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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 11 months

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Taken for Granted - Part One

Summary: Having had his share of dangerous situations and close calls in Houston, this was meant to be the start of a quieter, slower life for Beau, Y/N and their daughter. Taking the job as Acting Sheriff in Helena, Montana, was a dream come true until Beau starts to spend far too much time with Jenny Hoyt, in and out of the office. At first, Y/N doesn’t mind too much, but one night Beau misses his daughter’s hockey tryouts and phone calls in favour of shooting tequila in a bar with his co-worker, and Y/N isn’t sure if she’s being taken for granted or if something bigger is going on that she needs to worry about.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Female Reader

Warnings: Meet cute, flirting, angst, mentions of injuries, arguments, language, accusations of cheating.

Bingo Square: Free Space for @j3bingo

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is my first submission on my @j3bingo card. It was beat’d by the lovely @writethelifeyouwant and is my first Beau fic! I hope you enjoy! 💖

Being married to a police officer wasn’t easy, and Y/N knew that. She’d lost count of the number of promises she’d made throughout her younger years that she would never fall for a cop, and so in true Y/N fashion she did, in fact, fall for a cop.

She was from a police family; her grandpa, dad, and brothers had all felt the calling, and she knew they were disappointed that she didn’t follow the same path. It was like she wasn’t ‘one of them’ because she didn’t wear a badge and carry a gun, and their relationship became tense and strained.

Then she met Beau Arlen.

Finally, her family saw her differently. She became the hero because it was the stronger person that sent their loved one off with a goodbye kiss every morning, not knowing if they’d come home.

“So, uh… I’d really like to see you again. Take you on a date,” Officer Arlen had said after questioning her about the brawl that broke out in the bar where her friend’s bachelorette party was in full swing.

“Have they changed the rules about cops dating witnesses, Officer Arlen?” Y/N smirked.

“You’ve corroborated what fifty other people in this bar saw, but you didn’t see enough to be an official witness,” Beau explained.

“I don’t do cops,” she replied, trying to sound uninterested and not fall for his boyish charm and infuriatingly handsome face.

“I’m not asking you to “do” me, Miss Y/L/N, I’m asking you to go on a date with me,” the officer smirked, and she rolled her eyes.

“I don’t date cops,” Y/N changed her wording, trying to make him give up and leave her alone.

“Why, you got a problem with authority or something?” Beau was grinning. She knew he was flirting with her, and although he was cute and she was tempted, Y/N knew the second he found out the truth about her, he would run for the hills.

“You have no idea who I am, do you, Officer Arlen?” Y/N said, chuckling when he looked like he was searching through a Rolodex in his brain.

“Well, ma’am, I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I’d hooked up with a woman as beautiful as you. In fact, if we’d hooked up, I would never have let you go, so it’s not that.” Beau was teasing and she knew it. She’d have already gone home with him if he had any other career.

“You really have no idea who I am?” Y/N asked again, more seriously this time.

“Should I?” he replied, his tone matching her seriousness for the first time since he’d questioned her about the fight.

“Huh… I’m surprised my face isn’t ingrained in y’alls memories at training,” she mused. “My father is Joe Y/L/N, Chief of Police.” Now if that didn’t get this guy to back off, nothing would, Y/N thought.

“Is that meant to scare me away, or…?” Beau let his question hang in the air, and she had to admit, his complete indifference to who her father was–who her family were–only made him more appealing to her.

“When most guys find out who my father is and that I have three brothers on the force, they usually run a mile in the other direction.”

“I’m not most guys, darlin’.” Beau’s charming smile was obnoxious. And intoxicating. And stunning. “So, how about that date?”

Already on her way to falling for him, Y/N agreed to a date, and they’d been together ever since. They got married two years later, just before he was made detective, and she’d been by his side every step he climbed in the ranks of Houston P.D. Three years into their marriage, Y/N gave birth to their daughter, Maisie.

Growing up as she had, Y/N was well aware of the risks being a cop came with, but Beau took it to a completely new level. He was always going against protocol, putting himself in dangerous situations and taking unnecessary risks.

The worst incident had been when he ran after two armed robbers without waiting for backup. He caught one of them, but just as he handcuffed him and read him his rights, the other thief turned and fired. He’d been incredibly lucky that the bullet only hit his clavicle. If it had landed an inch to the left, it would’ve got his carotid artery and killed him.

Six months back on the job he did the exact same thing: chased down two armed drug dealers without any backup. Both perps opened fire this time, and it was a miracle he hadn’t been shot again.

They’d had the worst argument of their entire relationship after that, leading to Y/N not speaking to him for days. She felt it was more than justified because he’d been seriously wounded less than a year before and gone through several surgeries and weeks of physiotherapy. Not to mention Maisie was only four years old and Y/N really didn’t want to tell their daughter that her daddy wasn’t coming home.

Two weeks later and still in the midst of a silent standoff, Beau had tried to tell her that a dangerous operation to take down the biggest drug kingpin in Houston was going down that day. Y/N remained silent as she packed Maisie’s lunch for kindergarten and at his insistence that they talk about things, she’d responded pettily as she lifted Maisie out of Beau’s arms and made to leave for the day.

“I’d say be careful, but you and I both know you don’t know the meaning of the word,” Y/N spat at him.

“Darlin’, please,” Beau had sighed, defeated but knowing he kinda deserved it. Even he knew he’d been stupid chasing after armed suspects without waiting for backup. Twice.

“At least this time, try to remember you have a daughter and a wife at home and to not get yourself nearly killed.”

Beau didn’t make it to the precinct that morning. A dirty cop on the task force had told the cartel boss what was going down, and Beau had been attacked and kidnapped from a gas station as he’d filled the car on his way to work. He’d been held hostage, tortured, and beaten for four days.

When they finally found him, he’d been at death’s door. Lucky to be alive, all of the doctors had said. The first time they let Y/N in to see him after they’d run their tests and stitched him up, the sight of her husband’s broken and beaten body almost killed her.

Watching her sob at his bedside, Beau had tried to calm her down, but the guilt she had over their fight, over what her last words to him were, and the fear that she’d almost lost him—again—was too strong. She couldn’t even hug him for fear that she’d hurt him more.

All night she’d sat by his bedside, watching him sleep, thankful for everything she still had and grateful he’d fought so hard to stay alive for her and Maisie.

The next morning, they’d agreed to never go to bed, or leave the house angry at each other, again. It’d been too much of a close call, and they both knew they’d never forgive themselves if the worst had happened and they hadn’t been speaking.

After his first dose of morphine for the day, when Beau no longer felt like he’d been hit by a bus, he encouraged Y/N to curl up with him on the uncomfortable hospital bed, giving both of them the comfort and affection they’d missed for the past few weeks.

That promise to never go to work or bed angry at each other lasted for eleven years. Yes, they argued and had disagreements, and more than once they’d gone to bed or about their days hurling a rather aggressive “I love you” at the other, but they’d never left the other in any doubt that they still loved and cared for the other.

Until now.

This was the sixth night in a row Y/N had gone to bed alone, and just as many days she’d woken up that way too. Beau had told her that moving to Montana would make it better, that he wouldn’t work as long hours or have as many dangerous encounters as he’d had in Houston. At first, he had been right.

The first few months in Helena had been great. Beau was home in time for dinner every night, and they had breakfast as a family every morning. He didn’t even have a close call once a week, never mind several times a day. By all accounts, in those first couple of months, being Acting Sheriff in Helena, Montana, had been everything Beau and Y/N had hoped for.

Then he started working longer hours and responding to calls a sheriff should be sending his deputies to. Not to mention Beau would attend those calls with an officer who wasn’t even his partner. An officer he was currently in a bar with; drinking tequila, singing karaoke, and posing for pictures with, according to her social media. And so, once again, Y/N had gone to bed alone.

The sound of the shower running roused Y/N from sleep, and she glanced at the alarm clock. Frowning at the late hour, she turned on her back and set her gaze on the ceiling as she waited for the water to shut off.

It felt like an hour, but she knew it was only a few minutes later that Beau emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his damp hair with a towel.

“It’s a little late for a shower,” Y/N stated, making Beau jump, clearly startled she was awake.

“Jesus, darlin’, you scared the crap outta me!” Beau chuckled. “Did I wake you?”

“You were having a shower at three in the morning, Beau, of course you woke me.” Y/N’s voice was filled with irritation that she knew he’d be able to pick up on.

“I’m sorry, baby. It was a later night than I planned. Thought I’d save some time by showering now instead of the morning.” Beau carelessly threw his damp towel onto the bathroom floor and walked towards the bed, completely naked and standing at half-mast.

Normally, the sight of him naked and hard would have her salivating and pouncing on him the second he lay down, but not tonight. Tonight, she couldn’t help but visualise Jenny on her knees sucking him off. She didn’t know where the unwelcome image came from, she knew he wouldn’t cheat on her… or at least she used to know that.

Logically, Y/N also knew that the fact he was hardening with every step he took meant that that kind of activity hadn’t been happening while he was out, but she was hurt and confused and still half asleep. And men did not drink tequila in bars with other women all night and then come home at three o’clock in the morning and jump straight into the shower if they’d been faithful now, did they?

“I’m surprised you’re walking in a straight line. It looked like quite the party you and Jenny were having to yourselves.” The irritation in Y/N’s tone had increased tenfold since she last spoke.

“It wasn’t that kinda night, what with Jenny’s mom being in the wind again.” Beau frowned, and the fact that he was playing the night down hurt even more and made her exhausted with the whole situation.

“Huh,” Y/N huffed. “Social media really must be all smoke and mirrors after all because she didn’t look too beat up about it in the photos. In fact, it looked like you two were having a great time shooting tequila and singing karaoke, looking all cosy together,” she spat and turned her back on him.

“Y/N,” Beau sighed.

“I need to get some sleep. I promised Maisie I’d get her to school early tomorrow so she can pick up her uniform before her first practice with the senior hockey team.”

“Maisie made the team?” The pride in her husband’s voice made her smile for the briefest of seconds until she remembered she and their daughter were mad at him right now.

“Yes, which you’d have known if you’d come to the game tonight instead of going out drinking, or if you’d picked up any one of your daughter’s eight calls. You know, she was really upset that she couldn’t get a hold of you, Beau.”

“Great,” he said as he slid a large, warm palm over her waist, and she shivered at his touch. “I’ve upset both my girls.”

“All for Jenny and some tequila. I hope she was worth it, Beau, because I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“Y/N, come on,” he pleaded, “it was just a few drinks.”

“For the fourth time this week. And until three in the morning again. I haven’t physically spoken to you since Friday, and the only reason we’re talking right now is because you woke me up. You know, all these late nights with another woman are starting to throw up all sorts of red flags, Beau.” Y/N said angrily as she turned to look at him.

“You know I’d never,” Beau’s firm voice and clenched jaw almost made her back down but he needed to know. He needed to hear this.

“Do I?” she scoffed. “Jenny isn’t even your partner, and yet you go on every case with her while her actual partner does what, huh? Sits at his desk and throws a football across the bullpen to his buddies? You’re the sheriff, for crying out loud, Beau! You don’t need to go out on even half of those calls! And then when your shift is over, the two of you run off to whatever dive bar you can find on the outskirts of town where no one knows you, and you can practically grope each other all night and-”

“Y/N, I’m gonna stop you right there. There is nothing going on with me and Jenny, okay? We’re just friends. And she’s going through a tough time right now,” Beau tried to explain, but Y/N scoffed again and pretended not to notice that Beau was looking quite hurt that she doubted him.

“And tell me, Beau… would you believe that bullshit excuse if it was me, huh? What would be running through your mind if I was out drinking with a co-worker, singing karaoke, pulling him into hugs, playing with his hair and getting up close and personal with him?

“What would you think about that co-worker posting what looks like incredibly intimate photos on social media, knowing you could see them? Our daughter could see them? That the whole town could see them?” Y/N paused and showed him her phone.

She watched intently as he scrolled through the photos Jenny had posted with her arms around him, her head on his shoulder, her gazing up at him like he was the goddamn messiah. She watched as his face paled with the realisation of what those photos—particularly the last one—looked like.

“And what would you think if I came home from a night out, where there were photos of me and another man, who was “just a friend” like that,” she pointed at the photo of him and Jenny, his arm around her shoulder and his head resting on hers, one of her arms was around his waist, and her other hand resting on his chest, both smiling softly like they didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“What if I ignored all of your and our daughter’s calls, and when I finally came home, I went straight into the shower at three o’clock in the morning.”

“Y/N, I know what it looks like,” Beau tried to explain, but she couldn’t. Not right now. If she didn’t hit this home, he wouldn’t know just how much it had upset her.

“See, I don’t think you do. Not really. Because if it was me, you’d think showering so late meant that I was trying to get rid of the evidence of being with another man. You’re a good cop, Beau. A great one, even. So I find it really hard to believe that you wouldn’t think that. And that you wouldn’t have realised that things were getting far too close in there.

“And if something like this happened when we were still in Texas, you’d have ended the night right away and came home to your wife… or maybe that’s it. Maybe without my dad and brothers having eyes and ears everywhere, you’re finally free to do what and who you want!”

Y/N threw the duvet off her body and sat up on the bed. Dragging her pillow with her, she stood and walked across the room.

“Baby, where are you going?” Beau asked, and she could hear the regret in his tone.

“Anywhere that’s not here. I don’t want to be anywhere near you right now.”

Y/N barely slept a wink, and she knew her agitation was hard to hide in the morning. As she prepared the coffee machine, every drawer and cabinet door was closed a little more firmly than usual, and she seemed to have developed a fondness for huffing very loudly at inanimate objects.

“Did Dad even come home last night?” Maisie asked as she entered the kitchen. Y/N wanted to scold her daughter for her impertinence, but even she couldn’t deny that it was a fair question. He hadn’t been here when they’d gone to bed or woken up for the better part of a week. For all either of them knew, he hadn’t been home at all in that time.

“Hey!” Beau’s raised voice carried through the kitchen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh!” Maisie exclaimed dramatically, “So that’s what you look like. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you that I was starting to forget.” Her sarcastic grin was uncannily like her mother’s, and it simultaneously made Beau’s chest burst with pride and broke his heart.

Y/N raised her eyebrows in surprise. Maisie had always been a daddy’s girl, and the fact that she was giving him a hard time was proof of how hurt she was too. Beau looked to Y/N, his expression begging her for some backup. Instead, she shrugged and carried on packing Maisie’s lunch, making it clear that this time, he was on his own.

“I know I haven’t been around much, baby girl, and I’m gonna change that, okay?” Beau said softly, sighing when Maisie scowled at him.“Mom said you made the team! I’m so proud of you, Maze,” he smiled, trying to defuse the tension building in the room.

“Where were you?” Maisie asked, tears welling in her green eyes, looking more vulnerable and hurt than Y/N ever wanted to see her daughter, and it made her even angrier.

“I’m sorry I missed the game–” Beau started but was interrupted by a scoff from his daughter.

“I’m not mad that you missed the game, Dad. You always miss stuff like that because of work,” she explained quietly. “But you always answer my calls, and last night you didn’t. So, where were you?”

��I… I was–” Beau struggled to figure out what the best thing to do was. Lie and hope Y/N didn’t rat him out or tell the truth and upset his girls even more than he already had.

“Your dad caught a case late last night. He was at the scene when you were calling, and by the time he got back to the station, he knew you’d be asleep,” Y/N answered for him, and Beau had never been more grateful to her for covering for him.

“Are you ready, honey? We need to get moving if you don’t want to be late for your first practice,” Y/N said and watched as Maisie smiled for the first time since dinner last night.

“Yeah, let’s go. Bye, Dad!” Maisie jumped off the stool and rounded the kitchen, hugging Beau before heading out to the driveway.

“Thank you,” Beau said quietly, stopping abruptly as Y/N raised a finger to stop him talking.

“Don’t you dare thank me for lying to our daughter. And don’t ever expect me to do it again. I did it to protect her, not you. If she finds out the reason you missed her game and didn’t answer her calls was to go out drinking, you will break her heart.

“You get this one for free. Next time… and I swear to God, there better not be a next time, but if there is? You are on your own. I won’t save you.” The venom in Y/N’s voice made him flinch. He’d never felt worse than he did right now, and he swore to himself that he’d never make his wife so angry again.

“It’s not just me you’re hurting here, Beau.”

Y/N picked up her purse and stormed out the front door, not stopping to kiss him or say goodbye; just gone.

And Beau didn’t blame her in the slightest.

P art Two>>

Tags: @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @leigh70 @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @candy-coated-misery0731 @mrsjenniferwinchester

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

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Nightingale Chapter Eleven - Do You Like My Boots?

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Eleven: Do You Like My Boots?

Word Count: 4612

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

Masterlist

Nightingale Masterlist

It was snowing by the time you and Jensen pulled up to his little place in the mountains. It was absolutely massive. A perfect balance of rustic materials and modern design. Thick, interlocked logs stained dark, local stones perfectly stacked made up numerous fireplaces. A covered deck wrapped around the entire first floor and jutted out over a stunning vista. Century old pine trees surrounded the property, standing guard against anyone who dared invade the peace and privacy.

You were still gawking when Jensen opened your door and offered you his hand. “This is your cabin in the woods?”

“It’s great, isn’t it?” he beamed as he led you up the steps to the front door. He set down your shared suitcase and entered the access code.

A few lights automatically came on when you entered, casting a warm, welcoming glow. The house was made up of large, sweeping spaces anchored by thick area rugs and massive pieces of rustic furniture. Tooled leather, hardwood floors, elk antlers recycled as chandeliers. Every part of it was over-sized, warm, and inviting. If the state of Texas designed a house, this would be it.

“I love this place, been coming up here for years but can never seem to get enough of it.” Jensen said taking your coat and hanging it beside his.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” you breathed, slowly walking into the vaulted entryway.

The staircase was a masterful piece of iron scrollwork and cedar that led to the second floor. There was a balcony that looked out over the living room and faced an entire wall of windows.

“Come on,” Jensen said, pulling you further into the house. “You’ve got to see this view.”

It was a postcard. Rugged, jutting mountains peaked with white. Countless acres of untouched wilderness where mother nature could run free. Thousands of blue spruce pines already dusted with snow that fell in thick flakes. It was majestic in a way that made you feel honored just to witness it.

“What do you think?” he came up and wrapped his arms around you from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, and he whispered in you ear, “Will it do?”

You leaned back into him, your hands on top of his, “Its beautiful, how’d you ever find the strength to leave?”

“It’s harder every time, that’s for sure.”

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, just watching the snow coming steadily down and coat the world in a pristine, ivory white. A blissful piece of paradise created itself around the two in the quiet.

“There’s a hot tub here.”

“Oh?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

You turned in his arms and faced him, “You expect me to skinny dip in the snow?”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll keep you warm,” he kissed you slow and deep.

“Mmm,” you hummed. “You’re off to a solid start.”

“What do you say I give you the grand tour and then we get a fire going and watch the snow? Settle in the for the night.”

“I thought you already had a fire going,” you teased.

“When it comes to you, I do,” he said with a wink. “Now, come on. Let me show you the rest of the place before you distract me completely.”

You would distract him several times before he relented and built the promised blaze in the huge hearth in the great room. Making love in front of a fire while a snowstorm howled outside was well used trope in countless paperbacks. And you could now attest, it lived up to the hype. The intimacy of it was stunning. Nothing and no one else existed outside of that space.

You laid there in the nest of blankets and pillows Jensen built for the two of you. No sounds except for the crackling logs and the steady beating of his heart under your ear. He held you close, lazily trailing his fingers up and down your back while you traced patterns on his chest. Contentment fell over you as he brushed a kiss over your forehead.

“I can’t tell you how many times I fantasized about this,” he confessed in a low voice. “First time I saw this fireplace, I knew it would be perfect.”

“You’ve never had a sleepover in here before?”

“Never had the right girl for a sleepover.”

“Oh, I thought it was because this cabin belongs to Jared.”

He pulled back to look at you, “You knew?”

You propped your chin up on his chest to meet his gaze, “There are a ton of pictures of the Padaleckis all over this house. And there are kids toys in the loft.”

“Could be my toys.”

“Yeah, yeah. So long as he doesn’t mind us having earth shattering sex on his living room rug.”

Jensen grinned, looking justifiably smug, “It was good, wasn’t it?”

You felt your cheeks heat up in spite of yourself. “Ten out of ten.”

“Actually, I gave Jared this house. Wedding present.”

“Wow! Was every other gift on the registry taken?”

“No, not like that. This was a rental property for a long time. We discovered it in the early days of Supernatural, and we loved it. So rather than go home during our breaks, we’d drive up here. Bring up a few other people, play around, ski.”

“Bachelor life?” You asked, laying your head back down on his chest.

“Bachelor life,” he confirmed. “Anyway, after a couple of years, it came up for sale. We both wanted it, we’re both competitive as hell so we got into this bidding war. Then Gen came along. When he told me he was going to propose, I withdrew my offer so he could buy it.”

“That’s what best friends are for.”

“You got it. They haven’t been up here as much with the kids and all, they just get busy. I was actually spent three months here this past summer by myself. Thought it would be a little lonely, but it was great.”

You were thoughtful as the fire crackled. You’d already put two and two together, but this would be the first time you were going to broach what you knew was a sore subject. You didn’t want to cause him any pain, but if this relationship was going to go anywhere, it was important to discuss it.

“Was that after your divorce?”

“I was wondering if you were ever going to ask me about that.”

His hand resumed it soothing motion up and down your back. You realized that it was as comforting for him as it was for you.

“Maddy mentioned it, but I didn’t want to push you. You can talk to me about it if you want, but you don’t have to. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy thing to go through.”

He fell silent for a moment; the fire crackling and the wind were the only sounds in the vast space. When he finally spoke, he sounded older. And tired.

“Her name is Danneel. We were both in the industry and had know each other for years. Dated off and on, but nothing big. One day, she turned up at a network party in L.A. and something was just different. Jared had been dating Gen for a while and things were getting serious and I started looking at women in a different light.”

“You were looking to settle down?”

“Not quite, but a lot of my buddies were getting hitched. I knew I wanted a family of my own one day, so I started taking dating more seriously. And there was pressure from the studio, talk about my image and all that.”

“That really happens?”

“It’s just part of what comes with being the lead on a successful show. Jared was under the same microscope. There isn’t really talk about marriage and kids specifically, but Jare and I are close and that plays well with the Winchester brothers vibe. It all works together. Then Jared and Gen get together, a beautiful couple, a beautiful wedding. It put this weird kind of spotlight on my bachelorhood. All of the sudden the execs are asking about when I’m going down the aisle.”

You frowned at that. “So, you didn’t get married for love?”

“No.”

He felt you stiffen at that, and he was sorry for it. He didn’t want to upset you, but he needed to be honest, with you and with himself.

