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silent-stories · 2 years

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𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

Summary: Since you hugged Dean, that's all he thinks about. Now he just has to find the courage to ask you to do it again.

Pairing: Dean × GN!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst

Word count: 1738

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Your pov:

"My brother is an idiot, he almost got himself killed." Sam said on the phone, talking to you while Dean was driving.

"Is he okay?" You asked, your voice echoing in the bunker.

"I'm super. Not even a scratch." Dean said, probably getting closer to the phone his brother was holding.

"You're "super" but you could have died!" You heard Sam say.

"Sam, you're exaggerating, I ..." It was the last thing you heard before the line dropped.

You sighed, waiting for them to come back.

After a few hours, the bunker door opened and Sam and Dean entered talking to each other.

When you saw Dean, your body acted before you could think and you strode towards him.

"God, you're okay." You said wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing him close to you for a hug.

When you did it, Dean didn't react as you expected. You thought at least you would feel an arm on your back, at least a pat on your shoulder. Instead, you felt his muscles stiffen and his arms remained still at his sides. You waited a few seconds, but nothing has changed.

Okay, that was almost embarrassing. Maybe you shouldn't have done that.

You walked away from him muttering an "sorry" and trying to read his expression but failing miserably.

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Dean's pov:

That night, Dean found himself lying in his bed, thinking.

Thinking that he was stupid and the one who ruined everything, as always.

It was a strange feeling what he felt towards you. He wanted to be touched by you again, but not in a sexual way.

No, he didn't wanted it. He needed it.

He needed to feel your body close to his, your arms around him but he didn't want to ask you.

He felt like something was missing in his life now, and it was your body against his.

It was something he had never felt before and he was almost scared.

His thoughts led him to the last time he had had human contact that wasn't during a fight and that wasn't a quick hug with his brother. Had it been with his mom? Had it been so many years since someone had really hugged him? Was that why after you did it was the only thing he thought about?

And then, was it normal for a grown man to want to be hugged? He was no longer a child, why would he need something like that? Did other people feel the same need? And thinking about it, he wanted you to be the person to hug him, he was sure it wouldn't be the same with others but he didn't quite know why.

Dean wanted to hit his head against the wall because of all the questions running around his brain.

He wanted to have hugged you when he had the chance, when you did it. You probably now thought you did something wrong and wouldn't even try to do it again. He had almost flinched when you hugged him and he didn't even know why. Maybe because he wasn't used to it and never expected it from you.

But he loved it, and the only thing he was sure about was that he wanted you to hug him again and hold him for a while if you wanted but he couldn't ask you to do that.

Would you have laughed in his face? Would you have said it was stupid and that he was acting like a child? God, if Dean could punch himself he would.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to sleep, but all he could think was himself resting his head on your chest, you holding him tightly against you and letting your fingers go through his hair, he wrapping you with his arms and feeling the beating of your heart.

After a few attempts to get that thought out of his head, he accepted the fact that if he couldn't have it, at least he could have fallen asleep imagining it. And so he did.

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Your pov:

Dean was avoiding you, you were sure about it. And he was acting weird around you. So, the night after, when you walked past the open door of his room, in the bunker, you took the chance and walked in.

"Hey." You said sitting next to him on his bed but keeping some space between you.

Dean looked at you without saying anything as you settled on his bed.

"We need to talk." You said calmly. You didn't want to fight, you just wanted to know if he was mad at you and if he was, for what reason. You thought he might be angry because you hugged him. Maybe he thought you were trying to get something else out of him, maybe he didn't like being touched, maybe he didn't like being touched by you.

"What you want to talk about?" He asked you. You could hear a thread of concern in his voice.

"You've been acting weird around me lately." You explained.

"Me? I'm not weird. What made you think that? Don't think I ..." He mumbled before you interrupted him.

"See? You're panicking. It's okay Dean, it's me, you can tell me." You said.

"Just don't laugh at me." He whispered staring at his hands.

"Dean, please explain what's going on." You said.

"Yesterday you... hugged me." He started saying.

"If you didn't want me to do it or if you misinterpreted it, I'm sorry. I was just glad you were okay and..." You said before Dean interrupted you this time.

"No. That's not it. Please don't think you've done something wrong because that's not the case at all." He continued.

"Then I don't understand..." You said.

"It just... felt good." He whispered.

"And that's a good thing. Isn't it?" You asked. You were genuinely confused.

"Yeah." He said simply, always looking down.

"I still don't understand ..." You started saying.

"I just want a hug." He said suddenly.

"Do you want a what?" You asked, surprised. Actually, you understood. But you wanted to make sure you got it right. Was Dean Winchester asking for a hug?

"See, that's why I didn't want to tell you. It's stupid, forget it okay?" He said starting to get out of bed.

To make him stay, you grabbed his hand with yours.

"Is that all? Was that the problem? You just wanted... a hug?" You asked.

Dean stared at your hand holding his for a moment, like it was a weird thing. Like he usually stared at the image of a strange creature in a newspaper or an article on the internet.

You were just holding his hand and he was staring at it like it was something he had never seen before and you thought maybe the "problem" wasn't a hug, it was any kind of human contact. Maybe he just needed it.

Dean nodded, answering your question.

You pulled his hand towards you, pushing him back onto the bed and making him sit down again. You slowly wrapped your arms around him, pushing his body against yours. You could feel his muscles tighten as you ran a hand up and down his back, his body completely rigid.

"Hey, alright. It's alright." You whispered.

After a few seconds you felt his arms wrap around you and you smiled, even though he couldn't see you.

His body slowly relaxed against yours as you kept drawing imaginary circles on his back.

Dean never said a word all the time.

"Are you okay?" You asked, still holding him.

You felt him nod on your shoulder as he held you tighter but without hurting you.

God, that man didn't need a hug but all the affection the world could give him, you thought as you raised a hand to stroke his hair.

You could almost feel Dean's heart pounding as you ran your fingers through his brown locks and he buried his face in your neck.

"Is that okay?" You asked softly.

He nodded again, without speaking and you kept stroking his hair for a few minutes while his arms still held you as if he was afraid you might disappear at any moment. If your heart hadn't broken when you realized how touch starved he was, it would soon have.

"Is that okay too?" You asked again when after a few moments you left a light kiss on his temple. He raised his head slightly and you could have sworn you saw tears in his eyes.

You wish he'd asked you sooner. You wished you knew first what Dean really needed. He nodded again and closed his eyes as you left another kiss on his forehead.

"Can I keep doing that?" You asked.

He nodded. "Don't stop, please." He whispered. You couldn't help but think he looked like a puppy who, after years of lovelessness, just wanted to be cuddled.

You gently placed your lips on his cheek, on his jaw and then again on his forehead and temple.

"I love you. And I care about you. You know that right? I think I should tell you more often." You said, your voice almost a whisper. You felt Dean's warm hand running up and down your back, like you did before.

"Thank you." He said eventually. "I love you too."

You wanted to tell him you loved him more than a friend. That you cared about him more than a friend. But that was not the right time. Maybe one day you would, maybe even soon. For the moment you just had to hold him tight.

"Is it okay for you if I stay here tonight?" You asked.

"Yes. You can... please stay." He answered, his voice low.

You lay still holding Dean tight to your body, his arms around you. He rested his head on your chest.

"Goodnight De." You whispered after a few minutes, running your fingers through his hair one last time.

"'Night Y/N." He replied before falling asleep in your arms.

That night, you found a new side of Dean. Probably a side that had been there for a long time and was just hidden, probably a side that you were the first person to see, you thought before falling asleep, mentally promising Dean to hold his hand, leave kisses on his face and hug him more often.

He deserved it. He needed it.

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Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731

#dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean fic #dean winchester fic #spn fic #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #supernatural fic #dean fanfic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester comfort

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imaginesforfandom · 5 months

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Heartbeat Symphony

AHHHH i love this man too much lmao. this is short and sweet so have fun my lovelies!

how have i not written for this man yet like-

Dean Winchester x Reader

No pronouns used

Summary: After a long day on the road, the couple finds solace in the comfort of the Impala. The story explores the quiet moments between hunts, emphasizing the deep connection and love they share. Back at the bunker, they unwind together, appreciating the simplicity of being a team both in and out of the field. The narrative highlights the strength of their bond and the sense of home they find in each other's company.

Heartbeat Symphony

Dean Winchester sat in the driver's seat of the Impala, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel as he glanced over at you. The rhythmic hum of the engine was the backdrop to the comfortable silence that filled the car. You had been on the road for hours, chasing down the latest lead on a case, and now the two of you were finally heading back to the bunker.

As Dean drove, he stole glances at you, appreciating the way the soft glow from the dashboard highlighted the contours of your face. The quiet moments between hunts were just as precious as the action-packed ones. He reached over, fingers brushing against yours, and a warm smile formed on his lips as he interlaced them.

"You doing okay, Y/N?" Dean asked, his voice a soothing melody that echoed through the Impala.

You nodded, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder. "Yeah, just tired. Ready to get back and hit the hay."

Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through both of you. "Well, we make a damn good team, don't we?"

You smirked, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "The best. Team Winchester."

As the familiar sight of the bunker came into view, Dean couldn't help but feel a swell of contentment. The two of you had been through so much together, and yet, every moment felt like a new adventure with you by his side.

Once inside the bunker, you kicked off your boots and flopped down onto the worn-out couch in the library. Dean joined you, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed against each other. He reached for the TV remote, flicking through the channels until he found an old black-and-white movie.

"You know," Dean said, his arm finding its way around your shoulders, "we make a pretty good team in and out of the field."

You laughed, snuggling closer. "Yeah, we do. I wouldn't want to hunt monsters with anyone else."

Dean turned his head, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Me neither, Y/N."

The movie played in the background, but you found yourself more captivated by the steady cadence of Dean's heartbeat. It was a comforting symphony, a reminder that you were home, safe in the arms of the person you loved.

As the night wore on, you both drifted off to sleep on the couch, tangled together in a mess of limbs and blankets. The bunker echoed with the quiet sounds of the TV and the distant hum of the machinery that kept the place running.

In the darkness, Dean whispered words of love, promises, and gratitude, knowing that every day with you was a gift. And as you slept, you couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of his love surround you like a protective embrace. Together, you faced the challenges that came your way, hand in hand, heart in heart, a team bound by something stronger than any supernatural force – love.

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i loved writing this OMG!! i can't believe i haven't written for Dean yet. i absolutely adore him so so much lmao

#dean winchester #dean #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #dean winchester imagine #dean imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester oneshot #dean oneshot

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deanwritings · 1 year

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What We Lost

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request: I was wondering if you could write Dean x Reader, where they are in a relationship but Dean has been pushing her away lately and she is struggling with it ? Thank you.:)

Summary: After a shapeshifter hunt, Dean begins pushing you away, and you can't figure out why.

Trigger Warning/Spoiler in the tags

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: My first request in 5 years! Turned out WAY more emotional than I was expecting.

You drag yourself into the bunker, your heavy duffle barely hanging onto your shoulder as Sam and Dean wander in silently besides you.

The three of you were exhausted after your last hunt. It had been a pair of shapeshifters running amuck in a Minnesotan city. It took you a few days to figure out what monster you were hunting, but after one took the form of you, things became a little more clear. Kinda.

It managed to time it perfectly that when you had split from Sam and Dean, it had slipped in, playing your part perfectly until it had the opportunity to knock the brothers out and take them hostage.

It took you a few hours to figure out what had happened and track the boys down, and when finally you did, it was a pretty bloodied battle between you and your lookalike.

But once your doppelgänger was dead, you untied the brothers from their hanging ropes, their wrists raw and shoulders numb from the hours of dangling, and the three of you carried your beaten and worn bodies back to your motel rooms for a chance to recharge before the 8+ hour drive back to the bunker the next day.

It had been quiet on the drive back to the motel, but you chocked it up to the typical post-hunt silence. But once you got to your room with Dean, you could tell something was off.

He went straight to the bathroom for a shower, no quip from him asking you to join for some relaxation, just his strong back to you as he quietly shut the door.

After his shower, he remained silent, somehow always keeping a distance between the two of you, even in your shared bed. You had asked him if everything was alright, but all you got was a nondescript, "mhmm" in response.

You decided to let it go, your body too exhausted to try and break down the emotional wall that Dean decided to put up. You had hoped that after a good night's sleep, either whatever was bothering Dean would be gone, or he would be ready to open up to you about it.

But neither of those things happened.

In the morning, the silence continued, following you all the way back to Lebanon and now down the hallways of the bunker.

You waited until you and Dean were in the safety of your room, with the door closed, before you decided to take a sledgehammer to that wall of his.

"We gonna talk about what's bothering you?" You ask as you peel off your jacket, wincing at the gash in your arm that probably could use some stitches, but you don't feel like dealing with at the moment.

"Nothing to talk about," Dean murmurs as he moves around you, beginning to unpack his duffle like he did after every hunt, no matter how tired he was.

"Well we both know that's bullshit, Dean" you cross your arms. "You've said about ten words since yesterday." Dean just nods his head, acknowledging your words, but carrying on as his refolds his clean shirts, tucking them away in his drawer, before pulling out his dirty clothes and moving to throw them in the hamper.

You feel the anger rising in your throat, your chest heating up from the unsettling peacefulness of the room. A stark contrast to the rage beginning to grow inside of you.

You take a deep breath through your nostrils.

"You're really going to ignore me? After I saved your asses?" You shout, your sore muscles seizing up with the tension and uncertainty of Dean's avoidance.

Dean sits on the bed and begins to untie his boots.

"Are you mad it took me so long to find you?" You start guessing, looking for any fucking expression on his face, but still finding no answers.

He was starting to scare you. Before you wasn't the man you loved. It was like he himself had been replaced, but instead of a shapeshifter, he was a soulless robot.

"Or because I let the shifter get one up on me?" Your ask is exacerbated, having no idea what to do or what to say.

Dean just glances up at you through his lashes, not even bothering to move his head.

You shake your head, tears starting to pool in your eyes as Dean continues to shut you out.

"You're such an asshole sometimes," you voice is quiet and you hurry out of the room before the tears can hit your bedroom floor.

You hurry through the bunker until you're at the garage, grabbing the keys to one of the many spare cars as your chest tightens and your breathing hitches. You desperately need fresh air, now.

You throw yourself into the car and speed out of the garage as the tires peel out under you from the sudden need to escape.

You don't have anywhere to go, you just need out. You need to breath and you need space.

By the time you return home, the sun has set and stars speckle the Kansas sky. You hadn't gone anywhere, just drove around, taking in new sights and neighborhoods you hadn't seen before. You eventually found a lake where you parked the car and gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles were white as you let out a feral scream, releasing every emotion that was wound up inside you. You screamed until your throat hurt and your fingers cramped around the leather, finally extinguishing the fire of emotions inside you.

As you walk through the bunker again, you stop in the kitchen for a beer before you continue down the hall until you're in a room you haven't visited in a long time.

You open the door, welcomed by your original room, the bedroom you first called yours before you had moved into Dean's. The bed is still nicely made how you left it, but all of your personal touches were gone, currently keeping company the man who had led you here in the first place.

You didn't want to stay in this empty room void of any life or love. You wanted to be down the hall, relaxing into the broad body of the man you loved while he wrapped you up in his arms, his beating heart lulling you to sleep. But that wasn't going to happen, not tonight at least. You were too hurt to face him, and you were too proud to stand in front of a man and beg for his attention or affection. So tonight, for the first time in a very long time, you were sleeping alone.

You curl yourself under the covers and hug yourself tight, despite your muscles screaming for you to relax. You let the emotional exhaustion take over and you dream of a better tomorrow.

The next morning, you wander into the kitchen in yesterday's clothes, grateful for the pot of coffee that's already been brewed.

As you pour yourself a cup, you hear some footsteps shuffle in behind you and you turn around and are disappointed to see the floppy-haired Winchester walk in. You were hoping to catch his brother. Corner him would be a more accurate term. But that would have to wait for now.

"Heya, Sam," you mumble as you bring the mug up to your lips and take the first sip, the warm liquid soothing yesterday's raw throat.

Sam gives you a soft smile as he brushes by you and pours himself his own cup. You wander over to the table and take a seat as Sam stirs in his one sugar and dash of milk.

"Same clothes as yesterday?" Sam quirks an eyebrow as he takes you in. You close your eyes and take a deep whiff of your coffee, letting it settle through you before you open your eyes again.

You swallow. "Yeah, I stayed in my old room last night. Didn't get a chance to change."

Sam frowns, but he doesn't look surprised, which makes you sit up straighter.

"You know what's wrong with Dean, don't you?" You accuse. Sam's mouth gapes open then closes again and you can see him mulling the words over in his head.

