Partly due to exams, and partly to writer’s block. Let me know if you like this/send feedback! I’d love to know how you all feel about this type of imagine. 

First Kiss | Drabble

Originally posted by babytheimpalaimagines

Author’s Note: I want to do a ‘dating x would include:’ with Jack, but he’s the equivalent of a toddler and has only been here for a bit so writing that would be a stretch I think. Maybe I’ll do it soon. – Haley xx


“Human emotion is… strange…” Jack murmured to me. We were sitting in the back seat of the impala while Dean and Sam put on the FBI act to get some questions. Since Jack came into our lives, Sam and I took turns basically babysitting Jack while the other one goes on hunts with Dean.

“You can say that again,” I said. Jack looked over at me before slowly reciting what he said a few moments ago. I shook my head and chuckled, “Jack, that’s an expression. It means that I agree with what you said.”

“Oh. Well, that’s very confusing,” he told me.

“Everything is confusing when you are a human,” I said. “But why do you think emotion is strange?”

Jack blinked at me. “I-I don’t know if I should tell you… Dean would not like it.”

“Jack,” I said and scooted closer to him, “I’m your friend and I’m not going to judge you. If you want to talk about it, we can.”

“We’re friends?” Jack asked me.

“Of course, we’re friends, Jack,” I said. Confusing and sadness flashed across his face before Jack turned and looked straight ahead.

I sat against the leather seats and watched him. It seemed like what I just said was not what Jack wanted to hear, but it is true, we are friends. Jack sat like that longer, ignoring me and staring out of the window. I sighed and moved back to my seat.

I looked at my window and watched my brothers talk to the local law enforcement. The job we were on was tricky one and one that Jack did not need to get involved. He was getting better at talking to people, but not that good at lying about being in the FBI.

“What if I don’t want to be friends with you?” Jack asked.

“What?” I turned around and looked at him. The sunshine was making his golden hair look like an actual halo. “You don’t want to be friends with me?”

“That’s not it!” Jack said, sliding across the seat getting closer to me. “I just… you make me feel weird.”

“Weird as in?” I asked him.

“Weird as I want to protect you from all the harm in this world, but you also make me feel sick. I asked both Dean and Sam about it and Dean told me not to tell you.”

A smile crept up on my lips. “What did Sam tell you?”

“He told me that I should tell you,” Jack said. “I don’t know what this feeling is.”

“Do you trust me?” I asked him.

Jack nodded his head. I cupped his face with my hands and leaned in closer to him. My breath fanned over his nose and Jack’s eyes went wide. I pressed my lips to his for a second before pulling back.

Jack was red all over.

He blinked at me again before pressing his lips against mine.

Long, Lean, and Lethal

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,106

Summary: The Reader finally takes things into her own hands when it comes to her feelings for Dean. 

Warnings: Consensual voyeurism, mutual masturbation, Reader being sneaky, Dean being cheeky.

A/N: This little drabble stemmed from a conversation with @salvachester about Dean and his physique. And well, it ended up naughty, I’m not sorry. So, here ya go. 

Originally posted by dancewithmejensen

He’s all muscle and sinew, coiled strength and energy, long, lean limbs and broad shoulders taking up more space than should be legal. Every movement is calculated, every action purposeful. Watching him work is like watching a choreographed dance; trained hands loading a gun, handling knives, fighting monsters, driving his car. It’s nothing if not sheer beauty.

Keep reading

Request: Sharp Objects

Request: HI I love your fics!! could you do a deanxreader where dean broke his right hand on a hunt and can’t shave himself so the reader, with hidden feelings for dean, does it for him with lots of fluff please

Word Count: 1,270

Thank you<3

“Ouch! Jesus Christ, that’s a bitch.” The muffled cursing comes from behind the bathroom door, then followed by the clinking sound of something falling into the ceramic sink, and finally a, “Son of a bitch!”

Despite the laundry pile you’re carrying, you swerve across towards the door and knock a couple of times with your free hand, “Dean? Everything alright in there?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then a short reply, “Fine.”

He’s obviously frustrated – a tone you’ve quickly become accustomed to hearing after dragging him home from the hospital a few days ago. He’d landed badly after being catapulted across the room by an overzealous ghost and broken a hand, whereas Sam had gotten off with a concussion and you’d somehow managed to slip away injury-free – which had inevitably resulted in you skivvying around to cater to their every whim.

While Sam had managed to get over himself somewhat and take it easy while the hellish egg on his head goes down, Dean has been trying to do everything as normal. He hates being laid up like this, and trying to get everything done for himself has just resulted in more hurt and hindrance than help.

You still linger outside the door for a few moments, “Can I help at all?”

He hesitates, and for a long moment you wonder if he’s actually going to accept, “I could use a clean towel.”

“Got one here. Mind opening the door?” You ask, after trying to get in and finding the door locked. Again, a hesitation, but then the door opens, Dean fumbling with his good hand for a few moments to get it undone.

You pride yourself on being able to keep a poker face. Sometimes giving the enemy no indication of your emotions could mean the difference between life and death – sometimes it’s imperative that a victim doesn’t know what you’re thinking. But this time, when it’s important that you don’t make a sound so Dean doesn’t slam the door in your face, you just can’t seem to freaking manage it.

“I know, alright?” He huffs as you sidle into the bathroom and begin draping the towels from the pile over the towel rack, trying desperately not to laugh. It’s not your fault – he’s covered in shaving cream – it’s smudged over his nose and there are even splatters in his eyebrows. It’s all white, apart from a trail of crimson blood slipping down the side of his face.

“You can’t shave left-handed?” You guess, taking note of the razor left in the sink and the cast immobilising his right hand. He sighs wearily, and then nods.

“Nope. I’ve never had to try before, and I was starting to look even more homeless than Sam.” He complains, taking a towel from you when you offer one to him.

“Dean, for crying out loud, you shattered your hand. I think you’re allowed to look homeless for a little while.” You reassure him, balancing the rest of the laundry – mostly jeans and a handful of flannels – on the countertop, “If you really want it sorted, I’ll do it for you.”

As soon as the offer has left your mouth, you regret it – the very idea of managing to get so close to him without blushing like a five year old, or completely losing your breath… impossible. And yet, he nods, smiling ruefully.

“Would you mind? I just… can’t.” He shrugs, and you smile back, nodding and shooing him off towards the closed toilet seat.

“Go on then, sit down.” You instruct, picking up the razor and running the warm tap to clear it off. You let the tap run for a little while, filling the basin, and then approach Dean carefully, “You have to promise to stay still. Usually when I’m so close to someone with something this sharp it doesn’t end very well for them.”

He laughs, leaning back with the force of it, “That’s not encouraging, Y/N.”

“I said I’d do it. I never said I’d do it well.” You remind him with a smile – humour: humour is how you get through this without making a complete idiot of yourself.

“Much appreciated, beautiful.” He winks, and it’s all you can do to force out a snort and place your fingers beneath his chin to tilt his head up a little.

“Mm, whatever you say,” Sometimes it’s difficult not to take his words too seriously, and you have to remind yourself that Dean Winchester can and will flirt with anything that moves – you’re not special to him beyond being good friends and hunting buddies.

“Well, the closer you get, the more I’m thinking it.” He mumbles, remaining still as stone as you skin the razor over his skin smoothly – you’re painstakingly careful, starting on the opposite side to the cut on his lower cheek. He chuckles when you lean back to dunk the razor in the sink, then move back over to him.

“I’ll stay well back, then.” You wink in response, but contradict your own statement by leaning close enough to him that his breath ghosts over your face. His eyes remain trained on your face, watching every movement as you press your lips together, squinting in concentration. You try your best to ignore it, being as careful and steady as your humanly can manage while you get to work.

His eyes don’t leave you until you’re finished, patting down his face with a towel and then handing it to him – only then does he force himself to look away, watching as you clear up and set everything back in its place.

When he finally manages to open his mouth, he’s expecting the words that come out to be ‘thanks, Y/N’ – instead, they’re, “When you’re concentrating, your nose does this funny little thing.”

You turn slowly, quirking an eyebrow in a manner he can only describe as adorable, “Excuse me?”

“It kinda… wrinkles. But just at the tip. Right here.” He taps his own nose, a small smile playing on his lips, “And you blink a lot. I just… never noticed before.” Dean confesses, giving a nonchalant shrug and trying to ask as if he isn’t mortified by the words.

Rather than make a comment, you give a smile, wiping your hands off and stepping back, “I suppose I’m not the kind of person people pay a whole lot of attention to.” It’s not meant to be self-deprecating, but Dean takes it that way nonetheless.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He rolls his eyes, standing up and poking at the cast as if his hand would be magically healed, “Y/N, you turn heads everywhere you go.”

“Yeah, right, of course.”

“Hey, look at me,” He takes your wrist in his hand, turning you to face him properly, “You’re beautiful. Really, truly beautiful. And smart, and kind, and funny. And people notice that. I notice that.”

That’s when your heart really does skip a beat – his eyes are on yours, emeralds glinting in the harsh white light of the bunker’s main bathroom.

“Dean, I-“

“You don’t need to reply to that. Didn’t mean to back you into a corner. Sorry.” Dean smiles sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck with his good hand – but you shake your head, stepping forward with all of the boldness you can muster.

“I want to.” You assure him, taking his good hand and squeezing it gently, “I don’t care about anyone else noticing. Just you.”

He hesitates, then glances sideways, at the door, “Can I kiss you?” He blurts, flushing red like an embarrassed teenager.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”  

Age is but a Number, Love is Infinite

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,775

Warnings: age difference(nothing underage the reader is 21), language, implied sexy times

Request: Hey it’s ok if you don’t wanna do this but I was wondering if you could write a fic where Dean is his current age and the one reader just turned 20 but like her and Dean have known each other for a long time and have been together for a while and other people always say stuff about their relationship but they’re still just really happy together, maybe w/ a bit of smut?

A/N: I changed a few things like I said I would but overall I think I got what you wanted!! Shout out to @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid for being an awesome beta!! I hope you all like it and feedback is always appreciated!!! :D

Originally posted by frozen-delight

Keep reading

You Understand, Right? (Part 5): And Broken Hearts

Characters: Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader / Friend!Reader, Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader / Friend!Reader

Length: 1665+ words

TW: Nothing in this chapter!