“I loved her; I really did. But I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on it and looking back I can see it clear. I didn’t feel the way you should feel about the woman you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.” He brushed his fingers through your hair, hoping you would understand.

“I wanted a family. The time seemed right, Jared was getting on with his life too. It wasn’t lighting bolts and earthquakes, but we matched up in a certain way. And I thought it could work. I did everything I could to make it work.”

You could hear the pain still there under the surface. No one goes into a marriage thinking it will end badly. Its that famous road paved with good intentions. Even though the end of that relationship obviously made way for yours, you still felt heartsick for him.

“So, what happened?”

“It was clear pretty early on that we wanted completely different things out of life. She’s a city girl, I love the country. She likes parties and the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. I live for the work but could easily do without the rest.” He let out a bark of a laugh, “Hell, she never even came up here. Hates the snow.”

“Her loss.”

“Yeah, and with my work schedule months would pass before we saw each other. When I did go back to Austin, it was like coming home to a stranger. She just didn’t have any interest in bridging that gap. Then with Supernatural ending, I thought we could fix things. Maybe start over. Have that family we both wanted… I thought we both wanted. I took the red eye flight to surprise her for her birthday. Turns out she surprised me, walked in on her with a buddy of mine.”

Your heart broke for him. You found his hand and brushed a kiss across his knuckles, “I’m so sorry.”

“I turned right around and walked out. Filed for divorce the next day and came up here to try and get my head around it. God bless Jared, he dropped in a few times to make sure I was still alive and not talking to squirrels.”

“I’m glad he was there for you.”

“You know that day on the lake he told me that the whole divorce and everything that led up to it was making way for something better. And I was so stuck in my own misery that I couldn’t imagine a way out. Then there you were, paddling that kayak across the water and I thought… look at that gorgeous girl! I’ll never have a chance with a woman like that if I don’t get my head out of my ass.”

His gaze caught yours and held. The depth of emotion there hit you square in the heart and your eyes grew damp. His fingers brushed your cheekbones and jaw, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

“When I pulled you out of that water and you weren’t breathing… I was terrified. I’ve never prayed so hard in all my life. Then you opened those big, blue eyes. God, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.” He took a ragged breath, even thinking about that day made his heart clench.

“All these years, I’ve been trying so hard to make something work that was wrong from the jump because I figured that was as good as it was going to get. Jared kept telling me that I deserved better, but there was always this part of me that didn’t believe it. Especially after the divorce.”

It was the first time he’d said it aloud. It wasn’t an easy thing to admit, even to himself. Hollywood wasn’t an ideal place for one to struggle with self-confidence. But he was an actor, and after a while he slipped into his public persona just like he would any other role. In private, it was a different matter. He may have been married, but there was always a lack of intimacy on a certain level that eroded his self-worth. He didn’t realize how much damage had been done until he met you.

“He’s always been a cock-eyed optimist. But he was right, there was something better coming my way. You’ve made me a believer, Y/N. Happy endings, true love, all of it. Rainbows and all. I’m here for it because every day I have with you is the best day of my life.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he swiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb, “Don’t cry, Sweetheart. I didn’t tell you that to make you cry.”

“It’s the only reasonable response,” you smiled though the tears and kissed him sweetly twice before resting your forehead against his.

“You are so incredible. You’re kind and you’re generous. You’ve got this huge heart and you put it into everything you do. To still do that after it was so badly broken, takes guts. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. Completely and totally. Every day. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you never doubt it again.”

You meant it, and you spent the rest of the night showing him just how much.

The next day, Jensen suggested a trip into town. There was a cute, little boutique-like village just down the mountain with all kinds of shops and cafes that he was certain you’d love. Not to mention that the two of you had depleted the cabin’s supply of whiskey and Jensen was adamant that no soak in the hot tub would be complete without it.

You showered and changed for the day. Opting for thermal leggings and a long, belted sweater in a sophisticated ivory. You pulled your hair into a ponytail and brushed a bit of make up across your face. Pleased with your reflection, you pulled on your boots and jogged downstairs thinking you’d find Jensen in the kitchen.

The first floor was deserted, but you heard a scraping sound just out the back door. Peering through the windows, you saw him shoveling snow off the deck. There was a big pile of it that must have slid down from the roof during the night. He was making quick work of it. The deck wrapped around the entire house and was nearly cleared off thanks to Jensen’s efforts.

He didn’t even notice when you quietly stepped outside with him. He just kept his rhythm, filling his shovel and tossing the contents over the railing. Something about this moment struck you. Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you took out your phone. He had promised a soak in the jacuzzi today. The jacuzzi that had been buried during the storm. So, he likely came out to get it ready for you and decided to do the whole damn deck. Because that was who he was. A hard-working guy with a heart of gold who kept his promises.

When he finally completed his task, he turned and found you recording him with your phone. He cocked an eyebrow and pulled off one work glove with his teeth.

“Well, it ain’t gonna shovel itself.”

You laughed and wrapped your arms up around Jensen’s neck, “You didn’t have to do the whole thing.”

“Hey, nothing’s too good for my baby,” he said with a quick kiss and a smack on the ass. You squealed in surprise and giggled as he headed into the house to change.

Jensen was right, the mountain town was adorable. He took you in a few of his favorite shops, including an outer wear clothing store and a whiskey tasting room. While he picked out a good selection of bottles for a case, you slipped next door to the bookshop. It was a narrow, two-story shop that had that magical feeling the minute you walked in the door. Sunbeams cascaded in through the front windows where a striped, yellow cat curled up for a nap. There were several hidden alcoves consisting of little more than a table and chair, inviting customers to get lost in a book. They had a few new releases, but mostly carried secondhand books. With a smile of acknowledgement to the lady behind the counter, you headed towards the reference section in the back.

By the time Jensen caught up with you, you had several medical textbooks picked out. It didn’t strike you until started pulling them down from the shelves, but with each volume came clarity. You were a doctor once, and you desperately wanted to be one again. But that wasn’t going to happen without a lot of hard work. Strangely, that appealed to you almost as much as actually getting to practice medicine.

Jensen carried your tower of books to the check out, “No beach reads for you, huh?”

“No beach,” you replied, pulling out your own debit card to pay the clerk.

That felt good too. It was another step towards being a whole person. With your identity came the ability to pay your own way. You had no desire to be a kept woman, you wanted to be a match, a partner, an equal. Now you could be, and it felt incredible.

After depositing the books in the car, Jensen led you towards the coffee shop at the edge of the town square.

“They’ve got the best cappuccino. Seriously, I’ve only had better on my trip to Italy,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You leaned into the embrace, enjoying the closeness and the scent of his fantastic cologne. “If you’re trying to impress me, it’s working.”

“Sweetheart, I’m always trying to impress you.”

As you approached the café, a group of young women exited in an excited swarm. Giggling and frantically waving at the man beside you. They pointed their phones at the two of you, and you froze. You really weren’t sure what to do. You’d been cocooned in the warm cloud of romance, to have the outside world barging in on it was jarring.

Jensen stopped and peered down at you under the guise of adjusting your coat collar, “We can leave if you’re uncomfortable.”

Your eyes darted over to the girls who were really just that, girls. Young and excited at seeing one of their favorite actors.

“No,” you said with a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. You should go say hello.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go get ‘em cowboy, before the one in the pink coat hyperventilates.”

He gave you his best Dean Winchester wink and sauntered over to the girls, “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Once again, you had to admire his ease with his adoring public. A perfect blend of gracious charm and humility. Autographs and smiles.

God, do they teach that at Supernatural bootcamp or is he just that good?

“Is that your girlfriend?”

Your eyes widened as you realized you’d been spotted. Of course, you had, but it never occurred to you that they’d been interested in you personally. Why would they be? You weren’t a demon killing Winchester. You weren’t even remotely famous. Suddenly it hit you that you had no idea what to do in this situation. What was proper etiquette for answering questions from the fans of the man you were dating. Wait… were you dating? The two of you never got around to discussing it.

Jensen wasn’t just an actor; he was a proper public figure. These sorts of interactions were important to his image. It was all part of his career; you couldn’t just say the wrong thing and screw that up for him.

Jensen’s warm gaze found your panicked one and he smiled. In that moment he managed to completely reassure you. The ground was steady again under your feet and you smiled back.

His message to you was clear. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.

“Yeah. That’s my girl.”

Jensen was testing the hot tub while you changed into your new swimsuit. It was near dusk and unlike the previous evening, the night air was crisp but still. The cloudless sky would be an inky blue and studded with stars soon and he couldn’t wait to point out the constellations to you. He lit a few fat, pillar candles and opened an aged bottle of bourbon. All he needed was his girl and everything would be perfect.

“I told you, you don’t need one.”

“Does that mean you don’t want me to model it for you?” you teased, your tongue peeking out from between your teeth. “I got it just for you.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

He was just settling his back against a particularly strong jet when he heard the sliding glass door open. The distinct sound of women’s heels on the deck boards had him turning his head. He nearly dropped his whiskey glass in the water.

God damn. Cowboy boots. You were wearing a pair of damned cowboy boots! Dark blue, tooled leather with tiny stars. The silk robe matched it and was so short it barely covered your backside and left your mile-long legs bare.

The boots were unexpected, but the coordinating cowboy hat took it over the top. Midnight blue with a silver band. Jensen watched with great appreciation as you slowly approached the tub, your hips gently swaying with each step you took. You didn’t say a word as you pulled the sash at your waist and let the robe drop at your feet.

Your suit went with the hat and boots. A next-to-nothing two piece that had western fringe accents. The faintest of breezes ghosted over your nearly naked body and goosebumps broke out all over and caused your nipples to harden. Judging from the darkening of Jensen’s eyes, he noticed and approved.

“Do you like my boots?” you asked softly.

“I love ‘em,” he replied, watching with great appreciation as you slowly stepped out of them and came closer.

He held out his hand to you as you descended into the steaming water. You smiled at him from under the brim of your hat, enjoying the feminine confidence that filled you as Jensen stared.

“I wasn’t sure about the hat.”

“It’s perfect.” He gently tugged you down to sit on his lap. “You’re perfect.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long while, making out in the bubbles like teenagers. Thin plumes of white steam swirled around you and up into the ether. It was a magical combination of utter relaxation and complete arousal. Eventually, you came up for air and he handed you your own glass of whiskey.

“What are we drinking to?”

“To the Lone Star State?” you suggested, tossing your hat up onto the deck.

He chuckled and clinked his glass against yours. “To the bluebonnets.”

The smooth, smokey vanilla notes lingered on your tongue even after you swallowed. “Oh, that is nice.”

Jensen drew you to his side and settled an arm around your shoulders, “Mmm. Very nice. You have a good time today, Sweetheart?”

“I loved it.”

“Even though we were interrupted? I know you were a little uncomfortable.”

“I just didn’t expect them to want to talk to me too and want my picture.”

“I know it seems strange; it just comes hand in hand with the gig. Always has. They were the same way with Danneel.”

“But she’s an actress, right? I’m just a regular person, I’m not famous or anything.”

“First of all, you’re not just anything. You’re incredible. In every way.” Jensen curled a finger under you chin, making you look directly into his eyes. “Never ever forget that.”

You nodded and he continued, “The fans, they’re going to be curious about you and I can’t change that. I’m an actor with a successful show and a moderate amount of fame, but that doesn’t mean you have to be in the public eye too. I’m not going to sugar coat it… it can be a lot. Some people can be cruel. Most of them are normal folks who are enthusiastic about my work, some are just more invasive.”

“Will you teach me what to do? What to say? I don’t want to say the wrong thing and have it reflect negatively on you.”

“I will,” he pledged. “But I’m serious, you don’t have to. If you want to be completely private, I can make that happen. I just have to know what you want.”

“I want to be with you,” you automatically answered. “And I don’t want you to worry about me all the time. The only reason I was so nervous was because I didn’t know how to act. You show me the ropes, and I’ll be good to go.”

He studied you, concern lingering in his handsome features. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” You said with a decisive nod. “And I want to be a doctor again.”

That got a grin out of him. “Yeah? So that’s why you bought that bookstore out of Grey’s Anatomy?”

“McMillan sent me an email with everything I need to do. The tests will be extensive and just about as tough as board certifications. I’m going to have to hit the books hard if I want my job back.”

“Hmm, well maybe I can help you study.” Jensen murmured, tracing a finger down your neck to the valley between your breasts. “Test your knowledge.”

“Where do you want to start?”

His fingers continued their exploration, spanning your ribcage. “Here.”

His thumb followed the outline of your ribs, counting them through the layers of muscle and epidermis. “These have names?”

“The first seven pairs of ribs are fixed, called Vertebrosternal.”

“Mmm hmm,” he murmured, kissing softly along your jawline.

“Costae Verae in Latin.” You tried to concentrate despite what he was doing with his tongue. “The next five pairs are Vertebrochondral and Vertebral ribs… in Latin it’s… oh God…”

Jensen grinned against your throat while his fingers traveled further down just below your bikini bottom. “What’s that Latin?”

“Costae… Spuriae,” you breathed, wiggling against him.

“Good girl,” he praised, pulling at the bikini string so you bottoms came away. His thumb found that sensitive bundle of nerves and played while his other hand roamed across your collarbone.

“This one?”

“Clavicle. S shaped bone that… that serves as a strut,” He was moving this thumb in a circle now. You loved that.

“A… a strut between the… oh! The shoulder blade and the… the sternum.”

Jensen eased a finger up inside and watched the sensations play across your face. He never got tired of seeing your reactions. You were so responsive, he never had to wonder if it felt good to you. It was there on your face, in your fathomless eyes. Your whole being vibrated with it, and you held nothing back.

“This got a name?”

You latched onto his broad shoulders and threw your head back as he reached deeper, curling his fingers in a tantalizing rhythm.

“Unicum tuum,” you managed to gasp out.

He caught your breast through the wet fabric and massaged, “What’s that mean, baby?”

“Yours.” You locked eyes with him, right before you came apart in his hands. “Only yours.”

18 notes · View notes

thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

Spread that love, read them all!

iprobablyshipit91 Fic Recs

I was keeping links of all my favourite Dean fics so thought I’d share them here. This way, others can hopefully find some great stories and the authors will know how much I love their works 💕

I’ve kept the tags to once per author just because of the limits. There’s a mix of fluff, angst, smut, au etc. Please make sure you read the warnings for each story on it’s page.

Dean Winchester x Reader

One Shots

And Baby Makes Four by @carryonmywaywardone-shots

Nows the Time by @crashdevlin

Should I Stay or Should I Go by @daisythekitty

Sweet Dreams by @deanssweetheart23

Always You and Me by @deanwinchesterswitch

Bullets and Bands by deanwinchesterswitch

Capeesh? By @deanwritings

I Ship It by deanwritings

It’s Okay by deanwritings

Safe Now by deanwritings

Slip Up by deanwritings

What We Lost by deanwritings

Tell Me About… by @impala-dreamer

Glances by @kasimagines

It’s Okay, I Love You by kasimagines

Poison by kasimagines

Obeying Temptation by @kittenofdoomage

Sweet Satisfaction by kittenofdoomage

Not the Planned Delivery by @lazydoodlesandfanfic

Nannas Love Sammy by @littlegreenplasticsoldier

Unnamed by @lostdreamr-blog1

Something New by @princessmisery666

Date Night by princessmisery666

I Would Never Hurt You by @procrastinatorimagines

Must be Love on the Brain by @sleepywinchester

Below Freezing by @soaringeag1e

I’ve Got You by @spnexploration

Friendzoned by @talesmaniac89

Stupid Cupid by talesmaniac89

Broken Ribs Against Fingertips by @the—blackdahlia

Different by @watermelonlipstick

Labyrinth by @waynes-multiverse

Love on the Brain by waynes-multiverse

Motel Diablo by waynes-multiverse

Gesundheit by waynes-multiverse

Dark Waters by @wearywinchester

Above Ground by wearywinchester

I Won’t Say (I’m in Love) by @zepppie

Two Shots / Mini Series

The Wrong Winchester by @cherry3point14

Good Things by @crashdevlin

Rumours by @deanwinchesterswitch

Blind Love by @jawritter

Faded by @kasimagines

Sacrifice by kasimagines

The Last Call by kasimagines

To Know You by @littlegreenplasticsoldier

Watch and Learn by littlegreenplasticsoldier

Mischief Managed (2) by @sinfulsoulx

A Few Moments of Madness | Last Time? by @smellingofpoetry

Familiar by @spnhunter4life

Dream On by @talesmaniac89

Well, Hello There Stranger by talesmaniac89

Series

Comfort by @fangirlingfromdownunder

Baby, We’ve got a Problem by @deanwritings

Night Falls by deanwritings

Carry On by @jawritter

My Saviour by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

Heart of a Hunter by @muchamusedaboutnothing

Cross my Heart by @smol-and-grumpy

Home to You by smol-and-grumpy

Collared by @spnexploration

Pack by spnexploration

Limelight by @talesmaniac89

Charity Heist by talesmaniac89

The Man in Apartment 43 by talesmaniac89

Practically Magic by @thelibrarylesstrektraveled

Supernatural Series Rewrite: Season 1 by @waywardaardvark79

Supernatural Series Rewrite: Season 2 by waywardaardvark79

Miscommunication by @winchest09

Don’t Say a Word by @winchester-girl67

Never Say Goodbye by @zepskies

1K notes · View notes

thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

Trouble

Summary: Dean and Y/N. Oil and water. Dean pretty much hated you from the beginning. You were snobbish and bookish. He was no better in your book, but when you get hurt you see a different side to the salty hunter. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all…

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 3660

One Shot

Author’s Notes: It’s been a rough week guys, so here is a fluffy, sexy little one shot to make you feel better. It made me feel better…. but then, Dean always does.

Dean Winchester, the cure for what ails you!

Masterlist Geronimo (sequel)

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, his morning smoothie in one hand and his morning paper in the other. Sam loved a routine. The life of a hunter was pure chaos most of the time it was easy to become unbalanced, physically and mentally. The youngest Winchester discovered a long time ago that if he kept to a personal routine that he could ground himself in it. It provided a solid foundation to build his life on and to Sam Winchester, that was vital.

Since finding the bunker, it became much easier to establish a daily routine. Dean called it nesting and although he didn’t get up with his brother to go running, he too had his routine. Shuffle half asleep through the bunker until he reached the galley. Grumble as he filled his favorite Scooby Doo coffee mug with strong, black coffee. Furrow his brow and scowl at anyone who dared talk to him before he drained his second cup. Rinse, repeat.

Right on schedule, the eldest brother entered the kitchen looking like a bear woken early from hibernation. He grunted a hello as he passed, heading right for the caffeine. Dean leaned against the counter and closed his eyes as he took sip after sip of black gold.

After a few minutes, he looked over at Sam who had that amused smirk on his face. “What?”

Sam turned back to his paper, feigning disinterest, “Nothing. Rough night?”

“My night was fine; my morning was crap.”

Sam knew exactly what his brother was grumpy about but decided to poke at him a bit. Just for his own brotherly amusement, “Oh?”

Dean glared at his brother, “Don’t give me that, I know you heard it.”

“Heard what?”

“Damn it, Sammy… The damned Hallelujah chorus coming from the showers!”

“It wasn’t Hallelujah. It was Respect.”

“It was five in the fucking morning! If Aretha Franklin doesn’t come back from the dead and kill her, I will!”

Sam sighed. This was just the latest on Dean’s long list of infractions committed by their houseguest. Dean and Y/N. Oil and water. Opposites in practically every way, which is exactly why they needed her to part of their team. They needed a fresh perspective, and you provided one that was both educated and creative. You weren’t a hunter, but you had a smattering of relatives in the life. You grew up knowing what was really out there and you took it upon yourself to stay informed. You didn’t go looking for trouble, but it seemed to find you anyway.

“Dean, just talk to her, like a reasonable adult. She’s really not so bad once you get to know her.”

Dean was already on his second cup of coffee, “I already know plenty. She’s a stuck-up, tone deaf, know-it-all who uses all the hot water. The sooner we finish this case, the sooner we can send her happy little ass on her way.”

Sam didn’t reply. He knew his brother and this “protests too much” act, was just that. An Act. Dean had it bad for their new roommate and didn’t even know it. Poor bastard.

Dean glanced around the room, “Speaking of her highness, where is she?”

“Walking the dog.”

“Hmm, the dog can stay. I like the dog.”

The loud slam of the heavy, bunker door echoed through the halls along with muffled voices. One they recognized as yours, the other was agitated, and male.

They exchanged a what the hell look and immediately took off towards the commotion.

“What is this place? It does not look like a temple.”

“It’s not a temple, exactly. It’s a temple of knowledge, sort of. A home base,” you explained for what seemed like the hundredth time. Your patience was growing thin. Your clothes were torn and muddy and you ached everywhere. This morning really wasn’t going your way.

“It does seem secure,” the man allowed.

“It is,” you assured him. “It’s very secure. Completely safe, so you can just put me down…”

From the entry way came the voice of the most irritating man you’d ever met, Dean Winchester. “Wow, nice skirt.”

The huge, muscular man who held you in his arms immediately went on the defense. In an astonishingly swift move, he shifted you from his two arms and tossed you over his shoulder with one hand while he drew a broadsword from his belt with the other. “Stay back or I will cut you where you stand!”

Both brothers drew their guns and you found yourself in the middle of a damned stand off!

“Drop it, Tiny!” Dean barked, keeping his weapon trained on the giant that was standing in the war room. Seriously, the guy must be almost eight foot tall. He was big enough to be Andre the Giant’s brother and was dressed like an extra from the movie 300.

With you hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Dean could only see your backside and legs. Not a bad view, he had to admit.

Nice ass, for a prissy snob.

“Put down the girl,” Sam commanded. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

The intruder laughed then; a full-on belly laugh that shook his whole mighty frame. “Hurt me? You are weaklings, obviously suited to temple work. You know nothing of combat.”

Dean’s mouth quirked and he cocked his gun, “You’d be surprised.”

You were growing more exasperated by the second. The blood was properly rushing to your head now, making you dizzy and giving you a headache. Plus, you’d really just had it with the machismo showdown. “Just stop it, all of you! These are my friends, the ones I mentioned earlier. The warriors I told you about.”

The man looked skeptical, “These are warriors?”

“Yes, they are. These are the good guys. So please, just put me down.”

He made no move to accommodate you, “Friends, perhaps but they are no warriors. You would do well to entrust your safety to me, lady. I am the one true champion.”

You’d finally had it. You smacked his back sharply and let out a stream of rapid, scalding Latin.

The Winchesters knew plenty of the dead language, but even they didn’t quite catch what you said. Whatever it was, it proved effective. The stranger sheathed his sword, pulled you from his shoulder and sat you slowly down in a chair.

