Hi :)) could I request a Dean x reader where they both have feelings for each other, but Dean refuses to act on them because he believes that everyone he loves ends up dead. One night after a long hunt, Dean carries a sleepy (Y/N) up to her room, tucking her in, but when he goes to leave she asks him to stay. So he does and in doing so, he realizes that he’s been an idiot because he wants to spend the rest of his life with the girl in his arms.
A/N: This request is so friggin’ cute, thanks to whoever send it in :)
The moment the last vamp dropped you could feel your adrenaline wearing off, fatigue quickly taking its place. You flicked the blood from your machete, watching the as the little red splatters flew to the dirt ground. It was one of those strangely haunting moments after a hunt, the time that should be filled with congrats and slaps on the back, but instead was filled with silence and the thought that you’d just slaughtered six living things. Monsters though they’d been, it was still a bit painful, knowing what you could do, knowing how easy it could be.
A small yawn escaped your lips. It was really no surprise you were tired, you hadn’t slept for a near 48 hours, wanting to push through the hunt as quickly as possible. Hunts alone were exhausting and you were really starting to pay for those missing hours of sleep.
Dean and Sam’s footsteps echoed behind you, you’re unspoken signal to pack up and head out. The three of you walked in silence, pausing at the Impala to pass a ‘good job’ back and forth. Dean gave you a small smile, his eyes crinkling in the way you’d just be wrong not to love, pulling your door open for you before moving to the driver’s seat.
You slid in to the back, the feeling of soft leather beneath your fingers and back helping relax your limbs. The sound of the Impala starting up, a familiar purring, filled your ears and you let yourself smile quickly, tucking yourself further in to your seat. The hairs on your arms started to stick up as you continued down the road, the temperature lowering in the back of the car where the heaters delayed. You felt a shiver run down your spine, jolting you in your seat.
“Here, Y/N,” You felt something soft and warm cover you, your eyes opening just slightly to see Dean’s jacket covering you from your neck to your knees. His smell wrapped around you, the smell of cheap whiskey a drug store cologne, the same one you’d come to associate with home and with love. You gave him a small smile, hoping he’d be able to see it in the dim light, and hoping that maybe, just maybe he’d see all the bigger feelings stacked up behind it.
“Thank you,” The interior of the Impala started to fuzz as you closed your eyes, the thoughts of green eyes and dark blonde hair slowly taking over your mind.
Her soft lips turned up in a smile, eyes fluttering shut as she thanked him, words quiet and sleepy. He watched her in the mirror for a moment, her breath rising and falling beneath his jacket, her lips parted slightly.
Sam slapped him, pointing towards the road.
“Dude, stare at her at home, getting all of us killed in a car crash isn’t going to help you confess your feelings,” Dean glared, his gaze reluctantly going back to the dark asphalt. Y/N was a much better sight no matter what Sam said.
“Shut up, Sam, she’s sleeping, not deaf,” Dean hissed, earning an eye roll from Sam as his little brother slumped back in the passenger seat.
“Oh come on, you’ve liked her for how long now? Four months? Five? Dean, she’s not stupid, she’ll figure it out on her own if you don’t just man up enough to tell her,” Dean scoffed.
“Man up enough to tell her? This isn’t about manning up.”
“Right, right, I forgot. This is about how you break everything you touch or whatever.”
“Shut up, Sam.”
“Well guess what Dean, you’re not some weepy, brooding teenager, you’re an adult. At least you’re supposed to be.”
“I said shut up, Sam,”
“I know you hate talking about things, but hear me out-” Dean tuned him out. He’d gotten pretty good at it over the years, ignoring the ramblings of his touchy-feely little brother. Sometimes it would be about their parents, sometimes about their life, or their past, or god forbid girls. If Dean had a dollar for every time Sam had gone off about his feeling for Y/N, well he’d have about five months worth of dollars.
It was the same thing every time too, something about how Dean was being a child or being whiny, or this, or that. And maybe Dean was being whiny or childish or whatever, but in the end his brother was wrong. Dean wasn’t scared of breaking Y/N, he was scared of killing her.
Everyone Dean had ever loved had died. His mother, his father, Bobby, Sam a few times, Jo, Ellen, the list went on and on. All of their deaths, every single one of them, on his shoulders. He couldn’t watch Y/N go too. He couldn’t hurt anyone else, especially not her. So if that was Dean brooding then so be it. He would come to terms with acting like a child if it meant Y/N was safe.
He glanced back at her then, her figure curled up beneath his jacket, tucked against the seat and the car door. He smiled to himself, wondering if maybe he lied hard enough he’d be able to say it was enough just being her friend.
He knew that wasn’t true of course, but he drove on silently anyways, his thoughts and his brother’s continuous rambling slowly eating away at him.