"Care to enlighten me, Sam?" You snap. "Because my boyfriend has not said a single word to me in two days. He will barely fucking look at me," you voice rises. You don't mean to take this out on Sam, but if he knew something, you would appreciate it if he could give you a clue as to what was happening.

Sam takes a deep breath, shifting his coffee mug from one hand to the other.

"Look, when the shifter had us, it uh," Sam scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. "It told us some stuff." Sam's eyes look up to you. "About you." He says pointedly.

"What kind of things?" You accuse.

Sam takes yet another deep breath, looking away from you.

"Y/N," his voice is somber, almost broken, as he sets his mug down on the kitchen counter.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, terrified by Sam's demeanor. First, Dean shut you out completely, something he's never done before, no matter how bad a hunt was, and now, Sam could barely look you in the eye.

Something bad had happened. Something that managed to shake the Winchesters to their core. And that was a hard thing to do.

What the hell could the shifter have told them? You didn't keep a lot of secrets, none that were damning anyways. What the hell could have possibly happened in the few hours it took you to find them.

"Sam," your voice quivers. "You're scaring me." You stand from the table, walking until your in front of your giant friend.

"Please. Just tell me."

You laying across the back seat of Baby, warm tears rolling down your cheeks as you stare up at the familiar roof.

The car smells like Dean. It's the only place you could think to come to be close to him without having to actually face him.

And the irony isn't lost on you.

Your chest begins to heave again as a new wave of sobs escapes your lips, your hands gripping onto you shirt as you rest them over your stomach.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric.

You hadn't known. You don't know if that was a good thing or bad thing.

When your period was late earlier in the year, you chocked it up to stress. It wasn't uncommon in your line of work.

But then you went on that werewolf hunt. Dean had taken some pretty bad hits and you had jumped in in an attempt to save him. Which you did, but in the process you had gotten pretty beat up. Thrown into a few walls, took a few blows to the face. A few kicks to the stomach.

You thought the pain and bleeding the days after was just a result from your injuries. It never crossed your mind you were losing a baby. Your baby. Dean's baby. One you never knew about, and one you never had the chance to protect.

But somehow the shifter knew. When it took on your form, and took over your memories, it was able to read more than just your mind, it also read your body.

And it revealed it to Dean and Sam. It wanted Dean to know what he caused you to lose. Both to lose.

The thing was a sadistic fuck.

Why did it have to tell Dean? Why did it have open a wound you didn't even know you had? Why did it have to make you miss something you never knew existed?

You really wished you had the chance to kill the bastard again. You would have really taken your time, making it as agonizing as you possibly could. Torture it the way it was torturing you and Dean even after it was cold and dead.

Another sob escapes you as you hold yourself tighter, squeezing your eyes as you wish it all away.

You hear the door above your head creak open. You breath is uncontrollable as your cries get lodged in your throat.

"Hey, hey," you hear Dean's voice call out in a whisper. You shut your eyes harder and shake your head.

Please not now. You don't want to look at him. You don't want to see the pain and disappointment on his face. You don't want to look at him and finally understand the coldness of the past two days.

A hand slips under you back and begins to lift you up. You struggle against it, but it's stronger than you, and continues to move you up until you're sitting.

You feel Dean slide in next to you and suddenly he pulls you into this chest, you feel the warmth of his body underneath your cheek, and with his heart next yours, your grief pours out in a flood of uncontrollable tears onto his shirt.

His hands hold you tight, his fingers deep in your skin as his arms lock you to his side.

He refuses to let you go until your cries begin to soften, your breath short and shallow as you feel your heart finally start to steady.

Warm lips dig into your hair, a stubbled chin rubbing against your forehead.

"I didn't know, Dean," your voice is tight in your throat. "I didn't know."

You feel his finger dig into your forearms.

"It's my fault," he whispers, and you hear him swallow hard. "If it wasn't for me," you feel him shake his head above you.

You finally push off his chest, your eyes bloodshot and swollen as you open them for the first time in who knows how long.

You look up at the man you love, your heart shattering all over again as tears stain his green eyes, making them even brighter despite his pain. He's staring ahead, out of the windshield, looking at nothing.

"Please don't say that," you quietly beg. He nods his head and swallows again. You know he's just appeasing you, but that's a battle for another day. For when your hearts weren't broken, for when you could acknowledge what you could of had together without it cutting through you.

For now, he holds you, the two of you leaning on each other as you sit in the only Baby you know, thinking about the one you didn't, waiting for better days ahead.

#dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean fanfic #dean reader insert #dean x you #dean x reader #dean imagine #dean x female!reader #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural #trigger warning: miscarriage

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imagineteamfreewill · 8 months

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An Imagined Life

Title: An Imagined Life

Pairing: Author!Dean x Interior Decorator!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: Y/N and Dean have been best friends since childhood, and though they’re both adults with busy lives, they still manage to keep up their weekly traditions.

A/N: Wow! It's been SO long since I posted on here. Hey everyone! This kinda came out of nowhere, but nonetheless, it was fun to write. Thank you to everyone who supports me here, on Patreon, and on ao3. Thank you for reading, and enjoy! Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

There’s no response when you knock on Dean’s front door, and you smile to yourself as you crouch down to pull the spare key out from behind the loose siding at the base of the house. He’s never quite gotten around to finding a new place to put it, even after his dad found the hiding spot and trashed the place while the two of you were out of town, but it really doesn’t matter anyway. Very few people actually know who Dean is. You’re fairly certain most of his neighbors think that he’s a hermit, rather than a bestselling author.

Once you’ve wrangled the door open, you set the key on his entryway table and shift the plate of hot pancakes so you can carry it with both hands.

“Dean!” you call, peering up the stairs. There are no lights on in the hallway. His living room’s a mess, and you have to step over several piles of books as you cross through to get to the kitchen. “Dean, I brought pancakes!”

He still doesn’t answer and you sigh, shedding your jacket and tossing it on the island before heading back through the living room and up the stairs to his room. He’s probably still in bed. There’s no doubt that he’d been up late writing again, considering the various pages spread across the couch cushions. His laptop sits nearby, too.

The couch is his second favorite place to write—with the back porch being his first—despite the fact that in the beginning, he’d been adamant against your choice in seating. The two of you had argued about it for over an hour. He hadn’t liked the legs. You’d insisted that he’d needed it, and in the end, he’d relented. After all, he’d hired you to decorate his new house, and he trusted you to do a good job. Even though you’d played pranks on him ever since you were little, you wouldn’t dream of screwing up a client’s house, even if it was Dean.

You and Dean have been best friends since kindergarten. During your very first week of school, he’d stood up for you when another kid had tried to take your beloved coloring book during a rainy day recess. The two of you have been like velcro ever since. You’d gone to all the same schools, even for college, and you’d both moved across the country to pursue your dreams after graduation. He’d moved into a modest fixer upper on the outskirts of the city and you’d moved into an apartment nearby the studio where you’d started your career, but the commute hasn’t stopped either of you from continuing your tradition of Sunday morning breakfasts, or in this case, Sunday afternoon breakfasts.

Knocking on his bedroom door, you carefully push it open and poke your head into the room. Sure enough, Dean is sprawled out across his bed, the blankets covering one bare leg and his upper half. The only thing visible at the top of the comforter is a tuft of brown hair. Smiling to yourself, you open the door the rest of the way and cross the room to open the curtains. You slide the plate of pancakes onto the only clear spot on his dresser as you pass.

“Rise and shine!” you cheer, and Dean answers you with a singular, sleepy grunt. Chuckling, you leap onto his bed, making him bounce on the mattress. He groans again and pulls the covers closer around him from the inside.

“Come on, Dean! I brought pancakes this week!”

Silence answers you, and just as you’re opening your mouth to try and coerce him for the third time, Dean grumbles,

“Remind me to hide the spare key.”

You grin and yank his pillow out from under his head, then lean down so you can speak directly into his ear. “You and I both know you’ll never do that.”

He groans again, and you briefly wonder how he ever managed to start a career when his vocabulary is so limited in the morning. When you tell him as much, Dean reaches his hands out from under the blankets, pulls his pillow from your grasp, and flips the blankets off his head before shoving the pillow back under him where it belongs. He turns onto his back and rests his head back on the pillow as he squints up at the ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the midday sun streaming in through the tall bedroom windows.

“Did you really have to open the curtains?” he asks as he rubs his eyes with the back of one hand. His voice is thick from sleep, making it gravelly and just a little deeper than normal. It makes you smile. You love Dean in the morning, even if he is a grump.

“Probably not,” you reply. Flopping down beside him, you stare up at the ceiling fan in silence, letting him wake up the rest of the way on his own. You’ve done your job spectacularly.

Finally, Dean sighs heavily and sits up, letting the blankets slide halfway onto the floor as he shifts his legs over the side of the bed. You turn onto your side and prop your head up with one elbow, watching him. He’d gone to bed in just his black boxers again, leaving his back exposed to you. The sunlight turns his skin golden.

He’s been out in the sun, you think. His freckles stand out more than usual, and as he stretches, your mind wanders. The two of you have never dated, which is strange. You enjoy spending time with him, and it’s not like you think he was ugly. In reality, Dean is one of the most attractive people you know. He could convince you to do anything if he smiled while he asked. If he asked you to date him, you’d say yes. Hell, if he asked you to marry him, you’d say yes.

“You just gonna stare at me or are we gonna eat?” Dean asks, and you grin, pushing away your thoughts as you quickly try to make up for your long silence.

“Eating sounds good, but I can’t say I’m opposed to staring at your back for the rest of the day. It’s a nice back,” you tease.

“Shut up.” Dean turns and grabs his pillow, tossing it at your head.

You laugh and move your hand from where it’s supporting your head, effectively blocking the hit. Dean smiles down at you, despite his initial grumpiness after being jarred awake, and you grin even wider when his expression softens.

"You have a good week?" he asks, and you nod.

"You? Looks like you got a lot of writing done."

Dean nods slightly and stands, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. You force yourself to look away.

Why am I suddenly thinking about dating Dean?

Silently, you scold yourself and sit up on the other side of the mattress. Your back is to him, which gives you a moment to compose yourself. It’s too early for crazy thoughts about going out with your best friend. That’s more of a 3:00 AM thought.

You don’t want to mess with a good thing, you remind yourself. It’s the reason you avidly avoid the topic of dating when anyone brings it up, especially at holidays. For the longest time, your mom and Mary Winchester have been conspiring to get the two of you together. Back when you were younger, you fielded their questions with ease by telling them that you only thought of Dean as a friend and that you were more focused on your career, but you can practically picture their expressions if they ever heard your private thoughts about Dean’s back. These thoughts will have to be something you take to your grave.

You clear your throat and get up, grabbing the plate and rounding the end of the bed. “Ready?” you ask.

Dean grabs a t-shirt from the laundry basket on top of his dresser, then pulls it over his head. He glances at himself in the mirror before running a hand through his hair and heading out into the hallway. You follow him down the stairs and to the kitchen, plate in hand.

He starts pulling down plates, cups, and silverware for the two of you while you stick the plate in the microwave.

“There’s syrup in the fridge,” he tells you, pointing just behind you. “Can you get the creamer, too?”

You hum in acknowledgement and turn around to do just that, and he starts the coffee maker. Dean knows exactly how you like your coffee. The thought that he does makes you smile as you hunt through the contents of his fridge.

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asks.

Glancing over your shoulder, you grab the syrup from the door before closing it and taking a few steps to the island so you can dump the bottle of creamer there, too. You settle on one of the bar stools and watch him from the side as he makes your coffee. Last year, you’d convinced him to buy a fancier coffee maker, and though he’d been reluctant to change and get rid of the faithful machine that had helped him through his first bestseller, Dean eventually agreed that the newer model was better. Plus, it meant that he could make you some truly great breakfast drinks, not just plain coffee with creamer like he normally has.

“Besides pancakes? I have to run to IKEA and look at some decor options for a client. Do you want to come with?”

His nose crinkles enough that you can see it from your seat. “Shopping?”

You lean forward over the island, propping your chin on your hand as you give him the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. “Please, Dean?” you whine. “Please spend time with your oldest, prettiest, and most talented friend so I don’t perish of loneliness before I can settle down like a good, upstanding citizen. I need someone with me to ward off all the suitors that might harass me while I do my weekly throw pillow shopping.”

Dean snorts. “You’re insane.”

“Am I?” You drop your hand down and push yourself up on the counter, just enough that your reach is long enough to reach the cup of coffee he’s brought over for you. You pull it closer and lift it to your nose so you can breathe in the rich aroma, then take a sip. As predicted, it’s perfect. With a sigh, you plop back onto the stool.

“Yes, you are,” he laughs.

The microwave beeps and Dean abandons his mug to get the pancakes, and you busy yourself by arranging your plate and silverware in front of you. You don’t have to ask Dean to heap your portion onto your plate. He does it automatically, piling pancakes in front of you until you give him a satisfied nod. As he plates his own food, you start dishing up your toppings.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get out of the house a little today,” Dean says after the two of you have had a chance to tuck into your food.

You look up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise and a loaded fork held halfway to your mouth. “Really? You actually want to go shopping with me?”

He shrugs and takes another bite.

“Okay, then I’m going to finish these pancakes so we can get going before you change your mind,” you tell him, and you start to shovel your food into your mouth more earnestly. He smiles a little before doing the same.

After you and Dean clean up from your late breakfast, you pile into the Impala. He has to stop for gas, so you spend that time searching through your inspiration photos and the screenshots of items you’d looked at on the website. It’s nice to not have to drive, and it gives you a better chance to focus your thoughts on what the most important items will be. As much as he loathes shopping, Dean likes to wander, which means you can’t get distracted from what you really need for the houses, rather than what you’ve walked past four times.

“All good?” you ask, glancing up from your phone when he climbs back into the driver’s seat. Dean hums in agreement and turns the key in the ignition again, then cranks the music as he pulls out of the gas station. You laugh a little when he punches the accelerator once you’re on an open stretch of highway, and you lock your phone, leaning back in your seat.

It’s a nice enough day that you can have the windows down. The wind in your face reminds you of the long road trips you’d taken together in college, and the drive you’d made to move from college to your current home. Those are some of your happiest adult memories with Dean. Some of the moments you replay over and over again in your head each night are from those trips.

“So what exactly are we getting here?” Dean asks as he turns into the massive store lot. “Throw pillows? Vases with fake grass? Giant, framed, sepia-toned pictures of cows?”

You roll your eyes at the design cliches he always teases you about. “A couch and a coffee table,” you shoot back. “Although, you seem to know a lot about those cow pictures. Have you been researching one for your own house?”

He sends you a scathing look, but it’s quickly replaced by a small smile when you laugh at his reaction.

Climbing out of the car, you pull out your phone again. “I haven’t picked out a coffee table, but the couch…” You scroll through the pictures until you find the one you want, then hold it out for him to see. “Here, this is what I’m looking for. I just hope they have it here—they don’t ship this one and I don’t want to drive four hours to the next IKEA.”

Dean glances over at the Impala, and his smile is gone. “That’s not going to fit, Y/N. If I’d known you were getting furniture—”

“I’m just reserving it.” You shake your head. “I’ll have one of the interns pick it up tomorrow morning.”

He nods back and his shoulders relax slightly as you head into the store. Thankfully, it’s less crowded than you’d anticipated, which lets you keep a lazy pace as you walk. You’re not quite wandering, but you’re not worried about people trying to get past whenever you and Dean stop to look at one of the room displays.

“This one’s nice,” Dean says. He nods at a metal coffee table in one of the fake living rooms.

You crinkle your nose, feeling a little bad that you can’t agree. “It’s okay. Not quite what I’m looking for, though. It’s not really the vibe of the family.”

“Yeah?” He glances over at you as you hum and pick a pillow to inspect the design closer. “What’s the vibe?”

You set the pillow back in the giant metal basket and think about it for a second. “They’re more natural, like a… spa commercial. Lots of light natural woods, white linens, birdsong in the background, that kinda thing.” You gesture vaguely with one hand.

“Ah, so the daughter’s name is Serenity and the mother does weekly yoga with the other women from the neighborhood,” Dean replies.

“Exactly.”

“Dad’s probably a workaholic, and he goes along with whatever the mom wants because he knows it’ll keep her off his back. He doesn’t mind all the organic stuff, but he’s not above getting McDonald’s for lunch. He pays with cash, though, because his wife keeps careful track of their money,” Dean continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really fleshing this one out, aren’t you?”

He shrugs with a little satisfied smile, then pushes the cart forward to the next display room.

