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talltalesandbedtimestories · 24 days

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Wash. RINSE. Repeat. - Dean x Reader/OFC

"Rinse" is Part 3 of the Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader/OFC

Tags: Canon-compliant (or trying to be), Season 3, Lots of Angst, Demon Assault/Attempted Sexual Assault (trigger), Show Level Gore/Violence, Language, Pining, Dean is infuriating at times, Sam is the sweetest, Main character death (offscreen; but, it's Supernatural, so you know, it's probably not sticking)

Word Count: 15,000

Summary: The boys stink. Something needs to be done about it.

The above summary was something I came up with when I thought this was going to be a fun little one shot. (hah! stupid writer and her stupid assumptions. how dare she think she can make plans and have Sam and Dean adhere to them.) It still applies to the beginning (and this sniff, sniff theme may come up again) but I'm going to add that this story is a first person reader insert that weaves in and out of show canon.

"Rinse" won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read the other parts. If you want to read the previous installments, you can find them on AO3 -- WASH -- PRE-RINSE

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Friends Becoming Strangers" square.

A huge thanks to @jacklesversebingo for allowing me to use one of my bingo squares in a part of a story I was currently working on. These bingo prompts have genuinely tested my creativity and provided some meaty plot twists. Thank you, thank you!

Rinse

~ Six Months Later ~

I bolt upright in bed, mid-gasp.

My heart pounds. Flashes of what caused my pulse to race appear in the curtain call of each blink.

Bobby. In the dark with a flashlight. In his house? Sneaking around, like he’s investigating an unfamiliar place. Then, he was attacked by something. Thrown to the floor in his kitchen. A blur of arms clawing. A screeching sound that wasn’t human.

What the hell? I shake the shiver out of my spine and glance over at the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes before it goes off. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I resign myself to get out of bed and start the day.

It’s gonna be a busy one at Hoyt and Hagan. There are two client appointments on the calendar. I’ve got some note taking during and transcribing to do after each of them.

I debate with myself in the shower as to when I should check on Bobby. It’s still too early and he’ll only scoff in my ear at the unnecessary concern.

I decide I’ll call him during my lunch break, all nonchalant like. Hey Bobby, it’s your favorite psychic nut job, poking out of hunter hibernation for some updates.

Just to be sure he’s okay.

I grab a slice and a soda at Tony’s Pizza Parlor for lunch. The four block walk gives me a chance to stretch my legs and see if they’ll be short staffed over the next week. I need to bulk up my car maintenance fund. According to Nate at Carl’s Auto Shop, I will probably need to replace the brake pads in a few months. Before the squeaks turn into screeches at every stop.

Gary’s working the counter. I try not to fuss with my hair too much in his presence. His dimples drill into his cheeks with a bright smile. My stomach spins like it’s in a washing machine. I ask him how his Aunt Cheryl is doing. The swoony, sensitive six footer moved back to Matamoras when his only living relative, Cheryl Somers, fell ill and couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

It’s been five months since Gary arrived and became ubiquitous around this tiny town where you only have to breathe heavily to become the subject of juicy gossip. He works a variety of service jobs. I’m blessed that one of them is at Tony’s. My random shifts have intersected with his on occasion. I am also cursed because I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get past simple pleasantries. Mainly I worry I’ll slip about my personal details or he’ll ask me a question about my family. And, I’ll have to lie. Because he’d never believe the truth. The people that would understand are just as damaged as I am.

Playing at normal is tough.

I scoot into a booth that has a nice vantage of the counter so I can spy on Gary. I pry the greasy pepperoni one by one from the stringy mozzarella. The deconstruction exercise prolongs my excuse to hang around with my solitary slice. I mindfully chew. Taste buds light up with oregano, tomato sauce, processed toppings, and velvety cheese.

The one brain cell not focused on Gary reminds me about Bobby. I dab at my face with a one-ply scratchy napkin, then tap in the start of a phone number I know by heart on my cell. Bobby’s name appears from my contacts after the fifth digit.

I’m still miffed about Garth accidently dropping my old phone in the depths of the Delaware when he visited six months back. He felt so bad he drove me to the nearest cell phone store and bought me a new one right on the spot. He got me a newer and nicer model. It didn’t make up for all the contacts and messages I lost, though. It took me weeks to connect with almost everyone I could remember.

I wait for Bobby to pick up. It rings. And rings. And rings. The voicemail answers. “You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I know what to do, but I hang up instead. I’m that person that hits redial and gives it another try. Bobby is prone to leaving his cell phone atop a stack of books or on the kitchen counter as he hops from room to room. So, there’s a chance he might…

“You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I sigh and collect my words. “Hey, Bobby. It’s been a bit. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Nothing much new on this end. Give me a call, though, soon. Yeah? Been told my car’s gonna need new brake pads. Wanna make sure I’m not getting hosed on the cost to replace them. Okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“Who’s Bobby?” The voice drifts over my shoulder from behind me.

Oh God. Gary’s asking that question. I’m gonna have to turn and actually make eye contact and answer. I swallow and rotate in the booth a bit. He’s wiping down the table, tray filled with trash in his grasp. Wavy jet black bangs obscure his eyes for a brief second. It’s not enough time before his onyx irises gaze with interest in my direction.

“Huh?” I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“Who’s Bobby? He’s not the only guy that knows a thing or two about cars.” His smile is bright. “I could probably help you out. Take a look.”

“Oh.” I want to bang my head into the table to shake out any words that are longer than one syllable. “That’s… that’s…”

“He family? Bobby?” Gary stands beside my booth now.

“Yeah.”

Gary nods. “Well, offer’s available if you need it.” Someone, maybe Maribel, shouts his name across the restaurant. “Good luck.” He darts away.

“Thanks.” I groan at my suave communication skills.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

Dean sat at Bobby’s hospital bedside.

It’d only been a couple days since he got the call. A doctor had been looking for a Mr. Snyderson.

Bobby enjoyed informing Dean years ago of the name he would have to answer to if he received a call from someone in search of Bobby Singer’s emergency contact.

“How the hell’d you get yourself into this mess, Bobby?” he asked aloud.

Dean wondered if Bobby had picked the name Edgar Snyderson so that would be all John’s eldest son would focus on. Not the fact that if he ever heard it uttered by anyone else, it would be because Bobby wouldn’t be able to call him a numbnut or an idjit.

Sam was due back any minute. Dean’d tasked Sam with the research part of this mystery, which included combing through the collage of pictures and news clippings hidden on the back closet wall in Bobby’s hotel room.

The room where his comatose body had been found.

Dean had gone to the university to dig up any information on a Dr. Walter Gregg, whose obit had graced Bobby’s case board. Finding out about unapproved dream studies led to the name of a test subject, Jeremy Frost. The college kid made it clear the doctor had been playing fast and loose with his research and the people involved. That equalled a whole lot of potential enemies and nefarious insinuators. Bobby was probably close to figuring out who the murderer was.

The machines whirred and beeped around the man he’d bet his life on, if he had much left of it to wager.

Dean was shy of six months before his demon bill came due.

“I don’t need you rolling out the red carpet for me in the hereafter. Pretty sure you ain’t gonna be taking a sauna or walking over raked coals. But we don’t need you practicing your harp skills anytime soon, either.” He bit his tongue at the name that almost slipped out. He tried not to mention her if he could help it. The more time went on, the more he hoped it would stick; his nonexistence for her. “It’d kill her if something happened to you.” He nodded to no one. “We’ll figure this out.”

As if on cue, his studious brother entered the room. “How is he?”

“No change.” Dean wiped a hand over his face and stood to meet Sam by the tray table at the edge of the bed. “What you got?”

“Well, considering what you told me about the Doc’s experiments, Bobby’s wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.”

“How so?”

“This plant, Silene Capensis, also known as African Dream Root, it’s been used by shamans and medicine men for centuries.”

“Let me guess – they dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hacky.”

Sam scoffed. “Not quite. If you believe the legends, it’s used for dream walking. I mean entering another person’s dreams, poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends.”

“When don’t we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with enough practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good. You could turn good dreams bad.”

“And killing people in their sleep.” Dean added the obvious.

“For example. So, let’s say this doc was testing the stuff on his patients Tim Leary-Style.”

“Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby? I mean if the killer came after him, how come he’s still alive?”

They both stared at Bobby.

“I don’t know.” Dean tapped Sam in the middle of his chest. “Come on. Man needs as much beauty rest as he can get before we wake him. And a kiss on the lips better not end up being the cure.” He strolled to the doorway and turned back in time to see Sam making his way to Bobby’s side.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve ever had to do to save someone.” Sam chided in a soft whisper over his shoulder towards Dean. “Stay strong until we can figure this out, Bobby.” His gigantor hand gripped Bobby’s pale one.

Dean marched out into the hallway in wait. Something heavy lodged in the base of Dean’s throat. He swallowed but the fear wouldn’t loosen. The possibility of losing Bobby. The memories of his father in the hospital right before he died kept rising to the surface. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sam finally joined him. They walked down the hall towards the nurse’s station and the elevators. Their steps got into that synced soldier rhythm they easily fell into often. Dean wished it would continue in silence. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam’s mouth open and close. Trying out the lines in his head before he’d have to share what he was thinking.