Red faced, you shoved the mess of hair out of your eyes. You sat a little straighter and tried to remain dignified. “Sam and Dean Winchester, this is… Hercules.”

They both holstered their weapons. Sam spoke first, instantly fascinated. “No kidding, really?”

Dean seemed more concerned with you. He scowled down at you, his eyes darting from injury to injury. You had tears up and down the sleeves of your shirt that showed scratches still bleeding. Your right cheek and temple were scraped up and you were holding you left ankle off the ground at an odd angle.

“What happened, are you alright?”

His tone was gruff and impatient, and he frown was intense. You knew he didn’t like you any more than you liked him, but was a little sympathy too much to ask? You already felt like you got your ass kicked, you didn’t need to be scolded on top of it.

“She is injured and should be attended to at once,” said Hercules, his voice ringing with authority.

“I’m fine, I just fell.”

“I found her trapped at the bottom of a crude pit in the forest. Once I rescued her, I brought her to this fortress as she requested.” Hercules looked around the bunker in wonder, “She said this was a place of safety.”

“It is,” Sam said.

Dean knelt down in front of you, prodding around leg and ankle, earning a hiss of pain from you. You tried to push him away but were unsuccessful. You were tired now that the adrenaline was fading. All you wanted was a hot bath and a bed.

“There are about a dozen holes out by the south bend of the river. Not very wide, but like seven feet deep, the riverbank looks like a Whack-A-Mole game,” you explained. “He just popped up out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me! I fell down one of the holes and twisted my ankle.”

“You never should have been wandering the woods unescorted.” The massive hero folded his arms over his chest and gave each brother a firm dressing down, “Where I come from, no warrior would allow their lady to face the dangers of the world with nothing but a useless hound to defend her!”

Macey, your clueless black Labrador, suddenly looked up from her station at the base of the stairs and thumped her tail.

“Y/N, why didn’t you call us?” asked Sam.

“I lost my phone when I fell down that stupid hole.”

Dean had heard enough. With a grunt of annoyance, he scooped you up and strode off towards the infirmary, “Come on, let’s get you patched up.”

Left with little choice, you reluctantly wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck. You felt frustrated and foolish. You were supposed to be here helping them, adding insight, and providing expertise. Now you looked like an incompetent klutz who had to be rescued all the time. Plus, this was the third phone you’d lost. Add irresponsible to the list of faults.

“I perfectly capable of patching myself up.”

“Yeah, how you going to do that? That ankle is either sprained or broken. Either way, you aren’t going anywhere without help.” Dean gently set you down on one of the beds. He fixed you with a firm look, “Why don’t you just accept it without a bunch of static for once?”

He had a point, but you didn’t have to like it. That strong independent streak in you ran deep and had been reinforced by years of working alone. It had gotten you through every uncertain situation in your life. A small part of you felt that accepting help, even for something simple meant losing your hard-won strength. Of course, the throbbing pain in your ankle didn’t seem so small at the moment.

Dean returned with an arm full of supplies. The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat beside you. When he reached for your right foot, you instantly yanked it back. His eyes snapped up to meet yours and he softened. He may not like you, but he still didn’t like seeing you in pain.

Someone doesn’t like going to the doctor.

“Y/N, you alright?”

You nodded rapidly, “Yes, of course. Sorry. Reflex.”

“We’ve got to take that boot off. See if its broken.” At your nod, he gingerly grasped your leg, “Try not to kick me, okay?”

“No promises,” you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady while Dean worked to loosen the laces of your hiking boot.

When he went to slowly tug at the heel, you yelped and yanked your foot back again. Obviously, he needed a different approach. “You know, maybe it’s not your ankle that’s bothering you.”

You blinked in confusion, “What? What do you mean?”

“It’s me. I make you nervous.”

Your denial was swift and expected. “No you don’t!”

He cocked an eyebrow at you, “You’re not nervous?”

“No. Of course not. Even if I were, it wouldn’t be due to you. Hercules himself is sitting in the library, another mystery dropped in our laps needing to be solved. If I’m feeling anxious, its only because I’m eager to get back to work.”

Dean shrugged, “I thought maybe you were worried I was going to kiss you again. Or maybe you were worried I wouldn’t”

Your mind instantly snapped back to that hazy day in the kitchen, Dean’s lips on yours as his hands tangled in your hair. His hard body pressing up against you as he backed you up against the wall. Every part of him that touched you burned hot; his fingers, his lips, his tongue, his breath as it mingled with yours. He ignited a fire within you that day, and it had been smoldering ever since.

You swallowed unconsciously and met his gaze. A mistake. Your cheeks heated at the intent you saw reflected there. “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t given it a second thought.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, “Really? You didn’t like it then?”

Dean’s hand was back on your leg, resting there. You could feel the warmth of his touch through your pant leg and your heart sped up. “I didn’t say that.”

He grinned then, slowly. Dangerous and sexy. He leaned a bit closer to her as his hand slid up behind your knee, the contact unexpectedly intimate.

You took an unsteady breath, “I know you’re just trying to distract me.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth, “Is that a fact?’

“Yes, you do it all the time! Strutting around the bunker like your God’s gift to flannel, making bacon 24/7, and you talk through every episode of Doctor Who!”

“God’s gift, huh?”

“Ugh!” You pushed at his shoulder in frustration, “You are so annoying! Arrogant and rude and I don’t like you at all!”

The fire in your normally calm eyes was fascinating.

Man, she is fun to rile up! Such an easy mark too. Odd, given how perceptive you were in pretty much all other areas.

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” In one swift move, he pulled the heel of your boot, popped it off and slid your foot out.

You dug your fingers into Dean’s arms and let out a stream of colorful curse words. “Christ almighty!”

Dean chuckled until he saw your face blanche, “You alright?”

“No! Why don’t you just chop off my foot, you sadist!” You screwed your eyes shut against the wave of pain. Now that your boot wasn’t keeping pressure, it was hurting far worse. “Fuck, I’m seeing stars.”

You could feel him get up and when you opened your eyes again, he was already returning from across the room. He held out three small white pills and a glass of water. You swallowed them quickly and downed the entire glass. You watched him as he cut away your sock and expose your injury.

“Pretty shade of purple,” Dean whistled as he ran his fingers over the already turning colors and swelling around your ankle bone. Ever so gently, he probed, searching for a break. “Alright, go ahead and move it for me.”

Trying to ignore the pain, Y/N concentrated on Dean’s face. There was kindness there, under the swagger and grit. The man chopped the heads off monsters, battled demons and fought evil every day of the week. By rights, his touch should be rough, hardened by the hunter’s life. Instead, he was the opposite. Studying his chiseled features, it became clear that Dean Winchester’s true appeal was in how deeply he cared.

“Good girl,” he praised when you wiggled your toes, “Any numbness, pins and needles?”

You shook your head when he glanced up at you, “No.”

“Good. Nothing broken. Looks like you’ve got yourself a nasty sprain.” Dean made quick work of wrapping her ankle. “How’s that feel?”

“Better.”

He smiled as he settled an ice pack on top of the wrap and moved on to the scratches up and down your arms. “Huh, yeah. Gotta love those little pills, they kick in quick.”

You tilted your head, “Those pills… Ibuprofen?”

Dean dabbed disinfectant along the cuts, “No. I don’t remember what they are. Had a few left over from when Sam broke his elbow. Guess it’s your lucky day.”

Y/N grabbed his hand, “Wait, so they weren’t just run of the mill, over the counter pain killers?”

He chuckled, “Nope, way better, believe me.”

“Oh, hells bells,” you groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What? What’s wrong? Are you allergic?”

“I’m a lightweight Dean, I don’t even drink! Those pills will have me knocked out in an hour!”

Dean shrugged and continued his work, “Ah well, there are worse things.”

You could already feel your body relaxing, though you tried to resist. Fighting it would be useless in the end; it was just the way your body processed drugs of any kind. Naptime, it was so frustrating. “What about Hercules?”

“Don’t worry about your boyfriend, I’m sure Sam already has it halfway figured out by now.” Dean dabbed the cotton ball over the thin scratch angling across your brow. Your glassy eyes met his and he had to smile. “You really are a lightweight, aren’t you?”

You frowned at him, “Why do you think I never drink with you guys?”

“I just figured you were stuck up.”

“Oh.”

Dean could tell by the way your expression fell that he’d hurt your feelings. He could chop the heads off monsters all day long and not feel an ounce of remorse, but he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you. Words had the power to cut deeper than any machete or silver blade.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat and rummaged through the bandage box. “It’s just you don’t really spend any time with us unless its working. Figured that was intentional.”

“Why would I force social interactions on someone who doesn’t like me?” You returned; your words blunt. “That would be stupid and counterproductive.”

“Fair point,” he grunted as he gently placed a clean, white bandage over the biggest cut. “I don’t not like you though. I like you.”

At this point, you were really having trouble concentrating. Even the tiny muscles of your eyelids were turning to mush. It was all you could do to keep your concentration, but Dean had been an ass to you since day one. You weren’t about to let this opportunity to find out why pass you by.

“Then why are you such a dick to me?”

“I’m not a dick! Not all the time.”

It struck you then, God you were thick! Your jaw dropped, “Wait! Is that why you’re a dick? Because you like me?!”

Flustered, he got up and packed away the first aid supplies. “Those little pills really are messing with your head.”

“I’m right! This is like the grumpy hunter’s equivalent of pulling my pigtails on the playground!” You grinned widely because you solved the puzzle, “You’re flirting with me!”

He returned to the side of the bed and looked down at you with an unreadable look on his face. In a lightning-fast move, he swooped down and lifted you into his arms. Your face was now inches from his, his bottle-green eyes bored into yours with such intensity that your stomach fluttered.

“When I flirt with you, you’ll know it.”

This time your gaze flickered down to his lips. God, I hope he kisses me again!

“I like you too,” you admitted, your words slurring slightly. “I guess I just like dicks.”

Dean burst into laughter and your eyes widened when you realized what you’d just said.

“Damn it! Not like that! I mean… I do like them… but…just,” You sputtered, frustrated that you ruined the mood. “Shut up!”

Dean continued to chuckle as he carried you down the hall to your room. You grew heavier as you relaxed in his grasp, and you rested your head against his shoulder with a sigh. Those happy, little pills nearly had you asleep in his arms. Not that he minded, you fit surprisingly well there. And you smelled amazing. It was that expensive perfume you wore, light and clean. It made his mouth water.

“I’m making your coffee Irish tomorrow; you are one funny drunk.”

You only hummed in response. He nudged the door to your room open with his hip and laid you down on your neatly made bed. He took one of your throw pillows and propped up your wrapped ankle before removing the boot from your other foot.

Your eyes fluttered back open when he took the spare quilt from your chair and tucked it around you. Your smile was soft as you grasped his hand and tugged him down to sit beside you on the bed.

“You got everything you need, Sweetheart?”

You nodded while your thumb traced patterns across his knuckles. “Thank you, Dean. For taking care of me.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. A delightful combination of warm, soft lips and prickly stubble. “Get some sleep, Y/N. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Just as he was about to pull away, you angled your head up and caught his lips in a kiss. He was surprised but quickly smiled into it. Different than the kiss you shared in the kitchen; this one wasn’t hurried. It was gentle and exploratory, like a flower slowly opening up to the light of the sun. Dean had never received a kiss so tender. You kissed him like you meant it in your heart. It made him feel, special. Cherished.

When you finally drew back and let your head fall back against the pillow, you saw the look of pure astonishment on his face. You smiled, your eyes half-mast. “I feel better now.”

He brushed the hair back from your face, letting his fingers run through the silky strands. You were already drifting off; he shook his head. “Are you even going to remember this tomorrow?”

“Dunno,” you murmured, finally letting sleep take you. “But you will.”

Dean sat there for several minutes, considering your words as your breathing evened out and became slow and deep. He did like you, far more than he should. You weren’t his type at all. You were prim and proper. You valued intelligent conversation and musty library books. You drank chamomile tea and wore fancy clothes. If anything, you were more Sam’s type. Classy. Ladylike. In that moment, the salty hunter realized two things. One, he wondered just how ladylike you were going to be lying naked beneath him. And two, he was in trouble. Big, big trouble.

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

A Writer's Review.... Promised by jawritter

I am a writer. I was born to be one, its my joy and my torment. And it is my honor.

I find new and utterly fantasic stories here daily and I am honored to be a contributing member of the writing community! Each and every one of these authors is a gem. They selfelessly share their intricate worlds with us so that we can escape! It is a public service and vital to my personal well-being. There are not words to express my gratitude.... but that doesn't mean I won't still try to find some!

As writers, we read. Even more than we write. So... what do we read? Here is an in-depth review of one of my favorites! Along with a few other recommendations. I intend to post reviews regularly. I've got quite a list of stories I adore, but I'm always lookig for more! So please share this review and send a few reccomendations my way! Tag your own stories, tag other people... I don't want to miss any of them! Thank you all and share the love!!

Story Name: Promised

Author: jawritter

Character Pairing: Alpha!Jensen x Omega!reader

Length: 10 Chapters, 25,084 words total

Story Type: Series - ABO, AU Real life, Mob dynamics, Age gap

Author’s Description: In a world where your presentation can be a blessing or a curse, a newly presented Omega will come face to face with the harsh reality of Alphas, Omegas, and pack alliances that are expected to be upheld with the union of your two families.

Warnings: ABO dynamics! Smut, unprotected smut, knotting, claiming, mating, heat, rut, language, overly protective Jensen, age gap! 19-year-old reader, 41-year-old Jensen, virgin reader, loss of virginity, sort of an arranged marriage, hint at possible mob type settings.

My Two Cents: They say you never forget your first, and that is certainly the case for me! This absolute gem of a story was my introduction to the world of ABO fan fiction (aka Alpha/Beta/Omega) and I’ve been hooked ever since! This may be in part to the perspective of the reader, who is a novice. Young and naïve to the world in general as well as to the complex dynamics between Alphas and Omegas. This allowed me to discover and understand this unique concept at the same pace the reader did.

Our dear author is truly a master at quickly establishing the relationship bonds between the main characters and their prospective families and friends. I greatly appreciate this quality in a story. Background information is crucial in a well-developed character but can be clunky when not handled with finesse. Here, those relationships are woven in seamlessly to the over-all plot but never weigh the story down. Bravo!

Another highlight are the physical descriptions. Anyone who knows Jensen Ackles from his work, can easily imagine him in a reader insert story.

That is, after all, why we are all here!

Yet this story is filled with vivid details that even I hadn’t thought of in my wildest daydreams! There is a visceral warmth to this version of Jensen that I find beyond appealing. I find myself rereading this story most often when I am feeling uncertain in my life. When I need to feel that someone strong is in charge, so I don’t have to be, Alpha Jensen has me.

Favorite Chapter: Chapter Nine. Here we get to see Jensen let loose his primal Alpha instincts that he’s kept under careful control up until this point. And its glorious! It has the best elements of how vicious Demon Dean could be and focused it in a powerful man who is willing to do anything in defense of his mate. Fantastic! He’s desperate and he’s truly dangerous in this chapter. And I am here for it! Favorite Line: “You know, before I came here tonight with Y/n I promised her something…. I promised her I would protect her. You made me break that promise.. I don’t appreciate that. I’ll be spending the rest of my life making it up to her….” “I told her if you tried anything I’d rip your throat out….. With my teeth…”

Jensen’s vision went red, All he saw was red…

Why I Love it: It’s the perfect length. I read one shots and they have their place, but I always find myself wanting more of that world! But let’s face it, some series’ (although awesome!) are long, and that’s a commitment. I don’t always have the luxury of time, this length strikes just the right balance. I get Jensen in a protective but not possessive role. I get a naïve reader who is innocent but not spineless. I get steamy sex scenes. I get an interesting but not over-bearing mob dynamic. There is plenty of threat but not much violence, which is a nice change up.

Mood I’m in When I Read it– I’m a strong person, but there are times when I need someone else to be strong. I need to be comforted. I need to believe in love and escape. And when I am feeling over-whelmed, I often come here and let Alpha Jensen take the reins for a while. He does a great job!

I Want More! : If you loved this as much as I did, here are some other stand-out stories that you might enjoy… Feral @jawritter Can We Fix Us @jawritter If Its Meant to Be (Alpha Beau x Omega Reader) @jawritter Unleashed @supersleepygoat Reasons @merethehunter Feral @luci-in-trenchcoats The Things We Don’t Believe In (Alpha!Sam x Omega!reader) @thecleverdame

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

A Writer's Review.... Promised by jawritter

I am a writer. I was born to be one, its my joy and my torment. And it is my honor.

Story Name: Promised

Author: jawritter

Character Pairing: Alpha!Jensen x Omega!reader

Length: 10 Chapters, 25,084 words total

Story Type: Series - ABO, AU Real life, Mob dynamics, Age gap

Another highlight are the physical descriptions. Anyone who knows Jensen Ackles from his work, can easily imagine him in a reader insert story.

That is, after all, why we are all here!

Jensen’s vision went red, All he saw was red…

27 notes · View notes

thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

A Writer's Review... Promised by jawritter

I am a writer. I was born to be one, its my joy and my torment. And it is my honor.

There are not words to express my gratitude.... but that doesn't mean I won't still try to find some!

As writers, we read. Even more than we write. So... what do we read? Here is an in-depth review of one of my favorites! Along with a few other recommendations.

I intend to post reviews regularly. I've got quite a list of stories I adore, but I'm always looking for more! So please share this review and send a few recommendations my way! Tag your own stories, tag other people... I don't want to miss any of them!

Thank you all and share the love!!

Story Name: Promised

Author: jawritter

Character Pairing: Alpha!Jensen x Omega!reader

Length: 10 Chapters, 25,084 words total

Story Type: Series - ABO, AU Real life, Mob dynamics, Age gap

Another highlight are the physical descriptions. Anyone who knows Jensen Ackles from his work, can easily imagine him in a reader insert story.

That is, after all, why we are all here!

Favorite Line: “You know, before I came here tonight with Y/n I promised her something…. I promised her I would protect her. You made me break that promise.. I don’t appreciate that. I’ll be spending the rest of my life making it up to her….”

“I told her if you tried anything I’d rip your throat out….. With my teeth…”

Jensen’s vision went red, All he saw was red…

I Want More! : If you loved this as much as I did, here are some other stand-out stories that you might enjoy…

Feral @jawritter Can We Fix Us @jawritter If Its Meant to Be (Alpha Beau x Omega Reader) @jawritter Unleashed @supersleepygoat Reasons @merethehunter Feral @luci-in-trenchcoats The Things We Don’t Believe In (Alpha!Sam x Omega!reader) @thecleverdame

#supernatural fanfiction #alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!sam winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x y/n #sam x you #sam winchester x reader #fic recommendation #reviews #spn fanfiction

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

Nightingale Chapter Four - This or That

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Four: This or That

Word Count: 3398

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

Masterlist

Nightingale Masterlist

You hung up the phone with a disgusted huff and rubbed at your temple, trying to massage away the ever-present headache. You were frustrated and disheartened. It had been one week since your accident on the lake and you still had not regained your memory. Lord knows you tried, but that only seemed to agitate your concussion and add to your anxiety. You felt like an idiot and a burden. Your sleep schedule was non-existent. You’d toss and turn at night then pass out in the middle of the day for hours. Usually during a movie, sometimes in the middle of a conversation. Like a cranky toddler, it was downright embarrassing!

You tried to help around the house doing laundry or dishes only to be thwarted by your knight in shining armor. Jensen had to be the most dedicated caretaker in the free world. He never seemed put out or annoyed to be helping you. He gently shooed you away from anything strenuous. He was so easy to talk to, although you often felt that you weren’t doing much to hold up your end of the conversation. He flat out refused any effort on your part to contribute in some way aside from cuddles. Which was another thing, there was an easy affection between the two of you.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asked one day. He went to wrap his arm around you, as he had many times before only this time he stopped halfway. “All you have to do is say, I won’t be offended.”

“Mind what? Cuddles?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of a touchy-feely guy,” he ducked his head like a bashful little boy. “My family’s the same way, big huggers. Call it southern hospitality. I know some people aren’t comfortable with it so just tell me if I cross the line.”

“I haven’t noticed any line crossing. Plus, I’m like ninety percent sure that cuddling is crucial to my recovery.”

You were worried that you were becoming too comfortable, too dependent on him. Add it to the list of things you were worried about. You worried what would happen if your memories never came back and you worried what would happen if they did. Either way, this arrangement wasn’t going to last forever. Eventually, Jensen would want to return to his normal life. He had a career and family, friends. No matter what reassurances he gave, you knew you were an obligation to him. He liked you sure, but once he felt it was fulfilled, he’d send you on your way. He’s a great guy, a prince even, but everyone has their limits.

Every day when you woke up with no memories of your life before the accident you felt tightness in your chest. Like being weighed down with a ton of bricks and someone kept adding to the pile, crushing you. As the bruises slowly but surely healed and faded away, your anxiety grew. Your body was healing, but your mind was not. What’s worse is that there seemed to be nothing you could do about it. It was maddening and at times, terrifying.

There was one thought you kept coming back to; if it was this bad with Jensen around as your support system… how bad was it going to be when the time came to leave? How were you ever going to cope with being on your own after this?

Jensen walked into the kitchen in time to see you toss the phone on the counter, “No luck?”

“Voicemail.”

“Again? We should swing by after your check up.” he suggested, pulling on a denim jacket over his t-shirt. “You’ve left tons of messages and they never get back to you.”

“I just don’t think it’s a priority for the Vancouver PD. There was no crime committed. They ran my prints and came up empty. Until someone comes looking for me, I don’t think there’s much they can do.”

“Still seems like a bunch of bull to me.” Jensen held out one of his spare jackets.

You put your arms through the sleeves as he brought it up over your shoulders, trying to hide the wince as your ribs pinched. “Hopefully the doctor will have some advice on how I can work on my memory problem. Then I won’t have to wait on Vancouver’s finest.”

Jensen hummed under his breath as he pulled the jacket closer around you and zipped it up all the way to you chin. He was always humming and usually not even aware he was doing it. It was one of his more adorable traits. When he finally met your eyes he realized he basically dressed and fussed over you like you were a little kid. You raised your eyebrows expectantly and he cleared his throat as he released you.

He grabbed his phone and keys from the counter, trying to be casual. “Let’s hit the road.”

This was the first time you’d ventured out of the apartment since Jensen brought you home from the hospital. It felt good to be out even though the bright sunlight had you squinting. Jensen tuned the radio to a country station while he maneuvered through the downtown traffic. You tried to analyze the street signs and buildings that passed, hoping for something familiar. Something to jog your memory. Hell, you’d take anything at this point! The longer the amnesia persisted, the more adrift you felt.

“You look a little blue over there,” Jensen said, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts.

“I’m okay.”