“Okay, so what about this one?” you ask. You wave your hand toward the half-dining room, half-living room display that’s been set up. It’s clearly meant to mimic a small apartment, because almost everything doubles as storage. The decor reminds you of your own apartment when you’d first moved out of college. You’d been broke after the cross-country move, and most of your things had been leftover from your dorm. You didn’t get “real” furniture until almost two years later. Dean had offered to help pay for the basics, but you’d turned him down. He’d already had his hands full with fixer-upper he’d bought with the advance from his first book.

Dean considers the faux apartment, letting his eyes sweep over each item with care before he finally answers, “They just moved cross-country. He’s planning on proposing to her, but he doesn’t have a ring yet because they spent all their money on the new apartment. It’s barely big enough for them, let alone the stuff they have from college and from their parents’ basements, but she loves it anyway. She likes to decorate with things she finds at thrift stores and the flea market, and he’s secretly been saving every penny he can to buy her the ring he thinks she deserves. If everything goes his way, he’s hoping to ask her next summer, and he’s going to string up the living room with lights because she always mentions how much she misses the fields of fireflies from where they grew up together.”

You smile to yourself, imagining the couple as Dean weaves his story around you. The aisles in this area of the store are empty, and his voice draws you into the picture he’s creating on a whim. It’s warm and homey, and it reminds you a little of your own life, just enough that you can imagine it clearly.

“I like that,” you finally say, after several moments have gone by. “What about that one?” You point a little farther down the aisle.

“The kitchen?” Dean asks. You nod in response. “Well, our couple’s gotten older, but he still hasn’t proposed. They still live together, and they’ve got a better place now that they both have better jobs, but every time he sees a ring or thinks it’s the right time to pop the question, he starts second-guessing himself. So, since they have a backyard now, he gets her a dog, instead.”

“What kind of dog?”

He looks over at you. “What kind of dog do you want it to be?”

You nudge him with your elbow, smiling. “Come on, Dean. You know me. I’m always gonna answer that they need a golden retriever. Every cheesy romance novel and movie has a golden retriever.”

He laughs a little and looks back at the empty kitchen. “A golden retriever it is, then. He’s a rescue, so he’s already three, but she spends every extra minute she has training him. She’s worked hard to make their house a home, you know, so she has to make sure to keep his muddy paws off the couch.”

“Of course,” you agree.

Dean pushes the cart forward again, and the two of you walk a little further, passing by countless closets, more living rooms, a plant display, and another kitchen. Finally, you reach a children’s bedroom, and you pause just for a moment. It’s long enough that Dean notices, however, so he stops and looks over at you.

“Did you find something you like?” he asks. “I didn’t see that couch you wanted earlier when we passed through the sofa section.”

Something about the first story Dean had come up with today stuck with you, and as you peer at the display, you can’t help but picture yourself crouching down beside the ladybug-themed bed. You imagine yourself brushing hair back off a child’s forehead, and you chuckle at the idea of a golden retriever who would hop up by the kid’s feet though it’s too big for the bed.

“What about this?” you ask, quietly, almost so quiet that the music covers it up.

Dean’s silence for a second. “We have a kid now, and he’s everything we’ve ever dreamed.”

You don’t fail to notice that Dean’s changed his story—it’s no longer “them” and “the couple”. It’s we. He keeps his eyes focused on the bed as he talks, but you look over at him. His eyes are a little glossy, and his expression is far away as he continues,

“We still live in the same house, and I’ve got a ring stashed away in a box of rough edits. You haven’t found it yet, but every time I go out, I’m worried that you’ll try to tidy up my office and find it.”

You swallow thickly and stare at him, wide-eyed. Careful not to disturb him too much, you move your hand a little. Your fingers bump against his, and Dean lets you maneuver his hand so it’s wrapped around yours, but he still doesn’t look away from the display bedroom. People are walking past you. Their voices and the music playing overhead feel far away, like they’re in a totally different universe. You’re so focused on Dean that you can’t see, feel, or hear anything outside of your little bubble.

“You’ve totally taken over everything,” Dean continues, chuckling. His lips turn up in a smile. He speaks without hesitation, and with enough passion in every word that you know he means everything he says. This isn’t just pretending anymore.

“The house is amazing, and you’ve gotten into gardening. Everything you touch seems to thrive, including me. I’ve got two more books on the bestsellers list, and it’s enough money that I don’t have to worry about how we’re going to make it. I know that we’ll be okay, no matter what happens. Your business is doing great, too. You stepped back since Robert was born, but you’ve got a partner and enough employees and interns that you can relax.

“You’re up here, right now,” he says. He lifts your joined hands to point towards the bed. “Tucking Robert in.”

“I am?” you prompt.

He nods. “When you’re back downstairs, I’m going to propose.”

“How are you going to ask me?” you murmur, almost afraid to ask.

Dean looks away from the display. His eyes meet yours, and you inhale sharply when he reaches behind himself to push the cart further away. He sinks to one knee and takes your other hand as you gape down at him.

“Dean…”

“I have loved you since the moment I saw you, Y/N,” he says.

You can sense people watching you, and to your left you can see someone holding up their phone to take a picture or to record you, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. Tears are welling up, making your vision blurry, and you blink them away. They roll down your cheeks. In any other circumstance, you’d be embarrassed to cry in public, but it’s Dean. He chases all your fears away, and his hands in yours pull you into a moment you never thought you’d see.

“I have thought about proposing to you since we moved here,” Dean continues. “I think about it every day. Every morning, I wake up, Y/N, and I wonder why I haven’t asked you yet. Sometimes it feels like if I go another minute without being engaged to you, I’ll die. I don’t even have a ring; I haven’t been able to find the perfect one, but I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I want to reach our goals and make new dreams together. I know this is sudden, and it’s a lot, and you can say no—I know that you weren’t expecting this—but I can’t let another day go by without asking.”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s right— you weren’t expecting this. You and Dean aren’t even dating, but the idea of spending your life with him doesn’t feel wrong or far-fetched. It feels perfect. You may be blindsided, but you’re not afraid of admitting when something is right.

Dean rubs his thumb over the side of your hand, and it draws you back down to him. “So what do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?”

After a second, you find yourself nodding. You throw yourself down into Dean’s arms. “Yes,” you say into his ear. You sniffle and press your face into his shoulder, and though your voice is muffled by his shirt, you know he’ll understand. “Yes, Dean. I love you so much.”

There’s scattered applause from all around you. Slowly, you sniffle and pull away, wiping your eyes with a smile and a laugh. Dean helps you stand again, and you brush the dust off your knees as shoppers crowd in to congratulate you. You nod along and thank them, a little embarrassed at all the attention, but soon you’re following Dean out of the store. An employee stops you at the door to give you a gift card from management, which you pocket in a daze.

Neither one of you has bought anything, and you’ve totally forgotten to reserve the couch and coffee table you’d come for, but Dean leads you out to the Impala anyway. Then, once you’re away from prying eyes and the warmth of the sun is on your skin, he kisses you. His hands find your hips as he presses you back against the passenger side door, and you wrap your arms around his neck. Dean’s kiss is sweet and slow, and you know that it’s going to be something you remember for the rest of your life.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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soaringeag1e · 4 months

Text

Christmas Boredom

Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language?, A Mix of Sadness and Fluffiness

Words: 782

Main Masterlist - Patreon

A light dusting of snow was leftover from a bit of snowfall earlier in the week, but nothing that jeopardized the roads too much. Christmas was right around the corner and honestly, it felt different this year. In a good way though. A really good way.

Needing some things for dinner and just a few things to stock up the cabinets at home, you had run out to the store along with a trip to the post office and stopping for gas plus a few other things that came to mind while you were out. Needless to say, instead of spending just a couple hours out and about, you were gone for more than five hours. But you felt accomplished, your to-do list was now crossed off.

Once you pulled down your street, you admired all the decorations that your neighbors have been putting up over the past few weeks, loving how creative a lot of them were. It’s only when your eyes catch a certain batch of new decor that you become a bit shocked.

Pulling into your driveway, you can’t take your eyes off the roof as you put your car in park. Leaving the groceries for the moment, you climb out, your eyes glued to the top of your house as you walk a little closer. Your smile slowly comes back along with an excitement within you as you look over the string of lights that somehow just decided to blanket your house for the season.

“I can’t tell if you’re in the Christmas spirit or if you’re just bored!” Those gorgeous green eyes you love so much eventually pop out from behind a large snowflake decoration that’s standing tall on the shingles and then something else you love joins them. That damn smirk of his.

“Uh…both!” The man admits before securing the snowflake for good and then he turns to climb off the roof. You know he’s perfectly capable of doing such a task, but the thought of him falling still makes you nervous.

When his boots land on solid ground, he turns, his smile growing as he leans down and kisses you sweetly, melting your heart and probably even the snow around you.

“Hi.” his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine and always has. You love it just as much as you love him.

“Hi.” When your eyes go to scan his handy work, his green orbs drop to the snow at your feet before he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to not look up weird things or to check the news for suspicious activity?” Your expression softens. “I mean…I am trying so hard but it’s just…” he huffs, slapping a hand to his thigh as he scans the neighborhood.

Feeling his struggle, you step forward and place your hands on his cheeks. He seems too ashamed to look you in the eye at first, but eventually he does. But you can see how bad he’s beating himself up for all this.

“I want this.” he admits, his voice coming off crackly. “I really do. I want you to know that.”

“I do know that.” you tell him, your voice as soft as your touch. But he still hates himself for struggling with the normal life.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you tell him, a little more firmly. Your hands press a little tighter on his face as you force him to look at you once again. “It’s hard. I know it is and I am so proud of you.” he scoffs, not because he doesn’t believe you but because you know that he doesn’t think there’s anything for you to be proud of. “Hey. You’re doing better than you think.” He tries to hide his eye roll, but you know him too well. “One day at a time.”

“I just don’t want to let you down.” Hearing that hits you hard. Your chest starts to hurt and tears instantly fill your eyes.

“You’re not.” you tell him as strongly as you can, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be. “I swear to you that you’re not.” With tears in both your eyes, Dean leans in again, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in years. “Now…” you get out when he takes a second to breathe, getting him to hold off on another kiss. “If you end up going on a hunt and lie to me about it? That’s a different story.” That’s what brings his grin back.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Damn straight you won’t. Because you’ll be taking me with you.” Dean’s smile grows before he captures your lips again.

“That’s my girl.”

#Christmas Boredom #Merry Christmas #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader christmas #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine

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chucksfavouriteprophet · 2 years

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The Intrusion - (Series Masterlist)

Dean Winchester x Reader (F)

Summary: Having lived alone in your secret batcave for years now, the last thing you expected was two burly hunters to come storming in acting like they own the place. Somehow, you've got to make this strange dynamic work, but inevitably secrets will spill and hearts will break in the process.

Chapter 1 - Life is fine. Life is peaceful. Its just you, and your nice big home, with no one to bother you, and no one to invade your privacy. Until all of a sudden, there is.

Chapter 2 - Even as you start to adjust to life with housemates, you can't quite figure out the Winchester boys. Although sooner or later, you're bound to end up in a situation where you have to.

Chapter 3 - Accidents make emotions run high, and its not long before you confront Dean about his attitude towards you. However, all may not be as it seems.

Chapter 4 - You make some risky decisions once the brothers are gone, knowing they'll bite you in the ass at some point. When you finally see Dean again, not in the most appropriate position, the dynamics seem to have twisted.

Chapter 5 - Dean reflects on the events of the night and battles with his feelings for you, torn between hatred and tenderness. On different sides of one door, the pair of you battle your conflicting emotions completely oblivious of each other.

Chapter 6 - As you and Dean start to face your feelings, you start to accept that you need to communicate to make things work. A compromise is struck which meets all living arrangements, but it might mean a new career is on the cards.

Chapter 7 - You join the brothers on your first hunt, which reveals some surprising talents that prompt you to come clean about your past.

Chapter 8 - After the hunt, Dean gives you a surprise that brings you closer and sparks start to fly. That is, until the mood is seriously ruined and all hopes of the two of you getting along seem doubtful.

Chapter 9 - Dean gets back from his excursion and you bump into him in the kitchen. Emotions are running high, but is this what you both need to finally break the ice for good?

Chapter 10 - You and Dean deal with the aftermath of the previous night's events and Cas arrives with bad news from Heaven.

Chapter 11 - In preparation for the Demon invasion, you and Dean team up. But as you flirt your way around, you loose sight of where you are and end up stumbling into some very personal, and painful, memories.

Chapter 12 - You return to the bunker only to be met by an unwelcome visitor with even more unwelcome news.

Chapter 13 - The time has come to put your skills to the test. A social recluse, 2 seasoned hunters, an Angel and the King of Hell vs...well, everyone else from Hell. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 14 - The aftermath of the fight leaves a life on the line and brings emotions to the surface.

Chapter 15 - Our dysfunctional family come together to embrace a second chance at life together and take a more positive outlook on the future.

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loaksx · 7 months

Text

DEAN WINCHESTER . . .

ılı.lıl now playing …

RUNNIN’ WITH THE DEVIL

Van Halen

↺͏͏° < ll >> ⋮≡

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

EXTRAS . . . smut ✦ , fluff ✩, angst ✧

SERIES

ONESHOTS & IMAGINES

BLURBS

DEAN'S MOODBOARDS

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thsillystringbeanscribbler · 3 months

Text

Bunny Slippers: Chapter Two

Summary: Julia shares the research John had asked her help with, giving the brothers a small insight into what led to their father disappearing. Is it possible that John not only put his sons in danger but also the Blackburns?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader [ OC: Julia Blackburn ]

Warnings: mostly fluff with violence and angst, maybe slow burn

Word Count: 6,408 words

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the previous chapter and for all your support. I hope this chapter is just as enjoyable for you! I have had this story in the drafts for a while, using it as an excuse to avoid doing my research proposal... Also s/o to Ness and my thesaurus

(gif from Pinterest)

The initial jolt of hearing the "Yellow-Eyed Demon" mentioned had sent a shockwave through Dean, but it quickly settled into a focused urgency. They fell into a rhythm, each leafing through the contents of Julia and John's collective research, a dance of minds across the pages.

Sam was absorbed in a notebook, the elegance of Julia's script weaving through the more rugged annotations of their father. Dean, positioned across the table, glanced intermittently between the lines of text and Julia, who was gracefully navigating the bookshelves in search of a volume Sam had inquired about. Her movements were a silent ballet, her curls keeping time with her search until she found her mark.

"Aha!" The sound was a soft triumph. Dean watched, a half-smile playing on his lips, as Julia stretched on her tiptoes, reaching for an ancient cloth-bound book just beyond her grasp.

Before she could concede to the shelf's height, Dean was on his feet, moving towards her. His fingers brushed hers as they both reached for the elusive book. "Let me help with that, short stuff," he offered, his voice low and playful.

Julia glanced over her shoulder, and as her eyes traced the path up his chest to meet his gaze, Dean realized just how close he was, her scent enveloping him like a sweet spell. "Actually," she murmured, her hand dropping away as she adjusted her glasses, "that would be great. Thank you."

His heart thrummed a more animated rhythm, and with an easy reach, he retrieved the book. Handing it to her, he didn't miss the brief flicker of her eyes to his arm and back to the book, a silent acknowledgment of his strength.

"There you go, just your friendly neighbourhood book retriever at your service," he quipped with a wink, handing her the tome. "But if you need someone to reach the high notes—or anything else—just let me know." His smile was as cheeky as his words, his flirtation unmistakable yet light-hearted, a playful offer hanging in the library air.

Julia's smile was a mix of amusement and a touch of bashfulness as she accepted the book from Dean. "My very own hero," she teased, giving him a playful shoulder bump that spoke of a burgeoning camaraderie. She then turned towards the table, eager to share her find with Sam.

As Julia started explaining the contents of the book to Sam, he listened intently, his expression a blend of professional interest and brotherly concern. He managed to sneak a quick, warning glare at Dean, silently urging him to tread carefully in this dance of flirtation and research.

As Julia excitedly shared her findings, the rhythmic sound of footsteps ascending the stairs punctuated the room's quiet buzz of concentrated study. Rob, appearing at the archway with a tray laden with sandwiches, announced his contribution to the day's efforts with a warm smile. "Since I couldn't assist with the bookwork, I thought I'd at least keep the researchers fed," he said, his voice carrying the comforting timbre of familial care.

"Thanks, Dad," Julia responded, her voice a mixture of gratitude and a touch of embarrassment as she shuffled papers around to make room for the food, surreptitiously concealing the more sensitive research materials from her father's unsuspecting gaze.

Rob's eyes swept over the trio, a smile of paternal pride playing on his lips as he witnessed their dedication. Dean, unable to resist the lure of a good sandwich, eagerly grabbed one, his actions bordering on comical in their haste.