With that much thought, Dean knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

When it was only the two of them in the elevator going down, Sam spoke. “Am I gonna have to be the one that mentions the elephant in the room?”

Dean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. He sighed.

“We gotta call her, Dean.”

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna handle it so she doesn’t have to ever know what kind of danger Bobby was in.”

“She deserves to know,” Sam mumbled. “Bobby’s important to her. Plus, all of this dream stuff…”

“Sam,” Dean started.

Sam got his hands and arms in the conversation now, waving them about. “She should be here!”

“No!” Dean huffed, raising his voice back at Sam. He glanced at the number display. “I still need to work this case with you. I shouldn’t even be in the same state as her, let alone the same room. We can’t risk that, Sam. Not again.”

“You of all people know what she’s capable of. She could get into Bobby’s head.”

“Yeah. You know it. I know it. Bobby knows it. But, as far as we know, Elena doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t remember me, she won’t be doing any ‘Wonder Twins, Activate’ shit. And we’re gonna keep it that way.”

“Dean!”

“No. Bobby’s been onboard with the plan, all of it, for the past six months. Last I checked, you were, too.”

“Not like you gave any of us a choice.” Sam snarked.

Dean ignored the jab. “Bobby’d want us to exhaust every other option before we pull her into something like this. Again.” He pointed at the floor as the door’s slid open. “We find another way.” He waved a hand for Sam to exit first. “Let’s go, Sherlock.” They covered the distance quickly to another set of double doors. “So, how do we find our homicidal little sandman?”

“It could be anyone.” Sam stated, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Dean rattled off possible suspects. “Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms.”

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?”

“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, we don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.”

Sam scoffed.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, long and deep. “In any other case, we’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean halted, pulled at Sam’s forearm to stop his brother’s stride. “Know what? You’re right.”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”

“Not if we’re tripping on some Dream Root.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

~~~~

There’s been no response from Bobby by the end of my work day.

Something was up. A car question always ensured Bobby would return a call within hours.

I call the other hunter who knows almost everyone’s business as much as Bobby does.

“Elle Woods.” Garth coos his nickname for me. I still don’t get how he made the connection between me and the fictional main character in Legally Blonde. “How’re you doin? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Garth. I’m trying to get a hold of Bobby. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh?” The one syllable expresses confusion.

“Yeah.”

“When’d you last talk to him?”

“It’s been about a month.” My face warms at the confession.

“Oh.” The one syllable is laced with judgment.

I let the guilt was over me as I wait.

“Hm. Well, I had to call him about a case I worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana last week. There was this circus in town and a murder pinned on one of the performers. Killer clowns couldn’t turn their victims into a pile of green goo last I checked.” Garth chuckles.

I veer the conversation back. “Was he okay? Everything good at the salvage yard?”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t home. Was working his own case.”

My skin tingles at the news. It’s not surprising to hear. Bobby hunts on occasion. It’s more the reminder of the dream I had of him that morning that puts me on edge. “Where was he?”

Garth sighs. “If memory serves right, he was investigating something that happened at a university in, I think, Pittsburgh.”

“Okay, thanks Garth.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Want me to try and check in on him, too?”

I smile. “Appreciate it.”

“I’ll tell him to call you ASAP if I make contact.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

“Talk soon.”

I hang up. Pittsburgh. It’s clear across in western Pennsylvania. A good six-hour drive from me. Couldn’t be any farther from Matamoras and in the same state. It makes sense he wouldn’t bother to call me. Not like he could do a quick pop in.

Still.

I click my teeth. Moments later, I’m clicking away at the keyboard, searching anything weird over the wire that matches what Garth told me. Only one news headline has me screaming Yahtzee in my head. There’s mention of a university neurologist dying in his sleep. Cause: Unknown.

It’s not much. But, it would catch Bobby’s eye. And he’d do some digging. So, I do the same. The neurologist was the research head of a large, ongoing sleep study. And, another article hints that his death may have been the result of foul play.

I then do what Bobby always suggests I do when I can’t get a hold of him and he’s off on a case somewhere. I contact hospitals in the area.

By the third phone call, I’ve found him. All I can get out of the medical staff is that he’s unresponsive and been in their care for a few days.

An hour later, I’m on I-80, headed to Pittsburgh.

My brakes are squeaking big time.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

My driver’s license (fake) gets me the information I need at the hospital. Next of kin and all that. A doctor runs through the updates on Bobby’s current medical state while we stand at the nurse’s station. It's good news. Bobby woke up a few hours ago.

The doc questions why I wasn’t listed as an emergency contact. He mentions that they had to call a Mr. Snyderson instead. I shrug, rattling off that my Dad probably doesn’t think I know how to manage an emergency.

I wonder who the hell Mr. Snyderson is as I get Bobby’s room number and am pointed in the direction to find it. Mainly I’m relieved that the closest thing I have to family - that hasn’t disowned me - is conscious and doing fine by all accounts.

I don’t even need to check the number, hearing Bobby’s voice drift out into the hall from a room just up ahead on the right. “We better work fast… and coffee up. ‘Cause the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

I take a cautious step in and prepare to meet “Mr. Snyderson.” A very tall figure with expansive shoulders stands at the side of Bobby’s bed. His broad back is to the doorway. It’s the moppy head of hair that I recognize first. My brain swims with sudden knowledge and memory. I feel overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded.

Sam. Sam Winchester. A hunt. We worked a hunt together a couple years ago. Road tripped from Maine to California. I even remember spending some time with him at Bobby’s after a car accident he’d been in with his dad. I’m also struck with the fact that he lost his dad. The scattered moments don’t have any connective tissue that I can discern. They catch my attention like twinkling ornaments atop a Christmas tree. Each represents some commemorative event I need to be reminded of.

Bobby sees me in the doorway. His face runs a litany of emotions. Serious to surprised. Welcoming to worried. “L.” He whispers.

I smile. Sam spins. His rotation hints at the shape of someone sitting on the other side of Bobby’s bed. Sam settles with a stare at me and walls off the stranger for the time being.

Sam’s as cute as I remember. There’s a bit more mass to him. And then, I remember us bonding over his psychic abilities. It’s disorienting, the flashes and pops of life bursting out of hibernation.

“L?” Bobby asks. “You doin’ alright there, kid?”

I shake my head and manage a smile again. “Considering I’m visiting you in the hospital, don’t you think I should be the one asking that question?” I hesitate at the awkward glances Sam and Bobby shoot each other. I flap my hands at my sides. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Been a while.”

His eyes bug. “H-Hey Elina. Yeah. I’m, I’m doin’ pretty well.” A hand scratches the side of his neck. “How’s things in Matamoras?”

“Good. Doing my best to stay out of trouble.” I point a finger at him. “Are you Mr. Snyderson, who got the call about Bobby instead of me?”

“That’d be me.” There’s a terse answer from the other side of the room. The figure is still hidden by Sam. A scrape of chair legs follows.

Sam swallows. Hard. He steps to the side.

My gaze lands on a pair of bright green eyes staring back. The guy is male model attractive. My skin warms up in a reflexive response to all that pretty. “You can call me Dean, though.” He smirks.

“Dean?” The name registers instantly. “Sam’s brother?”

He nods and puffs his chest out. I can’t quite tell if it’s a smug posture or if he’s donning some invisible protective armor.

“He-” I start to fill the gaps in my mind as my mouth reveals the facts. “Sam’s mentioned you.” Older brother. Cocky. Pain in the ass. Overbearing.

I don’t get a response in return. Instead, Dean turns to Bobby. “We’ll touch base if we hear anything else.” He rounds the edge of the hospital bed and taps Sam on the arm. All I get is a quick nod from Dean before he disappears.

“See ya.” Sam smiles, lips scrunched tight. He stumbles past me out of the room, following his older, shorter brother.

Yeah, I’ve met my share of guys like that before. Bad boys have never done me any favors. Way more trouble than they’re worth. I keep reminding myself of that as I catch one last glimpse of Dean Winchester in the hallway before Sam shuts the door behind him.

When it’s only the two of us, I hurry over and give the old man a careful embrace. He taps my back in assurance. “I’m fine.”

I peel away and stand to squint at him. “Let me guess? Fine enough to hop back into solving whatever caused this.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Why can’t you fall back asleep? And why does that Dean dude rank as your emergency contact?”

He squints back at me. “The Winchester boys are family, too, L.”

“Sam’s what you’d call an absolute peach, Bobby, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t have any firsthand experience with Dean to make a judgment call.”

“Hm.” Bobby nods slowly. “Could’ve sworn you’ve met both of them.”

“Nope.” I definitely would have remembered Dean Winchester.

~~~~

I knock on the door to Bobby’s room at The Aviary Hotel.

There’s a delay. I can hear some cursing and arguing as I wait. The taller squatter opens the door part way in greeting. “El.” Sam smiles.

“Hi.”

“Everything alright?” A hand stuffs into a pocket and he leans against the door, filling up the space.

“Bobby’s probably getting released tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I figured I’d grab him some clean clothes for his discharge.” I sweep a hand towards him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam stammers.