“Come on, Y/N. Tell me,” he prompted, pulling up to a stop light. “I can’t make it better if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s not your job to make it better.” Annoyance edged into your voice. It wasn’t his fault, but you were tired of keeping up a positive front. It was almost as exhausting as the injuries themselves. You were grumpy and angry and scared.

A few minutes of silence stretched out between the two of you. “It’s this car, isn’t it?” he blurted out. “You hate it.”

“What?!”

“I know you were probably expecting a big muscle car like the Impala or a pick-up truck or something. Not every Texan drives a gas guzzler, you know!” He gave a Dean worthy huff, “Some of us care about the environment, contrary to the stereotype.”

You knew he was trying to charm a smile out of you, but you refused. Instead, you doubled down on the stubborn. “Ride a horse. Conform to one stereotype while you contradict another.”

“Oh honey, I’m a natural born cowboy. How else do you think I got these bowed legs?” He exaggerated his Texas drawl and winked at you.

This time his antics succeeded, you smiled in spite of yourself. Shaking your head, you looked away, “Shut up.”

“Oh! Hang on, it’s your jam!”

You groaned as you recognized the cheesy country song. “No way, no. This is not my jam!”

Jensen laughed and turned up the volume, “I seem to remember you singing this in the kitchen yesterday.”

“That was you!”

“Loudly!” he added, grinning as he sang along. Egging you on from the driver’s seat.

Your sour mood dissolved, powerless against the relentless good nature of Jensen Ackles. You rolled your eyes dramatically and sang along with him. It was a ridiculously cheery song, and you kind of loved it. God knows why. Probably because Jensen made it so much fun. He was a complete dork, and an absolute goofball. He was happy to make a fool of himself so long as it made you laugh.

The doctor’s checkup went well. He seemed pleased with your progress and officially released you from his care. Naturally, he had no advice on recovering your memory.

“You are only one week out from a serious head injury. The human body is remarkable in it’s ability to heal, but it does take time.”

“Shouldn’t I have something by now? Maybe not my SAT scores, but… something?”

“Y/N, there is a lot we don’t know about how the mind works. You may get it back little by little, or all at once, or…. Perhaps not at all. Please, try not to focus on it. I know it’s difficult, but the less stress you put on yourself, the better off you are.”

After the hospital, Jensen drove you out to Lake Cultus. Convinced that a nice drive in the country would do you both good. Plus, you could check in the ranger service to see if anyone reported you missing.

It was a little like being in an episode of Supernatural. The two of you questioned everyone from the park rangers to the shuttle drivers asking if you looked familiar. Check to see if any vehicles had been abandoned or left in long term parking. See if you’d rented a locker or purchased a kayaking pass. Rummage through lost and found for anything that you may have left behind that day.

The only lead you got was from the clerk at the conservation center who said you stopped in for a trail map. But as they were free, you had no need to use a debit card. It was like you dropped out of the clear blue sky!

God, where were the Winchesters when you needed them?!

By the time the two of you returned to the apartment, it was well past seven at night. You were exhausted and your head ached. All you wanted to do was curl up under the covers and cry. Jensen, as always, was determined to take care of you and insisted on dinner. He reheated the spaghetti and meatballs from the previous night. Effortless in his movements, chatting away about his mom’s recipe for apple crisp that he was certain you would love.

“Let’s give it a shot tomorrow,” he took a swig from a long-neck beer bottle. “I think I’ve got all the stuff for it. My brother and I usually have it cold for breakfast when we’re home for Thanksgiving.”

You were sitting at the breakfast bar, letting your tired mind wander while he was talking. That one word stuck out to you. Thanksgiving. It resonated. You knew what it was, of course. It was the details of your life that were lost, not basic information about life such as holidays or how to tell time. But Thanksgiving, that did something to you. Not a memory, but more of a feeling. Warm, happy, secure, loved.

Family, you realized. Thanksgiving felt like family. Your family.

It was so close, just under the surface of your mind. You could almost smell it, almost taste it. It was right there!! You tried to trace that feeling, follow it to its source. The closer you got the more it slipped away. Like grains of sand slipping through your fingertips.

“Y/N?”

Suddenly aware that Jensen had been talking to you. You blinked and looked up, “Sorry, what?”

He studied you for a moment, concern crossing his face. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He held your gaze for a few seconds then nodded. “Okay. Well, let’s eat.”

He picked up your plate along with his and headed towards the living room. The two of you usually ate in there. Jensen insisted it was more comfortable for your ribs, but you suspected it was more because he was addicted to the Great British Baking Show you’d been binging.

“Hey, would you grab my beer on your way?”

Thinking about your forgotten Thanksgiving would have to wait. You stood with a sigh, and everything went a bit gray around the edges. Fuck!

“Y/N?”

When you didn’t reply, Jensen looked up and saw you begin to sway. He always had been quick, even as a kid, a useful skill. He was up and at your side just as your knees gave.

“Whoa! Easy, easy, I’ve got ya,” he picked you up and carried you through to the living room. You groaned softly when he deposited you on the couch. He ran a worried hand over your forehead as he knelt in front of you.

Your face was chalk white and you were breathing through your nose like you were trying not to get sick. He knew you weren’t feeling well, you’d been off all day. You’d been unusually short tempered and cranky. Going to the lake had obviously been a mistake. It turned into a much longer trip than he had originally planned. It had been too much all at once.

This was his fault, damn it. He felt like kicking himself.

“Talk to me, Sweetheart. Are you with me?”

The pain radiating through your skull was intense. An instant migraine, it knocked you to your knees as soon as you stood up. Just the thought of opening your eyes caused your stomach to clench so you kept them firmly closed.

You brought a shaky hand to your head, “This has got to be the worst headache I’ve ever had. Not that I can remember any that I’ve had before. I keep trying though. Something feels familiar and I chase it, try to trace the thought pattern to a memory and it all falls apart.”

“You shouldn’t try to force yourself to remember,” Jensen gently advised, keeping his voice low. “The doc said to rest, that means your mind too. I can’t have you keeling over on me.”

You were so frustrated she couldn’t help the tears that gathered in your eyes. “What if I never remember?”

“You will. It will all come back to you, you’ve just got to give yourself some time.” He wiped away the tears that spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. It’ll get better, I promise.”

You shook your head woefully, “What if I’m not remembering because I don’t want to. Because I’m some awful, horrible person with a sad life.”

“Not possible.”

“You don’t know that, I could be. What if I’m an asshole?”

“Y/N…”

“What if I’m a vegan?!”

Jensen laughed then, and you broke into a smile and laughed with him. Sniffling back the remaining sadness, “It’s just… I know nothing about myself. It feels like I’m not a whole person.”

“Hmm.” He gazed at you thoughtfully for a moment then moved to sit beside you on the sofa. He got comfortable then opened his arms to you, “Come on, bring it in.”

You leaned into him, tucking yourself against his side, your head came to rest on his chest. He wrapped his muscled arm around your shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. When he felt you relax slightly, he brought his hand up to cup the base of your skull and gently massaged.

His wide fingers were warm against your scalp as they moved in small circles. God it was heaven! Tension held in the muscles of your neck melted slowly away as he followed the slender line of your neck to your shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re an actor? I think you should do this for a living.”

You could feel the chuckle deep in his chest rumble against your ear. He continued working out the knots he found, pleased when you grew heavier against him. “My mom gets migraines but she’s allergic to most of the stuff they prescribe for it. This was the only thing that seemed to help her.”

“You’re a good kid,” you slurred slightly. Jensen was nice and warm. He always was. Just being held helped you relax. You began to realize how tight everything felt, no wonder you stressed yourself into a migraine.

“Yeah, well if you ever meet my mom, ask her about the time I snuck out of the house and crashed her car.” He smiled against your hair, “Her brand new, anniversary present, just delivered from the dealership, convertible.”

“Why’d you steal it?”

“Borrow. I borrowed it.”

“Mmm Hmm.”

“I was trying to impress a girl.” He admitted with a sigh.

“Bad boy. Did it work?”

“I got my first kiss. Then I got grounded for two months and had to clean the gutters.” He shook his head at his youthful folly. “Worth it though.”

“Wait, first kiss? How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

You choked out a laugh, “Eleven?! How’d you even reach the pedals?”

He shrugged, “I hit a growth spurt.”

“I’ll bet you did,” you murmured, cuddling closer.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he said after a beat, “You’re not a horrible person or less than a person because you can’t remember. I know exactly what kind of person you are, even without a last name.”

“Jay…”

“You’re funny and smart. You are a terrible cook. You like your tea hot and your coffee iced, which you still aren’t supposed to have, by the way. You have a tender heart. You have to change the channel any time that Sarah McLachlan-save-the-dogs commercial comes on.”

You huffed in agreement. “That is the saddest commercial ever broadcast. They need to put out a trigger warning before they show that thing.”

“You’ve got a pretty voice and you naturally harmonize, not easy for most people.” He rubbed his hand slowly up and down your back, “And you’ve got the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

You didn’t say anything. He made you sound lovely, beautiful. He saw past the bruises and mood swings and found something worthwhile. Someone worth knowing.

“There’s more and I bet we can find it easier than you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a game, a getting to know you game,” he explained. “I’ve done it a few times at roundtables for Supernatural. It’s called This or That.”

“A game?”

“Yeah! It’s no thinking, just instinct. Say the first thing that comes to mind. Like… chocolate or vanilla?”

“Chocolate or vanilla what?”

“No, like which do you like better? Chocolate or vanilla?” He clarified.

“That would depend on the method of delivery,” you countered. “If it’s cake, chocolate. If it’s coffee, vanilla.”

“Ice cream.”

“Oh, then neither. Lemon.”

“Lemon?!” He repeated, incredulous. “Ice cream?”

“Palate cleanser. I don’t really like ice cream.”

“Wow. Okay, fine. Hot dogs or burgers?”

“Burgers.”

“Good answer. Baths or showers?”

“Bath. No, wait… both. Can I have both?” you asked, pulling back to look at his face.

The slow smile he gave you made you feel warm all over. “You can have whatever you want.”

That warmth rose to your cheeks. Feeling shy, you tucked your head against his chest again.

Jensen began rubbing your neck again, making sure that you stayed relaxed. It was almost a hypnosis, a way to keep your stress at bay so you could answer without having to think. “Summer or winter?”

“Neither.”

“Fall then, that seems to be everyone’s favorite.”

“Sort of.” You closed your eyes focused on the fingers massaging your scalp. “There is this two-week period in October when the aspen trees in Colorado turn colors. It’s also when the first snow fall comes over the mountains. If you are lucky enough to be there at the right time, you can literally see the change of seasons.”

“That beautiful.” He knew you could do it. You’d done it before, actually and probably never even noticed. Every once in a while, you’d rattle off a trivia fact. A statistic. Something that most people wouldn’t know. It was as if your subconscious mind was trying to send out hints. Clues that would lead you back to yourself. It fascinated him. You fascinated him.

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs. I’m allergic to cats.” You uttered the words before you had the thought, and then it all clicked. It was just a flash, the briefest of pictures in your mind. You were young, maybe six or seven. Your arms and legs covered with hives while you played with a fat, orange tabby cat. An adult voice scolded you.

Y/N! Baby, you know you’re allergic to cats…

You sat up then, the blue eyes Jensen liked so much, wide and shimmering. “Oh my God… I’m allergic to cats!”

Jensen grinned along with you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “See, you’re still in there. You just have to give yourself a chance.”

“Thank you, Jay.” You said, taking hold of his hand and lacing your fingers through his.

“Anytime, Sweetheart,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Anytime.”

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

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My Hero

Summary: Doctor Sam WInchester had fallen hard for the woman living just down the hall. She was easily the most adorable and the most accident-prone creature he had ever met! Yet for all the times he came to her rescue, he was too shy to make a move. Maybe he could work up his courage, if he got just one more chance...

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Sam x Reader, Doctor!Sam Winchester x You

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Garth, Dean Winchester

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, fluff

One Shot

Word Count: 3700

Author’s Notes: I swear, every time I get sick all I want is a Winchester to come and take care of me. Is that really so much to ask?? I think not! This is my very first Sam x Reader fic! I have a few more ideas rattling around for the youngest Winchester brother, but this is decent practice. For now. Enjoy!

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Coming, coming!” Sam pulled t-shirt over his head as he trotted to the front door. He’d been getting ready for bed when the insistent knocking started.

The door swung open to a very nervous young man in a Wong’s delivery uniform. Sam recognized him from the few times he ordered from them.

“Hey, its Garth, right?”

“Yeah,” he shifted on his feet, his eyes round with worry, “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

Sam’s instantly shifted into his professional mode. He was currently an attending at Lawrence General Hospital, having just moved back a year ago from L.A. It had been an adjustment, but a welcome one. Big city life didn’t suit Sam at all.

“I am. What’s going on?’

“I was dropping off an order down the hall to the lady in 302 and I heard this thud behind the door and now I can’t get her to answer. I think something’s wrong.”

Sam was already grabbing his medical bag, “Show me.”

302. He knew the woman who lived there. More or less. They kept running into each other. He first discovered her fighting with the soap dispenser in the laundry room. Then again when she locked herself out of the building during a thunderstorm. And then last week when the elevator got stuck between floors. He always seemed to be wandering by when she needed a rescue. She was funny, smart, accident prone, and completely adorable.

Sam had been working up the courage to ask her out, but something always seemed to crop up. An extra shift at the hospital or a birthday party for a colleague. He knew it was an excuse. For all of his professional success, Sam was, and always had been, extremely shy.

“Y/N?” He knocked loudly on the closed door, then tried the handle and found it locked.

“Alright, stand back,” he said to Garth. In one powerful move, Sam kicked the door in, the heel of his foot landing in just the right spot to splinter the doorjamb.

“Damn,” Garth blew out an impressed breath, “You aren’t even wearing shoes.”

You were laying in the foyer. Curled on your side with your hair spread out like a halo. A wallet sat a few inches away from outstretched fingers.

Sam was at your side in an instant, gingerly turning you over and searching for a pulse, “Y/N? Can you hear me?”

Garth hovered nearby, nerves in his voice, “Is she okay?”

Sam ran a hand over your forehead, “She’s burning up. Go see if you can find a washcloth and a glass of water.”

His worry only grew when he carried you to the couch and you still didn’t come to. He held your limp body up with one hand while he worked your hoodie off with the other, leaving you in a tank top and yoga pants. He’d strip that off you too, if he had to. Every inch of bare skin he touched felt like it was on fire!

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Garth asked handing Sam a kitchen towel.

“Dehydration. With a fever this high, it can happen quick.” Sam dipped the towel in the water filled coffee mug and bathed your face and neck. Sure enough, his efforts were rewarded.

You groaned, even that soft sound reverberated through your pounding head. Everything hurt and all you wanted was to slip back into the blankness of sleep. But it was so noisy! Someone kept talking, like the parents in a Snoopy cartoon. Unintelligible, insistent, and so annoying!

Sam gently tapped your cheeks, “Y/N. Come on, darlin. Open your eyes for me.”

With a bit of coaxing, you did as he asked. Everything around you swirled and slowly came into focus. Your head felt heavy and fell to the side, Sam was there and smiled down at you. As a reflex, you smiled back before your fevered brain could catch up and tell you who you were looking at.

“Hey… it’s my hero.”

Sam chuckled in relief, “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

“You’re here. That’s so nice… why are you here?”

“You passed out,” he replied, pressing the cool cloth to your brow. “Do you remember what happened?”

You tried to search your memory, but everything was so fuzzy! “Um, I came home from work… I was sick. Felt really bad. Everything hurt. Achy and cold. Headache. Then I ordered soup from the place down on Main Street. I dunno…I feel a little out of it.”

There was a blood pressure cuff wrapped around your bicep that was inflating. Where did that come from? Sam was doing that doctor thing where they listen to you talk while taking vitals at the same time.

How did doctors do that? Did they teach that in med school? It seemed especially confusing to you as your thoughts kept skipping away and going down rabbit holes.

Cool fingers felt under your jaw, pressing against swollen lymph nodes. He always had such a gentleness about him. Such grace. Surprising for a man of his size, but he seemed to take such care with you. Like you were the most rare, delicate creature in the world.

Last week when you found yourself stuck in the elevator, it was Sam who answered your call. He muscled open the doors single handed and lifted you up though the opening without breaking a sweat. You were more than a little awe struck by his display of strength and chivalry. If you’d had half a brain, you’d have invited him for coffee as a thank you. As it was, you were preoccupied with being late to work. A sadly missed opportunity with your handsome neighbor.

“You came home from work, was that last night?”

“Um, yeah. Yes. As if Mondays aren’t sucky enough.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose, “That was two days ago.”

“What?”

“Today’s Wednesday.”

That information had you on the move. You sat straight up and instantly went white. The room titled and if it weren’t for Sam’s hands steadying your shoulders, you probably would have slid right off the couch.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast,” Sam advised, forcing you to recline.

“I gotta go call work… or… somebody.”

“The only place you are going is to the E.R.”

“No, I can’t go to the hospital.”

“Y/N, listen to me. You’re dehydrated to the point that you fainted. Your fever is 103, that’s dangerous territory.”

Sam tried to be stern, but he just didn’t have it in him. You looked so pitiful with your hair sticking to the sweat slick skin and the dark smudges under your eyes. You were desperately sick and he wasn’t going to simply leave you without treatment.

“I know a lot of people are scared of the doctor, but I promise I’ll be right there with you.”

You swallowed, wincing at the feeling of knives in your throat. “I’m not scared, I’m uninsured. My job is new, benefits don’t kick in for thirty days.”

Garth piped up, “You’re a doctor, can’t you just prescribe something and treat her here?”

“It’s not that simple. She needs to be admitted so they can get an I.V. going and get some fluids into her system. And bring that fever under control.”

He felt your head loll against him. He looked down in alarm and found you’d lost consciousness again.

“Y/N? Wake up, Y/N!”

This time no amount of effort would bring you around.

“Damn it,” Sam growled as he got to his feet. He grabbed a notepad from your entry table and scribbled a list down. “Do you know that walk-in clinic on 42nd street?”

Garth followed him, “Yeah, I pass it on my way to work.”

“Great. My brother is on call there tonight, go in and ask for Dean. Tell him it’s for me, he’ll help you.” Sam tore off the list and thrust it into Garth’s hand, “Get everything and hurry!”

Garth shoved the paper in his pocket, “What if they don’t believe me? That clinic isn’t in the best part of town, junkies hassle them all the time.”

“Dean will believe you but in case he doesn’t say Poughkeepsie. It’s our go word, means drop everything.”

“A secret code word, you guys must be brothers,” Garth muttered on his way out the door.

You woke feeling warm. Bundled up in something soft and secure. Your eyes stayed closed as you enjoyed the luxurious feeling. Most mornings you woke up stiff with your muscles complaining about the ancient futon you had yet to replace. It was left over from college and the wood slats dug into your hips, but moving to a new town was expensive! Anything like a proper mattress would have to wait until you had a few more paychecks under your belt.

You stretched a bit, content to roll over and fall back into your dreams, but something tugged on your hand and pinched. You frowned and tried again; it was like you were caught in a fishing net.

“What the hell…?” You grumbled unhappily, determined to keep your eyes closed out of stubbornness. You blindly felt around and found a tube and tape attached to your right hand.

Your eyes popped open. An I.V.?

You weren’t in your bed. You weren’t in your room! Where the hell were you?

The dimensions matched your bedroom, but it wasn’t bare bones like yours. This one was painted a lovely smoke grey. Bookshelves lined one wall and a mahogany dresser matched it on the other. The bed was the biggest you’d ever seen. The headboard was massive and intricately carved. The mattress was firm but yielding.

The bedside table housed bottles of medication, a stethoscope, a digital thermometer, and a glass of water. You remembered being sick. Sicker than you’d ever felt. You remembered your boss sending you home then… nothing. Just a blur.

You sat up slowly. When the room didn’t spin, you decided to press your luck. You pulled back the covers enough to dangle your feet over the edge. Your toes found plush carpet. You felt weak, but not dizzy. And you were cold without the blankets. Looking down you found bare legs. You were wearing only your tank top and Wonder Woman underwear.

Fuck. Where the hell are my clothes?!

With a quick yank, you pulled the I.V. out and headed for the door.

“Yeah, Dean I know. If I promise to wash and wax your car, will you get off my case?”

“No way in hell you are waxing my Baby, do I need to remind you about Liza Raffaella in the eighth grade?”

“Please don’t,” Sam groaned into the phone.

“It’s wax on, wax off. Not wax on, go chat up a nerd girl for three hours while the wax bakes on in the sun!”

“Sam?”

Sam spun at the raspy voice behind him. You were standing in the hall, your hand braced against the wall for balance. You looked a little wobbly, but far better than you had in hours.

“I gotta go,” he told his brother before ending the call. “Y/N, hey. How you feeling?”

“Confused. How did I get here and where are my clothes?”

“Oh!” Sam’s cheeks colored instantly as he grabbed a soft, woven throw from the back of an over-sized chair. He draped it over your shoulders and ushered you to the sofa.

“Sorry about that, your fever was sky high. Needed to bring it down in a hurry. Here, sit.”

You sank down onto a couch that was just as comfortable as the bed you’d woken up in. Sam disappeared into the kitchen then returned with a glass of ginger ale and some crackers. He was rattling off something about Chinese takeout and your pants being in the laundry. All the while he was fussing over you. His long fingers found the pulse point on your wrist, and he produced a pen light from somewhere to check your pupils.

After a few minutes, he realized you were staring at him, “Y/N?”

“Sam, grateful that I am for your hospitality and bedside manner… I still don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Well, I figured it would be a better place for you to recover… with all the construction.”

Now you were really confused, “Construction?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and embarrassment turned his ears pink, “Yeah. I ah… I kinda broke down your door.”

“What?!”

“You weren’t answering! I just had a really bad feeling, and I would never have forgiven myself if something happened to you.”

His gaze traveled your face then locked on your eyes. “I was worried about you.”

You looked at him, really looked. He was beautiful, as he always was, but there was an edge of exhaustion to his features. His five o’clock shadow was darker than you’d ever seen it. The fine lines around his eyes and lips were etched deeper and his hazel eyes were slightly red. Even his enviable hair was disheveled.

“So, you committed destruction of property to save my life?”

“I did.” He gave a nod, his tone teasing, “You gonna turn me in?”

A small smile played around your lips, “Nah. I might need your services again. I have a habit of getting into trouble. Nice to know I’ve got my own personal hero on call.”

“You call, I’ll come running.”

Two Years Later:

“That was not our first date!”

“We spent the entire weekend curled up in my bed, it counts.”

“I was unconscious!”

“Not the whole time,” Sam countered, threading his fingers through yours, “Sometimes you’d wake up. Of course, you were delirious. You did have some of the most creative fever dreams… what was that one about the Catholic church hiding the existence of extra-terrestrials by dressing them up like the clergy?”