Clearing his throat, Rob adopted a more conversational tone, "I'm off to the store for some dinner supplies," he announced casually, hands resting on his hips as if bracing for a light-hearted debate. "And I insist, you boys are staying over tonight. Julia's barely scratched the surface with what she's got to show you. For all I know, she's got an entire Encyclopedia Britannica of notes stashed away," he joked, affectionately ruffling Julia's hair, causing it to stand on end from the static. Julia, caught in the warmth of the moment, could only blush and smile, her heart swelling with love for her father.

Sam, always the diplomat, responded with a gentle sincerity that was characteristic of him. "Rob, that's incredibly generous of you, but we wouldn't want to overstay our welcome," he said, his voice infused with genuine concern for their imposition. He glanced at Dean, who was now trying to listen while simultaneously battling with the sandwich stuffed in his mouth, a silent plea for his brother to back him up.

Dean, momentarily pausing his enthusiastic eating, chimed in with his trademark blend of humor and charm. "Rob, you sure you know what you're signing up for here?" he quipped, a playful glint in his eye. "I mean, Sam's snoring could wake the dead, and I'm not exactly a light eater, as you can see." He gestured to the sandwich, now considerably diminished. "But if you're insisting, who are we to turn down such hospitality? Just prepare yourself for the full Winchester experience," Dean added, his tone light, yet laced with an underlying gratitude for the warmth and normalcy that Rob's invitation offered.Their focused discussion was interrupted by the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. Rob appeared in the archway, his presence commanding yet affable. "I might not be of much use with the books, but I've prepared lunch downstairs. if you're all hungry," he announced with a warm smile.

Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes, a gesture laden with affection and exasperation, as Dean's antics continued. Their banter was interrupted by Rob's voice, brimming with amusement and a touch of challenge. "No worries, boys. I've had my fair share of tussles with Winchesters in the past," he declared with a playful wink, signaling his departure with the soft clatter of keys and the closing of the front door.

The trio settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the sound of contented munching as they each enjoyed the sandwiches Rob had prepared. Julia, having claimed the last available seat beside Dean, quickly finished her meal and delved back into her research. She sifted through the piles of notes and books, determined to uncover any piece of information that could aid Sam and Dean in their quest.

As daylight began to wane, the boundaries between afternoon and evening blurred. Unnoticed by the trio, Rob returned, the soft sounds of dinner preparation echoing from the kitchen. In his absence, a seamless dynamic had formed among them: Sam, ever curious, peppered Julia with questions, while Dean contributed sporadically, often caught up in the fervor of Julia's animated explanations. Her hands danced through the air, accentuating her points with a flourish, her enthusiasm infectious.

The day's energy gradually dwindled, and the room fell into a serene quietude. Julia, now seated closer to Dean, was engrossed in an ancient tome, her fingers absentmindedly braiding a lock of her auburn hair as she concentrated. Dean watched, fascinated by the rhythmical dance of her fingers, the way they skillfully entwined her hair into a delicate braid only to gently unravel it moments later. A longing stirred within him to reach out, to brush her hair aside, to feel the softness of the braid beneath his fingertips. Yet, he restrained himself, his attention momentarily captured by the way Julia's hand paused, holding the braid in place, while the other turned the page, her focus unwavering. Dean's response was a wry smirk, his pen held lightly between his teeth, his arm casually resting on the back of Julia's chair, a silent observer to her studious fervour.

The evening had settled in fully now, the darkness outside pressing against the windows of the library. The room was bathed in the soft, amber glow of scattered lamps, casting long shadows between the rows of books. Julia, seated at the table, wrapped in the cocoon of their research, suddenly shivered, her skin pebbling with goosebumps. Dean, his arm casually resting across the back of her chair, noticed the subtle shake of her shoulders and the way she pulled her arms close.

"Hey, you cold?" Dean's voice was a low murmur, a gentle note of concern threading through it as he leaned in slightly, his hand moving instinctively to rub warmth back into her arms.

Julia offered a small nod, her teeth capturing her bottom lip in a fleeting gesture of discomfort. "Yeah, just a bit. I'll go grab my cardigan," she replied, her voice a mix of gratitude and a self-deprecating chuckle for her own vulnerability to the chill.

With a helpful nudge, Dean slid Julia's chair back, giving her space to stand. She moved with a swift purpose across the room, her form briefly silhouetted against the windows that opened onto the back terrace. As she reached the bookshelf lined wall that seemed nothing more than an elegant feature of the library, she revealed its secret—a door concealed within the bookcases. She opened it, the shelves swinging away with silent grace, and slipped through into the room beyond.

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the hidden passage, a flicker of astonishment crossing his face. "Sammy, check this out," he called out, a note of disbelief mixed with admiration in his voice, beckoning his brother to witness the unexpected twist in their surroundings.

A few heartbeats slipped by, the library humming with the quiet sound of ticking clocks and the soft rustling of pages. Then, the hidden door within the bookshelf swiveled open once more, and Julia stepped back into the library. She was now clad in a cozy red cardigan adorned with oversized brown buttons, her fingers lingering on the spine of a book as she gently nudged the secret door closed behind her.

When she turned, she was greeted by Sam and Dean, who were both staring at her with expressions of startled curiosity. Their eyes were wide, the sort of look that comes from boys who have seen countless wonders yet still find themselves surprised by new magic.

"What's wrong?" Julia asked, her voice tinged with amusement at their astonished faces.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, their shock melting into boyish intrigue. "Wrong?" Sam echoed, his tone light with excitement. "That was just—well, that was awesome."

Dean, ever the one to embrace the unexpected with a mixture of charm and bravado, couldn't hide his grin. "I mean, secret doors? Hidden rooms?" he said, stepping closer to where Julia stood. "This is like something straight out of a mystery novel. You got any more surprises hidden in this place?" His voice was a mix of jest and genuine wonder, as if the discovery of the secret passageway had added another layer of intrigue to Julia herself.

Julia's laughter, light and musical, filled the room as she watched Dean's and Sam's reactions. "No, it doesn't lead to Narnia," she said with a wink, "just to my bedroom. Want a quick tour?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached for a book spine, pulling it to swing the door open once again.

They were greeted by a short hallway, its walls lined with various framed pictures and memorabilia. Directly across from the secret door was a small walk-in closet, and to their right, a door hinted at a bathroom. Julia led them to the left, towards her bedroom.

With a gentle push, Julia's bedroom door creaked open, and Dean stepped through the threshold into a world that was unmistakably Julia's. The room was a cozy sanctuary, walls painted in a rich, warm hue, adorned with shelves teeming with books, their spines a rainbow of worn colours and titles. A lush array of plants breathed life into the space, their leaves spilling over shelves and hanging pots, framing the window that looked out into the night.

The bed, a solid wood frame, was draped with a thick, multi-coloured quilt that spilled over the sides, its pattern reminiscent of the vibrant cover art of classic rock albums. Beside it, a nightstand held a small lamp, casting a warm glow over the room, and beneath it, a stack of classic rock CDs leaned against an old radio, their presence an echo of tunes that had undoubtedly filled the room many times over.

Posters of rock legends like Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones graced the walls, their corners slightly curled from age, sharing space with intricate tapestries that softened the room with their texture. The scent of incense lingered faintly, mingling with the earthiness of the plants.

Dean took a moment to absorb the details, his eyes lingering on the details that spoke volumes about Julia's personality—a fusion of intellect, nature, and rock 'n' roll. "This is... pretty cool," Dean admitted, his voice low, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the tranquility of the space. "You've got great taste in music," he added, nodding towards the CDs with a grin.

Julia's reply came out in a bit of a jumble, the words tumbling over each other in a charming tangle. "Oh, uh—thanks," she managed, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She was just about to delve into a conversation with Dean when her father's voice, calling from the library, cut through their moment.

Back in the library, Rob stood framed in the archway, the light from the lamps casting a welcoming glow around him. "Hey, dinner's on the table, folks. Time to take a break and eat," he called out with an easy smile.

Julia's eyes lit up, a playful grin spreading across her face. "I'm so ready to eat, I could probably finish off the whole kitchen!" she exclaimed, her stomach seconding the motion with a well-timed grumble.

They watched as Rob retreated down the stairs, his footsteps echoing gently. Once he was out of earshot, Julia turned back to Sam and Dean, her expression shifting to one of urgency. "You guys head on down. I need to stash these papers away—Dad can't see this stuff," she said, her hands swiftly gathering the scattered documents into the folder she had used earlier to conceal their more secretive research.

The descent to the kitchen was a welcome break from the intensity of their research. Rob had prepared a simple yet hearty meal, filling the kitchen with the inviting aromas of homemade cuisine. The group gathered around the table, engaging in light, easy conversation that offered a brief respite from the weight of their task. There were laughs, shared stories, and an air of camaraderie that made the meal feel like a gathering of old friends rather than a recent acquaintanceship born of necessity.

After dinner, Sam and Rob, deep in discussion, migrated back to the living room, leaving Julia to start clearing the dishes. Dean, noticing her effort, felt a pull to lend a hand. He approached the sink where she was filling it with soapy water.

"Hey, let me give you a hand with that. Wouldn’t be right to enjoy your dad’s cooking and not help with the cleanup," Dean offered with a charming grin, rolling up his sleeves in preparation.

Julia looked up at him, her smile reflecting both surprise and appreciation. "That sounds like a plan. You wash, and I’ll dry," she proposed, her tone light and friendly.

As Dean plunged his hands into the sudsy water, he glanced at Julia and found an opening for a lighter conversation. "So, Van Halen, huh? Didn’t take you for a fan of the classics," he remarked, picking up a plate to wash.

Julia, drying a dish, chuckled softly. "Oh, I have a pretty eclectic taste in music, but yeah, Van Halen's definitely on the list. My dad and I used to jam to their tracks when I was a kid. It's like a time capsule of good memories," she shared, her eyes lighting up at the reminiscence.

"Can’t beat the classics," Dean agreed, his movements in sync with hers as they fell into a comfortable rhythm. "Their music's got this timeless edge, kind of like this place," he added, nodding subtly to the surrounding kitchen.

As they continued their task, Julia stood beside Dean, their arms occasionally brushing against each other. Each accidental touch sent a subtle current through the air, a silent acknowledgement of the chemistry building between them. The conversation flowed naturally, punctuated by shared smiles and brief glances, creating an atmosphere that was as warm and inviting as the kitchen they stood in.

As they worked side by side, Dean noticed Julia's striking green eyes and long lashes, focused on drying a plate. He remembered a photograph he had seen earlier on the mantelpiece, featuring a younger version of the people present, including a woman with auburn curls similar to Julia's. "That picture on the mantle, with your dad and my folks, that was your mom, wasn't it?" Dean inquired, trying to connect the dots.

Julia's lips curved into a small, proud smile. "You've got a sharp eye, Winchester," she replied, her pace slowing a bit as she engaged in the conversation.

Dean, curious yet cautious, ventured further. "And your mom? Where is she now?" he asked gently.

Julia paused, her gaze drifting to the courtyard visible through the kitchen window. "She... she passed away when I was eight," she said, a hint of sorrow in her voice. Before Dean could respond, she added, "It was a car accident."

Dean felt a pang of empathy, knowing all too well the pain of losing a parent at a young age. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said softly, his tone sincere. "Sam and I, we lost our mom too when I was just a kid. It's tough, losing someone like that.”

Julia glanced at Dean, her expression softening. "I'm really sorry you went through that too, losing your mom," she said gently, her hand reaching out to touch his arm in a comforting gesture. Dean offered a small smile, trying to play it cool despite the flutter in his chest from her touch.

As they wrapped up the kitchen duties, Julia handed the last dried plate to Dean along with the towel to dry his hands. "Here, looks like you might need this," she said with a light laugh, breaking the solemn mood.

Dean chuckled, drying his hands. "Thanks. You know, talking about Van Halen earlier got me thinking. What's your take on Led Zeppelin?" he asked, shifting the conversation to a lighter note as they started moving toward the living room.

Julia lit up at the change of topic. "Led Zeppelin? Now we're talking. 'Stairway to Heaven' is a masterpiece, but 'Kashmir' always gets me," she responded enthusiastically.

"Ah, 'Kashmir', that's a solid choice. I'm more of a 'When the Levee Breaks' guy myself," Dean admitted, as they lingered in the hallway, neither in a hurry to end their one-on-one time.

As they finally stepped into the living room to rejoin Sam and Rob, Dean and Julia shared a look, their eyes locking in a moment that seemed to stretch, charged with an unspoken understanding. The brief, intense connection was broken as they merged into the group, but the spark between them lingered in the air.

As they emerged into the living room, Dean and Julia exchanged a glance, their eyes holding a silent conversation that needed no words. It was a fleeting moment of connection, yet it seemed to hang between them, a subtle charge in the air that neither of them quite wanted to let go of.

They slipped into the flow of the evening seamlessly, their presence fitting into the ongoing conversation as if they had never stepped away. Laughter and the rich timbre of shared stories filled the room, the passage of time marked only by the deepening night outside.

Eventually, Rob glanced at the clock, a look of mild surprise crossing his face. "Well, I'll be—time's flown by," he commented with a chuckle, shaking his head in mild disbelief.

Julia, who had been captivated by Dean's animated recounting of a particularly wild hunt, was pulled back to the present by her father's words. She covered a yawn with her hand, the late hour catching up to her. "Guess it's about time to crash," she said, her words tinged with humour and a tired smile playing on her lips.

Everyone rose from their seats, stretching and sharing satisfied smiles after a night of good company. "All right, gentlemen, follow me. I'll show you where you'll be bunking tonight," Rob said, giving Sam a friendly pat on the back as he led the way to the stairs.

They all ascended the stairs, the soft murmur of their footsteps a contrast to the laughter that had filled the room moments before. At the second-floor landing, Julia paused, turning to the brothers with a gentle smile. "Good night," she offered, her voice soft, echoing the sweetness of the evening they had shared.

With a wave, she disappeared around the corner into her room, leaving the brothers to continue their ascent. Reaching the third floor, Rob pointed down the hall. "Your rooms are right over there. Mine's just back this way if you need anything," he said, giving them a nod before retreating to his own space and closing the door with a quiet click.

Dean and Sam each chose a door, finding themselves in rooms that mirrored each other in their simple, understated elegance. Dean's room was marked by deep, forest green walls that exuded a serene, calming energy. The solid wood bed frame was dressed in linens of a matching green hue, and a knitted throw lay casually at the foot of the bed. A bedside table held a vintage lamp, its warm light inviting a sense of peace. A single, potted plant added a touch of life to the room, its leaves gently rustling in the night breeze that whispered through a slightly ajar window.

Dean set his bag down, taking in the room with an appreciative nod. "Not too shabby," he remarked to himself, a low whistle of approval escaping him. He glanced around, noting the lack of his usual motel-room amenities but also the unique charm of this place. "Gotta say, this beats the usual digs on the road," he mused aloud, even though only the walls could hear him. With a final glance at the room that felt unexpectedly like a home, Dean allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation before he prepared to call it a night.

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The morning light was a subtle intruder, sneaking through the narrow breach between the curtains, and it was the soft rapping at his door that finally stirred Dean from his slumber. The familiar cadence of a gentle knock, followed by a voice he was quickly growing fond of, coaxed him awake.

"Dean? You decent in there? I've got coffee," Julia's voice was soft but clear through the door, tinged with a laughter that hadn't quite bubbled to the surface.

"Yeah, come on in," Dean called back, his voice gruff with sleep but warm with invitation.

The door creaked open, and Julia peeked around it with caution, a visual check to save them both any embarrassment. Dean took in the sight of her, looking just as effortlessly charming as she had the day before. Her hair was swept up into a bun that defied the laws of gravity, and she was swathed in an oversized Van Halen t-shirt paired with flannel Batman pajama pants tucked into tube socks—one white, one grey—topped off with pink bunny slippers. It was an ensemble that Dean found unexpectedly endearing.

She tiptoed over to where he sat up in bed, the covers sliding to his waist to reveal the lean muscles of his torso. Julia's eyes briefly danced across his skin, the blush on her cheeks deepening, before she averted her gaze to the safety of the coffee mug. "Heard you might be hitting the road soon," she said, her eyes finding his again. "Figured you could use a caffeine kick to start your day."

Dean accepted the mug, the steam curling up to mingle with the stubble on his chin. He took a sip, the rich flavor hitting all the right notes. "Mmm, that's perfect. You're a lifesaver, Julia." He winked, the gesture softening the rugged lines of his face. "This is exactly what I needed.”

A bashful grin spread across Julia's face as Dean's wink sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. With a nervous little push of her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she began to retreat from the room.