“For chrissakes.” Dean’s voice interrupts. An arm pushes Sam back into the room and out of the way. Dean grimaces at Sam before giving me a dose of all that attitude. “Listen, Elena, it’s great that you’ve decided to come all this way and play nursemaid. But, we’ve got actual case work to do. So, would you make it quick?”

I blink at the condescending tone. Bobby filled me in on the details back at the hospital. I had felt a little sympathy at the predicament Dean has found himself in. HAD. “Oh, of course. Certainly don’t want to interfere with all your great case work. Is there another suspect you need to give a DNA sample to?”

Dean’s irritation crumbles. He looks like a shamed puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

“Don’t mind him, El.” Sam pulls the door all the way open. “We’re all a little high strung at the moment.”

I scoot in between the brothers. The room’s wallpaper is a feathery explosion in blues, greens and yellows. “Well, the decor isn’t going to help calm anyone down,” I critique.

Dean flops in a sad looking armchair and grabs sheets of paper on a nearby side table to study with intense interest.

Hospitality must be Dean Winchester’s middle name.

“Get you something to drink?” Sam strolls by Dean, backhanding Dean’s bicep along the way. Dean pays him no mind.

I wave a hand. “Nope. Just point me in the direction of Bobby’s stuff and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam offers a soft smile in apology and gestures to a set of louvered bifold doors. The room is crazy huge. A full kitchen and another door that must lead to the bathroom make up the other half. There’s a desk on this side of the living area. More papers litter its surface, along with a laptop that I recognize as Sam’s (various stickers are slapped on top).

Yep, the brothers have made themselves at home. The double beds have been slept in by the state of the sheets. I smell greasy fast food.

When I open the closet, Bobby’s entire wardrobe is hung up. I grab the empty duffle from the closet floor. “Was he planning on moving here?” I frown to myself. When I remove the first plaid ensemble from a hanger I spot the case board on the back closet wall. “Ah, of course.” I take my time and fold one shirt with care before packing it. Then another. Taking my sweet time as I take in all the information.

I decide to inquire with the friendlier Winchester. “So, Sam. Bobby told me what happened to him.” I turn to see him sitting at the desk. Dean’s in my field of view in the background as well, still reading. I attempt a poke. “That he was stupid enough to make himself a prime lullaby target of this Frost kid.” Dean’s mouth purses but he doesn’t look over. “Got any ideas yet on how he gets some shut eye without being murdered?”

Sam sighs. “No.”

I want to ask if he’s thought about using his powers while he’s asleep and under the influence of the African Dream Root again. But I don’t know how Dean feels about his brother’s powers. Or, if he even knows for certain. My memory is still hazy and I don’t want to risk outing him or stirring up a touchy subject. Something tells me Dean wouldn’t handle Sam’s powers well if he did know.

“Well, if you need me to try and make contact with someone on the other side, let me know. I mean I haven’t done it in a while, but I can always give Bobby’s friend Pam a call if I need some guid-”

Dean bolts out of his chair. Papers crumple in his tight fist. “We don’t need you to do anything.” The dismissive tone matches the inconsequential way he stares at me. “We don’t need anyone else fucking things up.”

Sam rotates in the seat, arm resting along the chair back. His bewildered and angry expression towards Dean is all I focus on. My cheeks warm at the berating from this stranger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon.

“From what I hear,” Dean continues, “you are giving the normal life the good ole college try back in Montezuma. I suggest you keep it that way. And get as far away from all this as you can.” His voice cracks at the end. That sound makes me dare to lift my gaze back to him.

He’s trying his best to be an all-knowing asshole. But something’s cracking the veneer. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep it up for much longer. For a moment, I want to march right into this guy’s personal space and slap him. Right before I hug him. But it’s a fleeting inkling. I nod at him. “I’ll get this stuff to Bobby. Sounds like the both of you can handle picking him up at the hospital in the morning.” I inhale and prop up a smile as I turn to Sam. It’s the only way I’ll keep my lips from quivering.

Sam’s brows angle down. “I’m sorry, El.” He whispers.

I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t fucking know why my body is reacting like this to the things Dean Winchester said to me.

My heart is racing. I walk with lightning speed to the door.