“They were hiding dinosaurs, not aliens. Tiny dinosaurs under their creepy old lady robes. And still, not a date. I think you’ll find most dating experts would agree with me on this.”

“Dating experts?”

“Your brother.”

Sam huffed out a laugh, “Don’t be fooled by the rumors, he’s not the Casanova everyone thinks he is.”

“I dunno, guy gets a lot of dates.”

“First dates. Ask him about his batting average for second dates.”

“Oh yeah? Got him beat, do you?”

“Hands down.”

Sam curled a finger under your chin and brought his lips down to meet yours. You hummed happily as an electric spark zinged all the way down to your toes. It was crazy that even after two years he still managed to excite you with just a touch, or a look. You never had to doubt his feelings for you, he wore them openly and proudly. He never missed the opportunity to hold your hand in the grocery store or to wrap his arm around your shoulders at the movies. A kiss to the temple, a hand at the small of your back. Every touch was filled with the warmth of the sun on a summer’s day. Every night was filled with the heat and passion of desire that could never be sated.

You leaned into Sam’s side as he guided the two of you down the winding path that cut through the willows. “So, tell me Doctor Winchester, why haven’t I been to your family’s estate before?”

“I wouldn’t call it an estate, it’s just a few acres.”

“I don’t care if it’s a patch of dead grass… you have horses! Horses, Sam! I’ve wanted to go horseback riding since I was ten.”

“We might be able to squeeze in a lesson for you before we head home.”

“Really?!”

“I’ll bet you’re a natural, you’re already an expert with a riding crop,” he whispered in your ear.

“Sam!” You admonished him, instantly turning red, “That was a one time!”

“Best birthday ever. And to answer your question; you haven’t been here before because I was waiting.”

The path curved and opened up to a decent sized pond. A dock jutted out onto the clear, still waters and ended in an elaborate gazebo. Painted a picturesque white and topped with a copper finial, hundreds of tiny fairy lights hung from the rafters glittering with magic and romance.

“Oh wow,” you breathed, following Sam down the planks. “This is like something out of a book. God, it’s beautiful!”

“My parents built this place from the ground up. Mom had this vision in her head about a pond where she could come and watch ducks. Teach her kids to swim and fish. So, one summer, Dad started digging. I don’t think he even had a plan, all the neighbors thought he was crazy! But he was stubborn and determined. And he loved my mom more than anything.”

You walked out to the end of the platform and leaned out on the railing. Dragonflies danced along the surface of the water as the sun began to set and the crickets started to sing. “He did a great job. Did he build the gazebo too?”

“Anniversary present,” he confirmed, joining you by the railing. “This was my favorite spot when I was a kid. Dean loved the garage, hanging with Dad and tearing apart trucks with the radio blasting. I couldn’t stand the noise, so I’d come out here. Even in the winter.”

Suddenly, a swan flew down and landed in the middle of the water. Graceful and noble, it glided across the water sending the slightest of ripples out in its wake. As it turned, you could see a single black feather against the white of its tail.

“Oh! I’ve never seen a swan with one black feather.”

“He’s always had it, never could figure out why. He showed up when I was ten and just never left. I call him Solomon.”

“Is it just him? I thought swans always paired up?”

“Well, that’s the thing, they do have mates for life, but he showed up alone. And I know it sounds silly, but he was mopey. He didn’t take a lot of interest in anything; he didn’t interact with the ducks or even pay any attention to me when I tried to feed him. He was sad. Some animals grieve and I think he was grieving for his lost mate.”

“Poor guy,” you murmured, watching as Sam took a packet of birdseed from his pocket and tossed a bit out on the water.

“When I left for college, Solomon migrated and didn’t come back in the spring. I thought I’d seen the last of him, but then I got a call from Mom this past summer. He was back and he brought someone with him.”

As if on cue, a second swan swooped down and landed beside Solomon. Pure white and just as lovely. They looked like a postcard, gliding on the sunlit water.

“You’re kidding! He found another mate? I didn’t know swans would do that!”

“Some do, special cases. And Solomon’s no fool, he might have been content to be alone forever, but when that right one came along, he snapped her up.”

“That’s amazing!” You turned to Sam with a beaming grin, but stopped short when you realized he wasn’t standing there beside you. He was kneeling.

“Sam.”

He took both of your hands in his, tipping his face back to gaze up at you with such tenderness and devotion it made your breath catch.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time. I knew what I wanted to do and how I wanted it to look, but the words never came. Everything I wrote seemed inadequate. Even the word love falls short. It’s not enough, it’s not big enough. Being with you is a revelation, Y/N. You call me your hero, but baby… it’s the other way around. You rescued me.”

Tears had already gathered in your eyes when he pulled out a blue velvet box. A diamond solitaire sparkled inside like a star in the sky.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever have the words, but I swear to show you. To treasure you, to make your happiness my mission. To answer your call and to love you for all my days.”

You dropped down to your knees and tackled him. Your arms flung around his neck, nearly knocking him over in your enthusiasm. He caught you with a laugh and kept the two of you from tumbling off into the water. You kissed every square inch of the face you’d loved since he first rescued you. And you laughed. Joy bubbled up from your heart like effervescent Champagne.

“You astonishing,” Kiss. “Brilliant,” kiss. “Romantic,” kiss, kiss. “Beautiful,” kiss, kiss, kiss.

“Y/N… baby…”

“Yes?” Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.

His hands wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you back slightly so he could look into your eyes. He traced the curve of your face, fondly tucking your hair behind your ear. You were always moving, always racing towards everything in life. It was something he loved about you, your exuberance. Your passion! You burned so bright, his light even on the darkest days.

“Will you marry me?”

Your brow creased in confusion before you realized, he didn’t actually say the words a moment ago. You been so excited that he never got the chance.

“Yes,” you nodded, your forehead coming to rest against his. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Sam slipped the ring onto your finger, “Will you look at that? Perfect fit.”

“Guess that means you’re stuck with me now.” You shifted so that you were sitting in his lap, your hand cupped his jaw, “I should tell you up front that I tend to get into trouble, there’s a good chance that you’ll be required to rescue me from time to time.”

“Good thing rescuing you is my second favorite activity.”

“Second favorite?”

“Yeah,” he murmured against the curve of your neck, “Let me show you the front runner.”

Before long, Sam had swept you away in a haze with his deft fingers and clever tongue. The title of Hero that you bestowed on him became a running joke through the years and then a loving nickname. But that didn’t make it any less true. He’d always been a hero, and now he was yours. TAGLIST @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseunbyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetryy @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witchly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4evr @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007

#sam x y/n #sam winchester #doctor!Sam Winchester x Reader #doctor!Sam x y/n #doctor!Sam Winchester #sick fanfic #sickfic #sam x you #sam x reader #spn fic #supernatural #dean x reader #jared padalecki #Jared x Reader

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

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Practically Magic Chapter Seven: The Stars That Guide You

Summary: Growing up in the same tiny mountain town, Y/N Owens and Dean Winchester despised each other. The only thing they ever agreed on was their need to escape. Life took them in opposite directions and neither of them ever looked back. So, when their paths cross over a series of gruesome murders in their hometown it was no surprise that old friction heated up again.

Dean never dreamed he’d be teaming up with a psychic, the FBI frowned on that sort of thing, but he was desperate. When that psychic turned out to be Y/N Owens, Dean knew two things for sure. One, Y/N was the real deal and two, he was in real trouble.

Pairing: Agent!Dean x Psychic!Reader, Dean x Reader, AU Dean x You Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer

Warnings: Slow Burn, Serial Killer Elements, Witches, Haters to Lovers, Claustrophobic Elements, Murder Scenes

Author’s Notes: This is an AU taking elements from the film Practical Magic and applying them to a fictional world where Dean Winchester is an FBI Agent. You will find parallels from that movie here, some quotes and other elements that capture the essence of the world of the Owens Witches. Hopefully! Additional Author’s Notes: This is a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Chapter Seven: The Stars That Guide You Word Count: 4614

Masterlist

Practically Magic Masterlist

“I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for.” – Sally Owens

April 19, 2008

Vivienne Owens was a straightforward woman. Tall and slim with an ageless face, she never lacked for companionship. A good laugh and a strong embrace were really all she sought when life got lonely. Never did she seek love. That kind of nonsense could ruin a witch! Especially if that witch was an Owens. She had no desire to spend her life mourning the loss of yet another victim of the family curse. Besides, her life wasn’t lacking in the love. She had you.

Funny, kind, and smart as a whip, you were the apple of your Gran’s eye. After the heartbreaking death of your mother, Viv found herself thrust into the role of guardian. Never would have guessed that out of that heartbreak would come such a gift! Raising you gave her a purpose she hadn’t expected. Life’s blessings were often found in unexpected places.

She was eternally grateful for the friendship you forged with Sam Winchester. That boy had a heart of gold and manners to match. For all the times she worried about the cruelty you might encounter out in the world, she never worried when you were with Sam. Unfailingly loyal and true. Exactly the sort of man Viv hoped would catch your eye when the time came. Alas, it wasn’t meant. She’d consulted every card and crystal on the matter, and they all had the same answer, not the one.

When the doorbell sounded, Viv answered it without hesitation. The gentleman caller waiting on the porch had her narrowing her eyes.

“Well, well. The bad penny.”

“Ms. Owens.” Dean replied with respect in his voice and his posture, hoping the Owens matriarch would give him a pass. For once.

“You’re supremely over-dressed to drive a pair of teenagers to the school dance. Or are you chaperoning?”

To his credit, he stood a bit taller, pride refusing to let him shrink away. “I’m Y/N’s date.”

Viv never liked Dean. A pretty faced bad boy who had neither the ambition nor the work ethic to be a decent match for any woman of quality. Certainly not for her cherished granddaughter.

She took a step towards him, steel in her dark eyes, “Not a chance.”

“Gran, stop teasing. We’re going to be late.”

There are events in life, specific moments that shift the world. Forever changing it and leaving us, the poor players struggling to right ourselves in the wake. By rights, one should be able to see something that epic a mile off. Maybe that was by design. How many of us would stay in the path of chaos when the outcome is so uncertain?

For better or worse, Dean was rooted to the floor as he watched you descend the staircase. If Sammy were there, he would have rattled off some random fact about the symbolic meaning of a staircase. A journey or a passageway uniting two states of being. But Dean didn’t need it spelled out for him, it was plain as day. You’d raced up those stairs a thousand times as a girl, but tonight a young woman came back.

“Uh… Sammy’s sick,” Dean blurted out, surprised that he was able to form a sentence.

“Yeah, he just called, poor guy.” You smiled, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. Visible for the first time without braces, “You look really nice.”

Dean tried to blink himself out of his stupor. He’d watched you grow up, but this was seeing you. Really seeing you for the first time. Your dress was purple, of course it was. Strapless and fitted to the waist where it flared out into a proper princess gown with layers of tulle. There were thousands of tiny crystals sewn into the design that sparkled when you moved.

You had curves. Real curves. Your bust… wow. When did that happen?? Your normally mousy brown hair was a shade darker and pinned back with a silver comb so that it fell prettily over your shoulder. Your eyes looked darker too, lined and luminous. They held expectation, reminding him to speak.

“You’re beautiful.”

You could count on one hand the number of times Dean had spoken without a trace of sarcasm or swagger. This wasn’t the way he spoke to Lisa Braeden or any of the other girls that came around. There was no smirk. No flirt. No charming line. The sincerity in his voice was mirrored in the green eyes that held yours.

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name made butterflies stir in your stomach! No boy had ever said your name like that before, like a prayer and a promise mixed together. Like you were special and meant to be treated that way.

Confidence bloomed. You tilted your head with a teasing grin and spun in a circle, “Do you like my princess dress?”

“Oh, I’m a fan,” Dean chuckled, his cheeks turning pink in the process.

You picked up the skirt and revealed a pair of transparent heels that sparkled like they’d been dipped in fairy dust. “Look,” you laughed. “Cinderella!”

“Alright, you two, picture time.”

You pulled on a pair of long, white opera gloves and Dean tied the corsage of wisteria and starflowers to your wrist. The sight of big, tough Dean Winchester tying a delicate bow made your heart melt. You did your best to be grown up about it and straightened his bowtie in exchange.

Viv posed you by the ornately carved banister at the base of the stairs. Dean stood behind you, his arm wrapped naturally around your waist, and you glanced up at him with a smile. The camera was a family heirloom, several generations old. If the light was right, the lens would reveal the subject’s aura. She didn’t even have to adjust the focus, the haze around the pair was glowing bright pink, edging into crimson. Viv silently cursed.

When love is true, there is a rosy hue.

“Come on, Princess. I got your carriage waiting,” Dean said, holding the door for you.

Gran dropped a kiss to your forehead, “Have fun, darling girl.”

“Love you, Gran,” you smiled back as you fastened the wrap around your shoulders.

Vivienne’s fondness cooled as she regarded the eldest Winchester. The fates may have deemed you a perfect match, but she sure as hell didn’t have to like it.

“I’ll have her home by midnight, Viv… ah, Ms. Owens.”

“Treat her like a princess and we won’t have an issue, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean shook the hand the woman held out to him and tried to shrug off the ill-ease that came with it. He knew Viv didn’t hold him in high esteem, but this was the first time he felt a true, underlying threat. He didn’t want to fixate on what his fate would be if he failed to deliver you at the appointed hour.

“It’s a promise.”

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then your prom must have been held at the ninth gate.

You never meant for things to go so badly; your motives were entirely pure! Wear the dress, play the part, and behave yourself. A task so simple anyone could do it. Anyone except you, apparently.

You wrung your gloved hands together in your lap as the Impala squealed out of the high school parking lot. Too nervous to steal a glance at Dean, you turned your attention to the houses and street signs whizzing by. He wasn’t saying anything, and you could hardly blame him. In under twenty minutes you managed to turn a normal, if bland, school dance into utter chaos! So much for a night of playing princess.

When the silence in the car finally became more than you could take, you spoke. “Do you think everyone noticed?”

“Which part? When the strobe lights exploded or when that statue of Charlie Baker came to life and ordered a whiskey?”

“We shouldn’t have a statue of him in the first place, he murdered dozens of Ute Indians.”

“Yeah, well tonight he was aiming for the principal.” Dean gave a thoughtful pause, “Is that girl’s hair going to grow back?”

You groaned and let your head fall back against the seat, “Ugh! Gran’s gonna have my ass. I’m supposed to be working on control. I’ll be lucky if they don’t hang me in the town square!”

“Nah, it’s not that bad. Most people won’t even believe it, they’ll probably blame it on a prank gone wrong or bad beer.”

The car went quiet again as you ran through dozens of ways you could explain this to your grandmother. None of them good. Maybe you should go back and try a memory spell? You were still inexperienced with casting and something of this size was not for a novice. Given your track record, there was a good chance it would backfire. As if things could get any worse…

Then you heard Dean snicker.

Looking over, you saw his shoulders start to shake. An ill-concealed grin took over his face, although he clearly tried to fight it.

“Dean! It’s not funny!”

He laughed then, loudly. Cracking up so bad he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “Did you see the look on Mrs. Walcott’s face then Charlie called her a Painted Lady and asked how much?”

You shook your head and pressed your lips together, trying to keep a straight face. It didn’t work. Dean had the best laugh and when he really got going it was contagious.

“A dollar for the night, two if the lights stay on,” you chuckled, repeating Charlie’s offer.

“Holy hell, Y/N… best prom ever!”

It was early yet, so rather than take you home to face a lecture, Dean headed in the opposite direction. Ten miles outside of town and up the side of the mountain, he pulled off to a lookout point. Not well used, the gravel road was overgrown with weeds just starting to green for the spring. He parked Baby facing the valley below. The worn, flannel blanket in the trunk still spread perfectly over the hood for the two of you to lay on.

No stars shone through the overcast sky, making the lights of Silverton especially bright.

Dean pulled a flask from his inside coat pocket and offered it to you, “Sorry your prom blew up.”

You took a sip, surprising him by not choking on the warm whiskey. “It’s not a total loss,” you replied, handing it back to him. “The company’s still top notch.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve missed you.”

You still couldn’t believe that he was here, let alone your date! You hadn’t seen much of Dean after he graduated. He bounced around taking a few trade courses and working in garages off and on. He didn’t seem to have much of a direction except to get out of Silverton. You suspected that the only thing keeping him around at all was Sam.

After what happened with Bobby, Dean closed himself off to you. There were no more Saturday afternoons spent tuning up the Impala. No more hot cocoa after class or karaoke on country drives. You missed his friendship and his company, but fear and pride kept you from seeking him out.

Still, he was here now, and you took it as a good sign.

“I missed you too.”

Sudden shyness had you looking away and changing the subject. “Sam said that you were working in Denver.”

“Ah yeah, for a while, you know.” Dean took another swallow of whiskey and looked out to the city lights, “It’s a little big for a kid from the sticks. I spent most of my time in Greeley.”

An image popped into your mind of blowing blonde hair and sad eyes. “Greeley. That’s where your mom was from.”

A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips, “Your hocus pocus is getting better, Pip.”

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Nah, don’t be. It’s no secret.”

“So, you have family there? Mary’s family?”

“Sure do!” he barked out a laugh, “A whole clan of Campbells. Aunts and uncles, cousins. Both grandparents. They, ah… they have this big ol’ ranch up there. It’s really beautiful.”

“They must have been happy to see you, it’s been a long time.”

“I didn’t tell them who I was. Made up a story about passing through looking for work. Helped them get one of their tractors up and running again, but I moved on after a couple of days.”

You found his hand in the dark and laced your fingers through his. He squeezed back, latching onto it like a lifeline.

“They didn’t recognize me. Dad always said I looked like her, but they didn’t even look at me twice. I told ‘em my name was John Bonham! That should have at least raised an eyebrow.”

“What did Sam say about it?”

Dean sat up, his knees pulled up so he could rest his elbows on them, “He doesn’t know I went.”

The rejection and grief seeped out of the old wound in his heart. The pain so acute that you felt it as your own. You knew what it was to lose a mother, but you were never alone with it. You had Gran. Dean bore his burden on his own. By necessity and by choice.

“Tell him. He’s your brother, he wouldn’t want you to go through this alone.”

“Sweetheart, that’s exactly the point. Sammy’s always saying we’ve got family out there, always wanting to know more about them. Well, now I know about ‘em.”

“You went to Greeley for Sam.”

“I wasn’t gonna let him get hurt.” Dean hopped down from Baby’s hood and kicked a few stones from his path,

“My mom loved this spot. She used to drive us up here all the time, even before Sammy was born. This was where she told me I was going to be a big brother! Hell, she even told me before she told Dad. Taking care of that kid is my job, the only one I ever gave a damn about. The only one I was ever any good at.”

You got down from the car and pulled Dean into a tight hug. Your fingers curled around the nape of his neck as he buried his face in your shoulder. You stayed like that for a long time, absorbing the hurt along with the dampness of old tears.

“You’re doing a good job, Dean,” you whispered into his ear. “She’s very proud of you.”

He crushed you to him and closed his eyes until he could breathe again. After a time, the heavy cloud of grief lifted, and he felt better than he had in a long time. When he released you, he found calm and kindness in your gaze instead of judgement. You were far too young to have eyes so wise.

He shifted gears, deliberately trading melancholy for frivolity. He reached into the Impala through the driver’s side window. “You know Y/N, I’m not doing a very good job of keeping my word to your Gran.”

Your head tilted, not entirely sure what he was up to. “What do you mean?”

“I promised her to treat you like a princess.” His voice was muffled as the radio came to life. The first chords of Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door floated out into the night.

Your eyes grew wide as he held out a hand to you with a dashing smile, “Every princess deserves a dance.”

“Oh! No, Dean. I don’t know.”

“Why not? This is a great song!”

“Well, ah… I just never,” you cleared your throat and whispered, “I don’t know how to dance.”

He paused for a moment. He saw the uncertainty in your gaze, and he banished it with a wink, “Just follow my lead, Sweetheart. I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand tugged you out into the clearing. He quickly spun you in a dizzying circle, making you crash into him with a laugh. One of your hands was guided to his shoulder and he told you to hang on tight. You only stepped on his toes a couple of times before you found the rhythm.

“Look at that,” he beamed down at you, “You’re a natural.”

Warmth spread through you like sunlight as you settled into the dance. You focused on new and fascinating sensations, like the feeling of his hand on your waist. The subtle scent of his cologne. The smoothness of his clean-shaven cheek as it brushed against yours. The way your hands fit, like they were meant to go together.

“Y/N?”

His voice was rough, but softened when he said your name.

“Hmm?”

“Does it always feel like that?”

You didn’t dare look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Magic,” he said at last. “Back at the school, there was this zap.”

Your grip on his shoulder tightened. “You felt that?”

A laugh bubbled up from his throat as he swayed you back and forth, “Hell yeah, I did! It was like a lightning strike! Is it always like that when you twitch your nose?”

Your mind raced, there was no way he should have felt that! No mortal would have, not even someone close to you. Only a witch born to the craft would be able to detect an energy fluctuation like that. And even so, it would have been minimal.

“No, not always. It depends on what I’m feeling.”

“So, back there you were… pissed?”

“Yes. Anger carries heat, makes it snap and sizzle,” you carefully explained. “Magic always comes from within. From your heart. Emotions give it fuel.”

“Can you do it again?” His green eyes curious, “Another spell, a different one.”

When you didn’t answer right away, he thought he’d offended you. But you didn’t push him away. Another song came on the radio, and you pulled him in close. He wasn’t lying earlier; you were incredibly light on your feet. This time you led, spinning him around in pleasant circles to the music. The full skirt of your dress swishing around your feet.

Your lips barely brushed his ear as your whispered, “The star that guides you shines brightest in the dark.”

He didn’t know what the words meant, but goosebumps broke out as soon as you said them. Similar to what he felt back at the prom, but not as sharp. This was warm and seductive, like a good bourbon. Honeyed gold. Rays of the sun that filtered through the Aspens in autumn. Completely relaxed and a bit tipsy. It felt good, and so did he.

The light broke him out of his magic haze. And it took him a minute to realize that it was coming from you. You were glowing.

Actually glowing.

It started with your dress. The tiny sequins shimmered, then got brighter. Twinkling stars against the violet fabric like the night sky. Delicate threads of iridescent silver light wove through your hair and swirled over your skin. The light gathered and grew bright between your joined hands. Not even your satin gloves could keep the heat from radiating at the connection.

When you raised your dark eyes to meet Dean’s, everything stopped. Even the music stopped. He was aware of nothing except you. The way you looked at him, like he hung the moon in the sky. The shape of your lips as you said his name. It was plain as day and he’d been a fool not to see it.