"I–uh, I should..." she stammered, her words trailing off as her eyes inadvertently drifted back to Dean's uncovered chest. The close encounter with Dean's rugged appeal was unexpectedly disarming, and in a flustered haste to regain her composure, she moved to leave more quickly. "I've got to get ready for the day, so, see you out there," Julia rushed the words, nearly tripping over them as she made her swift exit, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Left alone in the quiet room, Dean couldn't help but let a self-satisfied smirk creep across his lips. There was something gratifying about this mutual, unspoken attraction, the way they both seemed to fumble a little in each other's presence. He took another sip of his coffee, the warmth of the brew a perfect echo of the heat that had risen in his cheeks from their exchange.

The aroma of sizzling bacon guided Dean down the staircase, the rich, inviting scent a herald of the morning's feast. As he entered the kitchen, he found Rob and Sam already embroiled in a hearty conversation. The absence of Julia was a silent note in the room, leaving Dean with an anticipation he wasn't fully willing to acknowledge.

"Morning," Rob greeted him with a friendly nod, serving up another portion of bacon onto a plate already heaping with eggs. "Hope the bed was comfortable."

Dean nodded, taking in the spread on the kitchen table. "Yeah, slept like a rock, thanks. You guys sure know how to make a guest feel at home," he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting in appreciation as he piled his own plate high with breakfast.

"You tuck in, Dean. Julia'll be joining us shortly," Rob assured him, the clatter of utensils against the plates punctuating his words.

Sam chimed in from across the table, his attention momentarily drifting from the conversation he was having with Rob. "Yeah, make yourself at home, Dean. We're not exactly in a rush this morning," he said, his own plate a more measured portion, indicative of his methodical nature.

The usual backdrop of Led Zeppelin was absent that morning, replaced by the low hum of familial chatter. The calm was pleasantly disrupted when Julia made her entrance, her presence as much a jolt to the room as caffeine. She was dressed in a pair of high-waisted denim flares that hugged her frame before flaring out dramatically past the knee, paired with a fitted ringer tee that featured a Styx band logo across the chest. Her hair was kept back with a simple headband, her scholarly glasses framing her bright eyes as she walked in with a bounce in her step.

"Morning," Julia greeted the room with a chipper tone, her voice infusing a burst of energy as she went about compiling her breakfast with a certain cheerfulness. She couldn't resist snagging an extra strip of bacon from the platter, biting into it with a satisfied grin as she took her seat.

"So, you boys thinking of hitting the road today?" Rob inquired, glancing over at the brothers as he took a sip of his coffee.

Sam leaned back in his chair, considering their schedule. "We've got a bit of a drive ahead of us, but we're in no hurry. Gonna enjoy breakfast first," he said, his tone easy and relaxed, indicative of their momentary respite from the road.

Dean, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying the pancakes and bacon before him, but from the moment Julia entered, his gaze intermittently drifted her way. Her casual, unassuming charm was a stark contrast to the intensity they shared earlier, and he couldn't help but be drawn to it, his eyes following her every move until she caught him looking and offered him a warm smile.

The remnants of breakfast lay scattered across the table—a testament to the good food and better company. Dean pushed his chair back, the wooden legs scraping gently against the floor, and gave Sam a firm pat on the back. "Alright, Sammy, time to hit the road," he announced, his voice carrying a slight edge of reluctance.

Rob nodded in understanding as they all moved towards the front door, the echoes of their morning together still hanging in the air. "Sounds like you boys have got places to be," Rob observed, a hint of a fatherly tone to his voice.

Standing in the entryway, Dean extended his hand to Rob, gripping it firmly. "Rob, you've been great. Thanks for the hospitality, and, you know, for not asking too many questions," he said with a half-grin.

Rob returned the handshake with equal firmness. "You fellas ever find yourselves back in this neck of the woods, you stop on by. We'll have ourselves a little catch-up over dinner," he replied, clapping Sam on the shoulder with a warm smile.

Before they could step out, Julia's voice cut in, "Oh shoot, wait up!" In a flurry of motion, she dashed upstairs, leaving Dean and Sam exchanging a puzzled look.

Moments later, Julia bounded back down with a folder in hand, which she eagerly extended to Dean. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, a jolt of connection sparking between them at the touch. Julia's blush was immediate and vivid, her eyes darting away as she stepped back. "It was, uh, really nice meeting you," she said, her voice a mix of earnestness and nerves as she fumbled with her glasses.

Dean, holding the folder now, allowed his eyes to linger on hers a moment longer. "Julia, the pleasure was all mine," he said with that signature Winchester smirk, "And thanks for the intel—looks like we owe you one."

As they walked out onto the porch, Julia leaned against the doorway, her voice carrying down to where Dean stood by the sleek black Impala. "Don't forget, I get a ride in this beast next time!"

Dean turned, his smile as bright as the morning sun. "It's a deal, Juliet. I'll even let you pick the music," he called back, the promise hanging in the air like a vow.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Dean caught the amused yet exasperated expression on Sam's face. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" Sam said, the words light but pointed, a brotherly tease that carried all the history of their shared lives.

Dean just chuckled, sliding the key into the ignition. "Jealousy's not a good look on you, Sammy," he retorted, already looking forward to the road ahead—and the promise of returning.

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Months had slipped by since their last visit to the Blackburns, each day filled with the unrelenting rhythm of the hunt. Now, a new case on the East Coast presented the perfect opportunity to reconnect with their newfound allies. Remembering Julia's number, which he had wisely secured during their previous encounter, Sam turned down the volume of the rock anthem blaring through the Impala's speakers, much to Dean's chagrin, and dialled the number.

"Hey Julia, it's Sam," he spoke into the phone, his voice carrying a blend of professionalism and the warmth of a burgeoning friendship.

Dean's attention, previously focused on the road, sharpened at the mention of Julia's name. The memory of her – the wild auburn curls, the vivid green eyes, her eclectic taste in music, and her infectious passion for knowledge – had a way of occupying his thoughts in the quieter moments between hunts.

From his side of the phone, Sam's smile grew at whatever Julia was saying on the other end. "We're heading your way for a case and thought we'd call ahead before showing up at your doorstep," he said, only to be interrupted by Julia's response.

Chuckling softly, Sam replied, "Thanks, Julia. We appreciate it. See you in a few hours."

Dean, who had been following the conversation with increasing anticipation, couldn't contain his curiosity. "What'd she say?" he asked, his voice a mix of eagerness and an attempt at nonchalance.

Sam turned to Dean, a knowing look in his eyes. "She's invited us for dinner and offered to let us stay the night," he revealed.

Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise, a hint of excitement flashing across his features. "Well, that's unexpected. Guess we're having dinner at the Blackburns'," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Sam nodded, turning his gaze back to the road ahead. "Yeah, and it's good timing too. We could use a friendly place to crash, and it'll be nice to catch up with them. Especially after all the help they gave us."

Dean nodded in agreement, his mind already racing ahead to the evening. The prospect of seeing Julia again added an unexpected but not unwelcome dimension to their impromptu visit. As the Impala ate up the miles, the brothers settled into a comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts about the case ahead and the reunion to come.

Early afternoon had found Sam reaching out to Julia, the day still ripe with potential. But as the Impala cruised into Boston, the city was cloaked in the hues of a setting sun, casting long shadows and painting the skyline in shades of orange and purple. When they finally pulled up in front of the Blackburn residence, dusk was settling in, the day's light fading fast.

Stepping out of the car, the Winchester brothers approached the house, the familiar steps creaking slightly under their weight. Dean's gaze swept over the red-brick façade, noting how the warm glow of the setting sun played off the building's features. The once vibrant wisterias had transitioned into less leafy, more dormant vines, a testament to the changing seasons.

Reaching the front door, Dean moved ahead to knock, his hand raised. But as his knuckles made contact, he felt an unsettling give in the door. His eyes narrowed, observing the signs of forced entry—the door had been broken in.

Motioning for Sam to close in, Dean's hand instinctively went to the gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans, his movements swift and practiced. Sam, understanding the unspoken signal, mirrored his brother's caution, his own hand inching towards his weapon.

Together, they slipped into their well-rehearsed hunting stances, a silent dance of readiness honed by years of facing the unknown. With a gentle nudge, the door swung open, its creak breaking the eerie silence that enveloped the house.

Inside, the quiet was almost tangible, a heavy stillness that set every one of their trained senses on edge. Dean took a cautious step forward, his eyes scanning the dimly lit interior for any sign of movement, any hint of what might have transpired within these walls. Sam followed close behind, his gaze darting to the shadows that lurked in the corners of the entrance hall.

The familiar warmth and charm of the Blackburn residence now felt like a distant memory, replaced by a palpable sense of danger and the unknown. They moved forward, each step a blend of caution and readiness, prepared for whatever they might find.

Stealthily, the Winchester brothers made their way into the dimly lit interior of the Blackburn residence. The entry hallway, to their relief, seemed undisturbed, a calm front to the storm they feared lay within. They moved forward with practiced silence, every sense attuned to their surroundings.

Suddenly, a loud crash from the second floor shattered the stillness, jolting them into high alert. Exchanging a glance, they wordlessly agreed to investigate. With cautious steps, they ascended the stairs, each creak underfoot sounding thunderous in the eerie silence.

Reaching the second floor landing, they were greeted by the last remnants of dusk light streaming through the bay window. The scene that unfolded before them was one of chaos. The once meticulously organized room was now a landscape of destruction. Shelves had been toppled, their contents strewn across the floor in a wild disarray. Drawers and cupboards had been violently emptied, their innards scattered without care.

Amid the wreckage, they heard the sound of frustrated rustling. Dean, gun in hand but aimed safely at the ground, cautiously stepped further into the room. Peering around a corner, his gaze landed on a towering figure standing by the large window overlooking the terrace. The figure's build and presence were unmistakably those of Rob Blackburn.

"Rob?" Dean called out tentatively, his voice laced with a mix of concern and caution.

At the sound of his name, the dark form of Rob whirled around to face Dean. The warm, inviting eyes they had known were now an abyssal black, cold and unyielding. It was a jarring sight—their ally, transformed into something sinister.

As Dean stood there, staring at the unnaturally black eyes of the man they had come to know as an ally, a chilling thought cut through the tension: Where is Julia? Her safety suddenly became the most pressing concern in his mind, overshadowing even the immediate threat of the demon before them.

"Where's Julia?" Dean demanded, his voice firm, his weapon still pointed safely at the ground but his stance ready for any sudden moves. The question wasn't just a tactical one; it was personal, fueled by a concern that had grown deeper than he'd initially realized.

The demon inhabiting Rob's body let out a low, menacing chuckle, a sound that was all the more unsettling coming from Rob's familiar frame. "Worried about the girl, are we?" it taunted, its voice a twisted echo of Rob's.

Dean's jaw clenched, a mix of anger and worry flashing in his eyes. He exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with Sam. They both knew that finding Julia was now their top priority, but they also couldn't ignore the demon standing before them.

The situation had escalated beyond a simple hunt. It was personal, and the stakes were higher than ever. The brothers needed to navigate this carefully – one wrong move could put Julia in even more danger.

To be continued . . .

Chapter Three

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katymacsupernatural · 1 year

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Surrounding Warmth

Dean Winchester x Reader

800 Words

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Filled: Sitting By the Fire

Every square inch of your body ached. From the nails on your toes to the hair on your head. You were battered and bruised. Not to mention exhausted. Barely able to slide out of the Impala, you leaned against it.

Dean was in just as bad of shape. He had a large gash above his eye, the skin already bruised and swollen beneath. His jeans were ripped, blood staining his thigh. Grimacing as he moved, he still came over and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Shall we?”

Nodding in agreement, the two of you staggered down the hallway. “What the hell happened to you two?” Sam asked as he placed his duffel bag on the table.

“Ghouls,” You both answered at the same time. Dean stopped at the table while you continued on, wanting nothing more than a long soak in a hot bath.

“Where the hell are you going?” Dean asked Sam, pouring a tall glass of whiskey.

“Jody needs help. I wasn’t sure if you would be back or not, so I told her I’d come help.”

You sighed, wondering if your bath was going to have to wait. “We can come with,” Dean offered, just as you knew he would.

“No, you two look like you need some time to relax. To heal. Jody and I have this,” Sam assured Dean.

The rest of the conversation continued on behind your door as you closed it. Grateful to be back home, you immediately slipped off your bloody and ripped shirt, throwing it in the trash. Your jeans went next before you gingerly stepped into the connected bathroom. While a long soak in a bath sounded amazing, you decided on a long hot shower instead. Leaning against the white tiled walls, you watched as the dried blood mixed with the water, swirling down the drain along with some of the soreness.

Once your fingers started to wrinkle, you turned the water off. Wrapping a towel around you, you headed back into your room to see your favorite lounge pants and sweatshirt laid out on the bed with a note.

“Whenever you’re ready, come to the library.”

Slipping on your fuzziest slippers you felt completely rejuvenated. Sure, your lip was still split, and your ankle ached, but you felt so much better.

Music spilled from the library, light from the Christmas tree filtering gently around the corner. Your slippers barely made a sound on the wood floor as you stepped around the corner. Stopping, you took in the scene in front of you, your heart full.

Dean was already in the library, lounging in one of the old fashioned leather arm chairs. He had already showered, his hair still damp and plastered to his head. A crystal glass hung carelessly from his fingers, partially filled with his favorite whiskey. He had already started a fire, the glow sending shadows across his face. His feet were bare, a plain white shirt stretched across his shoulders. He was dressed so simply but to you he had never looked better.

A cup of hot chocolate sat on the table beside your chair, filled to the brim with marshmallows. Coming around the chair, you brushed your hand along his shoulder. He barely flinched, his hunter instincts sluggish. “How are you feeling?” You asked him, settling down sideways on his lap, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face. Keeping your hand on the swell of his chest, you waited for his answer.

“Like I was hit by a truck,” he winched, shuffling his legs to get comfier.

“I can move,” you offered, starting to move. His hands clamped down on your waist, holding you in place.

“Don’t you dare,” he insisted, one hand moving up to cover your cheek. “You make it feel better,’ he answered. “Stay.”

Resting your head against his chest, you breathed a sigh of contentment. With the heat from the fire and his body enveloping you, you could feel your eyelids growing heavy. “Love you,” you whispered against his skin, feeling his hand tightening against your waist.

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrspeacem1nusone @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @screechingartisancashbailiff @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thoughts-and-funnies @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666 @beabutterfly987 @sexyvixen7 @supernatural3002 @deans-baby-momma @brilovesdeanwinchester @deandreamernp @spngif

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03-blog @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen @lyarr24 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @theamyhead @440mxs-wife @stixnstripesworld @furiouscopshepherduniversity @thelastpyle

#spnchristmasbingo #supernatural bingo #supernatural fanfic #katy writes #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean fanfic #spn #supernatural #supernatural christmas

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jawritter · 1 year

Text

Carry On

Chapter 16

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Angst, and the beginnings of some changes...

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67 Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

My Mastlist Series Masterlist

Sam was home… with Eileen… Tense wasn’t the appropriate wording really, but Y/N didn’t have an adequate vocabulary to describe the atmosphere in the bunker. In fact, the moment the heavy metal door closed behind them as they descended the iron staircase; Dean’s countenance changed, and the atmosphere shifted. That was three weeks ago; it had not gotten any better, and as far as Y/N could tell it wasn’t going to anytime soon.

The only time Dean came out of his own room was to go to the kitchen to eat something, even though most of the time Y/N just brought it to him, or to go to the bathroom. If he had to do physical therapy, he’d come to the gym. Other than that, he stayed far away from Sam and Eileen. At first, Y/N didn’t understand why he was avoiding him. Sam and Dean had gotten into their fair share of spats over the years, but never had they gotten into something like this; or at least not in a long, long time.

She knew Dean was angry with Sam, he’d made that point VERY clear the night Sam had left the bunker to go with Eileen on that hunt, but she didn’t realize he was that angry… Until she realized he wasn’t angry at all…

Y/N had gotten up early one morning about a week ago to grab herself and Dean some coffee before they started to work on his physical therapy for the day, when she heard Sam and Eileen sitting in the library scouring the internet in search of cases. It hit her then just why Dean was hiding away the way he was; he didn’t want to see it. Sam was hunting, actively hunting with Eileen, and Dean could no longer do it. Dean wasn’t mad, he was hurt.

It wasn’t even that Sam really did anything, Eileen either. It was the fact that Dean felt useless, like he served no other purpose than to be a burden to Y/N and everyone else around him. Even though Y/N didn’t see Dean as a burden at all. She’d said it before and she’d ment it. It was a damn HONOR to take care of Dean. Dean himself could not stomach watching his brother do what he once did, and was now ripped away from him. It was all he’d known, now that was gone, and it just drove that useless feeling even deeper.

The biggest problem was Y/N didn’t know what to do about it, or how to fix it.