My brakes are squeaking big time back to Matamoras.

~~~~

Sam’s tired. He should be the one sleeping in the back seat.

He’s the one that’s lived through and remembered hundreds of Tuesdays where Dean died. He didn’t have the blessing(?) of a memory wipe with every morning reset. Now, he panics when he stumbles upon a radio station playing the chorus of Asia’s most well known song. He woke up on so many Tuesdays to “the heat of the moment.” Those words grate like fingernails across a chalkboard every time he hears it. Hearing that music always makes him question for a couple seconds if he’s been dropped back into Groundhog Day Hell.

One Tuesday did have a Wednesday after it. Without Dean.

Sam’s lived six months without Dean already. The Trickster showed him what life would be like without his brother. Sam spent those six months obsessed, determined to find a way to bring Dean back from the dead. He’d convinced the Trickster to snap his fingers and take him back to a Wednesday where Dean lived. Honestly, the Trickster probably got bored of Sam’s sulking and found another puppet’s strings to pull. But, regardless, Sam got his brother back.

He hasn’t bothered to share any of what happened during those six months with Dean (or that one of his deaths actually stuck). Not when they’re trying to prevent Dean from going to hell.

Sam’s need to fix messes could be considered heroic –maybe even to him– if he wasn’t the reason the messes were created.

Sam’s not sure how much one person is expected to withstand. If he and Dean are in some kind of tragedy endurance contest, he’d like to tap out, please, and wave the white flag in surrender. But, then, he thinks about Dean going it alone. When he decides that’s not an option, he straightens up, plants his feet, and braces for the next wave of sorrow to pummel him.

So, yeah, Sam’s tired. But still determined that his brother’s not gonna die. Not anytime soon. Not if he has a say in the matter. Especially when Dean’s no longer resigned to the inevitable of his demon deal coming to fruition.

Sam can push through the exhaustion and fight for Dean’s future because even Dean wants a chance at what’s possible for himself.

Sam saw it with his very own eyes in Dean’s dream. Not the dream Dean’s currently having in the backseat. In between snuffles and snores he’s mumbling nonsense (something about wrenches and spanners). No, what Sam witnessed in Dean’s dream months back proved Dean thinks about a future of what ifs.

The dream had occurred days after he and Dean had managed to wake Bobby from the nightmare coma courtesy of Jeremy Frost. Days after Dean found himself in grave danger of becoming Jeremy’s next victim.

Dean hadn’t slept for days. The threat of never waking up again meant classic rock on full blast in Baby. Gallons of coffee. A concerning amount of No-Doze pills that Dean most definitely wasn’t taking to cram for a college exam.

Bobby had kept himself awake researching with Bela. In between, he spent a lot of time fuming at Dean for the way he’d sent Elina packing. Dean brushed off Bobby's grumpy attitude and reminded him it was best for Elina.

Dean had eventually reached a breaking point, gave his safety a big ole’ “fuck you,” and decided sleep was worth the risk. He’d driven Baby to a clearing off the road, parked her, and leaned back to close his eyes.

Sam harvested some of Dean’s hair right off the scalp, insisting that if Dean was going under he’d need someone to watch his back in the dreamworld.

When they’d both roused from sleep in the Impala nothing had seemed off.

Until Elina popped up in the backseat.

“Finally!” Elina exclaimed.

Sam almost pogoed off the bench at the sound made by a person that most definitely could not be there.

She bopped first Dean’s, then Sam’s, shoulder with a folded up newspaper. “Geez, you two were really knocked out.” Her elbows and arms draped atop the front bench’s backrest. “I was gonna give you five more minutes of beauty sleep. I know you both need it.”

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at her. His lips parted.

Sam dared to interact with the apparition. “El, what are you doing here?”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded in pensive thought. “I ask myself that question every day, Sam. What the hell am I doing with my life, hunting with the likes of you two?” She nudged Dean’s shoulder with an elbow and grinned at him. “Saving people: an absolutely non-existent way to earn a living, am I right?”

Dean nodded back and offered a confused smile. “R-right.”

Elina looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean nodded with increased fervor and turned in his seat to give her his full attention. “Yeah.”

“Better be. I think I found us a case.” She presented the paper to Sam. “Take a look.”

Sam took the offering and gazed at the front page. A jumble of letters littered the paper like a word search puzzle. “What are we looking at?” Sam bluffed.

“A man was found dead in the famous confectionery amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Police hadn’t released details of the death to the public.” She tapped the spot that appeared to be a headline. “An anonymous source talked to this reporter and said the guy that died had been literally encased in a chocolate mold. You know, like those chocolate bunnies? Only this was a gigantic chocolate dude. Impossible to create anything like that in the on-site factory.”

“Solid Milk Murder,” Dean mumbled. Sam watched his older brother fixate his gaze away on Elina’s face.

“Get this,” Elina continued. “This reporter did more digging into the victim’s life. Six months prior his father had died. Dad had been a supervisor at a candy factory in a Delaware beach town. He’d been pulled to pieces in a taffy stretching machine.” She scooted behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean stiffened in shock. “Sticky situation,” she mumbled into Dean’s ear and then pecked him on the cheek. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A small smile lined his lips. When his eyes blinked open and Adam's apple twitched with a swallow, he appeared to relax into the embrace. “I say the Three Amigos see if this is our kind of thing.”

Before Sam or Dean could respond a noise rattled outside of the car. Elina flickered out, gone in an instant. There’d been no time for either of them to discuss what had happened. They quickly exited the car to investigate.

Dean manifested Lisa next. The scene was the perfect slice of Apple Pie Life. A picnic in the park. Lisa had even told Dean she loved him before disappearing.

Things went downhill from there. But, they’d made it out of the dream alive. Jeremy hadn’t, thanks to Sam turning the tables.

Unfortunately, Bela had broken into the safe in the hotel room and stolen the Colt. Bobby left them with a promise to be in touch if he got a lead on her or the gun’s whereabouts. That was the only thing they thought could kill Lilith.

Sam finished packing back at the hotel. A heavy mix of anger and defeat hung in the air. Quietly writing, Dean hunched over the desk in an attempt at privacy while Sam bounced around the room grabbing all their items. Sam spotted names on the envelopes Dean stuffed into his bag when he was done. One read Lisa. The other, Elina.

It wasn’t until they headed out to the car and tossed the bags in the trunk that Dean spoke.

“Hey Sam, I was wondering, when you were in my head what did you see?”

“Uh, just Jeremy, he kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out I guess. What about you? You never said.”

“Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

As easy as it was for Sam to withhold all the dream details, he was pretty certain Dean was doing the same.

The car doors creaked and squeaked. When they settled in the driver and passenger seat, Dean said, “Sam…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And… well, the thing is… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“All right, yeah. We’ll find a way to save you.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam’s lived through his own hell since Dean confessed wanting salvation from an eternity of torture. With everything they have been through, they’ve got nothing to show for it. They still aren’t any closer to finding Bela and the Colt and the magic bullet that will put an end to Dean’s demon deal.

The last case in Milan, Ohio and the monster they encountered fed off Dean’s fear of dying. The crocotta had used its powers to mimic their dad’s voice and contact Dean through the phone. The monster, claiming to be John, told Dean he could help him locate the demon that held his contract.

Dean had opened up to Sam after they’d defeated the crocotta back at the motel room.

(Dialogue - in italics - from Ep. Long Distance Call; written by Jeremy Carver)

“I wanted to believe so badly there was a way out of this. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell… for real, forever, and I’m just…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

“I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything – you know, last act of a desperate man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having hope, you know.”

“Hope doesn’t get you Jack Squat. I can’t expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can’t expect anybody to, you know? And the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And me.”

“‘And me’?”

“What?”

“Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that’s what you come back with – ‘And me’?”

“Do you want a poem?”

“Moments gone.” Dean turned on the television. “Unbelievable.” He passed Sam a beer and they drank in silence.

They’ve shaked and baked their way through a handful of demons since that case; trying to get any information on the real demon that holds Dean’s contract. But they keep hitting a brick wall. Whatever owns the agreement to Dean’s demise scares the holy hell out of every demon they’ve encountered.

Sam might have a lead on a novel way out of Dean’s contract. It doesn’t involve facing off with the Demon that makes every underling willingly choose an exorcism over betrayal. The solution may be wrapped up in the potential case they’re heading to in Erie, Pennsylvania. Sam knows it will be a hard sell if his hunch is right. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

For now, anyway, Sam’s got another trick up his sleeve. He offered to drive from Ohio into Pennsylvania so Dean could get some shut eye. The trek had taken longer because he passed right on by Erie. On purpose.

Sam’s luck ran out about an hour from the destination when Dean stretched and sat up in the backseat.

Sam clocked Dean in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Eyes widened. “What the hell? Did you drug me? I’ve been out for like seven hours.”

Sam had thought about knocking his brother out. Thankfully, he didn’t need to resort to that. Yet.

Sam shrugged. “My smooth driving lulled you to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean chuckled.

Sam’s jaw clenched as he passed a highway distance sign that displayed the city where they were headed.

“Sam.” The mirth in Dean’s voice disappeared. “Sam,” he repeated. “Are you lost? You better be lost.”

Dean has always looked out for Sam. Sam knows, deep down, Dean’s always wanted happiness for him. Sam wants that for Dean, too. If Sam can unload Dean off to someone that might be able to help him get happiness in whatever form - whether it’s the hunting life with Elina or the suburban life with Lisa - why shouldn’t Dean get the chance to try?

“Pull over,” Dean ordered.

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?”

“Consider this a proactive discussion prior to the demon deal dissolution.”

Dean groaned. His head flopped onto the backrest. “I’m so kicking your ass when you stop this car. And, you’ve gotta stop eventually.”

“It’ll be worth it.” The hesitance in Sam’s voice contradicted the certainty of his words.

Dean was directly behind him now. Sam could feel Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck as he huffed, “Really?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Yep. We’re gonna find a way to save you, Dean. And, when we do, Elena’s gonna remember all of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmured.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then Bobby and I will tell her everything that happened.”

Dean slapped him upside the head.

“Jerk! I’m driving!” Sam exclaimed.

“It won’t change anything.” Dean slid to the middle of the back seat. “It won’t change how I feel. She’s better off without me, Sam, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. And how would she know it when she doesn’t even remember you? You got a shit deal and Elena got dragged in as a free gift with your order.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But, Dean,” –Sam glanced at his brother– “Elena didn’t ask for it either.”

“She’s trying the normal life thing. That’s good. I’d just complicate it all again.”

“You could give the normal life thing a try, too, you know.”

“You aren’t gonna shut up about this are ya?”

“Nope. Come on, no time like the present.” Because there’s literally no time, Sam thought.

~~~~

Ugh. No time!

I rummage through the jewelry box. Again. My gaze darts to the alarm clock on the nightstand. I should have left the apartment five minutes ago if I wanted to appear fashionably late.

The attempt at nonchalance is no longer an option. I will now have to text Gary.

Running later than expected. Wait for me?

Thoughts claw their way up the curtains in my head when I rush like this. I can’t find my grandmother’s rose gold necklace. I know I didn’t lose it. At least I hope not.

Are the blouse and skirt not dressy enough for Bella Notte? I forgot to ask Gary if it’s a formal restaurant. If I send another text it will be obvious I’m obsessing way more than I should. Maybe the outfit is too much? If it is, I probably don’t need the necklace, too. But now that I went searching for it and it’s not where I expected it to be, I have to find it.

My fingers thread through my hair and grip my skull. I’ve gotta calm my ass down.

The phone chirps with news of a Gary response.

Nowhere I gotta be but waiting for a beautiful woman. Just don’t stand me up, alright?

Gary’s flirting. And even through the technical distance of texting this attention increases the beating of my racing heart. I steady my fingers to type.

Of course not.

Screw it. It’s taken almost a year for this first date to happen. I can tear the apartment upside down for the necklace I was going to wear when I return.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the jewelry box mirror. I touch the soft leather cord around my neck. It doesn’t go with the blouse. But I promised Bobby I wouldn’t take the thing off when he gave it to me months ago.

I sigh, thinking about the grouch in the hospital bed. Back then, he asked where the fire was that I needed to get to in such a goddamn hurry. I wasn’t about to tell him I was running away from an avalanche of attitude by the name of Dean Winchester. The passing thought of that guy still bristles my fur. What the hell was his problem?

Bobby ordered me to hand over his duffle I’d brought from the hotel room. It took him a couple minutes to sift through it as he grumbled about my packing job. Eventually, he pulled out a cord with a charm.

“Should have given you one of these years ago, L. They only gotta find a chink in your armor when you’re the most vulnerable. Lost. Without hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Demons, knucklehead.” He rubbed the scrap of hair atop his balding skull.

I frowned. “My place is warded to ‘Singer Specifications.’” I air-quoted. “Salt lines get redone on the windows and doors weekly with double-sided tape. I’ve got a spray bottle of holy water on the kitchen counter. You even told me you peeled the upholstery off the roof of my car to paint a Devil’s Trap under it.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, I forgot I did that.” He waves the cord at me. “Overkill? Maybe? But a lot of shit’s been stirred up lately. And there’s an increase in demon activity because of it. Humor an old man. Put it on and promise me you won’t take it off. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nodded. “Shower with it. Sleep with it. The whole nine yards.”

I’d kept my promise.

But, tonight. Well, tonight, fashion sense beats common as I pull the cord over my head. Before I can drop it into my jewelry box, there’s a knock at my door.

I frown, stuff the cord and charm in my grip, and wonder who’s paying me a visit and how fast I can get rid of them. “Who is it?” I call out.

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester.” The voice rumbles. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh no,” I mumble and rush to the door. I’m face to face with him after a quick unlock and pull. “What happened?” The question spews out. I hear how frantic I sound.

His eyes widen and punctuate his already shocked expression. “What?”

“Bobby! What happened?”

“Nothing. Bobby’s fine. Back in Sioux Falls, far as I know. Talked to him just yesterday.” He raises a hand to apparently calm me.