You raised your hand and with a flick of your wrist, the clouds whisked away. Millions of stars danced in the sky and a comet blazed a path over the mountains in the distance. The moon came out and shone down silver beams so bright that you and Dean could see each other clearly. There was no hiding in the shadows. No dancing around the half-whispered rumors that plagued your family.

Dean’s wide eyes scanned the sky in wonder before landing on you. You held your breath, the confidence that flooded you a moment ago ebbed away. This was you naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. Rule one, never reveal your magic! Witches were burned for that sort of thing.

He gently brushed his knuckles over your cheek, proving to himself that you were real. “How? How did I not see?”

“I don’t normally perform spells in public.”

His other hand came to rest on your waist, certain that if he didn’t keep contact you would disappear like a dream. “I don’t mean the magic, I mean you. You grew up, Y/N.”

You bit your lip, “So did you.”

“You did a better job of it, Sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied, running your hands over the lapels of his suit. “You look pretty grown up to me.”

Eyes closed and lips met. Cautious and curious at first, then warm and open. As natural and essential as breathing. Moving in tandem and growing in intensity. It was impossible to tell who initiated it, but it didn’t matter. It was the sweet connection of souls that inspired playwrights and poets.

Dean wasn’t a believer in fate, but he couldn’t deny the feeling of rightness. Every step he’d taken, even when he walked away from you, was leading him here. He knew it, all the way down to his bones. He wasn’t always sure what he wanted his life to look like or what he wanted to do with it. But now he knew one thing for certain, he wanted it to include you.

You blinked up at him with a dazed expression as he gently pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear with a soft chuckle, “Everything okay?”

Ever so delicately, you brought your fingers up to trace the shape of his face. The ridge of his brow, the angle of his cheekbone. No one had ever touched him with such softness or reverence. Your touch ghosted over his lips, and you smiled.

“Everything’s perfect.”

Dean walked you to your door just as the clock struck twelve. He kissed your hand, certain that anything more than that would lead to the backseat of the Impala, and you deserved better than that. He wanted better than that, for both of you.

“Thanks for tonight, I had a really good time.”

“Me too. Sleep well, Princess.”

You shyly ducked your head before closing the door behind you with a quiet click.

He was halfway down the sidewalk, congratulating himself on his restraint when the door opened. He turned just in time to see a cloud of purple sparkles barreling towards him. He caught you with a happy grunt as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him with enough enthusiasm to take his breath away. Electricity zinged over his skin and made his heart jump.

Your grin was triumphant, and you gave his lips one last peck, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight… Y/N.”

You spun away laughing, and skipped back to the house, “Let’s get coffee tomorrow!”

“Okay,” Dean said, as much to himself as to you. The door closed again and this time the lock latched. Viv’s tall shadow passed by the window, evidently you were in for the night whether you wanted to be or not.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and whistled to himself as he walked back to the Impala. Tonight turned out to be the best rollercoaster ride of his life, and he never wanted to get off.

As his hand reached the garden gate, a low growl sounded from the darkness. He stopped dead in his tracks as a massive black dog came out of the shadows. It stood between him and the car. Its eyes glowed an eerie red and the hackles on it’s back made the long fur stand up in warning. The night air, light with new love turned stale and sulfuric. Even the silver moonlight shifted to sallow green.

Dean slowly moved his hands to his jacket, searching for a pocketknife or his keys. Anything to use as a weapon. Coming up empty, he knew speed was his only hope. The evil thing threw its head back in a terrifying howl and Dean ran! Back up the flagstone path to the house, but he only got a few feet before he was tackled to the ground. Sharp teeth gleamed and gnashed as he struggled with the monster. It was impossibly strong and smelled like death and decay.

It went for his throat and Dean was just able to deflect its attack. It missed his jugular but clamped down on his forearm. Blood poured, skin and muscle shredded away from the bone and Dean screamed. Another soul lost to the beast.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“Dean! Get up, damn it!”

Dean bolted upright in his bed. Soaked in sweat and sticking to the sheets, he frantically looked around the room for the wolf. Met with only frilly fabrics and case files, he rubbed a hand over his thudding heart.

“Come on, you jerk!” Bam. Bam. Bam. “Open up!”

Oblivious to the fact that he was in his boxers, Dean stumbled to the door and slid the dainty gold chain off the lock.

“What?!”

Sam rolled his eyes and shoved past his brother, “What the hell took you so long? Were you sneaking a chick out the bathroom window?”

Dean stepped out on to the tiny porch, his eyes squinting in the sun as he scanned the street. His Baby was still parked right where he left her, along with a few other cars. A woman jogged by pushing a stroller, white puffs of air rose as she exhaled. A typical, crisp morning in Silverton.

“Dean, you alright?” Sam asked from the doorway.

“Did you see a dog a few minutes ago?”

“What?”

“A big, black dog. Maybe a wolf?”

“A wolf?’ Sam’s brow furrowed, “No. What’s going on?”

“I must be losing my damn mind,” Dean muttered, going to the kitchenette and pouring himself a cup of day-old coffee. “What are you doing here, Sammy?”

“I’ve been calling you all morning, when you didn’t call back, I figured you forgot to charge your cell or something.” Sam’s clear gaze faltered, “There’s been another murder. Called it in an hour ago.”

“Damn it.” Dean grabbed his discarded suit and headed for the bathroom. “Give me a minute, I’m right behind you.”

He splashed cold water over his face, not bothering with a shave. The vivid dream turned nightmare was still fresh in his mind. But he couldn’t focus on any of that now. He had a killer to catch, God willing this latest strike would yield more clues than the others did.

Dean’s reflection stared back as he jammed the toothbrush into his mouth. He looked like hell. Weeks of late nights and early mornings left dark circles under his eyes and carved lines in his forehead. His hair was shaggy and the stubble on his chin was turning the corner from scruff to beard. He was starting to look just like his dad!

As he rinsed the brush, he noticed something on his arm. Two crescent shaped marks raised and red on the skin of his forearm. Tender to the touch. The size and shape of a dog bite.

A Hellhound, you’d said. A death omen.

Dean scooped up your Black Obsidian from the counter and fastened the silver chain around his neck before he buttoned up his shirt. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but if nightmares could become reality, then he’d need all the help he could get.

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

Practically Magic Chapter Six: The Black Dog

Pairing: Agent!Dean x Psychic!Reader, Dean x Reader, AU Dean x You Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer

Warnings: Slow Burn, Serial Killer Elements, Witches, Haters to Lovers, Claustrophobic Elements, Murder Scenes

Masterlist

Practically Magic Masterlist

“You spend all your energy trying to fit in, be normal. But you’re never going to fit in, because we’re different!” – Gillian Owens

You efficiently shuffled the over-sized deck of cards as you sat at the kitchen table. The familiar smooth edges and worn corners soothed your nerves as you repeated the mindless task. It had been a week since you started working with the Winchesters and so far, you hadn’t been much of an asset. You’d had no visions, no prophetic dreams, not so much as a spooky shiver! Nothing! You felt frustrated and utterly useless. It was only a matter of time before the killer struck again and the pressure to produce something tangible was intense.

Sam was the most understanding; patience being one of his many strengths. He seemed pleased to have you around and always asked for your opinion on potential suspects. Although, you produced nothing of substance, he was quick to assure you that your help was needed and welcome.

Dean, on the other hand, avoided you almost entirely. He shut himself up in his office, pouring over case files and drinking vats of sour coffee. When he did emerge, it was to leave and interview potential witnesses or revisit crime scenes. Or brood. Lord knows he’d been an expert at that when you were children and he’d perfected his technique in recent years. You couldn’t help but notice that even Sam’s deputies steered clear of him. Silverton was a small town and shared their law enforcement with three other communities. This was likely the first time these local boys had teamed up with someone of Dean’s clout. The whole station was a bundle of nerves and anxiety.

Which is exactly why you were in Gran’s kitchen. You needed space to breathe and to get your spirit in alinement to receive.

“Dear me, back to the training wheels, is it?”

You continued to shuffle, watching your grandmother glide over to the stove and put a kettle on. “Tarot is a perfectly viable tool for divination.”

“Oh, I am well aware… that is my deck, you’re using.”

“I have better luck with yours.”

You laid out two cards in quick succession. Five of wands and the four of cups. Conflict and melancholy.

Viv glanced over your shoulder and clicked her tongue. “Those cards always were on the sharp side.”

You groaned, “It’s not going well.”

She filled two cups with steaming tea, offering one to you as she sat across from you. “I could have told you that. Nothing ever goes well with the Winchesters.”

“Not even with Sam?” You asked, peering innocently over the rim of your teacup.

“Samuel’s good nature is not enough to counter the chaotic nature of his brother. He’s not safe, Y/N.”

“He’s an FBI Agent and Sam is a sheriff. Public safety is in their job description.”

“Pretending ignorance doesn’t suit, so let’s not dance around the subject. Its Dean who concerns me and should concern you.” Viv stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea. “I nearly lost you because of him and here you are… giving him an opportunity to do it all again, this time permanently.”

You looked down, unable to face the directness of your grandmother’s gaze. “It’s in the past, Gran.”

“The past has a way of repeating itself. Especially in this family.”

“Not this time.” You rubbed your thumb over the palm of your right hand, another childhood habit. “The ties that bound us together were severed long ago. Nothing is going to happen with Dean, I’ve made sure of it.”

Remorse reflected in Viv’s dark eyes, “I know, my darling girl. But that doesn’t make it easy. For either of you.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you agreed. “But stopping this killer is more important that our comfort. It’s the gift. The call, I have to answer it.”

Vivienne reached across the table and flipped over the third card, The Moon. Intuition.

“So, it seems. Take the Obsidian, the weather is turning.”

You maneuvered your old Jeep down the winding road that would deposit you in the middle of downtown Silverton. Reliable, durable, and older than you, it had been a birthday present when you turned sixteen. Black with a double pinstripe in neon purple. You parked it in the garage when you left to seek your fortune, never knowing that you’d one day be right back where you started. A Stevie Nicks cassette was still stuck in the ancient tape deck and seemed appropriate.

Gran’s Black Obsidian pendant was hidden under your shirt and sat over your heart. The large piece of volcanic glass was a sword against negativity and dated all the way back to the Mayans. Your clothes were black too, and close fitting. Modern day armor, you donned when you needed to project strength you didn’t quite feel. Fake it ‘til you make it. Today certainly fell into that category.

You parked in front of the sheriff’s station and checked your reflection in the rearview before getting out. The tousled pixie cut still did its job of accentuating your features while conveying confidence with a touch of sex appeal. A small, petty part of you hoped Dean was struggling as much as you were. Why should you be the only one squirming? If looking good was the best revenge, then you were going to serve it hot!

The wind that had been blustering all morning came to an abrupt stop as you reached for the front door of the station. There was a smell of something burning, smoldering and sulfuric. You felt eyes on you, boring into your back and when you slowly turned there was a huge, black dog. Eerie and still as death, its eyes burned. Drilling into yours with intensity that stole your breath. Serpentine smoke slithered and swirled around its feet. It threw its head back and let out the most horrific sound.

A howl that sounded like it came from the gates of Hell itself.

Then it was gone! Jagged images like broken glass tore through your mind and snippets of conversation in strange voices. The information was overwhelming and crashed over you in unrelenting waves until your head threatened to split apart!

All you wanted was for it to stop, but you couldn’t break free. Was this what happened to your less fortunate ancestors with the sight? Is this how they went mad? Luckily, you were saved from the same grisly fate by two hands on your shoulders pulling you back into the present.

“Y/N! What the hell are you doing?!”

The dog, the smoke, the hellish images all gone. Only the jade green eyes and a sinful mouth pulled into a tight line remained. Those hands shook you roughly and you blinked.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me! What were you thinking running into the middle of the street like that? Old man Perkins nearly flattened you with his pickup!”

Your brows drew together in confusion. Then, glancing around, you understood. You weren’t in front of the sheriff’s station anymore, you were three blocks over on Main Street. Judging from the vehicles stopped in the intersection and shaken drivers, you’d walked right into oncoming traffic.

“Oh.”

“Oh, she says.” Dean straightened to his full height and ran a hand over his mouth. “Jesus, Pip… you nearly gave me a coronary.”

You brought a hand to your head and looked around for any trace of your vision. “Sorry, there was this… black dog. And I heard…”

Dean saw your hand tremble and he softened. He was in the coffee shop when he saw you standing on the sidewalk staring off into nothing. The vacant look on your face pricked at his instincts. He was already heading for the door when you darted out into the street. A hatchback missed you by inches and Dean reached you just in time to snatch you from the path of that ancient Chevy truck.

“Come on,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”

Twenty minutes later you were seated on the sofa in Dean’s office. A mug of hot tea in your hands helped you to finally stop shaking. You’d had countless premonitions in your life, they could be intense, but this was different. Never had a vision displaced you in reality. You weren’t sure what to make of it, but for the moment you were content to keep your own council on the matter. The Winchesters wouldn’t understand it and if your Gran ever caught wind of it… well, best to not think about that.

The door opened and Sam walked in with Dean behind him. They made an intimidating pair, and you sat up a bit straighter out in spite of yourself.

“Hey, Y/N. Feeling better?” asked Sam, leaning against the desk.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I know you were worried.”

The lanky giant scratched the back of his neck, “I just don’t have a lot of experience with psychics. I wasn’t sure how to help.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, “Sam, you’ve known me since kindergarten. A quiet space and a little time usually fix just about anything.”

“So, you remember it then? Your vision?”

It was Dean who asked. Your gaze snapped to his in surprise. He’d never been exactly at ease with your magic roots, even whispering about visions seemed to make him squirm. It must be his unfailing professionalism that had him treating the very idea with a measure of respect. Or desperation.

“I remember, but the information is kind of all over the place. Disjointed.”

“Did you see him?”

“No,” you replied with a frown. “But I heard him. I think he was talking on the phone… he said something about going home.”

“Home where?” asked Sam.

“I saw something in his hand, but I don’t know what it means.” You walked over to the desk and scribbled the strange words down on a steno pad. “His voice was smarmy, smooth like a Bond villain selling used cars.”

“Dieu et mon Droit,” Dean muttered, reading over your shoulder.

“French. Um… God and my right,” Sam supplied. “It’s on the UK passport.”

“Bond villain.” Dean paced as he thought, “Going home to England. So what? He’s skipping the country?”

“He won’t be gone long,” you replied. You closed your eyes and repeated the words of the killer, “Back by the new moon, Mrs. Kennedy waits for no one.”

Dean moved to a massive cork board that took up the entire south wall of his office. It was covered with visual evidence. Pictures of each of the victims, crime scenes, possible suspects. Newspaper articles and a timeline of the murders. Many of the papers had multiple pinholes in them, obviously moved around countless times as the Winchesters worked the case.

He tapped the calendar with his index finger, “That tracks. So far, he’s dropped a body every two weeks, give or take. It’s all part of his ritual. The hearts, the body placement, the timing.”

Sam joined him at the board, “Is there a Kennedy in the suspect pool? The profile didn’t peg him as married, but that could always be wrong.”

“I don’t think it is, this dude has the ultimate love/hate relationship with women.”

The voices of Sam and Dean faded into the background as you studied the board. You’d seen it countless times and it always seemed very random. Aside from the fact that all the victims were women, they had no other qualities that linked them. They were from different backgrounds, ethnicities, professions, and ages. Beautiful, vibrant women. Lives cut short in their prime, some even before their prime. The frozen bride had been younger than you originally thought, only fifteen.

One more picture came into focus in your mind, and something clicked. Your hand went to your churning stomach as your thoughts stumbled upon a disturbing realization.

“She’s a crone.”

Sam turned to you, “You saw her?”

You gave a nod, “Elderly, white hair, hunched back, nailed painted bright pink.”

Dean arched an eyebrow, “Crone? That’s not very P.C.”

“It’s a technical term, not for her age but for what she represents.” You wedged your way between the brothers and began marking out the calendar. “She’s part of the Triple Goddess.”

Always quick minded, Sam caught on first, “Maiden, Mother, Crone. You might be on to something; it fits with the timing.”

“The Triple Goddess represents the different stages of womanhood as they correspond with the phases of the moon. The Maiden, or in this case virgin, is youthful and pure. Represented by the waxing moon.” You circled the estimated time and date of death for the body discovered at your party.

“The Mother is the full moon. Abundant and fertile.” You added two circles that matched up with two of the victims.

“The Crone,” you circled the date from Sierra Thompson’s murder. “She’s the waning moon, wisdom and courage.”

Dean’s face hardened as he considered the calendar, “With this kind of ritual killing, its more about when the kill is performed rather than the discovery of the bodies. Especially since he’s harvesting their hearts.”

“So, Mrs. Kennedy completes the cycle for this group of murders, what about the first group? There’s only two of them.” Sam speculated, “Maybe he didn’t get to it.”

“That’s not his M.O.” Dean muttered with a frown, “He’s planned this whole thing down to the last detail, he wouldn’t just miss one because he got busy.”

“It’s called the Triple Goddess for a reason; you can’t have one without the others.” Your knees went weak and leaned against the desk. You felt drained as you did the day you went to the yellow house with Sam. Your temple still ached from the vision. Although you’d be hard pressed to admit it, this was taking a toll on you in more ways than one.

“There is another Maiden, you just haven’t found her yet.”

Dean insisted on driving you home. And on picking you up the following day, since your Jeep was now stranded in town. The man was relentless when his protectiveness flared up.

“Your color’s not right,” he grumbled, helping you into the passenger’s seat. “I’m not going to let you pass out behind the wheel and drive that hunk of crap off the side of the mountain.”

“I thought you appreciated a classic vehicle.”

“I do when they’re properly maintained. When was the last time that deathtrap had an oil change?”

“Um, senior year?” you guessed.

“Pathetic.” Dean turned down the narrow road leading to the Owen’s house. “And your tires are practically bald, you’d be safer on a three-legged mule.”

“Maybe you’d prefer I ride my broom.”

“Can… can you do that?”

A small smile tugging at your lips as you turned your attention to the passing scenery.

He mulled it over for a minute, “Does it have a seatbelt?”

A few minutes later, Dean escorted you to the front door, his hand on the small of your back. You weren’t sure if the slight contact was meant to reassure you or him, either way it was welcome.

“Come in,” you said, stepping over the threshold. “I’ll go grab those books I was telling you about.”

Dean watched you disappear down the hallway, your stride quick as you navigated your family home. It had been years since he’d stepped foot in the Owen’s house, and it hadn’t changed a day. Still a fascinating mix of Victorian apothecary and Gothic romance. He’d grown up hearing all kinds of rumors about the place. Everything from ghostly apparitions appearing on the widow’s walk to the untimely deaths of every man who dared pursue an Owen’s woman. He never put any stock in it. To him, your house was just like you. Hauntingly beautiful, utterly warm, and a complete mystery.

Growing bolder, he ventured into the Great Room. Still a bit too fancy for his tastes, with its velvet settees and fringed curtains, but it smelled the same. Like jasmine and incense. There were countless pictures in heavy silver frames on every surface. Some in black and white, obviously family heirlooms. Others were more recent. Some of Vivienne Owens in her youth; wearing a mini skirt and Gogo boots. Grinning as she stood proudly next to the Compendium, a sold sign under her arm. Your mother, a fragile beauty who died when you were six.

Dean came to the collection on the fireplace and stopped. His own face stared back at him. He pulled the picture down from its perch and muttered a curse.

“Son of a bitch.”

It was the night of your senior prom. Sammy was supposed to be your date, but he was laid up with the flu. Dean was back for a few days before he left again to start a new job in Denver. He never could deny his little brother anything, so he showed up at your house wearing one of his Dad’s old suits and a grin.

“Thinking of better days?”

Startled out of his reminiscing, he quickly turned to you. “Ah, yeah. Well, no…I just haven’t seen this in a long time.”

You set down your stack of books on a small table as you took the frame from his hands. Your warm fingers brushed his and a small zap passed between the two of you. If you noticed it, you didn’t mention it. Dean watched the light come to your eyes as you gazed at the picture and smiled. You were standing close enough for him to detect your perfume. You always seemed to smell like the season, today it was heady and warm. Like clove studded oranges with a touch of amber.

“I really loved that dress. Gran had it up in the shop for ages, I must have tried it on a dozen times.”

“It was beautiful,” Dean agreed, his voice going a bit rough. “You were beautiful. Still are.”

You never were sure what to say when a man complimented you. Somehow, hearing them express their attraction made you automatically shut down. Not with Dean. You wanted him to go on and on and on. In that deep, honeyed whiskey voice that warmed you to the core.

This was a disaster.

“Dean…”

“I’m surprised you held on to it, after everything that happened. How things went down… I figure you’d burn it or use it for target practice.”

You placed the frame back in its place of honor on the mantle. “The bad things that happen don’t erase the good things. I needed reminding of that for a long time. This was a good day, a great day. So much was lost, it didn’t seem fair to lose that too.”

Dean looked down, his mouth pulling into a line. “Yeah.”

“There was something else,” you said after a beat. “About that vision today. There was a black dog.”

“I take it you’re not talking about a Labrador.”

“It pops up in all kinds of lore, usually interpreted as a death omen but this one was more specific than ones I’ve read about. I wasn’t sure at first, but now… I think it was a Hellhound.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up then came down as he realized that you were serious. “A Hellhound? That’s a real thing?”

“It wasn’t just a warning; it was a threat.” Your big, brown eyes betrayed you. You were afraid for him. “Dean, please just… just be careful. This guy is playing games with you now, but that’s just the prelude. He wants you dead.”

He drew you into his arms and held you tightly. His warm hand cupped the nape of your neck while his chin came to rest on the top of your head. You wrapped your arms around his torso and buried your face in his chest. You fit together perfectly and for one brief moment, everything was right with the world.

“It’s gonna be alright, Sweetheart.” He ran his hand up and down your back, comforting you, “We are going to make it through this with flying colors, you’ll see.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, on top of my years of experience in the field and the fact that my brother the boy genius is on the case, I’ve got this kick-ass witch helping me.”

“Really? Anyone I know?” You sassed.

“Maybe… she’s this pretty, little redhead with dangerous curves and big brown eyes. The kind of eyes a man can get lost in. And at the same time, he’s found. Cause when she looks at you, it’s like you’re being seen for the first time. Because she knows you, all the way down to your bones. And she never turns away from what she sees, even though she should.”

Your eyes widened at his words, then shuttered closed as he ghosted his fingers over your jawline. A tiny electric current raced along your skin, growing stronger as he maintained contact. You were certain that if he continued, you’d literally light up like a Christmas tree!

He curled a finger under your chin and ran his thumb over your bottom lip, causing your face to tip up to his. Consenting to his silent request. His lips were mere inches from yours when the grandfather clock sounded from deep within the house. Six chimes of the bell noted the hour and broke the spell.

Dean released you, his hands fisted at his sides, as if he really had to work not to reach for you again.