A/N: I’ve been considering writing a sister chapter to this one in Y/N’s perspective, but I’m not sure if I have time. Plus, you guys are getting so many fics from me this month lol… We’ll see. I’m pretty swamped with other stuff so I make no promises… Hahaha get it?… Yea, I’m lame.  

Feedback is appreciated (AND SO ARE YOU)!

SERIES MASTERLIST


Dean didn’t follow her, too shocked at her words. He sat down on the edge of his bed thinking about what in the world would make her say such things. He just stared at the floor of his room. Her words ringing inside his brain as he tried to make sense of it. Of everything.

“I understand, Dean.”

“You and Sam need each other… But you don’t need me.”

“I’ve lost count of the promises you’ve broken.”

“What the hell?” he mumbled, massaging his temple. “What is she talking about?”

Dean remembered making only two promises to her in his lifetime. He promised to take care of her, and be there for her. This was the promise he made with everyone he ever cared about. Anyone who knew Dean knew that he would always be there for them when they needed help.

He knew from a young age not to make promises he couldn’t make. John lectured him for hours after he once promised a kid that they would save his mom. They lost the mom to the werewolf. His dad was livid- not only because they lost another life, but because he had given this kid hope. Ever since then, Dean didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. And he was sure that Y/N knew he would never break a promise if he could help it. Not that she’s ever asked him to make any promises. There were only two cases where she had asked him to promise her something.

“Dean, look! I got a part in the play!” Y/N said excitedly, showing him the piece of paper with her name on it.

“Yea?” He peered over, flashing her a proud grin. “Good job, squirt!”

“You’re gonna come see it, right?”

“Of course!” He ruffled her hair before going back to his homework.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, not even looking up from his math problem.

Dean swallowed thickly as he realized that he didn’t show up to her play, choosing to attend Sam’s spelling bee instead.

Keep reading

Heartache

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3,099

Summary: A look at the reader through Dean’s eyes, focusing mostly on Dean’s emotions throughout the day and how he reacts to even the simplest of words. This is the raw and vulnerable side of Dean. 

A/N: I haven’t written something like this, I think ever before. It’s heavily focused on Dean (especially since it’s his POV). Even so, the reader is a huge part of it, but once again, through Dean’s perspective on the matter. Hopefully, you love it. I spent a long time on it, trying to really get into Dean’s head. It’s not the light side of Dean, not many jokes or wise cracks – it’s him in his raw emotional state. Also, this would not be possible with @thefangirllifeismine who not only corrected all of my shitty grammar, but stayed an inspiration throughout. Please, send in your feedback. It’s extremely important to me, I’d love to hear what you thought about this, especially since it’s definitely different from what I usually post.

Originally posted by canonspngifs

– – – – 

DEAN’S POV: 

Her lips were moving, but my eyes were stuck on her hair. It was wet, and dripping a river down her shirt. I don’t think a towel ever touched her head.

“Dean?” Her voice was warm, inviting. It always was. She was never harsh with her words. Sam constantly tried to poke at her, just to see what her voice would sound like if she raised it.

“Yeah?” I met my eyes with hers, catching her gaze.

I felt my brother’s eyes on me as well; his brow was raised and a smirk played on his face.

“We were asking if you wanted to go to the bar tonight.” Sam filled me in.

A laugh came up from my throat as I raised the glass of whiskey in my hand. “I’m fine right here.”

Y/N smiled and looked at Sam, “You’re still in, right?”

He nodded and got up from his chair. “I’ll go shower.”

I tipped my glass in response, and took another swig from it.

“Have you been out in the sun?” Y/N asked, suddenly.

I furrowed my brows, “I was working on Baby earlier, why?” Then, proceeded to lift up my shirt and smell it. “Do I smell that bad?”

“No,” She let out a light laugh, “Your freckles are darker.”

“My- my freckles?”

She leaned forward in her seat, her nose a mere foot from mine, “Freckles get darker in the sun.”

“Huh.” I muttered and took another sip of my drink.

“It’s cute, Dean.” She said and the whiskey managed to go down even slower. My lip twitched upwards.

Without waiting for me to respond, she gathered her hair to the side and wiped her now wet hands off on her jeans before jumping out from her seat.

“I’ll go change for the bar. Invite’s still open.” She smiled, turning on her heel.

I watched her leave, shamelessly.

The first time Sam and I met her, it was an accident. Neither of us knew we had been working the same case, so when I approached who I thought was the legitimate FBI agent on the case, Y/N’s face beamed back at me instead. After a few back and forth questions, the three of us discovered none of us were agents, and went to grab drinks instead. It was supposed to be a one time deal.

But, one night turned into two. Eventually, three. In no time, I was helping her bring boxes into the bunker from the trunk of her run down car.

“We can’t let anything happen to her, you know that right?” Sam said to me the night she moved in. The shower water was running loudly, and in that noise, we had a discussion.

“I know.” I replied to my little brother. Worry etched itself into every wrinkle on his face, just like it did on our mother’s. He would never know just how much he looked like her.

“That means relationships, too.” Sam narrowed his eyes at me.

I looked away, forgetting how easily he was able to read me.

He continued speaking, “Everyone we get too close to…”

Sam never did finish his sentence. The shower water shut off abruptly and out bounced Y/N. Her face was flushed and her hair dripped down her bare shoulders.

My thoughts were interrupted as Sam strided into the room.

“You sure you’re not coming?” He asked, cuffing up the sleeves to his shirt.

It was tempting. I knew the bar had better whiskey than the shit that was currently burning its way down my throat. Better yet, the bar had Y/N. Whenever she entered a bar, I could see everyone’s attention land on her. Her warmth radiated through her big eyes and genuine smile. Who wouldn’t be attracted to that?

“Nope,” I shrugged, “Not tonight.”

He nodded his head and walked towards the door, waiting for Y/N to meet him there.

“See you.” Sam shouted, his voice echoed down the hall.

Moments later, Y/N came out from her room. A short navy dress was hugging her skin, but what stole my attention was the jacket draped across her shoulders.

“I hope you don’t mind.” She said, pulling my black jacket around her.

“Looks better on you, anyways.” I said. It was the truth.

“Thanks, Dean.” She smiled at me before opening her small purse, reviewing whatever items lay inside of it. “See you later.”

With that, she was gone.

It may have been another hour before I got up, but when I finally did it was solely because I needed to go to the bathroom.

I stopped at the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, but this time it was different. Usually, I don’t look in the mirror.

Not when I wake up.

Not before I go to sleep.

If I do, I hate it. Plain as that. I never did like the man staring back, and I don’t know if I ever fully will. What changed though was that this time, someone liked what they saw on me.

My fingers reached up to my cheeks, running along the freckles on my skin.

Y/N liked them.

She honest to god, found something of mine that she liked. So, I did too. Immediately, I loved my freckles. I loved that my cheeks and nose were dusted with them, and that the most beautiful woman that I had ever laid eyes on, had found beauty in me, as well.

– – – –

It couldn’t have been earlier than two o’clock in the morning, when I heard familiar footsteps stumble down the bunker’s staircase. I kicked the sheets off of myself and went to see the state they were both in.

“Come on.” Sam mumbled, trying to hold Y/N up, but he was hardly walking himself. “Dean!” Sam shouted, his drunk self wearing a huge smile.

“Oh, it’s Dean!” Y/N exclaimed, a laugh bubbling out from her lips. She gripped the edge of the staircase with both hands, leaning forward as she spoke.

I crossed my arms and raised my brows, watching the two of them stumble through the bunker like baby deer.

“Here-” Sam tossed me a pair of car keys, “We called a cab, the car is still in the bar parking lot.” The keys hit the floor with a loud jingle, his aim completely skewed from the liquor.

Y/N rounded the edge of the table and began to fall towards me.

“Woah, there.” I grabbed her by her arms and steadied her.

“Thanks.” She laughed once more, at nothing in particular.

Behind me, Sam had already found his way to his room. Eventually, I’d have to check on him. For now, I gripped Y/N’s shoulder and guided her to her own bedroom.

“Oh- I forgot!” She looked up at me with wide eyes. “Remind me in the morning.”

I looked at her, waiting for her to explain. When she didn’t, I asked her what she was talking about.

“I have-” she stuck her hand in the pocket of my jacket that she was wearing and pulled out a napkin. A number was scribbled onto it. “His name is Matt. I have a date with him tomorrow night. Remind me, ok?”

I took the napkin from her, fighting the urge to rip it to shreds.

“Okay.” I stated, turning on the lights as she walked over to her bed.

“Promise me.” She kicked off her shoes sloppily. “He’s so nice-” I could tell she was beginning to ramble. Once she’s had enough to drink, she tends to.

“I bet he is.” I cut her off, helping her unzip her dress.

“And Dean-”

“Yeah?”

“He just has the most gorgeous freckles!”

In that moment, I worried that she could actually hear my heart drop into my stomach. I swallowed thickly, and within seconds, she continued on her drunken ramble.

“Goodnight.” I stated, simply from habit.

“Night, Dean!” She dropped onto her bed.

I should have gone back to bed. I should have crawled under the covers and shut my eyes. My feet had other plans, though. Step after step, I was trudged through the halls and into the library where my hand found a bottle of brown and an old glass.

Sam’s words spun through my head. She had to be protected. I thought back to everyone I had ever gotten close to; Charlie, Jo, and Bela were long dead. Just like every other fucking hunter that I had ever met and let into my life.

Sam tried to show me the positives. He brings up names like Jody and Cas – but who knows what will happen to them too?

I took another shot.

Eventually, it got dark.

– – – –

“Hey, sleepy.” Y/N’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Wake up.”

I opened my eyes and everything was sideways. Fuck.

“You fell asleep here, again.” Her soft voice explained my current situation. It was embarrassing. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, looking at the scene before me. A mostly empty bottle, a half drunk glass, and what I think was a little bit of drool, lay on the table.

“What time is it?” I asked, quickly getting up from the chair and brushing past her. She smelled like her shampoo. Always vanilla.