The gesture has the opposite effect. From my limited encounters, any reaction from this man reeks of condescension. I lash out with what I think is biting sarcasm. “Good. Hopefully Bobby put me down as his emergency contact like I asked, Mr. Snyderson.”

He confuses me further with a smile.

I shake my head and try not to focus on how cute his smile is. Or how long his lashes are and how that only adds to the flirtatious vibes when his lids flutter over those green eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in the area. On the way to a case.” He rocks back and forth from heel to sole.

I peek past him to the staircase landing. No Sam.

“He’s waiting in the car, outside.” Dean clears his throat. “He figured it was better I do this alone.”

My hand lands on my hip as I try my best cool-and-could-care-less stance. “Do what?”

He sighs. “Apologize.”

I’m staring up at this guy. Not as tall and eclipsing as his brother, but still much taller than me. He’s wearing a leather jacket that’s a little too big for his frame. A fleeting thought has me wondering if it’s Sam’s. But that can’t be right. An older brother doesn’t get his younger brother’s hand-me-downs. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. Their gaze flits from side to side. For a moment, he seems smaller.

And sincere.

“I’m on my way out,” I state. Then add, “but you can come in for a minute.”

He tugs a smile up the corner of his mouth and hurries inside. My nose twitches at the odor of stale sweat and something metallic.

“This is a nice little place you got here. Just like I imagined it would be.”

Why the hell had he been imagining what my place looks like?

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets. He strolls into the middle of my apartment.

I close the door. “You mentioned apologizing.” I’ve got places to be, buddy.

Dean turns to stare back at me. He lifts a brow, then steels his jaw. “Yeah.” He rotates on his heels to face me full on. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit. I’ve been going through some shit for about a year… not an excuse, I know that. But, I figured an explanation to go along with the apology was in order. Trying to make amends to the people I wronged before I hang up my hunting license.”

“You’re quitting?” For some reason, the confession utterly surprises me. I know nothing about this guy. But, none of that lines up in my brain about him. “Getting out of the life?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He smiles. It’s forced and pinned high on his cheeks. “Got any tips?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, how’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “Tips should come from someone who’s done it successfully. I can’t say I’ll never get wrapped up in a case again. It’s a work in progress.”

He shrugs. The long jacket sleeve almost swallows his clenched fist at the action. “I don’t know. You’ve got a job. Your own place. Sounds pretty successful to me.” He spins, slow and deliberate, taking in the details of my apartment.

It should feel intrusive. Privacy invading. But, I find myself taking advantage of the opportunity to study his mannerisms. His lids squint, then relax. He licks his top lip. There’s a slight nod to some steady bopping tune that might be playing in his head.

Dean halts and stares at something. He bends over and leans to the side. On his way to the dresser, he crouches with creeping steps. Investigation mode appears to be activated with a graceful squat. A hand sweeps along the wood floor out of my view. He hops up to standing. Something shiny dangles between his fingers.

I float over in adulation at the sight. “Oh wow, you found it!”

He grins and drops it into my open, waiting palm. “Pretty important?”

“A gift from my grandmother.” My gaze darts to the corner behind the dresser where it had been hiding. I connect the dots. “It must have slipped over the side.” I inhale and beam at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.”

I drop the anti-possession charm on the dresser and use both hands to put on Grandma’s rose gold necklace.

Dean points to the leather cord. “Don’t forget that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t go.”

The judgment in his eyes wipes away any mirth on his face. “Bobby gave you that, didn’t he? He’d be awfully disappointed to know you weren’t taking precautions. ‘Out of the life’ doesn’t mean you slack off on being careful.” He scoops up the cord and unties the knot. A nod precedes his order. “Hold your arm out.”

I’ve obeyed before I realize it. He wraps the cord around my wrist a few times, turning it into a bracelet. Warm fingers fumble against my skin to fasten the leather. They slide up my forearm just enough to tuck the charm under my cuffed sleeve. “There,” he states. “Don’t have to worry about clashing or demons tonight.”

I’m about to thank him again when his eyes do a double-take in the direction of my dresser. He stares in surprise. “You-uh-you collect a lot of cat figurines, huh?”

I huff out a laugh and joke, “Yeah, I’m easing into the crazy cat lady role.”

He picks one up from the dozen miniature cats without asking.

I smile at the little angel in his hand. “That’s my favorite one.”

Dean raises a brow. “Another gift?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Best guess is the people that rented the apartment before me forgot it in the dresser they left behind. I found it in the bottom of a drawer under my clothes one day.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Why’s it your favorite?”

“I don’t know. Just makes me smile.”

“Hmm.” There’s a far away expression on his face.

I suddenly remember I am now very, very late for a date. “Well, Dean, I appreciate you coming by to apologize. No hard feelings. I hope things work out for you. Really.”

Dean relocates the angel with care. He straightens and gains a couple of inches. “I can use all the hope I can get.”

I nod along with him for what seems like forever.

“Riiight.” He stretches the word. “Have a nice night.”

I trail him to the door. “Tell Sam I said hi?”

He turns and looks at me. “Will do.” A hitch of breath follows. I wait for him to say whatever it is he seems to be mulling over. He offers me a soft smile. “Goodbye, Elina.”

The door opens and closes in a second and he’s gone. I’ve been surprisingly affected again by one Dean Winchester. And even though the apology should make me feel better, I somehow find myself worrying about the mysterious and aloof hunter.

I sigh and choose not to dwell on it if I can help it. After all, I’ve got a date!