“I better get going,” he said, picking up the books as you blinked up at him. “I’m really going to be in trouble if Viv catches me.”

You took a steadying breath, trying to regain your composure. “The big, bad FBI guy isn’t scared of a little old lady like my Gran, is he?

“Hell, yes he is! Last time I was here she threatened to turn me into something with four legs and a tail.”

You had to laugh at that, “Yeah, I remember. Still, she wouldn’t actually go through with it… I don’t think.”

“Agree to disagree, Sweetheart.”

“In that case, here,” you unhooked the silver chain around your neck and fixed it around Dean’s instead. The pendant fell to rest over his heart. “Obsidian, for protection.”

He tucked it under his shirt then quickly kissed your forehead and took off towards the door.

“I’ll be by at eight a.m. to pick you up, okay?”

“Sure,” you replied, following him to the foyer.

The wind blew in when he pulled the door open. Bitter. Swirling with fallen leaves and melancholic nostalgia.

You wrapped your arms around yourself in an effort to ward off the chill. And the regret as you watched Dean Winchester walk out the door, again.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

The corner of his mouth lifted into not quite a smile, but his eyes carried kindness. “Lock up behind me.”

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

Nightingale Chapter Seventeen - All Around the Cobbler's Bench

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Seventeen: All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Word Count: 5279

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing! Author's Additional Notes: This is it. The last chapter. The Conclusion to my story! (There will be an epilogue to follow) I started this over a year and a half ago, and here we are, finished!! There were plenty of times I wondered if I'd ever get there. But with the steadfast encouragement of all of you, I found the inspiration and the drive. Thank all of you who read this and showered me with love. I am forever grateful!

Masterlist

Nightingale Masterlist

Jensen checked his watch again while he tapped his fingers against his leg trying to rid himself of the anxious energy. You’d been in the restroom for fifteen minutes and while women tended to take longer in the bathroom, it was unusual for you. Other girls had come and gone in that time, and he was beginning to worry. Deciding to hell with it, he knocked loudly to announce himself and entered.

“Y/N? Sweetheart? The play is starting…”

The room was empty and something about the eerie silence sent an ominous chill down his spine. Not a trace of you anywhere, as if you’d evaporated into thin air! Desperate, he pushed open the stall doors and last one revealed a woman crumpled against the wall. He recognized the scuffed sneakers as your favorites and the denim jacket with the frayed sleeves. And the fall of golden hair.

Frantic, he dropped to his knees, “Y/N! Baby?!”

He grabbed hold of your shoulder and pulled. Your head rolled back and revealed a deeply slit throat and a stranger’s face.

Dead. He could tell it at a glance, but it wasn’t you! The poor soul had been dressed in your clothes and a very convincing blonde wig.

“Shit!” Jensen scrambled to his feet and burst out of the room. He frantically searched the crowd of people while dialing his emergency number.

“Solomon.”

“She’s gone! She’s gone, you son of a bitch! You said she was safe!”

“We show Y/N in the ladies’ room on the east end of the pavilion.”

“Her clothes are there along with a fucking dead body! He’s got her! Fuck!”

“Stay where you are,” the agent barked through the phone while people shuffled in the background.

He took off at a jog, trying to scan the faces for yours, “Like hell I will!”

“That’s an order, Ackles! I need details, not another missing person. I have agents converging on your location.”

Jensen ended the call and tried your number. It rang several times then went to voicemail. “Sweetheart, if you get this, just hang on. I’m coming. I swear to God… I’m coming to get you.”

Consciousness came to you in fragments. Different parts of your body were numb. There was a pins and needles feeling that came with having been in one position for too long. Your eyes felt dry and raw, although you hadn’t opened them yet. Your throat felt the same and there was a really unpleasant smell coming from somewhere. An artificial and over-powering cherry scent mixed with sour sweat. Suddenly, your whole frame was jolted, and the side of your head connected with something cold and hard. It was enough to pull you out of the semi-conscious daze you’d been in, your eyes popped open as your head bounced off the passenger side window.

You sat more upright with a groan and rubbed your head, “What…?”

This wasn’t Jensen’s car. The dashboard was faded blue and cracked from the sun. An ancient radio with silver knobs played an old song from the sixties. The cardboard cherry air freshener swinging from the rearview was at least partly to blame for the oppressive stench. The man in the driver’s seat was to blame for the rest.

“Pharmaceuticals have come such a long way, haven’t they? That little trip was courtesy of a new and very effective benzodiazepine. Administered through absorption through the skin. Remarkable. It’s hung up in clinical trials, but those of us with connections can still have our fun.”

Your gaze slid to the man behind the wheel and your stomach knotted. Now that he had his glasses on and his hair was brushed back from his face, he looked much like he did back in New York. Large, hawk-like nose. Sharp cheekbones, eyebrows like dark slashes over nearly black eyes.

“Of course, the best part is that although you looked like a drunk sorority girl, you were still wide awake inside,” his lips pulled into a disturbing grin. “Hate for you to miss out.”

He was right. You’d been awake while he and that girl stripped you naked and dressed you in her clothes. You’d been useless to fight them as they pulled a wig down on your head. You were trapped in your own body, only able to witness the horror has he killed her right in front of you. In your mind, you screamed while he seamlessly ushered you past Jensen and into the crowd. Right under the noses of the undercover agents who were meant to protect you.

You forced your mind to focus. Agent Solomon had gone over countless scenarios with you, and this was one of them. You quickly took inventory and noted that every scrap of clothing had been removed or replaced. Your tracking monitor, your cell phone, your pepper spray and pocketknife. Anything that might have been useful was long gone.

Except the blue paisley tie Jensen wrapped around your wrist. You could still feel the cool silk against your skin. Your tether to him and a reminder that you still had access to one thing that might help you. The fourth wall. The stage was set, and this was just another part to play. If you gave a convincing enough performance, you might just come out of this alive.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked as you pulled the frayed seatbelt over your shoulder and secured it.

“Tsk, Tsk! Telling would ruin the surprise, and you know how much I love a good surprise.”

You scanned the scenery whizzing past and found it unfamiliar. A two-lane road cut through thick woodland as the sun began to set. No signs other than the occasional mile marker and warnings about rockslides. Your ears popped, confirming you were headed to higher elevation and farther away from civilization.

Show time.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” You ripped the auburn-colored wig from your head and tossed it to the floor.

“Do you want me to?” he returned, patting the handgun in his lap.

Panic tried to rise like bile in your throat. You pushed it down and snatched the half full pack of cigarettes from the dash.

“What I want is to wake up safe at home with a beer and left-over pizza in the fridge, but we don’t always get what we want.”

“Beer and pizza,” Arthur repeated with a scoff. “Sophistication never was your strong suit, Y/N. One of Colin’s many grievances about you.”

“What I lacked in sophistication, I made up for in eagerness.” You lit a cigarette and took a long drag, “I certainly never heard any complaints about that.”

“Slut. Useless whore. No wonder you shacked up with a Hollywood scumbag like Ackles. You probably fuck him for a weekly allowance.” His fingers tightened around the wheel as he spoke, “Colin deserved so much better than you.”

“Someone like you, I suppose.” You barked out a laugh as Green turned red from the neck up, “Jesus, you’re not still carrying a torch for a dead man, are you? That’s pathetic, Artie. It really is. You know he just kept you around out of pity. Poor little Artie from the block…”

He backhanded you right across the mouth. Your lip split and you tasted blood.

“Shut up! Just shut your whore mouth!” He grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the window, making you groan and slump in your seat. Your vison went hazy, but you kept conscious.

“You conniving bitch… you had to go to the feds! If it wasn’t for that I’d have killed you quick and been done with it. One last loose end… but not now. Now, I get creative. I’ll start with your little boy toy; carve his pretty face up so not even his own mother will recognize him. Your bestie with those cute kids? I’ll strangle her to death while they watch.”

You didn’t say anything, waiting him out as he raged on, “Oh! But what about your baby sister? Frankie. Well, let’s just say she’ll wish she’d died in that car wreck by the time I get through with her.”

With Arthur’s rage distracting him, you saw your opening and you took it. The cigarette was still clenched in your fist. Your hand shot out and you crushed the glowing cherry into his face. It sizzled and he screamed.

He howled in pain, and you grabbed the wheel, yanking it with all your might! The two of you fought for control and sent the truck into a spin. The back end fishtailed, and the tires squealed. The world went topsy turvy around you as the truck went careening off the road with a deafening crash. Then, silence.

“Black SUV, headed east on Market. That’s the last we see of it until it popped up abandoned in the Whole Foods parking lot.”

“We got the video from them?”

“Nada. Their surveillance system went down last week.”

“Safe bet that was our perp. Get the last recordings they have in the database, let’s see if Green shows his face.”

“SUV registered to Mrs. Barbara Perkins, deceased.”

“Naturally. Get a trace on that name, address, bank accounts, the works.”

Jensen had never felt more useless in his life. While the FBI agents bustled around their make-shift headquarters, he was sitting in an office chair. Waiting. There was literally nothing else he could do. They already knew what Green looked like, even disguised as a fangirl. The pics of Jensen signing autographs went live on social media almost instantaneously. There were all sorts of video surveillance of him walking around the park and walking a stumbling girl through the parking lot. It was as if he was showing off. Flaunting his deeds to the authorities who were oblivious to it all.

Jensen felt sick at the thought of how close you were. Green had walked you right by him and he didn’t even know it! His mind kept going to the dead woman wearing your clothes. Blood everywhere. Running like a river from her slit throat. It could have so easily been you. It still could, and that thought chilled him to the bone.

The video was good for one thing though, it confirmed that you had been very much alive when you left with him. Jensen was holding on to that fact like a lifeline! You were smart and you were a fighter. You’d come back, you had to. He had a whole life planned out and every day of it included you. Marriage. Children. Big family Christmases. Quiet date nights. He even planned a proposal in Paris. You told him you always wanted to go and making your dreams come true had become an obsession for him. Nothing made him happy like making you happy. His life wasn’t his own, it was forever intertwined with yours.

In the immortal words of his alter-ego, “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.”

When his phone rang, his heart nearly stopped. He didn’t recognize the number, but knew it was you. “Y/N?!”

“Jensen! Oh God…!”

Agent Solomon was on him instantly to hand the phone over, he refused. But he did put it on speaker. “Sweetheart, where are you? Are you okay?!”

The connection was tenuous, making your voice fade in and out.

“I’m okay… not… don’t know…. Arthur crashed…”

“Crashed?! What happened?”

Solomon grabbed the phone, “Doctor West, are you with Green right now?”

“No. We crashed…. Left…”

“Was he alive when you saw him last?”

“…. Unconscious… don’t…. “

“What kind of vehicle was he driving?”

“Blue pickup… Dairyland.”

“Dairyland?” Jensen repeated.

“AJ… 677.”

“Wisconsin plates,” Solomon signaled to his agents to run a search. Even fragmented information would pull up something.

“Doctor West, do you know where you are?”

“Highway. I don’t… mountains. Jay! Its… otter… Kimmy…”

The agent locked eyes with Jensen, “What is she talking about?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “Kimmy who?”

“Kim… makeup… otter tattoo.”

It clicked for him then. The makeup artist who designed her own tattoos, Kimmy. She’d been quite taken with Y/N when she went to the set that day.

“It’s Mount Harvey, the snow melt on the south face looks like an otter playing baseball.”

“Good. Doctor West, we’re coming to you.”

If she heard, she didn’t reply. The phone screen showed the call dropped. Solomon handed the phone to one of his team to pull trace information while he barked orders. The well-oiled team shifted into their roles. Dispatch communicated with local authorities on every level. One of the advantages of working with the FBI, they were practiced in the art of the manhunt. It wasn’t a question of if they would get Green, but when. And would it be in time?

“Ackles, you’re with me.”

Jensen looked up in time to catch a bulletproof vest with FBI printed across the chest.

“I don’t have civilians on my tactical team as a rule,” Solomon informed him, zipping up his own vest. “But you know Y/N better than anyone, I need your insight. Let’s move.”

You weren’t sure how far you’d gotten or how long you’d been walking. It seemed like forever. That ancient truck Arthur had been driving actually turned out to be a blessing. The frame was good, old fashioned American steel and took the brunt of the crash without much damage. The seatbelt did its job and prevented you from being thrown through the windshield. Although, it dug into you with enough force that you likely had a broken clavicle and possibly a dislocated shoulder. It throbbed like a son of a bitch, but you still made out better than Green.

He was going over sixty miles per hour when he crashed, and he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. He was slumped over the steering wheel, bleeding from a deep gash on his scalp and covered in broken glass from the shattered windshield. The doctor in you wanted to check for a pulse, but your visual assessment would have to do. He was breathing, and that was enough. You knew time wasn’t on your side, you needed to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

You made a quick search of his pockets and found both a phone and a handgun. The passenger side door was bashed in, making it impossible to escape through the door or the window. With a quick glance to confirm your kidnapper was still unconscious, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and climbed over the dash and through the shattered windshield. You ignored the pain of the broken glass tearing into your hands and legs.

You had to get out and make a run for it, it was your only chance!

The charge on the cell was dwindling as it searched for a signal, but the fates were with you, and it connected. The sound of Jensen’s voice nearly broke you. You held yourself together enough to get as much information out as you could before the call dropped.

“No, no damn it!” Your fingers shook as you tried to call again, only to be me with no service. You looked around at the dense trees lining the two-lane highway and the rapidly setting sun. Tears blurred your vision and the weight of your situation hit you in force.

There was nowhere to go for help, you didn’t even know where you were! The adrenaline in your system was fading and you could feel the effects of shock setting in. Injured in a car wreck coupled with who knows what the side effects of that drug Arthur shot you up with. You well and truly screwed.

You bent at the waist; your hands braced on your knees as you fought the rising panic. The blue patterned silk tied to your wrist peeked out from under your shirt cuff.

“Breathe, Y/N.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m right here, Sweetheart. I’m with you.”

“He’s going to kill me!”

“You can do this, come on. Deep breath. In and out.”

You closed your eyes and rubbed the silk between your finger and thumb. Like magic, you saw the closet. Warm and filled with color-coded clothes. The scent of cedar and vanilla cologne and Jensen smiling.

“You’ve got this, Y/N. Keep moving, keep fighting! I’m coming for you.”

The actor’s trick worked. Your mind cleared and you focused. Obviously, continuing on foot was only a decent option when you knew where you were going. You didn’t. Which meant it was a drain on your energy reserves. Plus, it would make rescuing you that much more difficult for the people looking for you.

You eyed the woods. It was risky, with nightfall fast approaching, you would have wildlife to contend with and falling temps, but then… so would Green. If he came to, he’d be looking for you. Best to make that as difficult as possible.

“Stronger together,” you muttered the motto that became a mantra. Even though he wasn’t holding your hand, Jensen was still with you. You could still count on him, to remind you what was worth fighting for.

With the gun heavy in your hand, you climbed down the embankment and disappeared into the forest.

“R.C.M.P. clocked a vehicle matching Green’s heading north on 99. Last spotted an hour ago just passing Lion’s Bay.”

“Any confirmation on passengers?”

“Two. A male and a female.”

“Given the timeframe of the crash, they couldn’t have gotten much farther than that.”

“Any hits on the cell?”

“No, sir.”

“Keep trying. If she’s on the move, we might get lucky.”

Jensen kept quiet as he sat in the back of the SUV. The flurry of clipped commands yielded no new information. They were racing towards you, but there was no way to know if they would make it in time. Jensen tugged at the tie on his wrist while his mind worked over-time. Were you hurt? Scared? Running or hiding? Were you alive?

God please, let her be alive!

As if on cue, his cell phone rang. Only once, before the call dropped, but it was your number. And it was enough.

“Got it! Moving slow, heading north by northeast towards Tunnel Bluffs.”

“We’ve got local law in the area about ten minutes out.”

“All units converge on new coordinates, be advised our witness is currently on foot.”

“The assailant is considered armed and dangerous, use of full and deadly force authorized for all personnel.”

The trees on Mount Harvey were thick and grew to impressive proportions. Massive, monolithic firs and pines that held the record for some of the biggest on Earth. Tangles of undergrowth and roots covered every inch of the forest floor, you lost your footing more than once. Every fall slowed you down and added to your injuries. The sun dropped to just below the horizon and the temperature went with it.

You leaned heavily against one of the pines to catch your breath. Your physical reserves were nearly gone, and you knew it. There was just enough daylight left to make out a tree a few feet away. It had an unusual split in its trunk. Limping and cradling your arm to ease the pressure on your shoulder, you poked around in the gap. Mostly filled with decomposing leaves, but big enough to shelter you for the night.

You squeezed your body through the opening and bit back a grunt as the bark scraped your injuries. It wasn’t comfortable, which was for the best. Your exhausted body was already vying for sleep, anything to counter that was welcome. The opening wasn’t wide enough to see much, but it was still a defensible position.

Your frozen fingers flexed around the gun as your eyes worked to adjust to the darkness falling. The weight of it in your hand was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. You were a doctor, you saved lives you didn’t take them. Your thumb clicked off the safety as you committed to the only course of action that would leave you alive. It would be a long night and you were damn well going to survive it.

“All around the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel.”

Your eyes popped open. When had you shut them? The phone in your pocket died long ago, so it was impossible to tell how long you’d been in hiding. The woods were still. There was no wind or sounds of scuttling wildlife. But a child’s song, so faint you thought you’d imagined it.

“The monkey thought was all in fun.”

“A penny for a spool of thread, a penny for a needle.”

“That’s the way the money goes.”

“Pop! Goes the weasel!”

There it was again. Singing. You were sure you hadn’t imagined it, it had to be Arthur. God! It seemed like you were making a racket! Your breathing, your heartbeat, your eyelashes blinking rapidly as you desperately scanned the inky shadows. Why did sound amplify in the cold and the dark? It all seemed to be announcing your location to the man who was coming to murder you.

“Up and down the London road.”

“In and out of the Eagle.”

“That’s the way the money goes.”

“Pop! Goes the weasel!”

He was playing with you. The monkey and the weasel. Cat and mouse. You should have kept running! Should have kept to the road, someone would have seen you. You would have stood a chance! Now you were in a trap of your own making.

“I’ve no time to plead and pine.”

“I’ve no time to wheedle.”

“Kiss me quick and then I’m gone.”

“Pop! Goes the weasel!”

The echo of the woods distorted Arthur’s voice so that you had no clue where he was coming from. Running now would do you no good. It was too late. The son of a bitch was closing in on you now. Would they even be able to find your body? Would Jensen ever know what became of you? You should have ran the minute you remembered your name.

“All around the cobbler’s bench.”

“Arthur chased the doctor.”

“The doctor thought was all in fun…”

God, please keep him safe from the psychopath. And Frankie! Make sure they know I love them! No matter what happens to me… I love you!

“Pop!”

Arthur. Blood, dirt, and broken glass. A twisted grin split his grotesque face.

Time stopped; a shot rang out. Then, nothing.

Jensen stood with the small, second group of agents investigating the crashed truck. Two sets of footprints disappeared into the woods and the first round of FBI had already spread out into the wilderness to join the Mounties and broaden the search.

The report of a gunshot echoed all the way back to the road.

His blood ran cold. “Y/N.”

A hand went to Jensen’s Kevlar covered chest before he could move. Bruce, the iron faced agent assigned to the actor, held him in place.

"Let me go!"

"Not a chance."

"That was a fucking gunshot!"

"Yeah, it was. You take off now, the next one might have your name on it."

“I don’t care!”

"Right now, every resource we have is focused on Y/N. You go out there and those resources get split, cutting her chance at survival in half.”

Jensen turned away, running his hands through his hair. “Fuck!”

"We've all got a job to do. Yours is communication,” Bruce put a steady hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “You want to help your girl? Stay put. Be here and be ready to answer when she calls."

Knowing Bruce was right didn't make the next hour of waiting any easier. It was agony. There was no word. Not a sound from anyone. Radio silence, Agent Bruce called it. He seemed to think it was a positive sign, but it was driving Jensen insane. Each minute that passed brought a horrible new thought. A potential nightmare that could play out right in front of him. And he was powerless to prevent it.

He was past the end of his rope when an ambulance came into view and sped past them. Traveling at breakneck speed up the mountain. Flashing lights bouncing off the trees and rock face.

Bruce held a finger to the tiny Speaker in his ear. A grim look passed his features.

"Let's move."

He said nothing more. No word on if you were alive or dead. No hint at who that ambulance was for. An hour ago, Jensen would have sworn he'd reached his capacity for worry and stress. But that was nothing compared to the five minutes it took to reach the clearing. There was a mass of people milling around. F.B.I. he recognized and a few others outfitted in uniforms for the R.C.M.P. That ambulance was parked off to the side, the back door was closed but the lights were still flashing. Several other official looking vehicles showed up, including one for the coroner’s office.

Jensen was out of the car before Bruce even put it in park. He caught the slender build of Frank Solomon, casually talking to a couple of other agents by the rail guard. The son of a bitch was acting like he’d completed a milk run! Jensen’s nostrils flared with rage as he made a direct path for him.

The young man looked up, seemingly unphased by the Texan’s aggressive approach.

"Ackles.”

"Where is she?!"

Solomon’s mouth opened, but it wasn’t his voice that was heard. A shrill, terrified scream came from inside the ambulance, cutting through the night.

"Jensen!"

He'd spent fifteen years stepping into the boots of Dean Winchester. Fighting monsters. Some you could see, some you couldn't. But no matter how close he was to the hero he portrayed; it was still an act. Though there were plenty of times he’d wished it were real. Wished he were more like the enigmatic man in the ’67 Chevy. The man who always knew what to do. The man who always saved the day.

And yes, he would let his ‘Dean’ show from time to time. That was a blurred line that proved useful more than once. But in that moment when you screamed for him, there was no line. There was no Dean, there was clarity.

Solomon got exactly one word out, “Wait…”

Jensen pulled back his fist and punched him square in the face, knocking him on his ass.

He ran to that ambulance. On a mission and with one purpose, he tore the door open.

You were sitting on a gurney, struggling against the medic who was trying to keep you from bolting. Bruised and bloody. But breathing! The second you saw him, you went still, your bottom lip quivered.

“Jensen.”

The medic proved smarter than the F.B.I. agents and moved out of the way, allowing Jensen the room to take you in his arms. That was when you broke completely. Sobbing and desperately clinging to him like a child. You weren’t sure how you got there. One minute you were in that tree being stalked by a killer, the next you were being bundled into an ambulance. It was so surreal! It wasn’t until you heard Jensen on the other side of the door that you snapped. Reality crashed over you, and you couldn’t breathe.

Jensen tried to will his own panic away. You were alive. He had you. Bloody and trembling, but in his arms. He could hear himself telling you soothing things. Comforting words that he would never be able to recall later. He was sure you couldn’t understand him anyway, you were crying so hard that your whole body shook.