She turned her wrist towards me. Nearly noon, her watch read.

“Thanks.” I muttered and began walking towards the kitchen.

“I should be thanking you.” Her voice called from behind me. Then, her footsteps began to draw nearer. “I couldn’t have been easy to take care of last night. Sam and I, we kind of let loose.”

I grabbed the coffee pot and turned it on. The sound of boiling water dripping down filled the silence.

“No, it was fine.” I replied, then remembered what she asked of me last night. “Except-” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. “Matt.”

Her eyes went wide, “Oh god.” She took the napkin from my hands. Her hair fell before her face as she read the number, and she combed it back with one hand.

“I totally forgot. Shit.” She pulled out her cell phone and checked for any notifications. “I’ll just text him.”

I turned from her, unable to watch her any longer, and grabbed a cup for my coffee.

“Want some?” I asked over my shoulder.

“No, thanks.” She said, just as her phone beeped. “He already answered!” She exclaimed.

I kept my eyes glued to the cup in front of me, not daring to see her face light up as she saw his name and not mine.

“Smells good.” My brother’s voice carried into the kitchen. He opened the cabinet and grabbed a cup as well, waiting until I finished pouring my own before taking the pot.

“Feeling good, Sammy?” I threatened a laugh and he rolled his eyes.

“I haven’t been this hungover in ages.” He grabbed a bottle of Advil and returned to the table. “It was worth it though, you should have joined.”

I shrugged and took a sip of my coffee.

“Who are you texting?” Sam directed his question at Y/N, who still stood in the middle of the kitchen.

She looked at him and dangled the napkin in the air, “Remember that guy at the bar last night?”

“The really funny one?” He asked.

She nodded fervently, “Yeah, Matt. I got his number and we’re going to grab dinner tonight.”

Sam glanced at me, before returning his gaze to his breakfast.

“He’s a good guy.” Sam said. I think it was more to me, than Y/N.

“I bet.” I mumbled into my drink.

– – – –

Sam decided to watch a movie tonight.

“Batman?” I questioned. He wasn’t one for the superheroes.

He popped it into the disk slot and dropped onto the couch. Looking at his huge frame swallow up the furniture, I remembered being able to hold him in my arms.

“Last time Y/N picked, it’s your turn.” He said while pressing play.

“Good. Wouldn’t want one of your history documentaries to bore me to death, tonight.” I began to laugh and he rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” He muttered and grabbed the bowl of popcorn he had prepared.

An hour into the movie, the bunker door swung open. The loud creak it made reminded me to oil it later.

“Y/N?” I called out her name. The heels she was wearing when she left were no longer on. Her bare feet padded against the hardwood floor until she finally reached us.

“How was it?” Sam asked, lowering the volume.

Her lips formed a fine line, “I’m just going to go shower.” She grabbed a fistful of popcorn before disappearing.

I looked at my brother. His brows were raised as he shook his head in confusion.

“I’ll go-” I sat up from the chair, “I’ll go check on her.”

Her door was shut. I raised my fist to knock, but she opened it before I got the chance.

“You walk loudly.” She stated. My lips formed at ‘O’.

“What was that about?” I motioned towards the other room with my thumb.

She shrugged and put her heels away in the closet.

“Sorry about that.” She looked up at me with her big, bold eyes, “I think Matt was a lot nicer when he was drunk.”

I crossed my arms and sat on the edge of her bed. “Huh?”

“Well, we ordered our food and everything was great. I mean finally, a break from hunting.” She explained, and I sighed.

She pulled her bouncy hair out from the pins it was in while she continued, “He was sweet at first, really. But I could tell something changed. Matt wanted more than what I did…”

My arms fell to my sides, “Did you leave?”

“Yeah, but that was only after he asked me four times to go back to his place.” She was on the floor, her legs bent underneath her. She dropped her hands onto the floor from frustration as she spoke.

“What a douchebag.” I stated, no other word was able to form itself. “You don’t deserve that.”

She looked up at me, and a smile formed itself against her cheeks.

“I’m gonna be single forever.” She joked. “I mean, who am I kidding?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

From her spot on the floor, she reached out and gripped my leg with her hand. “Come on, Dean. We’re hunters. Let’s say it did work out with Matt – who’s to say he wouldn’t freak out the second that I brought him down into the bunker or told him that vampires are real!” Her grip tightened as she spoke, “It’s so fucking frustrating sometimes.”

“Dating is the worst.” I agreed with her.

“No.” She ran her hand down my leg and to my ankle, where she removed it.

I furrowed my brows and looked at her, every bit of me confused.

“Then what?”

“Being alone.” Her eyes dropped from mine and my chest suddenly felt heavy. I knew the feeling of being alone, too well. It was heartbreaking, yet familiar at the same time. It was relief, yet yearning.

“You got me.” I blurted out.

She got up from her spot on the floor by my legs, and situated herself on the bed so she sat next to me.

“I know that, Dean. I meant… more.” Y/N’s voice dwindled into a whisper. I turned my head to face her, and in that moment, I couldn’t lie to her.

“Exactly.” I stated, and her eyes first searched my face. They traveled from eye to eye as she thought of what I could possibly mean, until her lips parted.

I didn’t know what to expect. My heart hasn’t raced this fast since for someone else since high school. I either just started the relationship I had been waiting for, or ruined a friendship that was worth more to me than anything else.

I was so focused on her face that I hadn’t realized her hand found mine.

I wanted to keep her hand there, to squeeze it tight. But, Sam’s words found their way back into my head.

“I’m selfish.” I stated simply, standing up from the bed.

“What?”

“I’m being selfish, you deserve better.”

She tilted her head at me, her hair falling with it. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Everyone I touch, they-”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Y/N cut me off. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“They leave.”

“You know I’m not going to.” She stood up from the bed and walked up to me, placing her open palms on my chest. “I’m not just somebody.”

“That’s the point!” I exclaimed, voice rising. “You aren’t just somebody! What if something happened to you? I can’t let you get hurt.”

“You’re not my keeper, Dean.”

I laced my fingers around her wrists, holding her palms tightly against my chest. “From the first time you walked through those bunker doors, I wanted no one but you, and you know why I haven’t told you?”

She looked up at me through her lashes.

“I have been torturing myself every day, because I want you safe. I need you safe.”

For a few moments, no one said anything. Y/N just stared up at me with a look I had never seen before.

Then, she stood on her toes, and pressed her lips to mine.

And God, it was everything I thought it would be. She was warm and sweet, like honey. Her hands were squeezing at my waist and I knew right there that I was done for.

My hands traveled up to her neck, grazing every inch of her skin.

“Since the first day?” She teased, speaking slowly against my lips.

I laughed, “Since day one.” I affirmed and she smiled so wide that all I wanted to do was kiss every inch of her bubbly cheeks.

“How about we get dinner tonight, sweetheart.” I asked, hoping she was still hungry after the shit dinner she described with Matt.

“I’d love to.” Y/N’s fingers found mine and she led me out of her room.

Sam was still seated on the couch. His hand was glued to the remote and I could hear the channel being changed every other second. When we passed through, my hand still in hers, he raised his brows and stared at me.

“Woah, wait-” He called out behind us.

“We’ll be back soon!” Y/N called over her shoulder.

A smile remained on my face for the rest of the night, never faltering.

The Past On Your Doorstep - AU

Dean x Reader

Summary: After more than 4 years Dean knocks on your door, surprising the hell out of you. Then it’s his turn to be surprised when he sees a little girl standing next to you.

A/N: Moving this fic from my side blog @canyonic to my main one.

Word Count: 1900+

Keep reading

I Think I Wanna Marry You...(Part II)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: none; S/P/N- Sister’s Preferred Name.

Summary: The reader, distraught over not having a date to her sister’s wedding, considers asking one of the Winchesters to pretend to accompany her; will Dean manage to save the day and play pretend for two weeks, or will his feelings get the best of him?

Word count: almost 4k

A/N: yo this blew up way more than i ever thought it would thank you so much for the support <3

Dedicated to: @quixoticcat, @skymoonandstardust, @girliciousdreams, @captainbitchslap, @awkward–jay, @fandomlover03, and @daesunglg

PART 1

~*~*~*~*~

Friday arrives much faster than anticipated. It’s a warm, brisk morning, the sunlight raining down and painting  Massachusetts with a summery essence. Fallen leaves litter the yards of suburban homes and a canopy of those that remain is spread across the road, only a few dots of light peering through.


“Textbook illustration of the apple-pie life.” Dean remarks as he steers the car down a long strip of tarmac. “God…it’s making me sick already.”


“Hold it down. You know I don’t want you throwing up on any of my family members.” Y/N admonishes, letting her gaze avert from watching the houses roll by and unto the elder Winchester; today, despite her attempts to persuade him,  he’s still settled on wearing his usual hunter get-up—jeans and a plaid (obviously)—and his chin is adorned with a feint patch of stubble. His eyes are set on the road, focused, but she don’t miss the way his mouth quirks up at the remark.


Sam laughs as his eyes follow the array of little homes. “Noted.” He says. “Anything else Dean needs to know should probably be voiced out right now. You don’t want him making a fool out of himself around your family either.”


“We talked about this already last night.” The elder Winchester groans.


“No cussing around my mom, no crude jokes, saying the grace is a must, and—“


“And be sure to talk politics with your dad. Yes, I got all of that the first hundred times you told me.” Dean, rolling his eyes, makes a turn for the left and Y/N heaves a sigh of relief. They pass a group fo teenagers walking to school (way too late).


“Okay.” Y/N sighs, then raises her finger for emphasis. “Oh—also, be sure to try and interact with all my brothers. They love that.”

“We’ve met your family before, Y/N.” Sam’s eyes never leave his screen as he twiddles away at his phone.


They had; at the birth of her hunting career with the boys, years back, Y/N had had to make trip down to Massachusetts to handle a siren case that the Winchester’s provided extra muscle for. Their time in town had been spent at her parents’ home.


“I know, but this is different.” She defends. “Dean is….” She pauses, eyes skittering over to the elder Winchester for not so much as a second before they return. “….my boyfriend. Or pretending to be my boyfriend. There’s going to be a lot of pressure.”