I rush to the bathroom one more time.

~~~~

Gary’s lips are insistent. Not super rough. His hands curl about my waist. The door handle by the passenger seat presses into my lower back.

The front seat of my VW bug isn’t very roomy. But, here we are, parked at the Staircase Rapids Canoe and Kayak Launch along the Delaware River. The deserted pull off and the moonlight dancing over the water make for a decent and impromptu makeout location.

Dinner was nice enough. I thought my Fettuccine Alfredo was a little runny. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Gary was a nice enough dinner companion – from the crusty Italian bread with the dipping oil to the Tiramisu we shared. After months of building Gary up in my head, I thought I’d only find more of him to be starry eyed about. Once we could finally talk uninterrupted, the only new thing I’ve found out is he’s very good at deflecting. He offered up short and stubby answers to most of my questions.

I assumed a cool disinterest had crept up in him by the end of the night. He didn’t ask anything very personal. There was nothing deep and probing. Well, except for his tongue currently in my mouth.

As I rate his kissing technique (there’s too much swirl and suction for my liking) I’m also wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I not able to let go and enjoy the closeness and warmth of this other person? It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced this kind of touch. I don’t need to calculate how long. My inner scorekeeper quickly reminds me. It’s been almost two years since my one night stand in Wildwood, New Jersey.

I’m swimming in a haze of too much wine mixed with indecisiveness. His fingers skirt under the hem of my blouse and test the waters. When do I tell him that’s enough? Do I let him cop a feel over my bra? Despite his insistence to pay for my dinner, I slipped my credit card to the waitress so we could split the cost. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

I’ve done more for less attention and regretted it later. I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t beat myself up for craving touch and fulfilling a basic human need.

It would be easy if I didn’t want more. And I’m realizing with every slip and slurp of Gary’s mouth that there isn’t going to be anything more than this. Whatever happens.

He whispers in my ear that I look incredibly hot tonight. I should gasp a thank you or toss him a complementary compliment. Instead, I’m reminding myself how expendable and forgettable I am. I’m tallying up how many people I expected to stick around –who displayed a modicum of care and interest– actually did.

Gary has been, well, nice enough. I recall how he offered to look at my brakes months back. Fixed them for me at cost at the garage where he moonlights.

All the chance encounters with this man have been thrilling and invigorating. After tonight, they could be embarrassing and stomach upsetting.

Cause this doesn’t feel right.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally get what I think I want… and… it’s not.

“Whatsa matter, baby?” he mumbles the question into my mouth.

I snatch at the opportunity presented. My hand rests atop his chest to push him away. I am done inhaling the red wine and cocoa on his breath. “I-I think it’s getting late.” His offer to drive me home in my car, after I had too much wine, is now an obvious problem. I scramble to sound invested in his well being. “You don’t want to call Jason too late for that drive back to the restaurant to pick up your truck, do you?”

“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m a big boy.” He combs some of my hair behind my ear. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“No,” I hurry out my answer. Gary’s figure is awash in the ashy gray of evening. His face, half in pitch black shadow, gives me little to read. The whites of his eyes are the only thing I can make out well. He blinks in wait. I continue. “I had a great time. But, it’s getting late.”

“We could have an even better time if you’d relax.” His thin lips curl up high into a smirk. Hands overpower with ease and clamp over my wrists. A push and I’m smothered between his chest and the door. He grapples my arms tight against my sides. His mouth latches onto my neck. “Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” His question vibrates under my skin.

My heart beats for release. “Gary, please…”

“Hm, begging for it already.” He chuckles.

“No.” I squirm. I shake my head, lift my shoulder in vain to detach his lips from me. “Take me home, please.”

He groans out an exasperated sigh. His bangs sweep over my lips. “For fuck’s sake. We could’ve had a good time tonight, El.” His teeth click. He launches backward into the driver’s seat.

I sit up and wedge farther into the little corner between the door and the seat. Where the hell can I run where he won’t catch me right away? There isn’t anything for five miles in either direction on this stretch of road heading back to Matamoras from Pond Eddy. I massage the skin of one wrist. Maybe I can convince him to drive me home? Promise to continue the fun at my apartment? I could hop out of the car and run to the 24-hour Smoke Shop a block away.

When I switch to the other wrist I notice something’s missing.

Gary starts the engine. The dashboard illuminates and winks to life. He taps on the overhead light. My leather cord dangles from the tips of his fingers. He eyes the charm swaying back and forth. His lips peel back and display pearly whites. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he hisses. Under the engine hum a whirr accompanies the opening of the driver’s side window. With a quick slingshot, my necklace disappears into the darkness outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’m surprised at my ability to sound angry.

“What did Dean have to say when he stopped by earlier?” Gary asks and turns to look at me. I can see every inch of his face now but he’s not any easier to read.

Oh. Shit.

I grab the door handle.

But I’m not faster than Gary.

He cups the back of my head and slams my forehead into the curved outcrop of the dash. A shock of whiplash shuffles the contents of my skull. It’s followed by a ringing in my ears. Fingers weave into my hair and tug me to sit upright, tipping my head back like a Pez dispenser. I scream at the corkscrew twisting of his hand. Hundreds of strands yank out of my scalp.

“The Winchesters.” Gary is calm and stone faced. He’s in my personal space, staring down at me. “Where are they headed?”

“I-I don’t know.” Balance upended, I’m woozy and confused. “How-, why-”

“Those two are stupid enough to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful, El. Help ‘em out. Tell me where they are going.”

“I t-t-told you. I don’t kn-”

I hear a crack, then realize it was the side of my head getting slammed into the car window. A dull, heavy pulse bangs against the kettle drum that is my brain.

“We gotta do it the hard way, huh?”

I slump against the glass and close my eyes. The surface is cool, slippery. Despite the pain radiating throughout my body, I could fall asleep.

Gears shift. The car judders forward in that familiar way when I give it a little too much gas. Then, it slows to a crawl.

“We’ve got a pool going, seeing how boring as hell it’s been topside lately. Pun intended, by the way.” Gary hums a little to the pop tune blaring from the radio. “Who’s Dean gonna run to before his deal comes due?” He announces the question like a game show host. “I had my money on you. Always thought you had an advantage over Lisa. I mean, yeah, there’s Ben. That meat stick has a soft spot for kids. But, you, I mean come on, you were in the life. You know what it’s like. You get him. Well, when you remember him.” Gary snorts. “You saved him for fuck’s sake!”

I force my lids open. Something sticky’s blurring the vision of my right eye. The headlights are creeping over a dirt path. Gary taps the steering wheel to the song’s beat.

“Wha- talkin’ ‘bout?” I murmur.

“You pulled out in the lead at the last minute. Spray a little scrubbing bubbles in there” – he presses a finger to my temple – “and I’ll get what I need, get out of this ass backwards town and onto bigger and better things. A promotion from Lilith. Maybe visit New York City. Get up to some trouble.” Gary turns to grin at me. I’m seeing double, his figure swimming in and out of focus.

His eyes turn totally black.

I shake my head. The pounding only increases.

A demon. There’s a fucking demon driving my car.

“Gotta say I’m a little disappointed.” Gary slams the brake pedal hard. My body flails back into the seat. I groan as Gary continues talking, shifting into park while the engine runs. “Thought we could have some real fun before getting down to the doldrums of business. This wasn’t the way Gary wanted to end up inside you, either.”

I gotta get out of here. I reach for one of the door handles but I only fist at air. Beyond the car hood, I can only make out a sliver of the dirt path awash in high beams. Ripples of water, the color of black volcanic glass, sway and meet the edge of the earth.

Sudden and abrupt, Gary’s palms cradle my head. A kaleidoscope of black-eyed masks circle in my vision. “Open wide so I can have a peek, baby.” His jaw unhinges. Smoke expels from between his lips. Onyx clouds hang in the air. Terror bubbles up and a pitiful yelp leaves me. His gaping hole of a mouth turns up at the corners in a sinister cheshire cat grin.

The smoke appears sentient, swirling its form into a thread with a needle-like point heading right toward my mouth. Then, I feel the invasion. The alien gas slides down my throat. It violates and expands throughout my lungs and inflates in dominance. It’s rough, uncaring, pawing under my skin for control. My vision is gone, a complete blackout. I can’t stop blinking in hopes I will see something, anything. I gasp somewhere, far away, for breath.

“There we go, baby.” It’s my voice, but I’m not saying the words. I’ve been amputated from the body I’m stuck inside. The prisoner part of me rattles around in my brain, beating against my skull. “It’ll be better if you don’t fight.”

My sight returns but it’s distorted. I’m peeking through a fisheye lens. My hand adjusts the rear view mirror - without any directive that’s mine - so I can stare at my reflection. Half of my face is smeared in blood. My blood. My fingers push matted hair off my forehead and cheek. My eyes leer at my own visage, lascivious and coveting. My tongue peeks out to lick the blood dripping from my nose.

“Oh, we’re gonna be able to get so much more done with this body.” Incorporeal fingers flip through my memory. “Hm. You weren’t lying. You don’t know where they went.”

“Elina?” A hoarse voice mumbles out of Gary’s body slumped in the driver’s seat.

“All those naughty thoughts.” My voice holds a condescending, judgy tone, as I stare at Gary. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to taking care of that sickly aunt you wouldn’t be in this mess, Gar.” One of my hands feels its way up Gary’s shirt and under his suit jacket. It finds something cool and hard inside the breast pocket. My other hand unceremoniously pulls the clear bud vase from the mount it resides in near the steering wheel. “Lilith appreciates your service.”

Gary stares at the folded hunting knife in my hand. A firm wrist whip releases the blade from the confines. He scrambles to sit up in the seat. “What-what are you-”

Gary doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m screaming in the cage of my brain. My hand slashes at his throat, plunging deep into the flesh and meeting the resistance of bone. My wrist twists. My other hand places the bud vase near the gaping wound. Blood gurgles and spurts into the receptacle as Gary’s head flops to the side.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Hopefully that’s enough.”

My voice quips out some lines of Latin as my eyes stare hard at the tiny vase.

“Fuck. Well, guess that killing two birds with one stone saying doesn’t apply here. Not enough juice.” My hand tosses the vase into the back of the car. “We’ll just give Sam a ring and find out where he and Dean are. Find another warm body to make another call. Then we’ll update Lilith on our progress.” I see my lips scrunch up in the mirror’s reflection. “Gary’s gonna have to go for a swim.” My body expels an exasperated sigh.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Shut the fuck up. Or when we track Dean and Sam down, I’ll cut their tongues out and feed them to you.”

I gasp, stunned and muted by the threat.

“That’s better. Now where’s that cell phone of yours.”

Dropping the knife, my hand searches the footwell by my heels. The demon will secure my purse in moments.

Dean’s face flashes in my memory. I can use all the hope I can get.

“You get him. Well, when you remember him. You saved him for fuck’s sake!” Gary’s voice - the demon’s words - replay in my head.

Demons lie.

But I remember Sam. Sam doesn’t deserve whatever this demon has in store for him. And, deep down, I’m pretty sure Dean doesn’t deserve it either.

From the periphery of my sight, I see blood seeping out of Gary’s fatal wound. The wound my hands created.

Demons kill.

The demon won’t hesitate to do this again to someone else.

Unless I fight back.

“You can’t fight me.” My voice sing songs. “You don’t get out of this until I say.”

I remember Sam. Sam was able to do things he hadn’t thought possible when something was important enough to try and save.

“I told you to shut up.”

I realize how similar my voice sounds to my sister’s when she used to tease and scold me.

I hated that.

The engine idles, a background hum to all of the crazy.

My hand flips my phone open and begins to tap through my contacts.

I won’t be used to hurt another person. Anger boils and the body I’m in heats up around me. My thoughts zone in on how the gear shift would feel in my hand. How I’d press on the brake while I switch from Park to Drive.

The pedal bears down and the gear shift clicks to R, N, then D.

“What the–?”

I imagine my foot lifting off the brake and slamming the gas.

The car hiccups forward, almost rearing up on its wheels like a horse being whipped. It’s only a few seconds and then it’s bobbing as if it’s been fitted with hydraulics. Gary’s lifeless body bounces in the driver’s seat.

“You psycho bitch!” My voice screams. “Your funeral, not mine!” I feel my jaw open wide, stretching muscles and tendons to their limits.

The lights flicker out in the car. I focus on the sound of water lapping against the exterior. Whatever is going to happen next, I hope it’s quick.

“What the hell?!?” My voice roars in the dark. “What did you do?!? Why am I stuck?!?” My head whips side to side with a feral intensity.

I imagine chuckling like a victorious villain. The Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bobby came through for me. Again. Even as my body shivers at the cold water surrounding my feet, I know I can do one last thing to make the man proud. After all, I aced my Latin class in college.

I thread the words of the exorcism together, echoing in my brain.

“No! Stop!”

My body is betraying me again, either because of the demon or because I might be weakening its hold and control over my flesh. I’m fading. Lids too heavy to keep open.

Glass breaks behind me and water rushes in. The ice cold shocks my heart. Hands wrap around my waist and tug. I’m pulled through the water. This must be what dying feels like.

I break through the water’s surface. “El!” A hand wraps around my waist. A body tangles around mine in the river and drags me somewhere.

Pairs of hands hold me down on hard ground.

“Fuck! Sam!”

The Latin chant spills from a familiar voice, fast and furious.

Sam.

The force of water and smoke expelling from my throat jolts me awake. My eyes flicker open.

I see them.

Sam and Dean stare down at me. A heavy full moon hangs in the sky behind them.

“Hold on, El!”

Dean.

I can’t, though.