But his voice was a balm, the timbre of it washed over you. After a time, the raw shock wore through to numbness. You drew a shuddering breath and tried to speak.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice coming from just over your head. “I’m right here.”

You released your death grip on Jensen’s jacket and snuck a look at your hands. There were burn marks there from the gun powder. Across the clearing, two men were maneuvering a stretcher over the gravel. A black body bag was strapped to the top.

“I killed him.”

Jensen gently brushed the tangled hair away from your face. His gaze followed yours to the body being taken away. It could have so easily been you. He rubbed his hand down your back and tucked your head under his chin.

“Don’t look, baby. Don’t think about it. Never again.”

The EMT reappeared, insisting that you go to the hospital. He listed a number of injuries that needed attention. Including another fucking concussion.

You managed a weak laugh, “Look at us, right back where we started.”

“At least you didn’t drown this time, your average is improving,” Jensen said, kissing your forehead.

With practiced efficiency, the medic had you secured and ready for transport. Just as the door was about to shut, Frank Solomon appeared. His jaw was discolored and starting to swell where Jensen landed his punch.

Jensen smirked, “Back for round two?”

“The ambulance is already at capacity, let’s not chance it.” Solomon’s dark eyes shifted to you. The arrogance drained away, and he seemed softer. Almost repentant.

“Doctor West, I wanted to let you know that the death of Arthur Green officially closes this case. You are no longer under any obligation to the F.B.I. for any purpose and you are free to resume your life.”

“You won’t need me to make a statement?”

“We have everything we need. And I have to say, without your cooperation and your bravery, we never would have gotten Green let alone shut down the drug ring. This victory is yours.”

“I shot a man. Deserved or not, that doesn’t feel particularly victorious.”

Solomon blinked slowly, “You didn’t shoot Arthur Green.”

“What?”

“Barely clipped his shoulder, but I hardly call that a shot,” the agent shrugged, his casual manner back in place. “One of the Mounted Police got him… Roberts, I think. One clean shot to the head. Green was dead before he hit the ground.”

You could have lived with the death on your conscience, knowing it had been self-defense. But the fact that you didn’t have to, freed you. Well and truly. Lightness settled in where guilt had been only a moment ago. Words failed you. An astonished gasp left your lips, and you let you head rest against Jensen’s shoulder.

“Goodbye, Doctor West. Mr. Ackles.” Solomon shut the door and thumped it twice.

The ambulance slowly rolled away to begin its descent down the mountain. Jensen’s hand found yours under the emergency blanket tucked over your lap.

“It’s over.”

“Yeah, it’s all over, Sweetheart” he murmured, kissing your temple.

You and Jensen would talk about the incredible circumstances of how you got together often over the years. You would muse on the workings of fate and God’s grand plan. You would wonder at the impossibility of it all.

Surely, there must have been an easier way for two lost souls to meet.

But then, meeting wouldn’t have been enough. The two of you were drowning; separately but equally. The miserable details of your own lives were pulling you under like a riptide. It was so all-consuming that you couldn’t break free. You weren’t strong enough, not alone.

It was like Jensen said that day in your old apartment, make a different choice. The two of you chose to save each other. But you also chose to let yourself to be saved. It wasn’t passive and it wasn’t by chance. It was a decision. Perhaps not always an easy one, but it had power.

Love does conquer all, but only if you choose it. TagList @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseubyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4evr @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @deanwwinchester

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

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Nightingale Chapter Sixteen - The Fourth Wall

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Sixteen: The Fourth Wall

Word Count: 4176

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

Masterlist

Nightingale Masterlist

Both your phone and Jensen’s buzzed at the same time. You knew who it was before you even looked.

“Solomon,” he said, scrolling through the details of the text. “Jesus. This itinerary reads like a weekend convention circuit. Seriously, who goes out this much?”

“Breakfast and strolling at the Ester Short Park farmer’s market. Tour of the Van Dusen Botanical Gardens. Coffee at Shaughnessy’s. Window shopping downtown. Couples’ yoga. Oohh! Tickets to Hamilton on Friday night!”

Jensen’s brow crinkled and those little disapproving brackets appeared at the corners of his mouth. “Yoga? Seriously? I don’t have that…”

You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, “Couples Tantric Yoga at Good Vibrations Studios. Wow… the room is heated to 105 degrees to sweat in tandem with your partner. Open your chakras and your bodies to this intimate practice first discovered in the unpublished Kama Sutra. Wow, I didn’t know they bent that way…”

That had him grabbing your phone. “Seriously?! Fucking Solomon signed us up for sweaty sex yoga?!”

The indignant bluster blew out of his sails a moment later and you broke into laughter.

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned.

Your mischievous grin only grew, “You seem disappointed! Why don’t we call and see if they can squeeze us in to the class on Sunday?”

You made a grab for the phone, and he held it over his head, out of reach. Dodging your hands and tickling you at the same time. Your attempts to tickle him back had no effect and only made him double his efforts. Torturing you until you were practically crying with giggles. Suddenly, he hoisted you over his shoulder, bouncing you a bit as he walked through the apartment.

“Jensen! That’s cheating!” You laughed as you squirmed in his grasp.

He tossed you down on the bed in a giggling mess then threw himself down beside you. “There’s no cheating when there’s no rules, Sweetheart.”

You tried to catch your breath as he moved strands of blonde hair away from your face. “You aren’t even ticklish.”

“Used to be, my older brother would sit on me and torture tickle me until I peed my pants.”

“How’d you get over it?”

“I found ways to distract myself,” he murmured, his eyes flickering over your face.

“Mind over matter?”

“Something like that.”

The two of you had shared countless kisses, but you never grew tired of them. Your heartrate kicked up the moment his lips touched yours, excitement heating your blood the same today as it did the first time. His strong hands roamed your body, seeking out the secret places that responded so readily. You yielded to his touch and surrendered on a sigh.

He ended the kiss before he could get too carried away. The FBI had the whole place bugged and the two of you agreed early on that there would be no sex until this mess was behind you. He pulled you up against him and placed a kiss to your hairline.

“Better?”

You nodded, relaxing into his embrace. Your eyes closed as he threaded his fingers through your hair and gently massaged the nape of your neck. He always did that when your migraines were bad. Once your concussion healed, they were practically gone but with all the stress of the investigation, they were back with a vengeance.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured into his chest. “About earlier.”

“It was an understandable reaction, that guy came up out of nowhere. I didn’t even see him come up behind us.”

“I nearly had a panic attack in the middle of the street. I probably traumatized your poor fans.”

“Yeah, well I traumatize them every Thursday night so, they’re used to it by now,” Jensen joked, moving his hand to stroke your back. “How can I help, baby? Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

“I don’t know if it can get much better. I mean, Solomon sends us pictures of the under-cover agents every day. Both of us are wearing tracking devices. This place is completely wired and under surveillance. Everything we do is planned out to the last detail. I know we are as safe as we can be I just… I can’t stop thinking about him.” Your chest immediately grew tight, and you fought to keep your breathing under control.

“Every time we leave this apartment, I’m looking for him. I’m searching the faces of everyone we pass, wondering if the next one I see will be his. I feel like a little kid, scared of the boogey man is hiding in the closet!”

“Is that why you’ve been leaving the bathroom light on at night?”

“Maybe,” you muttered. “I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s justified.”

“Maybe,” you said again. “I wish I could be as calm as you are in crowds. It never seems to rattle you.”

“Oh, I’m rattled, believe me. But I’ve got a job to do, and I just focus on it. Nothing is more important than that, everything else falls away.”

“You mean acting?”

“I mean taking care of you,” he curled a finger under your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet his. “We’re in it together. Every day, it’s you and me, Sweetheart.”

“Stronger together.” You said it at the same time he did. It had become your mantra over the past two weeks.

It was your prayer to each other. You said every time you set foot outside of the safety bubble of your apartment. Every time the two of you stopped for pictures with fans. Every time the paparazzi followed the two of you through a public park or into a restaurant. Every time you needed reassurance, Jensen would squeeze your hand and whisper it in your ear.

It worked well to calm your nerves. At first. But as time dragged on with no sign of Arthur Green, the pressure and anxiety built. You were jumpy, bordering on paranoid. When that aggressive fan popped up as you were crossing the boulevard, it triggered a reaction so severe that Jensen’s magic phrase didn’t work. You were so shaken up that the two of you went directly home, despite not completing the daily agenda.

“I just wish I could do a better job in all this. I know I’m supposed to look happy and carefree… Green’s never going to show himself if he thinks this is a trap.” You sighed and fiddled with the buttons on Jensen’s shirt. “I’ve never had much of a poker face.”

“Everyone has a poker face; you just have to find your focus. That’s all acting is, really. Keeping your focus.”

“I guess that’s why you’re the actor and I’m the doctor.”

A thoughtful look crossed his face, as if he’d just realized the answer to a difficult crossword. His clear, green eyes lit with enthusiasm, and he sat up, tugging you with him.

“Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

“What are we doing in your closet?” You asked from your cross-legged position on the carpeted floor.

Jensen closed the door and stuffed a rolled-up towel against the threshold so that not even a sliver of light could peek through. “We’re creating the fourth wall.”

“What?”

He walked to the bank of drawers along the back wall and searched through the contents. “It’s an old actor’s trick, you’ll see.”

He returned with one of his silk ties in his hand. It was a subtle blue on blue paisley pattern that he wore on one of your dates ages ago.

He handed it to you and sat on the floor across from you, folding his bowed legs up with a grunt.

“I love this tie.”

“I know you do,” he smiled softly at you. “Do you remember that night? That little Italian place around the corner from your hospital?”

“Of course, I do.”

It had been a week since you and Jensen reconciled. You held strong to your decision not to move back in with him. You were determined to take things slow and not fall back into old patterns. You wanted this to last, you both did and that meant rebuilding trust. The man didn’t make it easy though!

For his part, Jensen was the perfect gentleman. Sweet, attentive, respectful, funny, charming. Good morning texts and calls during his down time on set. He invited you over for dinner midweek, made your favorite spaghetti and even sent you home with leftovers for lunch. There were bone melting kisses and hand holding, but he never initiated anything more. He wanted you to set the pace.

On Friday, you arrived at work and found a shallow planter the size of a hubcap overflowing with an array of tiny, blue flowers waiting for you. Along with a card.

Have a great day, gorgeous! – Love, J

Val came up beside you, her eyes wide, “Wow! Who sent you those?”

You grinned and ran your fingers over the bright, bell-shaped blossoms. “They’re from Jensen.”

“Really? Anniversary or apology?”

You slipped the small card into the pocket of your lab coat, “Neither.”

“Come on, he must have done something. No guy sends…. What kind of flowers are they?”

“Bluebonnets. Texas Bluebonnets.”

“Right. Anyway, there’s a reason for them. You just don’t know what it is yet.”

You floated through your whole shift. Not even Val’s cynicism could dampen your mood. You didn’t have time to send Jensen anything more than a thank you text, but you were determined to show your appreciation. Maybe you’d invite him over for dinner at your place. Best to order in, given your abysmal cooking skills. Or maybe just dessert…

You were just about to clock out when you were paged over the intercom. You picked up line four holding for you.

“This is Doctor Baines.”

“Gabs?”

“Tony, what’s up?”

“I need you for a consult, do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Cardiology, Room 202.”

A few short minutes later you opened the door to 202, instead of a cardiac patient, you found Jensen. Looking like he just stepped out of the pages of GQ. His dark blue suit was tailored, pressed and perfect. Crisp shirt, matching blue tie and a trio of bluebonnets in his lapel.

He smiled in that way that made his eyes crinkle and made you melt. “Hiya Sweetheart.”

You leaned against the door so that it clicked behind you. “Mr. Ackles. You are looking remarkably well for a man in the cardiac ward.”

“Oh, I’m in rough shape, doc.” He placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “My ticker’s going crazy!”

You bit your bottom lip; he really was too cute! “Is that so?”

“Yeah! Every time I see this girl, it’s like my heart’s going to beat right out of my chest.”

“Sound serious.”

“You think so?”

“Heart palpitations are nothing to dismiss out of hand.” You pulled your stethoscope from around your neck, “I think I better check you over.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he drawled.

You placed a hand in the center of his chest and firmly walked him backwards, your gaze holding his until the back of his legs bumped the exam table. Wordlessly, you patted the table. He lifted himself up with ease, the sterile paper crinkled under his weight.

“I hope you won’t mind if I get a little… close,” you said, gently urging his knees apart so you could stand in the vacant space between his legs.

His voice dipped deep. “I’m in your hands.”

You started with his tie, reaching up to loosen the perfectly executed knot. A tug and the fine fabric came free easily. It sounded like a hushed whisper as it moved against the starched shirt to pool in your hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed as you moved on to the tiny button holding the collar closed. You knew if you looked at him, your resolve would evaporate, so you concentrated on your task. Button by button. Inch by inch. You stopped halfway to put the earpieces in place and warm the bell of the stethoscope with your breath.

You slid the bell against the taut, tanned skin of his pectoral and let it rest over his heart. A smile curved your lips as you heard his heart thumping, strong and steady. No better sound in the world. Although, the longer you kept your hand there, the faster that rhythm got.

“Your heartrate is elevated.”

“What do I do, doc?”

“A little test, see how you respond to stimuli.”

“Sounds intense.”

This time you risked looking up, those green eyes of his had turned a shade darker and you felt your own heart leap in response.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Keeping the bell anchored over his heart, you leaned up and captured his lips with your own. Kissing Jensen was as much a revelation today as it was the first time. He expressed so many things in those moments of intense connection. Passion and joy. Exuberant love, romance… sharp desire. Solace and devotion. It was the language spoken by souls that met and matched.

The kiss deepened, his arms went around you and the staccato beat faster through the earpieces as his heart picked up pace. Urgency grew.

You nipped his bottom lip slightly as you pulled away, earning a groan from him. “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

“Not today. I can confirm, your heart is in perfect working order.”

“Good thing, I kinda need it.” He snagged the stethoscope from you with a smirk, “My turn.”

Not one to shrink from a challenge, you hopped up beside him, “Do your worst, Doctor Ackles.”

Somehow, he made the mundane tools of your profession look incredibly sexy. You didn’t exactly have a doctor kink, but you’d develop one in a hurry if he kept it up. A serious look swept over his features, and you knew you were in trouble. In measured movements, he slipped his hand holding the bell under the scoop neckline of your shirt.

You knew the moment he found his mark because his face transformed to reflect wonder. It was an incredibly intimate act to hear the life thrumming in another human being. He simply listened, as if he was trying to memorize it, hear the music of it. You were so mesmerized by his experience that you failed to notice his other hand until it found your breast.

You gasped.

His eyebrows rose a fraction, but did not move his hand, “Everything okay?”

At your nod, he smiled and continued. Monitoring your heartrate as he explored the curves and concaves he knew so well. Noting how the rhythm increased when he ran his thumb over the nipple straining under the layers of cotton. How the beat skipped when his tongue found that secret place just below your earlobe. Hot kisses down the column of your neck to the hollow where your clavicles met brought your hands up to rake through his hair. He sucked the skin slightly while his hand traced the inner line of your leg. Your heart galloped along wildly and when he palmed you through your scrubs, you breathed his name.

Your head fell back, “Jensen…”

An annoying beep from his jacket pocket that broke the spell. He stopped ravishing you long enough to check his phone, “Ooh! We gotta go!”

You sat up dazed and trying to catch your breath, “Go? Now?”

He hopped off the table and straightened his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles caused by your make-out session.

“Reservations at Marco’s.”

You eyed him suspiciously, “You… did you deliberately get me all excited just to tease me?”

His shrug was innocent, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away. He held a hand to you, “I just wanted to make sure you had a good appetite worked up.”

You took his hand and narrowed your blue eyes at him, “Okay. But we’re getting dessert to go!”

“Only if you bring your stethoscope, doc,” he replied while brushing a kiss across your knuckles with a wink.

“When I was twenty-eight, I was in a live production of A Few Good Men. I hadn’t performed on stage like that since high school. And I was really nervous, like shaking in my boots, throwing up backstage terrified! My parents were there, Danneel was there… a ton of Supernatural fans showed up too.”

“You had stage fright? But you’d been an actor for… what, a decade at that point?”

“Television is different. If I screw up, we can just do another take. A live performance takes a different level of concentration. People in the audience whisper or forget to turn off their phones. Someone drops something backstage, or your co-star forgets their lines. Anything can happen. That’s where the fourth wall comes in, imagine there is an invisible wall between you and the audience. That the stage is a completely enclosed. It’s your world, nothing else exists. Its just you and whoever you are sharing that stage with.”

You looked down at the blue tie in your hands, “That sounds like something that comes with practice. It took you years to perfect your craft, I can’t get to that level in an afternoon.”

“It’s simpler than you think. Acting is really just reacting,” he said with a smile, “Besides, you had plenty of cram sessions in med school.”

“I suppose so.”

“Good. Now, I want you to look around this space. Commit the details of it to memory. Wall color, carpet color, shelves, racks, shoes… all of it. Everything you can see.”

You tried to give him back the tie, thinking it wasn’t part of the exercise and he shook his head, “Nuh uh. You keep that, you’ll need it.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, wrapping the tie around your left hand nervously. You felt like you were failing, and you hadn’t even started.

Jensen reached out and stilled your hands with his own, “Hey, deep breath. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just you and me here, this is our own little world. Everything outside that door, that’s them. No one else can come in here, ever. We’re safe here. Just you and me.”

“Stronger together,” you murmured.

“Stronger together,” he repeated back. “Close your eyes.”

You did as instructed. He released your hands and sat back, “Deep breath, in and out. Again. Good girl, relax. Let the tension melt from your muscles and drain away. Deep breath… good. Very good.”

You loved his voice; it was warm and had a deep resonance that put you at ease. The cadence of his instructions had an almost hypnotic quality and you felt yourself sinking into it.

“How do you feel?”

“Good,” you said with a sigh, “Kind of floaty.”

“The tie in your hands. How does it feel?”

You rubbed the material between your fingers, “Smooth. Cool, like a mountain lake.”

“Good,” he praised again. “Now, I want you to picture the closet in your mind. Put it together with the details you saw only moments ago.”

You frowned slightly, rubbing the silk in your hands like a worry stone.

“It’s just you and me here, Y/N. It’s our world, our safe place. Tell me what you see.”

“Clothes.”

He waited a beat, “Anything else?”

“Um… the door?”

“Dig a little deeper, Harvard.”

“My annoying boyfriend.”

Jensen held back a sigh, determined not to break the spell. “Try scent, how does it smell?”

“Good,” you huffed out in frustration. The tension was building back up in your shoulders and your ass was starting to fall asleep from sitting on the floor. You found yourself wondering if it was too late to run away to Bermuda. You took another deep breath and caught something you hadn’t noticed before.

“Cedar. You keep those little cedar balls in the sock drawer.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Tom Ford… um… that vanilla one I like.”

He grinned, you told him it was your favorite and he bought three bottles just to make sure he always had some on hand. “Vanilla Tobacco.”

“Fabric softener, there are dryer sheets in the vents… and there is an air vent somewhere behind me, its blowing on my shirt. The woodwork in here is light, the rest of the apartment is dark, in here it’s not. Your clothes are arranged by type and then by color. Same for the shoes, which you have an insane amount of. Everything is on those expensive hangers you love so much. Oh! And you have two whole drawers devoted to watches.”

“Good job, open your eyes, Sweetheart.”

As you did, he took the tie from your hands and cut it neatly in half with his pocketknife.

“Jay!”

He took your left arm and tied the narrow end around your wrist, “This tie is your tether to this space. Every time you feel anxious or scared, I want you to feel that silk against your skin and remember how it felt to be here. Come back to this safe place where it’s just you and me.”

He held the other half of the tie out to you along with his left arm. You followed his example and fastened it around his wrist to match yours. When you were done, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tight, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Jensen pulled you down to sit on his lap and held you close.

“I’ve got you,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “Always.”

Three days later, you and Jensen were at yet another public outing. This time it was Shakespeare in the park. At this point you were so sick of concerts, romantic dinners, and date nights that you were ready to tear your hair out. At least it was your favorite play, Much Ado About Nothing. Comedy always beats tragedy.

The place was packed, no surprise given the beautiful weather. There were vendors selling everything from Italian Ice to Chicken and Waffles on a stick. Street musicians busked, kids played in the fountain, couples necked under shade trees, dogs trotted along happily with their owners. It was idyllic.

Maybe it was the sunshine or the actor’s trick Jensen taught you, either way, you felt good. Relaxed. Even when a group of fans gathered around for pictures and autographs, you felt centered and calm.

“Oh my gosh! You two are so cute together!” A younger girl gushed.

“Can we get your picture too?” another asked you, “Are you really a doctor?”

Jensen pulled you to his side and slung an arm around your shoulders, while you smiled up at him. It was your typical couple in love pose. He kissed your temple and every girl in eyesight sighed.

“I am a doctor. As a matter of fact, you should get your friend there some water and shade,” you replied motioning to a swaying, giggling girl heading for the margarita truck. “Maybe no more alcohol for today?”

“Check out my girl,” Jensen said as the group wandered happily away, “Signing autographs, saving lives.”

“Saving her from a hangover maybe,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his as you strolled. “People tend to underestimate the effects of drinking on days like this.”

“We’ve got about ten more minutes before the intermission is over, want to head back?”

“Yeah, um maybe hit the bathroom first?”

You entered the surprisingly empty ladies’ room while Jensen waited for you just outside the door. You couldn’t wait for this FBI business to be over so you could go to the bathroom alone, like a normal person.

You were just washing your hands when the door swung open and a couple of the girls from the earlier group stumbled in, including the drunk one. You gave a polite nod and stepped out of their way, but it wasn’t quick enough to avoid a collision. The three of you ended up in a tangle on the floor, two of them giggling and you, definitely not.

“Are you two alright,” you asked, trying to keep your composure.

The tipsy girl threw her head back and laughed, rolling back on the floor. The other one shook her head in disgust.

“Ugh, Jesus Suzie! Bitch never could hold her booze.”

You felt dizzy. And unbearably hot! You tried to get up, but your muscles didn’t respond. Something wasn’t right.

You called for Jensen, but your tongue was heavy in your mouth. All that came out was a garbled mess. You felt your heart begin to race as you panicked and your vision blurred.

“Gee, you seem a little green around the gills, Doctor West.”

The sober girl was standing at one of the sinks, studying her face in the mirror as she spoke. Her clothes hung loose on her long, wiry frame. Choppy black hair framed a thin face with severe features. Dark eyes, nearly black. Eyes that were normally behind glasses.

Arthur. “Oh… God.”

Green dropped to the balls of his feet, a lethal grin twisted his face as he grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head back.

“Hello again, Y/N.”

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