“Your folks don’t seem like the type.”


“I just want to rub it in their faces that I’m.”—she raises her hands in finger quotes—“not single anymore so that they’ll get off my case.”


The elder Winchester nods slowly, pulling a face. “Makes sense.”


“Not really.”


“Shut up, Sam.”


The younger Winchester finally lifts his head from his phone. His gaze bounces from Y/N to Dean. “What did Cas say, by the way?”


“About tagging along?” Dean casts a brief glance into the backseat. “Not much. He said that he doesn’t see why we need him there anyway. I told him Y/N’s sister was getting married and she gets to bring a couple of friends, and seeing as we’re the only ones she has…” He trails off. Y/N then smacks him on the shoulder, earning a satisfied smile. “I’m kidding. Kind of. I told him that we want him to come with.”


“And he said no?”


Dean shrugs and continues to drive. The conversation ends there for a moment, and once a silence spreads throughout the car, Dean tunes the radio on and Y/N turns her head to the window.


Trees and houses and roads oh so familiar from her childhood escapades through this tone roll by. Streets, cafes. Although vast and very busy, she knows this place like the back of her hand; the local pool where their family used to go on weekends, the private schools she bounced between. Just down the road, wedged in the valley nearby are the woods where she encountered her first monster at the tender age of sixteen.


So many memories. So much attachment. Y/N hates Massachusetts more than anything; because it reminds her of how idyllic her life was before she started hunting. It reminds her of people and of places and everything the rest of her peers experienced that she didn’t get to; hunting whisked her away from her life, stripped her of a regular teenage hood. But then again, she’s not complaining.


She chose this life. She chose Sam and Dean. She loves Sam and Dean. You can tell her that the sky is red and that pigs fly and she’ll still believe all that first before she believes that they boys are anything but her family.


Boston is a few kilometers off the highway, down a winding road lined by thick trees and shrubbery, and with a few residential buildings scattered around. Despite being a large neighborhood dotted with mansions and the like, it’s a lot quieter. The rumble of the Impala’s engine is evident as Dean, instructed by Y/N, steers his way through. The outline of the city is painted against the canvas of the bright blue sky as they approach. The traffic, taken the time of day, is minimal and so they manage to get to the hotel in time.


In the parking, Dean kills the engine immediately, and then, heaving a heavy sigh, turns to Y/N.


His face speaks no ounce of nervousness, which only makes the young girl’s stomach coil into a tighter knot. She wants him to be nervous. One of them has to, and Dean’s placidity leaves room for only her own anxiety. “So….?”


“So…” She replies, trying to ease away her own nerves. Her hands feel clammy and the back of her neck is hot.  “Just don’t be nervous, yeah? My parents are like predators—they can smell your anxiety a mile away.”


“Not helping.”


“Not supposed to.”


“I feel like I should be telling that you, Y/N.” Dean remarks. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”


“No, I’m not.” She is. It’s a terrible lie and very evidently so, but thankfully none of the boys say anything. Instead, however, Dean reaches out and envelopes her hand in his. Y/N then stills, and feels the color drain from her face.


The contact is warm, assuring. Her hands slides perfectly into his and their fingers intertwine, palms pressed flat.


“We’re gonna kick ass.” Dean says confidently. Y/N doesn’t hear him—she’s looking at him, staring him dead in the eye, but the words enter one ear and fly out the other because her hand is in his and it’s nice.


It’s nice.


They’ve never held hands before, not like this. Dean guiding her through a dark path on a hunt, Y/N pulling him with her as she runs from a vampire. Their hands have definitely touched before, and their skin has definitely grazed before, but this is so alien to Y/N, because it feels nice and like everything that it’s not supposed to.


Dean stares into the young girl’s gaze as he tugs on her hand, offering a brief smile. “Come on.” He goes to open the door. “We’re gonna be late.”


Once his hand leaves hers, it’s like her trance has been diminished, like spell once cast over her has been broken. She floats back to reality. Sam is hauling their bags out from the trunk, she realizes, and Dean is trying to fit as many weapons into his luggage (just in case) as he can. She quickly gets out. The hotel, adorned with a very tropical theme, is down a strip of cobbled path with a few plants at the sides. Y/N follows the Winchesters, trying to keep the pace, when she hears Dean call to her.


She turns. “Huh?”


“Give me your bag.” He says, his hand open as they walk. Y/N stares at him for a moment, eyes glazed over. She’s still a bit dazed. Looking at Dean now feels alien and almost unreal, like she’s looking in one of those funny funhouse mirrors. Maybe it’s just the stress of this wedding, or the heat, she thinks, trying to brush it off


“Oh, uhm.”


“I got it.”But before she can speak, Sam plucks the rucksack from her and hoists it up on his back. Dean scoffs.


“Wow, Sam.”He rolls his eyes as they approach the hotel. Towering above them, it’s a giant of a building, quaint balconies perched up on room, it’s years and history written out in the way vines climb in slender tendrils along the stone walls. Inside, the ceiling climbs so high one might think it reaches the heavens


“Maybe Y/N should have asked you to play her boyfriend instead.” Dean remarks as they stroll in. The place is packed; an eclectic cloud of people roams the room, all with their luggage in hand.


Sam smirks. “Maybe she should have.”


“The reception’s over there.”


Y/N points to the desk ahead. Shuffling through the crowd, the trio makes their way over to the counter, the receptionist smiling at them. She’s young, probably older than them, but still her skin is taut and plump and her brown eyes gleam as she speaks. She types something into the computer and in a moment heir rooms are assigned, all courtesy of her family. Sam has agreed to carry everything upstairs and meet them at the lounge, so Y/N and Dean decide the time alone can be used to go over their ground rules again.


They wander over to the bar, a noticeable distance between them. The room is ambient, lit up by little warm lights suspended from the high-set ceiling despite it being day. Slow jazz music floats through the crowded room. As soon as they settle down, swarming like locusts in a field, the waiters come over, all trying to fix a menu in their faces until Dean ushers them away and says that they’re not hungry. Y/N is a little bit disappointed—she hasn’t eaten all morning—but says nothing, instead focusing on the man before her.


“Can I cuss around your sister?” Dean asks as he leans back in his seat.


Y/N nods vigorously, her expression saying that the answer is quite obvious. “S/P/N’s got a mouth like a sailor. A little profanity won’t hurt. Not around my parents though.”


“Not around your mum…?”


“Not around either.” She says. “They hate it, think it makes you look delinquent.”


Dean nods thoughtfully, then goes on asking various questions. Time seems to drift by unnoticed, the conversation bouncing from one end to another like a ball in a tennis court.


“Can I drink?”


“Sure.”


“Smoke…?”


Y/N wrinkles her brow in uncertainty. “You don’t smoke.” She says; it’s a firm statement, a proclamation rather than a question


“But if I had to?“


“Fine.” The young girl lets out an exaggerated sigh.  Dean chuckles. The sound is precise and brief but still manages to bring a shy smile to her face.  Moments later, the table has quieted for some reason, so Y/N lifts her gaze to Dean, regarding him curiously. She knows that look—it’s hard not to when she’s seen it so many times, with Sam or Cas, or even first hand. Gaze set on the floor, his lip is tucked between his teeth and he runs his tongue over his lips, his contemplation evident until he finally looks up.


“So,” The elder finally allows their eyes to meet. “What about us? You know…our boundaries, instructions. Do’s and don’ts. What do we say if we get the stereotypical how did you meet quiz?”


“Doesn’t really matter.” She waves a dismissive hand and then leans back in her seat. The fiber of the backrest presses into her back, crackling quietly. “My parents already know we met through hunting, but we could always just use some other cover with my other relatives.”


“So we lie?”


She quirks a teasing brow and smiles. “You have no problem lying that you’re an FBI agent basically every day. Lying that you met me on vacation or something can’t really be that hard…?”


“Where was our vacation to?”


“So we’re settling on the vacation-thing?”


Dean shrugs. “Any other options? I’m sorta just following here. It’s your plan.”


“Don’t say it like that. We’re a team, Dean.”


“Right, almost forgot that.” The elder Winchester chuckles and shakes his head. “Okay. What if we met on unconventional grounds? Maybe I nearly ran your dog over and you got pissed, so you tried flagging down my car and threatened to press charges. You didn’t, of course. My good looks and wit managed to persuade you into changing your mind and just having dinner with me instead.”


Y/N rolls her eyes at the green-eyed hunter, her mouth quirked upwards. “Is that your definition of romance? It sounds like bad lifetime movie.”


“It’s realistic.”


“It’s dumb.”


Dean pouts, then folds his arms and leans back in the chair. “Whatever.” He grumbles. “You think something up then.”


“Vacation it is.”


“You’re insufferable.”


A wide grin stretches across Y/N’s face and she revels in the victory, when Sam walks up. He comes up from behind her, the only indication of his arrival being the way Dean’s eyes dart to the space past her seat.


“You guys aren’t eating?”  He asks, pulling out a seat from the table nearby. He sits and turns to Dean.


“Do you want to?” The elder Winchester looks to Y/N—he’s asking her.


Opening her mouth to speak, she’s about to decline (because they don’t have time to sit and eat anyway), but the grumbling in her stomach reminds her of her hunger. The sound is embarrassingly loud. Her mouth instantly shuts, and Dean’s eyes widen.


“Shut up.” Y/N chastises as her cheeks are swarmed with pink. The elder Winchester doesn’t listen. He begins to howl with laughter, clasping his stomach, and Sam snickers along with him.


“Whatever.” She turns her head, scowling, as his laughter begins to melt away. Leaning back in his seat, little bubbles of laughter escape him, and he lifts his hand.


“Waiter.”He calls. A few feet away, with long curly blond hair, one of the servers from earlier turns. Dean’s ruddy face smiles at him as he calls him over. He scuttles over, a polite smile on his face.


“Yes, sir?”


“What do you want, Y/N?” Dean’s voice is ribbing and smug.


“Shut up.” The young girl rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the waiter. He’s young and his face is dotted with little pink spots of acne. She orders a chicken salad, just like Sam, and Dean goes for stake. Moments later, the food arrives, hot and scented with herbs and spices.