~~~~

I wake up screaming.

Sam and Dean are gone.

No moon. No night.

I’m in a room. Yellow fluorescent light.

My heart races. Something beeps.

I stare at a drop ceiling.

“El!”

Pamela. Pamela’s here. I gasp for air.

“It’s alright, darlin’.” Her hand soothes a warm trail up and down my arm.

I slowly realize “here” is a hospital room. I am in a bed, sensors taped to skin and needles tapped into veins.

“Aw, sweetie. Everyone’s gonna be so happy to know you’re awake. Doctor’s gonna want to check you out and talk to you.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, so are the police.”

My mind swims with newfound knowledge. “Dean.” I croak out. “Where’s Dean?” I turn to see her watercolor blue eyes inspect me. The usual troublemaker grin is nowhere to be found.

She pats my hand. “Later, sweetie. Listen to me now.”

“Pamela…”

“Do you remember what happened to you? In the car?” She strokes the hair atop my head. “Do you remember what that thing did to you? Do you remember what it made you do to Gary?”

The knife in Gary’s throat. The blood. I nod. The tears flow.

Pamela nods back. “That’s what the police want to talk to you about,” she whispers. “But, if you claim it was self-defense-that he was gonna hurt you-trust me, it’ll be an easy sell. Those two lawyers you work for, Mitch and Ryan?” I nod as she continues. “They’ve been by to check on you and keep me informed of the investigation. Gary’s Aunt Cheryl’s been rotting away in the basement of her house for months. Gary” –her voice even lower– “that thing joyriding him, it had you in its sights all that time, just waiting for the right moment, like a goddamn serial killer. Cops found photos of you all over the house and satanic” –she air quotes– “stuff in his room.”

My head spins. “Why? Why was it after Sam and Dean?”

A nurse pops in. Her face lights up. “Oh. How’s the patient?”

Pamela smiles and grips my wrist. “Sis just woke up.”

The nurse beelines to the side of my bed and checks the IV drip. Her gaze skirts over me and then at the monitor. “Dr. Wallace is making the rounds.” She clears her throat. “We’ve been given specific instructions to notify the police department as soon as…”

Pamela waves a hand, “Just do whatever you gotta do so we can get her out of here as soon as she’s able. Please.”

The nurse nods and zips out of the room.

“Sis?” I notice a dull throb from my forehead extends to the right side of my head. Oh, yeah, my skull met the dashboard and a window. The painkillers are obviously holding back a torrent of pain.

“Bobby needed one of your relatives to watch over you while he…” Pamela trails off.

“He’s with them, isn’t he? Sam and Dean?”

“What do you remember?”

It’s all a jumble. Memories and thoughts can’t reconcile themselves. “I remember knowing Dean, and then… not. And then, knowing him again.”

Her fingers rub circles atop my hand. “I don’t know all the details. Bobby’s a vault when he swears to secrecy. But, the long and short of it… this Dean Winchester made some kind of demon deal almost a year ago.”

I close my eyes. All I hear in my head is Dean.

I don’t like any of this, though, not one bit. I can’t keep literally dragging you into my shit.

Whatever this connection is, it’s obvious we don’t have any control over it. And that can go real bad, real quick.

You’re special. And I want you to stay that way.