You flickered in and out of sleep on the way back, catching bits and pieces of words and conversations. The thing that hooked you was how persistent Sam was, you knew he tended to go off on his own little tangents, rants about how unhealthy you and Dean ate, or about how the Lord Of The Rings truly were the superior books, and every time you’d ignore him, opting to make faces with Dean, mouthing insults across the room, but this tie was different. This time it was a bout you.
“I swear it’s like you try your hardest to make yourself unhappy-” You smiled to yourself, wondering why you were dreaming about Sam judging Dean’s life choices. Probably because it happened all the time, but it was strange you were dreaming about Sam judging Dean’s life choices involving you.
Sure you’d dreamed about Dean, more times then you could count, but that was different. In your dreams it was always about his lips on yours, his arms wrapped around you, hands running down your waist, him cupping your cheek as he smiled against you, legs tangled together. It was never Sam yelling at him about his feelings.
“You think you’re just doing the best for people but-” You shrugged as Sam continued on. The conversation became more and more choppy, darkness overwhelming you once again.
Sam finally stopped talking when they reached the bunker, his head perched on his hand as he stared around the inside of the garage. Dean pulled the keys from the ignition, giving a yawn as he pushed open the driver’s door.
“Should we wake her up?” Sam asked, his eyebrows raised as he gestured to the back seat. Dean smiled, looking through the window. He shook his head.
“No, she hasn’t slept the past few nights. I can carry her in,” Dean gave his brother a small wave towards the bunker. “You should go get some sleep your self,” Sam smiled, understanding the love behind Dean’s words even if Dean hadn’t quite understood himself.
“Sure man, just don’t stay up too late yourself okay? You’re not invincible,” With that Sam walked in to the bunker, his foot steps echoing off the high walls.
Dean untangled Y/N from his coat and the seat belt, pulling her out of the car as gently as he could manage. She was cold against his arms, the warmth from his jacket gone, and he held her up, one arm beneath her legs, the other around her back. He ran his finger tips against her arm as he walked from the garage, trying to share his own heat with her.
She stirred in his arms as he started down the silent bunker halls, smiling as she turned closer in to his chest, her hands tangling in his shirt. God she was adorable. Dean pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, savoring the few seconds he was getting with her. Because no matter how brave Dean could be standing in front of a monster, or a ghost, the thing he would always be best at would be playing hide and seek with his feelings. Never quite getting to the point of pushing them out of that dark little corner where they stayed hidden.
Maybe he’d admit them to her someday, long after his blood had turned to alcohol, liquid courage being the only thing that truly promised he’d ever utter those three simple words. Eight letters long and still so terrifying.
Instead he just held her, telling himself with a little time he’d burn this out, even when all he really wanted was the taste that her lips would allow.
You started to wake up at the sound of humming. The thump of Dean’s heart and warm chest beneath your cheek. You nestled closer to him, your hands wrapping in the fabric of his shirt. The tune made you smile, audible notes of Hey Jude filling the air. It was strange to hear him singing something other than a classic rock song. He’d told you once his mother had always sung the song to him, The Beatles being one of her favorite bands.
His humming stopped as his walking did, the noise of him opening a door replacing them. The thought made you sad, knowing what it meant. It meant that this moment was over, the moment of you and Dean. In the morning you’d still be just friends and neither of you would talk about this. One of you thinking the other was asleep, one knowing the other would never be open to think anything else.
For a moment you agreed with Sam. Not with his calling Dean childish, but with knowing Dean would never admit his feelings. Dean keeping quiet about them didn’t mean he was childish at all, you knew better than that. Dean was scared. Both of you were scared, not wanting to tell the other what they really felt.
And you knew that neither of you would ever say a word of your feelings. You’d live in a shared silence of the truth, your platonic friendship killing anything else. You’d never been good at that stuff, neither had Dean, and still somewhere in your sleep riddled mind you told yourself now would be the good time to speak up.
Soft covers tucked around you, a warm hand sweeping back the stray hairs from your face.
“Night Y/N,” Dean whispered, his lips pressing to your hairline. You could feel it as he moved away, the sound of his boots moving along the wooden floor.
“Dean,” You hoped he’d heard you, hoped you had actually said the name of the man you’d been in love with for weeks, not just dreaming it as you always seemed to do.
“Yeah?” His reply came back just as quiet and your breath caught in your chest for a moment.
“Will you stay?” There was no reply, only the deafening silence from the other side of the room. Then the soft scuff of boots as they dropped to the floor and bed springs creaking as another person climbed in next to you.
He almost didn’t stay. He nearly wasted the one moment he’d been thinking about for the past five months because maybe, possibly, just by chance someone could get hurt. Deep down Dean thought he just might understand he wasn’t the reason the people he loved had died. His love wasn’t poisonous, or deadly, it was just love.
Dean finally started to realize that as he let his boots drop to the floor. He let himself crawl beneath the blankets next to her, let himself wrap his arms around her, let himself smile when she tangled her legs with his, her feet still cold even despite the blankets. For the first time since he was four, Dean let himself be loved.