Sam hadn’t really helped in that aspect either. All he said to her was when Dean was ready, he’d talk to him, until then he wasn’t going to twist his arm and push him, and to Y/N that was bullshit. He could have at least extended a hand;let Dean know that he wasn’t useless. Better yet, he could have at least been honest with his brother that he was hunting again, and if he’d been honest from the beginning, things might not have escalated the way that they did.

Physically, Dean was doing better. A lot better. He no longer needed her help doing basic, everyday things. He could now bathe himself, and make his own food, when he wanted too. He could even walk now without the aid of holding onto the wall, or needing someone to help him go long distances or needing to take a break.

The only time you’d know something happened to Dean, was in the morning, when he first got out of bed, he was still slow, and at night, when it was time to go back to bed, his body started to hurt and slow down. That, or by that time Dean had just grown weary from hiding the fact that he was hurting all day long, and the truth had started to show itself… either way, with Dean, that was hard to tell. All she could do was trust that he was being honest with her about his pain level.

He still couldn’t run a marathon, and probably never would be able to, but he was slowly becoming Dean again. Dean being who he was, had put a good bit of distance between Y/N and himself. Which is what she feared most through all of this. It was the uncertainty of what would happen when he got better and didn't need help anymore. He still wanted to cuddle with her at night when they were held up in the Dean cave watching TV, or in his room; depending on how bad he felt that night. He still wanted her somewhat close to him whenever he could, but he was quiet. He wasn’t asking for help anymore. He always tried to do it himself, and he always made sure to be out of bed before she was in the morning. There was a distance growing between them, and she hated it; but she didn’t know what to do about it.

Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she knew that he was just trying to get some independence back, but it still scared the hell out of her all the same.

Just this morning, she figured she’d see him in the gym or the kitchen when she climbed out of bed, and padded her way down the hallway; but all she found was Sam and Eileen making breakfast in the kitchen, and Sam informing her that he heard the Impala start up early that morning.

Dean would sometimes climb in Baby and go for a drive, but he usually always invited her to join him, he rarely ever just got up and left, leaving her behind. Mostly because he still wasn’t confident enough to venture out by himself in the event he started to hurt too bad to drive back.

“I’m sure he will be back soon,” Eileen said, seeing Y/N’s crest fallen face as the reality that he really didn’t need her anymore started to set in. “All he had in his hand when he left was his keys and his cell phone.”

“You saw him?” Sam questioned, and Eileen nodded. “I was on my way to the kitchen when he left about two hours ago.”

Sam’s mouth tightened to a thin line as Y/N poured her coffee; doing her best to ignore the tight, uneasy feeling that was creeping up in her chest.

“Well, apparently he’s feeling better,” Sam said after a moment.

Y/N bit back the comment that probably would have sounded a whole lot like, “yea, no thanks to your ass.”

“He is,” she voiced instead. “He probably just didn’t want to wake me up, Eileen is right, he’ll be back in a little while.”

Without another word, Y/N turned to leave the kitchen, and the happy couple behind her, when Dean rounded the corner, scaring the crap out of her and Eileen, who was standing closer to the door of the kitchen than Sam.

“Fuck,” Y/N breathed as she jumped backwards, somehow managing to not spill her coffee on ether her or Dean, Dean smirked, a mischievous look on his handsome face. God she didn’t realize how she missed that look until she saw it again for the first time in a long time. It still made her stomach flip excitedly just as it did the night she’d met him. God she was a goner! This man owned her.

“What’s the matter princess, not used to me being able to move this fast?” Dean teased, ignoring Sam and Eileen all together as he threw his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, and steered her towards his room.

“No, not really,” she admitted, “but I’m glad to see it.”

Dean shrugged, “I have my moments.”

Y/N repressed the sudden urge to point out that he’d been apparently having more moments than he allowed her to be aware of; seeing as he kept disappearing lately, but kept her insecurities to herself, because she didn’t want to look weird, or fuck up any progress he might have been making.

“I know it’s early,” Dean continued, not even breaking stride as he pushed the door open to their shared bedroom, “but I need you to shotgun that coffee, and get dressed; I have something I want to show you.”

She had not seen him THIS excited, in well, forever, and it got her curiosity humming like it never had before. Dean got excited about VERY little lately.

“What are you up to Dean’?” Y/N questioned, as he virtually started pulling her clothing out of her dresser drawer and laying them on the bed for her in order to make her hurry, it honestly made her chuckle, it was cute to see him this happy.

“You’ll see! Just hurry up and meet me at the car,” Dean said as he hurried for the door, his footsteps echoing down the hallway towards the garage as he went.

Y/N shook her head with a stupid smile on her face as she pulled her shirt off, and replaced it with the hoodie Dean had left on the bed for her.

Honestly, he could ask her for anything and she’d agree to it with the way he was acting right now, it was refreshing from all the pain and hurt he’d been through to see a smile on his face. Whatever it was that he’d found or come up with, even if it was another woman; which her insecurities were screaming at her it was. She’d support him, because even if it hurt her, it made him happy, and seeing him smile again was all she could ask for right at that moment. So much so she’d sacrifice her own happiness, just to see his.

Logically, Dean was not taking her to meet his new girlfriend at 8 in the morning, but there was always a nagging voice in her head that told her things like this; things that would keep her up at night when Dean was sound asleep next to her.

So she shook it off, and tied the laces up on her boots, seeing as it was a frigid 18 degrees Fahrenheit out there; completely forgetting her coffee as she started to make her way towards the garage with her heart pounding in her ears, and her hands shaking with a mixture of excitement, and fear. Because she had a feeling that whatever Dean had that he wanted to take her to or show her, it was going to change things for them; possibly forever.

The worry she was feeling melted away though, as soon as she saw him posted against Baby’s shining hood, phone in hand; that same stupid smirk she loved so much plastered on his face that turned into a full fledged grin as he looked to see her approaching, and hurried around to open the passenger door for her to slide into Baby’s warm interior.

“Will you at least tell me where we’re going, Winchester?” Y/N questioned as Dean slid into the passenger seat, and put her into drive as the garage doors opened in front of him.

“Lawrence, but that’s all I’m telling you for now, the rest you will have to wait and see,” he beamed at her, and she just laughed and shook her head.

This was going to be a long three-hour drive…

Forever:

@britnwinchester

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@jensenslady79

@spnwoman

@stoneyggirl2

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@stixnstripesworld

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@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

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@mrsjenniferwinchester

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@thecreatiivecorner

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma

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@kaz11283

@mlovesstories

@ladysparks78

@sarahgracej

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 11 days

Text

Imagine...Saving Dean

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: language

Dean’s POV

I know I’ll be okay. I know I’ll get out of here. Y/N will come and save me. She’s smart, she’ll find me real soon. She’ll get me, I’ll be okay.

I just want her to get here quick, like open that door right now and pull my ass out of here now quick. Crap, I’m panicking. I can’t do that. I’ve got to stay arrogant and confident, that’s what I’ve got to do, show him he can’t get to me.

“Hello Dean,” he said as the door opened and I let out a whine. Why did I have to let out a whine? Now he’s laughing. Shit, where is she? I need her. “We’re going to have lots of fun, Dean. Just like old times,” he said as he leaned down over me.

That’s a tough look I just threw at him. He doesn’t know how scared I am, I can’t let him know.

“Dean, I broke you once before, no need to be tough. Just let it out, you always felt better when you screamed,” said Alastair as he tapped a finger besides my head. I closed my eyes and felt him press his hand to my forehead, holding it down. Fuck, he knew it, there was no point in denying it. I was too scared. He was back and had me and...I just wanted to curl up next to Y/N and let her tell me it was going to be okay.

“Screw you,” I said a little too quietly as Alastair showed me the blade he had in his hand. I whimpered under him, knowing exactly what he was going to do with it.

“Let’s get started,” said Alastair as he twirled the knife in his hand.

Reader’s POV

You heard Dean whimper and you clutched the angel blade in your hand so tight your knuckles hurt. Dean did not whine or whimper. Not unless he had nightmares about...him.

You crept through the open door to see a man standing over someone strapped to a table. Then you saw red, all thought leaving you. That was Dean, your Dean and someone was trying to hurt him.

“You remember this Dean? We had so much fun-” said Alastair as you plunged your blade through his chest, the spark in him glowing before fading as the body fell to the ground. You towered over it angrily as you saw Dean titling his head back to look at you.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice trembling so badly for a moment you didn’t believe you’d heard him correctly. Then the rage started to fade away as you took in the fear in his eyes, the little struggles of his hands and feet, the way his entire body shook.

You cut him free of his bonds with the blade as he sat up uncertain. He stayed on the table as he looked at you, rubbing his wrists. He was still afraid but from the look in his eye, he was afraid of you too. You looked down to see yourself covered in Alastair’s blood, noticing how hard you’d made your face.

“Dean,” you said quietly, putting the blade away. Dean was still shaking but you held out your hands and took his in yours anyway. “I’ve got you. You’re safe,” you said to him as he nodded. “I’m going to take you home,” you said, pulling on him gently so he’d swing his legs off the table. He nodded again and was soon standing, but you could tell he wasn’t going to be alright until you had him far away from this place. “I’ve got you,” you said, holding his arm, separating him from the body that lay on the ground as you walked past.

“Dean?” you asked when you were back at home, back in your bed. You’d gotten Dean cleaned up and into his pajamas but he was quiet. You sat next to him on your bed and he’d curled himself up into a ball besides you, moving your arm so you’d hold him. Soothingly, you ran light circles up and down his arm, over his back, through his hair.

“Thank you,” he said, speaking for the first time since he was on the table.

“I’ve got you baby. He’s never going to hurt you again,” you promised, feeling Dean nod against you. “It’s gonna be okay.”

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silent-stories · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘

Summary: Early in the morning, you get a text from a friend who needs help with a hunt, but Dean doesn't seem to be letting you out of bed.

Pairing: Dean × F!Reader

Warnings: just some fluff

Word count: 761

You were snuggled up in the blankets, warm, next to Dean, when the sound of the phone on the bedside table made you wake up.

You noticed that the first lights of the day were filtering through the motel window, illuminating the room with different shades of red and orange, so it must have been early morning.

Reluctantly, you reached out, pulling your arm out from under the blanket and you grabbed the phone.

On the screen you read a text sent by a friend of yours asking you to meet because she needed help with a hunt.

You snorted. You loved your friend and you didn't want her to get hurt hunting alone but you and Dean had just solved a case and you had hoped to spend a few quiet days only with him.

You felt Dean, next to you, starting to move.

"What's happening?" He asked with a husky and sleepy voice, raising his head slightly and rubbing one eye with the back of his hand.

His hair went in all directions making him look like a hedgehog and a smile formed on your lips.

"Why are you laughing?" He asked again.

"Because you're cute." You said. "But I got a text from a friend, I gotta go, she needs me on a hunt."

You were about to get up and get out of bed but he wrapped his arm around your waist and you fell back on the mattress.

"Dean, c'mon." You laughed.

"You're not going anywhere." He said as he pushed you against his body and your legs got entangled.

Instinctively, you rested your head on his chest, even though you knew you should have gotten out of bed. He slowly ran his warm hand up and down your back.

"Dean." You said again.

"Stay, it's too early." He muttered as he left a kiss in your hair. "Please."

That "please" almost convinced you, he soundend just like a little kid.

"I'm so sorry De, but she needs me. I have to go." You said as his arm still held you against his body.

"What about me?" He answered moving a lock of hair that had fallen on your face and placing it behind your ear. "I need you too."

"Dean." You muttered as you left a short but tender kiss on his lips. "If you keep acting like that, I'll never leave this room."

"That was the idea." He chuckled as he slowly wrapped the blanket better around your shoulders.

You sighed, enjoying the feeling of Dean's arms around your waist for a few seconds, listening to his heartbeat.

"I really should go." You murmured.

"Or you can text back your friend saying you can't go and then you can stay." He replied, his hand still running up and down your back.

"Dean..." You tried to convince him, even though the exact opposite was happening.

"Stay." He whispered. "We can stay here all day, in bed, the blanket around us and watch some stupid TV show."

"I ..." You tried to interrupt him, but he continued.

"Then we'll order a pizza or whatever you want and we will eat it here and we will go back to cuddle. You'll wear one of my t-shirts because you say you're more comfortable in it and I'll tell you you can keep it, because it looks better on you than on me. We can just stay. Because it's been days, if not months, that we haven't spent some time together, just the two of us, that is not when we're fighting a werewolf, burning bones in a graveyard, or stiching up eachother's wounds." He said.

It sounded nice, you had to admit it.

"What do you think about it, sweetheart?" He asked, you could hear the hope in his voice.

You knew you had to get out of that damn bed, you had to wash your face, put on your jacket and your boots, get your gun and your knives, get out of the motel, go hunting and... fuck.

You just couldn't say no to Dean. You couldn't say no to a day spent doing normal things with Dean, forgetting for a few hours that the monsters out there didn't exist.

"I think I'll stay." You muttered as a smile formed on Dean's lips and he left a kiss on your forehead.

"Good." He said simply.

You wrapped your arms around his torso.

"Good." You whispered back, placing your head better on his chest that you were still using as a pillow.

And you stayed.

#dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean fic #dean winchester fic #spn fic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean fanfiction #supernatural fluff #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester drabble

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spnexploration · 2 years

Text

Catatonic

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, female hunter (reader)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Sam gets hurt on a hunt, but the message doesn't seem to be getting through to Dean. The reader has to think of something quickly to motivate him to move, but how will Dean take being threatened? And what happens when there are questions at the hospital?

Tags: (friends to) enemies to lovers, somewhat fluffy, angst, exploring Dean's feelings, pretend relationship, real relationship, hospital

Warnings: canon-typical injuries, female hands tied, gun violence threatened (from female and from male) but not acted upon, implied smut but nothing beyond kissing described.

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: I find "y/n" quite jarring when reading so I have avoided using it. However, it is meant to be the reader as the narrator. Also I'm Australian, there may be some Australianisms.

ETA: I wrote an extra bonus bit at the end, see here

Supernatural writing masterlist

We just got out of there alive. Mission accomplished for the hunt, but only just. Sam staggered out of the cabin in the woods ahead of me, and I could hear Dean cleaning his knife behind me having just taken down the last of them. The three of us made our way to some rocks and sat down, exhausted and feeling the loss of adrenaline. I felt like I had hit a wall and my body was cashing in its previously written cheques.

“Uh...” Sam said. I looked up at him, noticing his paling face and then the blood on his hand against his abdomen.

“Sam?!” I called, jumping to my feet to run to him.

“I, uh, I got stabbed,” he said, almost as if he couldn't believe it.

I looked over at Dean, who was still sitting, hadn't responded. “Dean!” I called out to him. He didn't look up. “DEAN!” I screamed.

“What?” he said gruffly, like I was interrupting his favourite TV show.

“Sam’s been stabbed!”

Dean didn't react. What the hell had gotten into him that he would ignore Sam being injured?!

“Alright, Sam, come on, get up, let's get you to the car.” I helped Sam stand and draped his arm around my shoulders. I was too short to really be a good support for him, but it was better than nothing. Dean still hadn’t moved.

“Dean, I don't know how to get back to the car through these woods.” Nothing. “I can barely carry one Winchester, I can't carry two. You have to get up.” No response.

“Dean! I need you to lead us back to the car so we can get Sam help.” He just sat there, staring at his hands, catatonic. “Are you hurt too or something?!” No response.

I was starting to panic now. How was I going to get Sam through the forest? I could feel his blood seeping through his shirt and into mine. Why wouldn't Dean move? I had to think of a way to motivate him.

I suddenly realised what I could do. Risky, but it might get through to Dean, and I couldn't get out of this forest without him.

I pulled the gun out from my waistband. I pointed it at Dean and clicked the safety off. “Stand up, Winchester,” I said coolly. “You are going to lead us out of here.”

He looked up at me, anger in his eyes. “If you shoot me, how are you going to get out?”

Damn. I thought quickly, turning the gun to Sam at my side instead. “Not you. If you don't lead us out, I'll shoot Sam.” Dean glared at me before reluctantly getting up.

“You dare to threaten me with my own gun?” he asked, his voice low and threatening. “You come in, you use our weapons and then what, you decide to turn on us? Was this always the plan?”

“Just get moving, Winchester. Before your brother gets it.” I acted like it meant nothing to me, but it was killing me performing this act.

Sam nodded at Dean who grumpily started walking. Once he was a couple of metres in front of us, I put the safety back on and the gun in my pocket, ready to help Sam move.

“You know, I could overpower you like this,” Sam said to me quietly.

“Oh really, while you bleed out on me?” I replied, equally quietly. “You know I'm not going to shoot you Sam, I just needed something to motivate Dean. Not sure why you being stabbed wasn’t enough, but I thought he’d recognise the click of a gun and act on instinct and I was right.”