They eat and then, stuffed and satisfied, head up to their rooms to get cleaned up. Y/N just got a call from her parents asking where they are, that they’ve been waiting on them for a while now and everyone is already arriving


when they finally get to their room, Sam waiting out in the hallway, she and the elder Winchester hurry to get ready. Y/N curls her hair and throws on some mascara while Dean runs a quick shower.


“Okay, this is it.” She says, standing by the bed; the light from outside floods the area, bringing out the very delicate and chic design: the walls, painted mocha brown, are adorned with little trinkets and the bedspread is a light toffee color. There’s a potted palm in one of the corners, candles practically everywhere, and the wooden floor is warm beneath her bare feet.


“Operation Wedding Crasher is in pursuit.” Y/N says to Dean


Standing in the bathroom, he’s just gotten out of the shower and is trying to fix his hair, running his fingers through it and muttering profanities beneath his breath. She’d insisted that he changed—taken how many outfits he’s recycled, she’s pretty sure he wore that very one years ago when he first met her parents


“Roger that.” He takes one last look in the mirror, checking his stubble and hair, then walks over to the bed where his shirt sits.


Y/N tries not to stare at his bare-chested form as he quickly slips on the shirt, the front undone and exposing his caramel-colored skin. Instead, she clears her throat and turns away. This is the only way; if she doesn’t, she’s going to end up drooling a puddle on the floor or letting her gaze linger for too long, and that’s the last thing she needs right now. As if things weren’t awkward enough back in the car.


She then looks down at her hand, once encased in Dean’s, the marks from her battles with monster’s still there. There’s a little crescent shaped scar sticking out in her palm that speaks of a hunt years ago, a hunt with a rugaroo that ended in tears and blood and Y/N clasping onto Dean’s shirt for dear life. It’s hard to forget. She can recall getting it, can remember the pain of having to kill that young girl because of the abomination she had come, can still taste the blood on her tongue and feel the pain in her hand.


This life has left her with various moments like that. It’s a packaged deal when you’re a hunter, a sort of terms-and-conditions scenario, to have at least one hunt that has managed to strip you of normality. Something that took you over the line that separates you from the regular world—that was it for Y/N. She was it. That girl couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Having her blood on her hands had definitely been the initiation into the hunter’s game for Y/N.


She has been through so much in her time as a hunter and it shows; on her face and on her body. On her hands. She runs a finger along the tissue, watching it intently. Dean is speaking in the background, saying something to her that she can’t decipher because she forgets to for a moment, until the memory nudges at her conscience once more. The rugaroo hunt. Her scar.


It had been Dean to help her that night. It had been him and his nobility to carry her out of that house before she could bleed out; it had been him and his care, his selflessness, that got her to the car parked miles away from the woods they were in; it had been Dean to stop the bleeding and the tears that seemed to rain from her eyes after she killed that young girl and it had been his hands to cloth the wound in her own.


It had been and it will always be Dean, because Dean is her family.


“Y/N?” He says, pulling her from her reverie.


The young girl immediately looks up and whips around, facing the elder Winchester who is already dressed and ready to go. Y/N’s eyes widen; she doesn’t say it, but the outfit change was definitely a good idea.


Because wow.


Her eyes rake up and down the green-eyed hunter’s structure, taking in the sight of his crisp burgundy button up and dress pants—he looks stunning. He always looks stunning. It’s not weird for Y/N to say because it’s Dean and everyone notices his attractiveness upon first encounter, but this is a whole different case. It’s still him, of course. His eyes are still vibrant green, breaching into a hazel-gold, and his hair is still chestnut brown and his smile and his heart and everything Dean Winchester is still evidently there, but it’s just…different, like looking at the same thing but from a different angle.


“Uhm…” He draws out after a while.


Y/N looks back up to his eyes; her face then flushes and she swallows. “Sorry, uh” She stumbles, clasping her hands together and trying to regain her composure”—you were saying?”


Dean is smirking. “I look that good, huh?”


“Oh, shut up.”


He chuckles. The first few buttons of his shirt are popped and you can see a patch of caramel-tinted skin peering out at you, a feint scar on his collarbone adding some extra touch. “I was saying that we should get going. Sam’s already waiting up for us.”


“Right. Uhm, so we’ve gone over everything, yeah? You get the plan?”


“Yes. Act like we’re dating.”


“Act like we’re in love.” Y/N corrects as she grabs her satchel from the bed and goes to Dean at the door. She stands, body facing him. “There’s a big difference. My parents are going to be all over my case for these two weeks if they see that you and I don’t have any chemistry.”


“We already do, though.” He defends.


“Whatever. Then let’s amp it up—mega chemistry.”


“Mega chemistry, huh?”


“Yeah.” She smiles; it’s goofy and a bit shy because, God, did she really just say that?


But Dean doesn’t seem to mind, because his lips turn up to and he shakes his head. “Dork.”


“Let’s go.”


Y/N goes to open the door, her hand hovering right above the knob when Dean cuts in.


“Can I hold your hand?” He asks.


The young girl then stills and her hand floats away from the door. She stares at him; his voice is calm and collected, like he’s asking her what’s the time or how she is.


“You…want to hold my hand?” Y/N’s uncertainty is evident.


Shrugging, he pulls a face, an expression that says no duh, why not.“Yeah.” He answers. “We are trying to portray that mega-chemistry, aren’t we?”


“We are.”


“Yeah…so.”


She feels him reach out, like it’s happening in slow motion, like she can’t do anything, and take her hand in his. Their skin grazes and fingers lace. His hand is far bigger than hers, rougher, too, but it’s a satisfying contrast as the butterflies in her chest are roused.


Dean’s smile is ribbing and smug and Y/N’s heart is in her as she feels her palms clam up. He opens the door and they step out into the hallway, the heat immediately smacking onto them. Sam is leaning against the wall, typing away at his phones, and he looks up when he notices their presence.


A smile twists at his lips. “There’s the happy couple.”


“Shut it.” Dean says, smirking as they begin to saunter down the strip of corridor.  Y/N is trying to mollify her feelings, rinsing them away, trying to rationalize why they’re even here in the first place. They shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be getting so worked up over something like this, but it’s hard to. The past few days, with this wedding situation overhead, have been nerve-wracking—could that be it? she wonders. Could those anxieties be the cause of her frazzled emotions?


But she doesn’t have time to ruminate. The elevator takes them to the ground floor and they shuffle out once the doors open, Sam and Dean talking about how weirdly excited they are about meeting Y/N’s family as they walk through the ballroom and then out into the garden. . Picnic benches are set up across the expanse of greenery and evergreen trees sprout from the ground all around. There are cobbled paths through and fairy lights (currently off) strung up between branches willows. She remembers this place from when her dad would bring her along on workshops and send her out here to play.


Y/N notices her mother first.


Her hair is an ashy blond, curled into a bob, and she’s wearing a white caftan and jeans. She’s smiling, laughing at the table cluttered with familiar faces. Only about two or three people are strangers to her.


Then, as if instinctively, she clutches Dean’s hand tighter in hers. He then casts a brief glance at her, one of caution, worry, almost, and Y/N meets his gaze.


“I’m nervous.” She admits, visibly gulping.


His eyes regard her curiously. “Why?”


If only she knew. But she doesn’t, so Y/N only shrugs and looks back ahead. When they’re a few feet away from the table, that’s when S/P/N notices them because, gleaming like the sun in a salmon colored dress, she rises from her seat and welcomes them with a smile.

“Y/N!”

 ~*~*~

Part 3

Likes and reblogs make my day, so go ahead and show some love :)

Go Back to Sleep

Summary: When you were kids, you did that all the time. After your parents died and John decided to take care of you, Sam and Dean usually helped with your frequent nightmares by snuggling with you and just being there. It’s no surprise that, so many years later, that’s the first thing Dean does when he sees you having a nightmare after a hunt.
Pairing: Platonic Dean x Reader x Sam
WC: 480 words
Warnings: Fluff. Snuggling. This is inspired by one of the requests @iavengesuperwholock passed me to heal my writer’s block.

Originally posted by thewincheters

Originally posted by loveviral

Dean’s eyes cracked open in a quick response when he heard the groan on the other side of the motel room, almost bumping into Sam. It was past 1 a.m. and he was sharing a double bed with his brother after you got the couch in a game of rock-paper-scissors. Although alone and ‘comfortable’ you didn’t look anything close to it. You were shifting, groaning and even crying.

“Hey,” he hit Sam on his shoulder, making his brother jerk awake. “Open space.”

Before the man could complain, he stood up and walked closer to you, pulling your thin blanket away and taking you in his arms.

“What is wrong?” Sam groaned in annoyance.

“Nightmare,” Dean put you on the bed. “Just shut up and sleep, okay? Y/N is cold.”

He didn’t protest and just moved, offering enough space for Dean to lay you and get to your side, which he did quickly after, putting an arm around you.

When you were kids, you did that all the time. After your parents died and John decided to take care of you – God knows why –, Sam and Dean usually helped with your frequent nightmares by snuggling with you and just being there. To this day, you were used to just walking up with them holding you in their sleep, and enjoyed it a lot, even though you would never confess that to them. You’ve never actually asked them for it – and probably wouldn’t ever – but never complained.

The moment Dean put his head on your neck, Sam turned around and circled your waist, tangling your legs and resting his chin on your head. Back when you were kids, he was too short and his face usually rested on your chest or something but, with time, your positions changed to the ones you were now.

The first time John caught you, he had gotten very annoyed and prohibited you of sleeping in the same bed but after you disobeyed him several times, he’d just gotten used to it and gave up on doing so. Sometimes he’d even get a large bed so you would squeeze yourselves in small mattresses, though that stopped when you were teenagers. After you all realised – or were forced to realise – that you weren’t kids anymore, you’d just do it when he wasn’t around.

Now, decades and decades later, you just kept the habit.

So, when you woke up by the morning with the two brothers wrapped around you, you didn’t even think twice about it.

“Go back to sleep,” Dean groaned into your neck. “It’s too early.”

“I thought we were heading back to the bunker today,” you whispered.

“Later,” the Winchester took a long breath into your neck.

“Shut up,” Sam tightened his grip around your waist.