Sam grimaced as we went on, clearly in pain. I could feel the blood still flowing through my fingers as I tried to apply pressure to the wound while walking.

“He's going to try to disarm you.”

“I know. And I'll let him. We just need to get you patched up.”

We completed the rest of the walk in silence, Dean occasionally throwing glances back at us.

I tensed up as the clearing where Baby was parked came into view, expecting Dean to do something. I fished the gun back out of my pocket for appearances, although I was ready to drop it at any moment to avoid Dean shooting me instead.

I tried to still act cool, “Open her up and then come here and get Sam in. Nice and slow, Winchester, no funny business.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at me, coming to grab Sam. He felt the wet blood on his hand when he put it around Sam’s waist, looking critically at his hand and then accusatorily at me. “You shot him?!” he yelled angrily.

“What? No! That's where he GOT STABBED!”

Sam swayed on his feet.

“Just get him in the car, Dean!” I yelled, gesturing with the gun. His eyes narrowed at my gesture but he did it.

I followed behind, not really sure where to go with the gun idea now. I hadn't thought this far ahead when I started it.

Dean was still bent down in front of me, getting Sam into the passenger seat. I walked up to Baby, “Ok, you're going to dr-“

I was cut off my Dean canoning into me. He'd used his already bent forward body, spun on his heels and launched himself at me, tackling me to the ground with his shoulder in my stomach. His hands went for the gun and I quickly dropped it, holding my palms wide open at him. “I surrender! The safety isn't even off, I wasn't going to shoot!” I gushed, a bit winded. I put up no fight, not wanting Dean to think I was a real threat.

He easily grabbed my wrists then hauled me to my feet with them. He spun me around and pushed me up against Baby, pulling my hands behind my back to him. “This here is exactly why I keep rope in the glove box,” he hissed in my ear as he tied my wrists together. He opened the back door and shoved me in the backseat before getting in the driver's seat himself.

“She wasn't going to shoot me, Dean,” Sam said weakly.

“How about I be the judge of that and you focus on not bleeding to death?” Dean responded angrily, starting the car.

---

We sped down the highway. I tried not to rub my wrists against the rope but I couldn't help it when I was being tossed around in the backseat, unable to brace myself or sit properly with them behind me. Dean had tied them tightly, there was no slipping out of it. The rope painfully tore at my skin, but I bit my tongue and kept it to myself.

We kept driving.

Finally, I saw the signs for the hospital, Dean following them. Sam was slumped in his seat.

“You’re going to have to untie me,” I said quietly.

“And why exactly would I do that?” Dean responded gruffly.

“Because they're going to notice if you go in with a stabbed brother and a woman tied up in the backseat of your car.” Dean tensed his jaw but didn't say anything. “I promise, I'll do everything you say. You can even tie me back up when we get back to the car once Sam’s patched up.”

“Fine, but you put a toe out of line and I'll be the one shooting you.”

“Yes, sir.” His eyebrow and the corner of his mouth tweaked slightly.

We pulled into the hospital car park. Dean lent over the front seat and undid the knot on my hands, leaving me to work the rope off them. I pulled a jacket from the floor and hastily put it on, hoping the sleeves would hide the marks on my wrists. Dean ran around the car and pulled the semi-conscious Sam out and carried him inside, me tailing close behind. Dean struggled a little with Sam’s weight and length, but managed it.

“Abdominal stab wound, lost a lot of blood!” Dean yelled as he carried Sam through the door. Health workers quickly scrambled to us, getting Sam on a bed and rushing him off.

---

Once Sam was gone, the questions started. Dean told them Sam had been stabbed in a mugging gone wrong. He said we'd put up a fight at our attackers, trying to have a plausible reason for the bruises, cuts and scratches that were also developing on Dean and I.

“Miss, I need you to come with me,” a nurse said to me.

“Oh, I’m not his sibling, Greg knows all his details,” I said, gesturing to Dean and using his current credit card alias.

“I need you to come, Miss,” the nurse insisted. Her eyes glanced at my wrist and I saw that my sleeve had slipped up when I'd reached for paperwork they passed us earlier, and she'd seen the rope burn. Crap.

“Ok,” I said, thinking fast. “Back in a sec, honey,” I said to Dean. He schooled his features and didn't respond with surprise.

The nurse took me to another room. “Is someone hurting you? Did he threaten you?” she asked me.

“Greg? No, he's my boyfriend,” acting like I was surprised by her question.

“What happened to your wrists?”

“Oh,” I giggled, acting skills to 11. “We, um, got a little carried away,” I lowered my voice like I was worried someone would overhear us, “during sex... I like to be tied up.” I thought about the most embarrassing thing I could, hoping my face would blush to match my story.

“If he is hurting you, you can tell us and we'll help you.”

“Oh no, he's really a teddy bear. It's all me with the, you know,” I dropped my voice again, “sex stuff.” I looked at the ground, like it was hard to maintain eye contact.

She looked at me critically for a second as if trying to see if I was lying. She finally shrugged and led me back to the room where Dean was.

“Any news?” I asked as I entered, looking at his clearly exhausted form. I could see why they thought he was violent, the tension in his already imposing shoulders was clear to see and his hands and shirt were speckled in Sam’s blood from getting him and out of the car. He shook his head to my question.

I crossed the room to him and slid my arm around his back, giving him a side hug. He put his arm around my shoulder, clearly having cottoned on to my ruse. “Where’d you go?” he asked me.

“Oh it was so embarrassing,” I giggled and dropped my voice, but still loud enough that it could probably be heard by the nearby nurse. “They asked about my wrists, I had to tell them about me getting you to tie me up in sex.” I buried my face into his shoulder and he chuckled. “My little firecracker,” he said, giving me a squeeze.

The nurse seemed reasonably reassured and left, but we were still in the waiting room where others could see us even if they couldn't hear.

“Let's go sit down,” I said to him, still with my arm around his back. He didn't move. I reached up on my toes to kiss his cheek, whispering to him as I did, “You need to look a little more like a worried brother and a little less like you did it.”

He turned and took my hand, leading me to the chairs. I'd seen him act before as all kinds of different personas, but I was impressed with how well he could slip into the role of boyfriend.

He kept a hand on me at all times, whether it be on my knee, around my back or holding my hand. I supposed the girlfriend ruse had really helped with his desire to manage the threat he felt I posed now.

We waited.

And waited.

“I'm going to the toilet,” I said to him. His hand on my knee squeezed in warning and he leaned into me, “Fine,” he breathed quietly, “But if I hear anything suspicious or you take more than two minutes, I'm kicking the door down.” I nodded and walked over to the bathrooms, Dean following me and heading into the men's as I went into the women's.

It was good to wash Sam’s blood off my hands, finally.

Dean was waiting for me when I came out and we walked back to our seats. I noticed his hands were now clean of blood too.

We waited.

“They're still watching you,” I whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he muttered under his breath, frustration leaking through.

We waited some more.

I looked over at him at one point, seeing the frown lines etched into his face. I reached up and ran my hand through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. His face relaxed a little, quite unrelated to acting.

More waiting.

And more waiting.

Finally, a doctor came in to see us. Dean jumped up. “He's going to be ok,” the doctor said, “we were able to stitch it up and give him a blood transfusion. He's very lucky they missed damaging his organs too much.”

“Can we see him?” Dean asked. The doctor nodded and led us through. Dean gripped my hand, and I reminded myself that he still thought I'd double-crossed him and Sam. He would be clutching me to him so he could keep an eye on me, even though it had felt for a moment like he wanted the comfort of someone else around when going to see his injured little brother.

---

Sam was discharged a couple of hours later. The doctors wanted to keep him in but he assured them he'd be ok at home, and so they let us leave.

Dean led the way to the car, my hand held tightly in his. He checked on Sam, getting in the passenger side, before returning his attention to me. He opened my door as if he was being a gentleman, but the hospital staff couldn't hear him muttering to me, “You pull any funny business before I get a chance to tie you up and I will end you.” I gulped and nodded.

15 minutes down the road, he pulled over. As soon as the car was stationary, he pulled his gun out and pointed it straight at me, over the seats. “Let's go have a chat, shall we?” he asked sarcastically, angry face back on.

I got out of the car, worried by Dean’s expression. Sam hastily got out too, wincing slightly.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam asked anxiously.

Dean looked cool, calm and collected with his gun trained straight on me. “Sam, test her.”

“Is this really necessary?” Sam asked.

“She pointed a gun at you Sammy. A gun I put in her hand after we let her in our house. So yes, this is really necessary!”

I stood with my hands up, a few metres behind Baby. Sam fetched holy water from the car and splashed it on me, to no effect. He edged closer to me and pressed the side of a silver knife flat against my forearm, again to no reaction. Dean continued to glare at me down the barrel of his gun.

“I'm not a demon, Dean,” I said. “I wasn't really going to shoot him, I just didn't know how to get you moving. You were just sitting there and Sam was bleeding and I panicked!”

There was a pause. “Get back in the car, Sam,” Dean ordered.

I started to shake, thinking he was going to shoot me. I'd braved plenty of others threatening me, but there was something about Dean doing it that had me weak at the knees, and not in a good way.

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked quietly.

Dean stared at me a beat longer, before finally lowering his gun. “No.”

He turned back to the car and started walking back, leaving me standing alone. “Are- are you going to leave me here?” I stuttered. I hadn't thought about what would happen to my relationships with the brothers when I'd had the idea of threatening Dean to get him moving, back in the forest. I didn't want to be abandoned.

“Get in the damn car,” Dean called out to me, not looking up. I ran to my door and climbed in.

---

We pulled up at the bunker and all climbed out of the car. The trip had been tense and silent.

Sam went to pick up his bag from the boot, but Dean was faster. “I got it,” said the older brother.

The three of us headed inside, Sam walking gingerly with his hand against his injured side. “How about you go lie down?” I suggested to him gently, noticing how tired he looked.

Sam looked between Dean and I, a frown on his face, “Are you two going to kill each other if I leave you alone?”

I smirked and shook my head. Sam glared at his brother, “Dean?” he demanded.

“We’ll be fine,” Dean responded gruffly. “Quit your fussing.” Sam looked relieved and headed off his room.

I headed to mine too, keen to wash Sam’s blood and the remnants of the hunt off me. The water stung my raw wrists, but it felt good being clean. I put on a t-shirt and some trackies and headed back to the living area.

I found Dean sitting by himself on the couch, staring into space. He'd cleaned up a bit too, sitting in fresh clothes with damp, short hair.

I grabbed two beers from the fridge and headed for the couch, cracking the lid off one and holding it out to Dean. It took him a second to notice. He reached out for it, and then caught sight of my wrist, with the bruising and rope burn from when he tied me up. One hand took the beer and put it on the table, while the other gently cradled my wrist. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly, turning my arm over to look all around it.

“It’s nothing,” I said, pulling my arm back. I had enjoyed the feeling of his calloused hands gently holding mine, but I didn't want to add to his pity party.

I sat next to him on the couch, opening my own beer. “Wanna tell me what's going on in that head of yours?”

“No.” His tone clearly indicated he wanted me to drop it, which I had no intention of doing.

“It’s not like you to not care that Sam was stabbed and bleeding.” He looked up at me sharply, clearly annoyed.

I waited a moment, but he didn't say anything. I tried again, “I have a theory.”

“Oh yeah, what's that Dr Freud?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I don't think you heard or understood us. I don't think you registered that Sam had been stabbed when you just kept sitting there. At the time I thought you were ignoring us or downplaying it, but the look on your face when you thought I'd already shot him, it seemed like surprise that he was bleeding.”

He took a deep breath and stared at his hands, clasped in front of him with his elbows on his knees. “I would never ignore that you or Sammy was hurt,” he said quietly.

“So, what happened?” I asked, equally quietly.

He took a deep breath. “I don't know,” he said, clearly reluctant to admit it.

I reached over and ran my hand through his hair, like I had when pretending to be his girlfriend in the hospital. I’d noticed then that he liked it. “It's ok to make a mistake sometimes,” I said, still speaking quietly.

“It’s not ok if it leads to Sammy bleeding out,” he criticised himself angrily. “I can't afford to make mistakes.”

“It's ok to be exhausted and thinking the hunt is over and have your brain not quite process everything it hears. It's human. When was the last time you slept?”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Sleep doesn't come easily to monsters.”

My hand was still in his hair. I slowly brought it down the side of his face, cupping his cheek. He looked up at me, my eyes meeting his beautiful, tormented green ones. He looked so vulnerable, I could tell he was beating himself up about what had happened.

I leaned in towards him, crossing most of the distance but leaving a small amount so he could choose not to lean in. After a tiny pause, he leaned in to the kiss. Our soft lips met tenderly.

“I don't think you're a monster,” I whispered to him afterwards.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me on to his lap, leaning in to kiss me again. His kisses were deeper, more passionate and more needy. “This ok, sweetheart?” he whispered during a pause in kissing. “Mhmm,” I agreed, running my hands down his muscled torso.

“Wanna take this somewhere more comfortable?” he asked me, his hands roaming my body. “God, yes,” I breathed back to him. He turned my legs so I was straddling his lap instead of sitting across it, and then stood up, holding my legs wrapped around his waist. I squealed in surprise. He laughed, “Careful how loud you scream, you'll bring Sam running.” I felt my face blush at the thought.

Dean carried me to his room, depositing me on my back on his bed while he kept kissing me passionately. He started removing my clothes, and I his.

---

It was later. I cradled Dean’s sleeping head on my chest, gently stroking his scalp. He had me wrapped in his strong arms under the covers of his bed.

He finally looked peaceful, and certainly seemed more soundly asleep than he ever had in any of the motel rooms we had stayed in recently. I wondered how long since he had felt safe and relaxed enough to properly sleep. Perhaps that was why he could only process information in the presence of adrenaline, today at least.

I wrapped my arms around him and fell asleep myself.

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deanwritings · 1 year

Text

Capeesh?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request: So excited you're back! Can I request a protective/jealous!Dean x reader fic with an established relationship? Vibes of "don't touch her" would be much appreciated 😅

Summary: A fun night out at the bar takes a turn for the worse when a handsy patron approaches the reader.

Word Count: 1,928

Warning: Descriptions of violence & self defense related injuries. Cussing, if that bothers you.

Gif:

A/N: Years ago I went to a gym with my dad and the trainer/owner, this HUGE muscle head and really sweet man, gave me a free self defense class, which I still keep in mind to this day and peppered into this story.

And Happy New Year's y'all!

You lean against Dean as you take a sip of your beer, Dean's hand resting against your waist as you both politely listen to Sam as he shares a new piece of lore he learned during your latest hunt. You nod along, slightly intrigued with what Sam's found, but really wishing he could have saved the shop-talk for a time you weren't trying to unwind. Your body was still sore from the arachne fight, and you could use a break from all things hunting, even if it was just for a night. You can't see Dean's face from your vantage point, but if you had to guess, your boyfriend was likely staring his brother down with a straight face hoping he'll shut up.

You tip your bottle back again, but are disappointed when only a few drops trickle out. You give the bottle a little shake as you look through the brown glass, confirming with yourself that it was in fact empty.

You place the bottle down and step away from Dean, his hand falling from your waist. At the movement, Dean looks down at you and frowns.

"Be right back, need a new beer." You tap the glass as your straighten up from the high-top table. "Anyone need anything?"

Both brothers shake their heads and you make your way over to the bar, thankful for a break from the earful of arachne lore.

It's a fairly busy evening for Wednesday night, most tables occupied and the bar itself swimming with patrons. Luckily, you eye an opening just big enough for you to squeeze into and you step into the space. After a few moments, one of the bartender spots you as you rest your hands against the slightly sticky bar top and gives you a nod as he pours a blue liquor into a cocktail shaker.

You purse your lips as you look around the room, the crowd mostly older, with a few twenty-somethings mixed in. It seemed to be the only bar in town when you had Google Maps a spot earlier, so you weren't surprise that this seemed to be the local's go-to pub.

Your gaze falls back to the bar, taking in the bottle labels on the tiered shelves as your nails tap against the wood beneath them.

Jameson. Crown Royal. Bacardi. Bacardi Tropical. That's a new one.

A man brushes besides you as he steps into the very small space that had been open on your right. You look up at him and frown, quietly expressing your annoyance at the invasion of your person space. You get it's crowded, but the guy could have just waited behind you or someone else until a space opened up.

Rude much.

But rather than be turned off by your vexed welcome, the man just smiles down at you.

You huff and roll your eyes, looking for the bartender, his back to you as he appears to be serving two cocktails to a pair of older women.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The man next to you raises his voice over the noise of the crowd, leaning in towards you to make sure his question is heard.

His smile is still plastered over his pale face, his blonde hair shaggy over his forehead. You just glare up at him, your annoyance growing as it appears the man is incapable of reading social cues.

You see the bartender approach you, and you turn your shoulder away, squaring yourself up to the bar.

"Just a Bud Light, bottle, please." The bartender nods at you and turns to squats down at the fridge casing all the bottles.

"How about a name?" Warm breath tickles your ear, and your shoulder scrunches up at the sudden closeness as your stomach tightens.

The bartender places the beer back in front of you and asks a question with his eyes.

"The Winchester tab, thanks." The guy nods and and punches the drink into the POS.

You turn to walk away when that pestering voice calls out again.

"Winchester, huh?" You take a deep breath and turn to face the thorn in your side. "How about a first name?" His elbow leans against the bar and his eyebrow is raised at you. His grey t-shirt stretches across his chest at his position and he continues to smile at you.

He's looks like the poster boy for punchable assholes.

"Since you seem to be too dumb to figure it out on your own, let me spell it out for you." You smile tightly at him. "I'm not fucking interested." You feel your eyes crinkle along the edges as your lips tighten.

Finally, his smile falls, and he straightens up.

"Cunt," he spits.

Ah, there it is.

"You know it." Your forehead rises as you raise your beer and take a drink before turning on your heel.

As you approach your table, Dean is standing at attention, his jaw tight.

"All good?" You come alongside him, your shoulders brushing.

You look up at him and smile, genuinely.

You weren't surprised he was watching the interaction. Dean usually had his eye on you if you weren't by his side. You weren't sure if he knew that you knew he was always watching. When you first started dating, it had bothered you. It made you feel like Dean thought you couldn't handle yourself. But the more Dean opened up to you, you realized that it was just a part of Dean he was never going to shake; he had to know that his loved ones were safe, no matter where they were. A lifetime of losing everyone you've ever loved will do that to a man.

"Nothing I can't handle." You bump his shoulder and his body relaxes with a sigh. His jaw loosens and his smile returns as he throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side.

Another two beers later, ones that Dean insisted he get, your bladder was uncomfortably full, and you excused yourself to the bathroom.

The bathroom was in the very back of the bar away from the crowds, and as you washed your hands, you took a moment to appreciate the quietnesses. You loved bars and going out drinking with Sam and Dean; it was one of the few normal things you did in your lives. But it was nice to take a break from the noise and masses to reset before you threw yourself back out there.

After drying your hands, you take a moment to readjust your ponytail, a few hairs having gone astray from Dean's hand playing at the nape of your neck.

You shake your head at the thought with a smile.

Once you're all set, you exit the restroom, your eyes looking down the narrow and dimmed corridor when a hand wraps around your bicep and twirls you around.

You smile at the movement until your back is thrown against the wall, your head bouncing off the wood on the impact.

Before your vision catches up with the rest of you, you already know whose body heat is radiating in front of you; not your boyfriend, sneaking up on you for a private make-out session, but a scumbag barfly who had been harassing you early.

"Maybe next time you won't be such a bitch," whiskey wafts over you. Your nose scrunches and you turn your head away from the smell, but fingers wrap around your chin forcing you to look into his dark eyes, his pupils dilated and eyes wildly jumping back and forth as an elbow lands heavy on your windpipe.

You glare at him, your heart rate calming as you take a breath.

This asshole has no idea who he was dealing with.

"And hopefully this time you'll learn your lesson," you wheeze out as his elbow digs into your throat, restricting your breath.

He cocks his head at you and before he can react, your right hand flies to his fingers wrapped around your chin and you grasp his thumb. With a swift surety, you snap his thumb back with a sickening crack. A howl leaves his throat as his hand and arm fall away from your body. He begins to back away, his eyes looking at his broken thumb in horror, but you grab onto his shoulders, driving his body back to yours as you ram your knee into his crotch, nothing but a strangled cry and a lone tear in his eye as his knees hit the ground and he doubles over.

Your chest in heaving as you look down at the pathetic man in front of you; his good hand holding his bruised boys and his mangled hand cradled against his chest.

"Y/N!" A familiar voice echoes down the hallway. You turn towards the shadow racing towards you, and Dean is illuminated in the dim light above you as he reaches your side.

"What the fuck happened?" His forehead is wrinkled as he takes in the battered man in front of him.

"Like I said," you glance toward the pathetic excuse of a man whimpering on the ground. "Nothing I can't handle."

Dean's eyes find yours before they quickly scan over your face, then your body, making sure you were actually okay.

"C'mon," his hand lands gently on the same bicep that had been grabbed just a few seconds ago. "Let's get out of here."

You and Dean turn away but a rasped voice calls out to you.

"You psycho bitch! You'll get yours."

You just shake your head and continue your way back to the table, but Dean stops beside you.

"Dean," you say in a low warning. His head glances back slightly over his shoulder.

"What'd you say, douchebag?" Dean ignores you as he turns around and you reach out to him, though he brushes you off as he stalks towards the man picking himself off from the dirty bar floor.

His eyes find Dean, and he squares his jaw.

"I said," the man rolls his shoulders back. "Your girl's a fucking psycho and I'm pressing charges."

You're a step behind Dean, and before you can reach out and stop him, Dean's got the man pinned against the wall, holding him up by his t-shirt that looks like its about to rip.

"Press this, dick," Dean growls as his fist whips into the guy's nose. Blood spews as Dean drops him and he crumbles to the ground, tears now streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the gruesome stream flowing over his lips.

Dean squats down the the man's level, his finger his in the man's face.

"Touch her again, and there will be no one to press charges, capeesh?" Even without knowing Dean, anyone with a brain could tell it wasn't a question.

"Fuck you guys!" Blood sprays as the man yells.

Dean just rolls his eyes and stands up, taking one large step to your side.

"How about we call it a night?" Dean smirks down at you, unaware of the splatter on his flannel as he throws an arm around your shoulder.

"Sounds like a plan to me." You arm wraps around Dean's waist, your fingers only reaching the far side of his back as you smile up at him.

The two of you take a few synchronized steps before Dean glances over his shoulder again. You watch him closely before his eye face forward, a proud smile on his face.

Dean's elbow closes around your head as he pulls you into him, his lips pressing against your temple.

"Nice job, sweetheart."

A/N: Sorry, I really wanted to have a badass reader with Dean coming in for assistance vs. Dean coming to save the day. Figure if the reader's a hunter, she can definitely handle a handsy guy on her own. Protective!Dean is just a bonus. Hope you enjoyed, anon!

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean fanfic #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean reader insert #dean x reader #dean imagine

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trexrambling · 1 year

Text

Broken Heels (III / III)

Request: “There's a protective Dean and Sam some kind of thing. They're friends with fem!reader, a shy and graceful girl. A long time ago the brothers took her in and a deep friendship was born. She only helps with research because she suffers from a heart failure, which leads to her being often dizzy nauseated and breathless. The brother care for her and always keep an eye out on her. Dean is secretly in love with her and vice versa. But neither of them admits it. One night Dean brings home some of his flings and the girl is really cruel to the reader.... Reader spirals into a rabbit hole, taking the things the bitch said to her to heart.... And shit hits the fan?! Some angst, drama and fluff, protective Winchesters.” - by anon

Word Count: 2,120

Warnings: language, negative self-talk, heated/arguing conversation, angst, fluff

A/N: I broke this request into two three parts because it ended up being much longer than expected. This last part took me forever to finish, still not sure I love how it turned out but here it is. No beta, all mistakes are mine, please message me if you see any! Watercolor heart from the header image credit.

(Read Part 1) (Read Part 2)

xxxxxxxxxx

You’re not really sure where he’s driving you, because it’s not back to the town you were hunting in, and it’s not towards home, either. It feels aimless, like he’s picking turns at random for the sake of the familiarness of being behind the wheel, like it’s the only thing that’s grounding him right now. The sun has made its venture into the sky, climbing with each passing minute and painting the wisps of clouds in orange and pink. The quiet in the car is becoming unbearable, the inevitable conversation that’s about to take place encroaching with each passing second.

You decide to just go for it, like that first jump into a cold pool. Just get it over with. It’s either that or tuck and roll out the passenger door. Though…the latter option might prove to be less painful when all is said and done.

“So…” you start quietly, “where’s Sam?”

“Oh, Sam’s still working on the case.” Every word is wrapped in frustration. His jaw is tight, fingers gripping the wheel with more force than necessary. You don’t have to check for a speed limit sign to know that he’s exceeding it.

“You left Sam?”

In a split second you find yourself almost relocated to the floorboards of the car, the lap belt cutting into your waist the only thing keeping you from sliding off the seat as Dean slams on the brakes. You manage to catch the upper half of your body weight with a hand on the dash, eyes wide as he veers off the side of the road and continues right on into the neighboring grassy field. The Impala’s wheels find a small rut, bumps in and out of it, the frame vibrating from the uneven ground. He goes a few more feet and then comes to a complete halt, throws the gears into park and shuts off the engine. You quickly undo the seatbelt to rub your stomach.

“Dean, what the hell-”

But he’s already opened his door and is exiting the vehicle, the loud slam of it shutting making you flinch. You watch him through the windshield as he walks a short distance into the field, then he stops and just stands there with his hands in his jacket pockets, his back to you.

You stay in your seat, staring at him, a bit stunned. You’ve known Dean for years, and in that time you’ve seen his rough edges, watched him dissolve into anger that would leave him unable to speak, observed his elated highs alongside the dismal lows. But you’ve never seen him like this… At least, not with you. Not because of you.

A steady breeze is blowing the tall, spring wildflowers around his legs, pushing small tufts of his hair in all directions. His stiff posture is a direct contrast to the serenity around him; a tranquil view from a distance that’s lacking all of its peace up close.

“Ah, screw it,” you mutter to yourself. You pop your door open and step out, the immediate onslaught of wind attacking your hair as you walk across the grass to stand beside him. You’re not really sure how you feel, not sure what to think. A short hour ago you’d been on a bus, trying to get as far away from him as possible. And now…

“Alright, spill. What’s going on with you?”

He turns sharply, fire in his eyes. “With me? What’s going on with me? Are you serious right now?”

He wants to pick a fight, to throw everything that’s built up out into the open, and part of you does, too. You fold your arms, meet his glare with a steady one of your own. “Yes, with you. How could you leave Sam to work a case by himself?”

Air snorts out of his nose in disbelief. “I left the case? Are we forgetting that you’re the one who just up and hopped a bus in the middle of the night? Without saying anything?”

“I texted Sam.”

“Oh, you texted Sam. Of course. My bad.”

You throw your hands up in the air in exasperation. “You literally just drove god knows how many miles and tried to run a bus off the road, and you’re acting like I’m the crazy one. I have every right to go wherever I damn well choose to. I’m not a child, Dean, I don’t need to get permission from you.”

“You didn’t even pick up your phone, Y/N. I’ve been calling you for hours, and I just kept getting your voicemail. What was I supposed to do, supposed to think? Since when do we not talk to each other? What the hell happened?”

His voice has progressively gotten louder with each question, and though he’s not quite yelling, the harshness has you blinking back an unanticipated bout of tears. Your mood shifts, the fight leaving you as doubt and dejection take its place.

Dean notices the change, and his eyes lose some of their sharpness. He rubs a hand on the back of his neck and lets out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just don’t understand much of anything that’s been happening the past few hours. Why did you take off? Why did you just leave us like that?”

You wrap your arms tightly around your midsection, fixate on the grass beneath your feet, and manage to softly say -

“Do you… do you really not know?”

He doesn’t say anything, which is ten times worse than all of the worst possible things you’re imagining he could say. You gnaw on your lower lip, anxiety building with each second that he doesn’t speak. You can’t take it anymore, can’t take this, whatever this is. So, like a broken dam, you open your mouth and let it all flood out.

“I know that we’re not equals. I know I could never hold my own on a hunt with you. Hell, I proved that last month, didn’t I? And you deserve someone who can have your back, someone who can actually help you when the time comes. I know you guys say I help, but that’s different. It’s reading lore and making lasagna, and anyone can do that. And to top it all off, I’m an absolute mess. I cough up blood and I can’t walk a mile without feeling like I'm going to faint. I’m like this broken thing, this deadweight that you keep dragging along with you for some reason. And I don’t get it. I really don’t understand why I’m still here, because…because you don’t need me.”

He’s still not saying anything. You give in to the weakness in your knees and sink down onto the ground, tugging your jacket around you and staring out at the borderline of trees in the distance as your fingers absentmindedly pick at the surrounding grass and flower stems.

“And then I was waiting in your room for you to come back from the bar, and instead that woman showed up. And she was just-” you chuckle dryly- “so delightful, by the way. A real charmer. And you didn’t ask her to leave, so I left. I got out of your way. And I just… I couldn't stay, Dean. Don’t you get that?”

He joins you on the ground, close but not quite touching you. You dare to glance at him from the corner of your eye, surprised by the solemness his features carry.

“You don’t-” he clears his throat, digs his fingers into the dirt- “you don’t really want me, Y/N. Not the way you think you do.”

You turn your head sideways, rest your ear on your bent knee so you can look at him. He avoids your gaze, but keeps talking.

“That girl…she’s easy. Someone I can lie to when she asks me questions, that I can be a completely different person for. It’s just an escape, a night that doesn’t matter because I’ll never have to see her again, never have to think about her again, worry about her again.”

Your face tightens. “And you want that?”

“It’s been pointless to want anything else. To let myself want something else. This life…it’s not safe to let yourself get close to anyone.”

“Well…sometimes you can’t help it. Sometimes it just happens.”

He looks at you then, the right corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then in one swift motion his arm goes up and around your shoulders, firmly scooping you into his side. You shuffle close and willingly lean in, resting your head in the crook of his neck. One of his hands stays wrapped around your arm, the other finding yours in your lap. A deep sigh leaves your body with the contact, the pent up tension you’d been carrying since last night dissolving with his touch.

“You’re the farthest thing from broken, you know,” he says softly. “And don’t you ever let me hear you say that we don’t need you. Sam and I are damn lucky to have you.”

“It doesn't always feel that way,” you whisper. “I still feel like I’m broken all the time. And not just because of my heart problems, but because of everything that’s happened to me, every mistake I’ve made, all the things I want to do, want to change… but I just can’t ever seem to get there.”

“I get that,” Dean says, giving you a small squeeze. “I’ve been there. But if I’ve learned anything, from Sam or Cas or anyone else in our lives, it’s that the broken heals. You just have to be willing to let it.”

You smile faintly, tilt your head up to look at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for chasing me down. Literally.”

He meets your eyes, his face serious. “I didn’t sleep with her, you know.”

Your blink, surprised. “Okay…why not?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, but doesn’t answer.

You squeeze his hand. “You know, you deserve to be with someone you can fully be yourself with. Someone you can talk to without having to fabricate your life, someone that actually gets it. And it may not be easier, but…I think it might be worth it.”

His features change then, and he’s suddenly looking at you in a way that takes you back to a flour filled kitchen, with mixing bowls and a pie waiting on the counter while he’s standing over you, your hand in his, heat and tension and a deep underlying desire filling the small space between. You swallow deeply, take in a shaky breath through your nose.

“Dean-”

His lips on yours cut you off, no hesitation as he tilts your chin up with his hand to draw your face closer. Warm fingertips trail down your cheek and then tangle in your hair as he gently pulls at your bottom lip. It’s a single, long, perfect kiss, and you can’t breathe properly, but you don’t really want to. He pulls away, kisses you lightly again, once, twice. And your head is spinning and your breathing is ragged and you can feel a goofy grin stretched wide across your face.

“You good?”

You nod, breathless, still smiling. You’re not sure if you can stop at this point. You’ve wanted this for the longest time, wanted him. And now that it’s happening, you still can’t believe that it’s real. It feels like a dream you never want to wake up from.

Dean releases his hold on you and stands up, snapping you from the moment. He stretches his hand out, a smile on his face. “Ready to go?”

You raise your eyebrows, still trying to collect yourself. “Go? Go where?”

Your smile fades, uncertainty underlying the pure flood of euphoria you’d just experienced. Were things already back to normal? Just like that? Did you imagine the last few minutes? Did the bus you were on crash, and you’re actually in a coma?

He’s smiling at you, waiting expectantly, and your face flushes from embarrassment. You grasp his hand, and he effortlessly pulls you to your feet. He doesn’t give you a chance to step away, though. He keeps a firm hold on your hand and tugs you back into him. Toe to toe, your chest flush against his, he cups the side of your face, erasing any of the doubt as he says -

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

And then he’s kissing you again, firmly holding you tight against him while he steals the breath from your lungs.

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Tags: @iprobablyshipit91 @senjoritanana @amythyststorm33 @morgiex @sushiumex @akshi8278

^Thank you for reading! You guys and your feedback are the reason I kept writing this one :)

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