“Fine,” you put a hand over Dean’s and closed your eyes. “But don’t tell me we’re late later.”

“We won’t.”

Keep reading

Car Troubles

Mechanic!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,120

Warnings: nothing….just yucky fluff lol

A/N: This is for @dancingalone21‘s AU Funny Quote Challenge!! My funny quote was “Are you having a stroke? Do you smell toast?”
Hope you guys (especially Lau!!) enjoy it, thanks to @mamapeterson for the beta and feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

Keep reading

Imagine Introducing Your Brothers to Your Boyfriend Jax Teller

Originally posted by r0mansky

Author’s Note: My obsession with Sons Of Anarchy has hit hard again because I started watching where I left off. Jax and Opie have my undying love, so I decided to put on of them in an imagine on here. This is the third non spn character to show up (first Bucky then The Creeper). I hope you all like it! - Haley xx 


Your name: submit What is this?

It’s been a few years since you’ve seen your older brothers Dean and Sam. After the fallout between you and your dad, you stopped hunting and just wanted to settle down in some town where the sun shone all the year round.

Your mind automatically went to California; it has always been nice and warm whenever you would pass through with your family, so that is where you went. On your way to find that place, your car broke down in a small town named Charming. You met Jax Teller and you been there ever since.

“You okay, darlin’?” Jax asked, pulling your hand up to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

“I’m just a bit nervous,” you said, scooting closer to him in the booth. “I haven’t seen them so long.”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Jax said, kissing your temple.

You got a call from Sam saying they were heading to California for a hunt and wanted to know if you wanted to have lunch with him and Dean. You agreed, and told Sam the name of the town and diner where to find you. You knew it was out of the way for them, but your brothers would hunt you down on the other side of the world if it meant seeing you for an hour.

The diner door swung open and the bell rang. You turned around in your seat and saw them and you smiled wide. They didn’t look much different; Sam’s hair was just shaggier. Jax let go of your hand and you stood up from the booth and practically sprinted to your brothers, pulling them into a bear hug.

“Nice to see you too, Y/N,” Sam chuckled.

“Next time, we’re not waiting three years to see each other,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who’s the blond you’re with?”

“C’mon,” You said, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him over to the booth. You let go of your eldest brother when Jax climbed out of the booth and wrapped and arm around your waist. “Dean, Sam, this is Jax, my boyfriend. Jax these are my older brothers.”

All three of them straightened up and said their hellos. You giggled and rolled your eyes.

You wanted to tell Jax what your brothers did, and you wanted Sam and Dean to know what Jax did. Being Teller’s old lady and a Winchester was probably the worst combination for anyone, but this was your life. It was full of danger everywhere you turned, but with these three idiots in your life right now, it didn’t feel so bad.

Can’t Go Back

Originally posted by justjensenanddean

Characters: Y/n, Dean, Sam

Pairing: Dean x Y/n (GENDER NEUTRAL READER)

Warnings: Angst, argument, abandoned reader, regret, self hate. Just all angst.

Word Count: 1861

Summary: Dean finds himself back where he should be. But Y/n isn’t with him.

A/N: Ok, so some angst cos…this song just gave me a load of angst. I’m hoping it’s really angsty. I have no idea. Either way, hope u like it!!

Masterlist

“No. No. NO!”

Dean frantically scratched at the floor, the doorway, anything he could get to, so he could get back to you.

He turned back to Sam, eyes pouring with tears, not caring who saw him.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?”

Sam swallowed hard, his heart pounding as the rage poured out of Dean.

“I…I did what I had to”, he stuttered, knowing Dean wasn’t going to accept this. 

Not with you still there.

“You…yo-you…”

Dean choked on his words, his vision completely blurred as he felt his heart break.

Keep reading

I Think I Wanna Marry You...(Part 3)

Pairing: Dean X Reader.

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, Dean being a jealous bb

S/P/N- Sister’s Preferred Name.

Word count: 5k O_O

Summary: Dean, trying to get accustomed to Y/N’s family and her life in Boston, finds himself worrying about their very own lives together and what the future holds. Will he manage to find a permanent position in her life, or is it all just a role he must play for these two weeks?

Part 1

Part 2

A/N: I’ve been writing this over a span of two weeks and had initially planned to divide it into two or three parts, but decided against it. I hope you like this.

Tagging: @sassyspn67 , @awkward–jay , @daesunglg​ ,  @hayleynightcore

                                                      ~*~*~


Dean prays his nervousness doesn’t show in the weak smile he offers the table of gleaming faces. They all stand as the three of them approach, all with welcoming smiles, all eyes trained on Y/N as she walks to them like a prodigal daughter returning home after so long.

S/P/N goes in for an immediate hug once she’s close enough and engulfs her little sister, squeezing the life out of her. He tries not to chuckle at the way Y/N groans—countless stories about their childhood together, about how close they were and unbreakable bonds and up until today Dean has never once met S/P/N, but he can’t help but find the way she treats her sister amusing.

The grin on her face is wide as she pulls away. “Look at you!” She says, eyes raking up and down Y/N’s face. “You’re so different now, oh my God!”

“Please don’t start with me, we only just got here.” The y/h/c-haired girl replies as she straightens out the creases in her skirt. Before she can even get another word out, her mother is at her side, an ambient smile gracing her face.

“Well, S/P/N’s not wrong.” Her voice is a deep baritone, husky and rich as she gives her daughter a kiss on the cheek then turns to the boys. And that’s when the anxiety comes flooding back.

A queasiness in his stomach, a twitch in his jaw—something basic and miniscule like breathing or blinking, something he does unconsciously, suddenly feels mechanical. Forced. But the elder Winchester masks it with an amiable smile, the corner’s of his eyes scrunching up. Y/N’s mother’s eyes then travel to his own and her face lights up. “Dean…”

“Marilyn…” He smiles.

They hug like their old friends, like this isn’t their third (fourth?) time meeting; that’s the kind of person Y/N’s mom is. Everyone is her friend. Everyone is adored company rather than a burden, and Dean can’t help but feel a bit intimidated by this level of kindness because God, could he pick a leaf.

Her face folds like dough when she simpers. “looking dapper as ever. Sam, don’t think I’ve forgotten you.”

S/P/N cuts in, earning the elder Winchester’s attention. “So you’re the esteemed-Dean, huh?” She asks, brown eyes scrutinizing him; despite being her blood, she looks nothing like Y/N. A few join similarities here courtesy of genetics and maybe some shared habits, but Dean knows Y/N enough that he’d be able to distinguish her if she even had a twin.

“Wow.” S/P/N turns to Y/N with a ribbing smile. “You really know how to pick ‘em.”

“Shut up.” Y/N rolls her eyes, but the pink-tint in her face is undeniable—so she’s nervous, too. Good. Someone has to be, he thinks. Maybe Y/N can take his place in this apprehensive state, salvage him from his feelings.

“The stories I’ve heard about you…” S/P/N says fondly. “Welcome. It’s great to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise. Your sister goes on and on about you.”

“Likewise.”

Dean’s expression then shows hwo taken abck he is at that very moment: his eyes widen a smidge and his brows quirk. Turning to Y/N, he asks, “Does she now?”

The young hunter’s face is a deep red as she shoots her sister a dangerous look, jaw clenched. “Really?”

“What?”

Rolling her eyes, she then links her arm with his. “Come on, Dean. There’s still a ton of more people we have to meet.”She says  as she turns and strings him along with her. They scuttle aside, leaving Sam deeply invested in chatter with Marilyn as they venture into the crowd. Amused, the elder Winchester’s smirk doesn’t leave his face as they move.

He leans in, voice hushed. “So, you talk about me a lot, huh?”

“Shut up, Winchester.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes, either.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Y/N then halts to a stop and whips around to face him, face constricted with irritation. Satisfaction floods Dean at the sight; pretending they’re in a relationship doesn’t mean abandoning his liking for razzing the young-girl. If anything, he reasons, it’s a catalyst.

“Dean,…”She warns, her voice as thin as ice. “I’m warning you…I’m not one to shy away from slapping you right in front of all these people?”

“You wouldn’t do that to your boyfriend…”Smirking, he goes to wrap his arms around her waist and pulls Y/N in, tipping his head down to look at her. Her expression then falters for a moment; her face falls and the fire in her eyes fades; but its brief, almost indiscernible, because seconds later her pout resurfaces.

Their bodies are flush together, her nimble waist caged in his hands, and Dean tries so hard to ignore the way the tips of his fingers heat up at the contact.

Instead, he chuckles and loosens his grip. Y/N manages to slip out as she rolls her eyes—even then, her blush is still evident.

“Come on…”She links Dean’s hand in hers, and leads him over to another table crowded with some cousins and aunts. The garden is dotted with various people, all smiling when they see her, all going in for hugs and pecks on the cheeks and all giving such sly smiles when Y/N says that Dean and her are dating. Some congratulate them, some, whom Dean has had the pleasure of meeting before like Y/N’s cousin Garth, hold a teasing glint in their eyes.

They talk to relatives and uncles and eerie aunts who, right in front of Y/N, try to hit on Dean. The garden is buzzing with life from all ends, music floating amongst chatter of guests, people dancing,  and as she talks more and more with old friends and relatives, he can see the young girl gradually unwinding.

Her smile, ever-present and as radiant as star, grows with each second, with each interaction. She’s mirthful. Happy. If that’s the case, Dean wonders, then why was she so reluctant about driving out to Boston? Why had Y/N shown the idea of coming out here such disdain?  The question swims in his mind, but that’s as far as it goes. Dean doesn’t bother asking. That’s not his focus now—his focus now is playing his part and helping her get through these two weeks without any setbacks, and so he allows himself the luxury of sitting back and indulging in the buffet with Y/N. Their earlier hunger returns with a vengeance once they spot the table lined with various foods.

They’re stacking piles of pastries onto their plates, when all of a sudden comes a voice.

“How did you two meet?” Uncle Gary, a burly bull trapped in a man’s body, inquires. He’s got hair as grey as the ash on his cigar, and each time he speaks, the thick mustache atop his lip wiggles like a caterpillar. His wife, Steph, stands by his side, eagerly staring and waiting for a response.

“Uhm..”Dean’s gaze slides to Y/N. She looks back at him, a brief horror flashing on her face. For a few seconds, they panic. Shit.“We met…”

“In the park!”

The elder Winchester, shocked, glances over at his girlfriend. She’s smiling at her uncle, her cool demeanor seamlessly in place. If you look hard enough, you can see the glint of pride in her eyes from just saving their asses.

Uncle Gary’s thick grey brows quirk curiously. “In the park?”

“Yeah…” Y/N affirms. “Well, by the park. I was, uh, walking my dog one morning when all of a sudden this car comes speeding out of nowhere as we’re crossing.” She casts cursory glance at Dean, who tries not to smile, both in appreciation and subtle arrogance.

“Yeah.” He supplements, earning the attention momentarily. It’s kind of funny how synchronal they are—a close call like that, teetering along the line between exposing themselves, but Y/N manages to redeem them, and Dean, like a dancer moving to the tune of her symphony, follows without a beat.

“See, I was on my way to work that morning. I was late, so you can imagine what a rush I was in, right? So there I am, cursing to myself as I speed down the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on my tie, when this fuzzy little poodle—“

“Jack Russell.” She corrects. “ He was a jack Russell.”

Dean raises his finger in benediction.  “Right, Jack Russell. So—all of a sudden, he jumps out onto the road and I’m in shock. “

“Luckily, with quick reflexes like Dean’s, he managed to swerve out of the way. He misses him. ” The young girl plays the role so earnestly, her furrowed brow and weary eyes expression selling her distress. “God, poor Kujo was shaking like a leaf. “

“So, Y/N, pissed as hell, tries waving me down. She’s running after my car until I finally pull over and she comes up to my window, and just starts exploding.” Dean’s eyes widen for emphasis, his hands waving in the air. It’s a known trait of his. Whenever telling story, to try and spice thing up or make them seem much more exciting than they actually are, the elder Winchester will flail around and pull faces, and Y/N won’t admit it, but she find it absolutely adorable.

“She’s going on about calling the cops and road rules and safety, but at that moment all I’m focusing on is how goddamn y/e/c her eyes are.” He explains. He doesn’t notice that, as soon as the words leave him, the young girl’s face flushes red. He goes on, says something more, something that makes Aunt Steph’s face fold and crease like cookie dough as she smiles, and then finishes off with a firm arm around her shoulder.

He gives it a firm squeeze, his eyes crinkled with a smile. “Long story short: I didn’t even show up for work in the end.”

“Wow.” Aunt Steph’s grey eyes go wide like planets. “Unconventional grounds indeed.”

“That story was a rollercoaster from start to finish! Loved it!” Uncle Gary, smile engulfing his face, slaps a friendly hand onto Dean’s shoulder who glances at Y/N.

The pair shares a confided glance, their pride shining in the way they smirk at each other. They’ve pulled it off.  

The elder Winchester offers a proud smile, fighting the urge to turn to his partner, to pull his lips back in a teasing smirk, for the smugness in his eyes to say I told you so, I told you the doggie hit-and-run would sell. Instead, however, he focuses on Uncle Gary telling him about his very own Terrier that nearly got hit by cyclist as she and her aunt wander off to the sidelines.

“Well, well, well…” Someone says from behind them.  Dean instinctively turns; his eyes meet with a pair of deep blue ones staring intently at him, at Y/N, a lopsided grin set onto the stranger’s face. His hair, a deep onyx, cascades down his neck to his shoulders. He’s dressed in a suit, very official, very formal, and it makes the elder Winchester’s stomach turn for a moment.

“Look who it is.” The stranger says.

Dean furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”

“Rick!”

His head snaps in the Y/N’s direction, and his confusions swells even more when he sees the wide grin lacing the young girl’s face.

Her eyes trained on the stranger, she shakes her head slowly. “Oh my God.”

“Missed me?” The stranger smirks at her, then goes in for a hug.

Dean steps aside and out of the way, trying not to bump into the table and almost topples over a tray of croissants. He watches, bewildered, as the two exchange pleasantries. Y/N’s arms are slung around his neck, as she giggles then pulls away.

“Very much.” She smiles at him. “Wow. It’s been so long.”

“Hasn’t it?”

“Dean!”

The elder Winchester, attention grasped, looks to her. She points at the blue-eyed man. “This is Rick—Rick Montoijia! He was my neighbor when I still lived my parents from, like, two houses down. Uhm, rick, this is my boyfriend, Dean.”

“Heya.” Rick stretches his hand out for a shake. Hesitating, Dean eyes it momentarily and then finally accepts the gesture.

“Hi….” His eyes scan the stranger’s face dubiously, his grip firm, trying to assert dominance. And all of a sudden, something has brewed in his chest.

Something hot and vehement in the space below his ribs; an energy, a sense of intimidation. It’s stupid to feel, yes, but Dean can’t help it—his chest floods with a jealousy as he lets go of the other man’s hand.

With an excited smile, Y/N addresses Rick. “What are you doing here? We—I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“S/P/N’s wedding.” He points to Y/N’s sisters standing a few meters away. “Obviously I knew you’d be in town for that. I figured,’ well, when was the last time I saw Y/N L/N?’ and here I am.”

“Here you are.” Dean cuts in.

All eyes shift to him. Y/N peers over Rick’s shoulder, trying to get a better glimpse, and the green-eyed hunter offers a strained smile; one far from genuine, something the young girl is obviously familiar with, because her smile begins to melt away at the sight. Dean doesn’t care. His gaze then shifts to Rick, whose smile is still smeared across his chiseled face.

“Uhm, yeah…”The dark-haired man laughs nervously. “Here I am. So…”His attention averts onto Y/N. “How long are you gonna be in town? We need to catch up.”

“Definitely. I’m here for—“

“We’re here—“

“—for two weeks. Yeah, we’re here for two weeks.” Y/N finishes, voice holding a dangerous edge to it. Dean chooses to ignore it, instead focusing on the way the dark-haired stranger’s face lights up with mirth.

“Wow. That’s great.”

“It really is, Rick. Anyhow, it was great meeting you, but we have to go.”

“What?”

Dean doesn’t give her a chance to object as his hand goes to Y/N’s waist, and he nudges her forward, quickly trying to get away as fast as possible. Luckily, they succeed; standing behind them, Rick offers a weak, awkward goodbye as they move further away. In his chest, dean’s heart thrums rapidly, incessantly.

His jealousy boils like a hot stew, threatening to spill over, and he suffocates it; he’s being irrational. He’s being stupid. That guy is just one of Y/N’s many friends, he reasons. He’s just another familiar face from Boston, a ghost from her past, nothing too serious…

But the call to worry is stronger than reprimand for Dean.

When she notices his stiffness, Y/N turns to look at the elder Winchester. Concern swims in her y/e/c eyes. “You okay?”

Attention grasped, Dean turns to her, finds her imploring eyes set on him. They’re back inside, sitting with Sam and the bride and groom, and the band is playing some variation of Eric Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight.

Trying to stifle his feelings, the elder Winchester regains composure, offering a tight-smile. “Oh, yeah.”

“Sure? You seem…absent. Like something’s bothering you.”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” He lets out a sigh. He tries to steady the quaking in his core, letting his gaze drift across the room. Y/N scoots closer in and rests her head on his shoulder. Her hair tickles his jaw.

“If you say so…”She says with sigh, her breath fanning against his skin. Her body is warm against his, like a tepid lava flowing down his skin, soothing, therapeutic almost.

“Good job back there with nearly killing my dog, by the way. Put on quite the show.”

The elder Winchester laughs. It’s soft and feint but she can feel it in the rumble of his body beneath her head.

“Yeah, well, what can I say—I’m a sucker for theatre.”

“Are you now?”

“Oh yeah, massive fan. Plus, anything to get my story told.” Dean senses it hanging in the air like a string suspended between them, a silent question. It’s quiet for moment.  He then tips his head to glimpse down at her, a smile playing at his lips.

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

Y/N bites her smile back, a row of her chalky white teeth contrasting the burgundy on her lips, then lets it all bubble out. “Fine! You were right. Your good looks and charm won me over—there, are you happy?”

Dean doesn’t bother to try and mask his smile. “Extremely.”

“What’re you guys talking about?”

His head turns; S/P/N waddles over and pulls out a chair a few seats away, smiling as she sits down. She folds the pleats in her burgundy skirt over.

“Stuff.” Replies Y/N, head still draped against Dean’s shoulder.

“What kinda stuff?”

“Couple stuff. Dean and Y/N stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” She smirks; then Dean pokes her side and she lets out a giggle; it’s a sweet, quiet sound, like the hum of a bird or the wind wisping through the trees, and it makes the pit in the elder Winchester’s stomach from earlier yawn open.

As Y/N speaks with her sister, the elder Winchester feels a flood of melancholy coming on. He can always tell when it’s happening; it’s like watching everything around you happening at a normal pace when all of a sudden things are slowed down, sluggish, delayed. That’s what Dean feels like right now. He loathes it.

The evening is electric and dressed in a celebratory energy. More guests have arrived for the dinner, all pouring in in massive crowds and gaudy sartorial dresses. Dean has to stand when he greets them all, offering an amiable smile, the occasional hug and peck as they all fawn—oh my God, the Dean? Y/N’s Dean?

It gets annoying having to hear everybody so jubilant over meeting him, at a point. They’re excited to be meeting their sister’s boyfriend, their niece’s lover, the man whom she, too, shall bring back here to Boston in a few years to wed. To them, Dean assumes, meeting him is a gateway to another one of this sartorial dinners just a few years ahead.

To him, it’s plain insulting.

Why did he even agree to this? Playing pretend had seemed less tedious in his mind. Doing it now, the elder Winchester is wrought with negative emotions; with jealousies and blind resentments and a bitterness because he shall have anything but this future with Y/N, and God, is he pissed.

“Dean,” She says, pulling him from his reverie. Aunt Steph and good ol’ Gary sit across from them, sipping on some champagne and laughing with Y/N’s parents, and to their left is S/P/N and Japheth. Everyone is laughing and chatting and the air reeks of jubilance, except for the corner where a heavy grey cloud hangs over Dean’s head.

Y/N’s hand is on his as he turns to her, her y/e/c eyes trained intently on his. “What’s wrong?” She pries. He has to say something. Lying would only act as a catalyst for his negative emotions (lying to Y/N, at least). So, instead, Dean heaves a heavy breaths and gathers the feelings in his chest into a single nest.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He says. “I’m just trying to let this all sink in. Your family. It’s pretty overwhelming meeting all the people in your life who mean the world to you.”

“I’m sorry if this isn’t how you planned to spend the next two weeks, Dean.” Y/N’s gaze falters, moving to their hands loosely draped over each other.  

Dean’s eyes follow. He shrugs and, taking her hand in his, slowly links them together absentmindedly. Their fingers fit perfectly, like a key slipping into a lock, like a tight knot, and he tries to ignore it.

“Don’t be, Y/N.” He replies. “Besides—I’m the one who offered this in the first place. I don’t really have the luxury of complaining.”

“Should I give it to you?”

“Keep it.”

“Sure?

When Dean finally looks up, he finds Y/N’s eyes trained on him, her lips pulled back in pleasant smile. In the background, the music slows to a stop as it shifts to the next song. More upbeat, more jazzy and fun. The room’s chatter provides the perfect undertone, but Dean ignores it—all of it, because all he can focus on right now is Y/N.

His Y/N. For tonight, for two weeks.

Whatever.

He’ll take what he can get, even if it’s having the honor of playing her boyfriend for a period of time and then going back to being just her best-friend; to being her Dean and not her Dean.  Going back to a life where she sees their relationship, although intense, as nothing more than a deep friendship.

It’s only been a few hours, but it’s crazy how much can be revealed to you in such a span of time. Dean sees it now—sees Y/N and, even if he didn’t think it possible, even more of her than he already has. He sees Y/N in her element, with her family, with her friends and with a sense of mirth radiating off her…And as great as it is, all it does for him is nudge at the thought that he shall never be part of that.

They mean a lot to each other, he knows that much, but today has made him wonder if he will ever be part of Y/N’s suburban life, whether he’ll breach past their life spent in the bunker and in pages of lore and into that which holds this very idyllic essence.

The thought, daunting and unfortunately saddening, hits the elder Winchester like a ton of bricks. He immediately turns away. He rests his focus on something—anything—that isn’t Y/N smiling at him and causing an uproar in the space behind his heart.

The night simmers on, laced with laughter and chatter and smiles too bright for Dean to bare. He only watches from the sidelines, an observer, a spectator…Y/N is the center of the orbit that is the eclectic crowd. She smiles and the entire room responds with an abundance of simpers; her laugh is a mellifluous symphony overpowering the music, her eyes glint like the stars in the sky and she throws her head back and captivates the attention of everyone in the room. She reels them all in like a magnet, like she’s magic…

And to Dean she is…

She always has been and always will be. She is ethereal and glimmering and inside her is a flame and a tornado and such vehemence that would tear a mere mortal apart, but doesn’t even scratch her skin the slightest.

Y/N is magic and she will always be magic, and Dean knows this. He wishes he didn’t, but he does, and it hurts…Because the hollowness in his chest that comes from watching her so radiant makes him wonder why he said yes to the torture of being just another planet in her orbit in the first place…

~*~

The list is exceedingly long, but what stands out predominantly on the account of things they were meant to discuss before they left home (but didn’t), is the sleeping arrangement.

Standing in their hotel bedroom, the elder Winchester stares at the single bed, at the six fat pillows nested at the head and the vast comforter definitely two huge for two. It’s a lover’s suit; of course the hotel would be expecting customer’s to be doing anything but sleeping in these sheets, but Dean’s case is the exception.

Y/N is in the bathroom getting ready for bed. The sound of the shower running echoes throughout the otherwise silent room and the elder Winchester feels a small welt of nervousness claw at his belly. They’ve shared beds before. This shouldn’t be a big deal…

But…

God, he’s acting like a teenage boy with this. It’s not that hard, Dean tells himself. They can even divide it into two regions if they want, Y/N’s, and then the extremely comfy one with the extra pillow for him. They can sort this out. It doesn’t have to be awkward, eh tries to reason, but something tugs at his gut and tells him otherwise, because Dean feels all sorts of anxious.

Maybe it’s the thought of lying to sleep with her after the mortal sin they’ve just committed throughout the day: fraud. Artifice. Maybe, Dean thinks, it’s the fact that they’ll have to pretend to be together even as they lay to sleep that terrifies him maybe it’s the lover’s suit. He and Y/N are anything but. All the times they’ve slept in the same bed in the past, it’s been in dingy, itchy, sketchy motels, not five stars hotels that probably provide complimentary condoms.

He lifts the thick blanket on the bed and crawls under it, trying to get comfortable. The bed is cloud, embracing him, engulfing him into its form like it’s an amoeba and him its prey. God, this is comfy. Dean’s eyes flutter and he tips his head back in subtle ecstasy.

Right at that moment, the door to the bathroom swings open.

Y/N stomps out in pajama shorts and a towel clasped tightly to her chest, eyes wide as she glimpses around the room. Opening his eyes, Dean then ctaches her gaze.

“Sorry.” She apologizes and points to her beg at the foot of the bed. “I just need my shirt from my suitcase. Don’t look!”

“No promises.” But he doesn’t, instead covering his eyes with one hand. He hears the patter of feet and the rustling of clothes as Y/N retrieves the garment, then rushes back into the bathroom. When she returns, a moment later, this time she’s fully clothed.

“The pressure here is ace.” Y/N says, holding her fingers up in an appropriate gesture as she saunters towards the bed. She hauls her bag off and onto the floor, then climbs up, pushing the blanket aside.

“I can’t remember the last time I took a shower and didn’t want to get out.”

Dean lowers his hand and looks at her; hair wet and clinging to her skin, her face is bare, all the makeup from today washed away into the drain. A few pimples dot the surface of her cheeks and, although feint, there’s a single splatter of freckles just below her jaw line that Dean always finds himself admiring.

“That’s good to know. In other news: the sleeping arrangement. How’s this gonna work?”

“You mean top or bottom?”

“Grow up.”

Y/N’s grin never falters as she laughs. “I don’t really mind, Dean. If it bothers you, you could always take the floor.”

“I never said it bothers me…”

“Does it?”

Her eyes are staring intently into his and he’s trying too damn hard to not get caught up in them. He shouldn’t. the moment is far from appropriate. She’s basically telling him to get out of the bed and spend the night on the floor like a hound, and heaven be damned if Dean is going to let himself focus on anything but defending himself.

So he tips his head back slightly, locks his eyes on hers, and says, “Not at all.”

“Then goodnight, Winchester.” Y/N smiles, before turning the night-light off and wiggling further under the blanket.

Dean mirrors her. He slides beneath it, letting it came up to his chest and closes his eyes. He can feel the steady beat of his heart, the pulse of his blood. Sleep hovers over him like a phantom but never once dares to preside.

Minutes pass and he’s still awake. The elder Winchester fidgets, turning on his side, eyes meeting the bright glare of the moonlight invading the room. He checks his watch on the bedside table. Two am. Still up. His eyelids feel heavy and a yawn pries his mouth open, but Dean can’t sleep, and it’s an insomnia, the worst kind of insomnia, that he’s too familiar with.

He’s dabbled in it in the past; with the mark of cain and in purgatory. When he was demon, when Sam was soulless and when Cas was presumed dead. Dean knows this plague, greets it like an old friend, doesn’t even bother fighting it, but there’s no denying that it’s annoying. He wants rest—needs it. The last thing he needs right now is a visit from this phantom that keeps him up, staring at the blank ceiling.

A few seconds subside when silence is broken by hushed voice.

“Dean ar—you’re awake?” Y/N rolls over, her droopy eyes meeting his.

The elder Winchester nods silently. His eyes burn.

“How come?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You don’t know why you can’t sleep?”

“That’s what I just said.”

The sheets shift. Y/N props herself up on her elbow, looking at him, her eyes still swimming with sleep. He wonders what woke her, but remains silent as he turns to meet her gaze.

Y/N’s eyes are somber and intently set on him; there’s a weight on her heart for a moment, something that visibly bring out the worry in her gaze. “Nightmares?”

She’s been with him through all of them; all those times mentioned, all those calamites in his life, Y/N has walked through them with Dean. Consequently, she can tell when something’s up. It’s comforting for Dean to know that’s she’s so in sync with him, that they’ve got this visceral connection that alerts her when something’s up, but unfortunately now it’s a bit of a false alarm.

He shakes his head. “No. Just can’t sleep.”

“Oh…” She voices simply and within a moment the solemnity fades. Then comes the sound of the sheets shifting, Y/N sitting up and she turns on the nightlight. The warm light right away glares onto the side of his face. Dean squints, lolling his head to the side.

Y/N’s hair dangles around her face as she looks at him. “Anything I can do to help? Get a glass of water, sing you a lullaby?”

“Rock me to sleep?” He supplements.

She shrugs. “Anything.”

Then, chuckling, elder Winchester turns away and allows his gaze to float back to the ceiling. y/N continues to speak in the background, going on about the day and tomorrow and how everything’s going to go down so that everything turns out as planned. She’s notified Sam already, apparently. Unlike Dean, he won’t have to do much besides be himself and distract Marilyn for the weekend…

But for Dean, Y/N proclaims, it’s going to be a long two weeks: he’s going to have to do a lot more than he’d anticipated; more work, more fraud. For the following days he must wear his disguise as though it is anything but…and the funny thing? Dean knows it’s going to be elementary…

Because they can only get so much closer.

Because they, before today, already spent nights in bed chatting about everything and anything that came to mind; because he already used to walk inches close to her and comb his fingers through her hair and laugh and feel (God, did he feel), and so maybe this is going to be a walk in the park. Maybe it will be easy, Dean thinks—until he’s reminded of earlier at dinner and the gaping hole in his chest.

                                                       ~*~*~

Part 4

If you enjoyed this, feel free to like, reblog and follow for updates, as well as to read some of my other oneshots. Thank you for the support <3