“Oh, Dean,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“Hey.” Pamela gives me a soft nudge. “This Dean sounds like a ton more trouble than he’s worth. You need to worry more about yourself right now, those police that are going to be by, and getting better. Bobby’s orders.”

~~~~

I was in the hospital for two more days under observation because of the head trauma I sustained. Once they ran me back and forth for numerous tests I finally got discharged with orders to rest.

I’ve been on lockdown for three weeks. I’ve also got security detail.

Not from the cops, mind you. I was convincing enough with my story. They bought that what I did to Gary was in self-defense. It wasn’t like I had to embellish much, just selectively omit some details. The demon had left a trail of crazy and murder that only supported my innocence.

No, I’m on lockdown with Pamela. And Garth, my security detail, has been ordered by Bobby to act as a sentinel outside my building. When he’s not in his car by the entrance during the day, he’s tucked into a sleeping bag by the threshold of my door at night. Pamela sleeps on the couch. I am within eyesight of either one of them in my twin bed. No one could ever claim this studio apartment is spacious.

It’s not so much about who might be coming after me, I suspect, as much as where I might run off to. Bobby called Pamela often. There’d been discussions, of which I’d not been allowed input, that maybe I should be moved. But the logistics and the where couldn’t be agreed. I couldn’t be taken to Sioux Falls. That meant Sam and Dean were there.

Garth had to get on the phone one night and offer, “Geez, Bobby. Law enforcement here is so on edge even the wind changing direction gets the third degree. No way anyone new or somethin’ out of the ordinary gets by them for quite a while. This is probably the safest place for El to be right now.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bobby, finally. Not for me. All I want are answers from Dean about why he thought wiping my memory of him was a great idea. More importantly, all I want to do is help him. Nothing involving a demon is good, I’m living proof. And anything involving a deal with a demon is a thousand times worse.

Pamela went out for food and supplies one morning while “cousin” Garth and I had a late Saturday breakfast. It was the first time we’d been by ourselves.

“You never met Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask and slurp the sweet sugared milk from my cereal bowl.

“Nope.” Garth helps himself to another serving of the copycat Froot Loops.

I sit up and eye him as he digs in. “So, it was Bobby, then, that had you destroy my phone?”

He gasps, then coughs, mouth full of cereal. A little milk dribbles out of his nose. The features on his cue ball of a head scrunch in towards the center at his discomfort. “What?”

“Come on, Garth. Be honest with me.”

He wipes the mess off his face. “Alright, fine. Yes, Bobby had me do it.” He raises a hand. “And before you ask, I swear I don’t know why. He just told me you needed to be kept out of harm’s way and getting rid of your phone would help with that. So, I did.”

“I know why,” I mumble. “Erase any trace of Dean. It was probably Dean’s idea and Bobby just had you execute it.” I stand, itchy with irritation, and head over to the sink to deposit my cereal bowl. “Doesn’t it piss you off? The way Bobby doles out orders and we’re supposed to follow them without question?”

Garth blows his nose, I’m guessing to clear it of any residual milk. He flares his nostrils and does a little head shake. “Way I see it, Bobby’s survived this long on more than a little luck and a lot of praying. Like it or not, he’s usually right.” Garth looks up at me from his seat. His face wrinkles up into a thoughtful expression. “Bobby did tell me you got pretty close to those Winchesters. The Dean fella, in particular.”

I cross my arms, lean against the tiny bit of counter space that makes up my kitchenette. “I thought so.” I sweep my socked foot along the linoleum floor. My gaze lands on the cat figurine collection across the room on the dresser.

“Thought?”

I zone in on the cat angel. The one Dean got me. The one he picked up when he was here and trying to apologize when I didn’t remember everything. “Being close to someone means having faith in them. That’s how it goes for me anyway.”

“Faith is hard to come by for some people.” Garth shrugs. “You and I are close but it wasn’t always like that. I had to earn it. Look me in the eyes and say you have faith in everything I do with a straight face.” He raises his eyebrows.

I feel my mouth quirk up into a grin. “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

There’s a tell tale knock at the door. It’s the secret knock and I start for the door. But Garth raises a finger and sprints over before me.

Pamela breezes in with a couple bags. “Alright, I think I got everything on the list.” She drops them on the table and pulls out a newspaper for Garth.

“Thanks, Pammy. Gotta catch up on what Marmaduke’s up to.”

She smiles softly at him, then hands me a pile of envelopes. “Grabbed your mail.”

“Thanks, Pammy.” I parrot Garth.

I don’t get the same sweet smile at the use of the nickname. “I’m makin’ rice and beans tonight. Not up for discussion.”

“Hmmm.” Garth rubs his non-existent tummy and wades through the newspaper.

The two of them chatter. I walk to the couch and flop on it, flipping through the mail. Bill. Bill. Junk. But then there’s an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it. The print is haphazard and hurried. It’s postmarked from Sioux Falls from about a week ago. And in the top left corner are two letters.

D.W.

I purse my lips to hold in a gasp. Once I compose myself I announce, “Anyone gotta use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

“Nope,” Pamela states.

“I am A OK,” Garth replies. “Pammy, you like Garfield?”

I pull some clean clothes out of the dresser and dash into the bathroom while they discuss the merits of Odie.

It’s the only place I can get any privacy. I sit on the toilet, my change of clothes a heap in my lap, and Dean’s letter in my hands.

My entire body shivers. I inhale deep and slow to try and calm down, but it’s not helping. A finger inches under the flap and rips open the envelope. I unfold three pieces of paper that were inside. The first one is on stationery from The Aviary Hotel.There’s a crease etched in the middle, top to bottom, and a few left to right; it’s been folded into a smaller square at some point in the past.

The writing is tight and neat. Different from the one on the envelope.

I’m not gonna apologize for how I acted today, El. What would be the point, anyway? You wouldn’t understand why I had to. Take my advice and stay as far away from Sam and me as possible. –Dean

Short and not very sweet. But, I think back to the altercation I had with Dean in the hotel room with the loudest wallpaper I’d ever seen. It was when I didn’t remember, months back. Bobby had been in the hospital. I shake my head, even now, at how obnoxious Dean had been.

The fucker was doing everything in his power to make sure I wasn’t gonna give a shit about him. But why? Why the memory wipe? I tuck the page behind the others.

The next page is on very familiar stationery. I gave it to Bobby as a cheeky little gift one Christmas. He never uses it, but I know where he stashes it - in the right side drawer of the desk in his library.

Dean found that stationery and probably sat at that very desk to write what I’m now reading. The page has crinkles in it, like it was balled up and thrown out.

I let out a chuckle in nervous hiccups at Dean’s scribble right under the fancy font.

A bunch of BS from the desk of B.S. Ain’t that the truth!!! El, Bobby told me you remember everything. His friend Pamela told him that you’ve been asking about me. I don’t know why your memories came back. The deal’s not up yet. I’m glad you’re gonna get to go home soon. I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle of all of this ,. princess I always just wanted you safe. As much as I wish things could be different, nothing good comes from being around me. It kills me you had to find out the hard way with the demon riding that guy. All those times you saved me and didn’t give up on me, it kills me I’ll never be able to repay you proper. I’m glad you remember me now. Truth is, I didn’t think you ever would again. It hurt to have to push you away all this time. To not reach out and tell you about the stupid thing I did when I was crazy in my head over losing Sam. He died, El. About a year ago.

I stop reading. Drop the papers in my lap. I recall the very healthy looking Sam I saw months back. And the one who helped rescue me only weeks ago.

I traded my soul to bring him back. But the crossroads demon only gave me a year before my bill came due.

My heart beat increases, pounds in my head. Dean’s words trigger the pain from the assault, a deep ache in my bones. My skin prickles with anger.

Sam died a year ago and Dean’s deal was for a year.

No, Dean. No.

The bitch thought it’d be cute to wipe your memory of every little bit of me as part of the agreement. You gotta believe me, El, that’s not what I wanted. I may have thought it was better you’d never met me. But I never would have traded losing you for Sam. Me, that’s a no-brainer.

I turn the page over and continue to read Dean’s words through my blurry vision. The other pages scatter onto the tile floor.

I want It just twisted the knife, having you look at me like I was a stranger. Having to tear into you hurt so fucking much. But it was all I could do to drive that urge to help out of you. You were a great hunting partner. One of the best. It’s selfish of me and dangerous for you, but I’ve thought about what it would be like having you hunt with Sam and me again. Like a team. And it feels right. I think that life, if the apple pie life was never in the cards for me, that would have been nice.

But my time is almost up, so I’m gonna try to hold on to what might have been, wherever I’m going. I just want to tell you that I love need you to stay safe, alright. I need you to be okay when all this is over. And, I need you to be there for Sam. And maybe, maybe he can be there for you, when you want to remember me. Cause I’ll never forget you, Suds. -Dean

Both hands cover my mouth. I stifle the sobs. It’s not helping and I’m only getting louder. Pamela or Garth will knock on the door soon. I lean to the left and twist the faucet knob. A spurt of water shoots out. A steady stream soon follows.

I wish he’d tried to tell me. That night when he was here. I would have thought he was crazy. But, still, I might have told him to have Sam come up and confirm. I might have called Bobby. I might never have gone to meet Gary.

I could have been with them all this time. Trying anything and everything to help. I grab the page again and look at that word he’s crossed out. Love. He could have written anything after that. He could have just wanted to remind me that he loves pie.

But somehow, I think not.

More tears come.

I flip the lever so water cascades out of the showerhead. I wipe my soggy eyes with the back of my hand and gather up the other dropped pages.

The last page wasn’t written by Dean. The print is large and loopy. Sam.

Dean tossed both these letters out today. The first one he’d been carrying around in his bag for months in an envelope with your name on it. I saw him dump it in Bobby’s office along with the second note. I wanted to give you the chance to read them now, in case there’s time for you to reach out before we track down Lilith. Maybe give him a reason to keep fighting, El. Cause he’s tired of hearing me. He’s trying to hold on but the closer he gets to the clock running out… I can’t lose him, either. Sam.

I leave all the pages atop the sink. My gaze lingers on the phone number Sam wrote at the bottom of the note. It’s gotta be Dean’s. My brain and body go on autopilot. I cry as I shower, towel off, and then dress into my second set of pajamas for the day.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Garth is gone, and Pamela waits for me on the couch. She’s the best big sister I could ask for in that moment, opening her arms for me to collapse into and cry some more. She waits until I’m ready to tell her everything. When I’m done, she tucks my damp hair behind my ears and gives me a nod for courage.

“You do what you got to do, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall. When you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I know he won’t pick up. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna leave on his voicemail. I stand up and walk over to the dresser. I place Sam’s note on top of it, by my cat figurine collection, and punch in the numbers. The ringing begins and I stare at the little cat angel, readying to say anything after Dean’s greeting.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”

“Hi.” My voice eeks out, a whispery rasp. I clear my throat. “Dean. It’s me. El. I-I just wanted to tell you that I’m-I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you didn’t hang around at the hospital and wait for me to wake up. Cause, ah, I-I did think of a tip for you.” The lump in my throat makes my breath hitch. “Don’t quit the life. Not yet. And don’t wait so damn long to kiss me the next time you see me, Winchester. I’ll, I’ll be waiting.”

I circle my finger along the halo of the little kitty.

~~~~

I don’t sleep that night. I wait for his call. When my phone finally rings, it’s a little after two in the morning.

But the name on the screen is Bobby. He hasn’t called me direct since I’ve been out of the hospital.

I answer but don’t say anything. Just wait for the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, L. He’s-he’s gone.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x reader #dean x ofc #angst #whump

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 8 months

Text

I Will Find You in the Dark Ch. 7

Series Summary: Dean and Julie's story continues through turbulent times in the Winchester's life. Can Dean and Julie survive through it all? Can their love survive?

Chapter Summary: What happens when the demon is gone, but the mark remains?

Pairings: Dean x OFC (Julie) Established Relationship

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence throughout. Smut throughout. More detailed chapter warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing explicit. Some fear, much angst, bit of fluff. Talk of pregnancy, and parenthood.

Word Count: 2,532

Series Masterlist

A/N: The seventh chapter in the sequel to my fic, Green is My Favorite Color I strongly suggest that you read that one first, since there will be references made to it throughout this sequel. Also, I suggest you read the Dean and Julie Mini-Series I wrote as a bridge between that fic and this one. (The Mini-series’ title is a bit of a spoiler for the original series, so I won’t post it here, but it can be found here.) I had a lot of fun writing that original series, and the mini-series, and certainly hope those who read and enjoyed those, enjoy this sequel. 💓

The beautiful dividers below and at the end were created by @talesmaniac89 ❤️ Title card was created by me.

One month later

Dean woke up with a shout, clamping his hand over his mouth and breathing heavily. The mark on his arm burned, and he moved his hand to cover it, pressing out the pain.

He looked beside him, hoping he hadn’t woken Julie, but she wasn’t there. He scanned the room quickly and then got out of bed. Not bothering to put his robe on, he went searching for her in his black boxer briefs and white t-shirt. He walked through the library, but she wasn’t there, so he headed for the kitchen.

As he stepped into the doorway, he saw her and sighed. Then a smile blossomed as he watched her, headphones on and singing along softly with whatever song she was listening to. Her body swayed back and forth and her hand smoothed her satin nightgown over the bump that sat fairly low on her belly.

He walked into the kitchen and Julie jumped a bit as he approached. She laughed and pulled her headphones off.

“You scared me.” She said, her tone accusatory.

Dean reached her side and pulled her close, smiling down at her. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

She smiled back up at him before she wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled her cheek into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

She turned slightly to again run her hand across her belly. “Sorry. He got hungry.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, he’s a growing boy.”

Julie nodded. She spoke softly against his chest. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He didn't answer, but that was an answer in itself. She squeezed him a bit tighter and looked up at him. His eyes were closed and a muscle ticked in his cheek.

She raised her fingers to brush against his cheek. He felt cold. She shook her head. "Dean, everything will be okay."

"Will it?" He asked, and something had altered in his voice. His eyes popped open, black like onyx, deep and empty and terrifying.

Julie screamed and tried to jump back, but he had his arms like a vice grip around her upper body.

He smiled an evil, sinister smile. "Oh, Julie. Things are far from okay."

Julie didn't stop screaming, and the sound made the monster laugh loudly and lustfully.

"Julie, Julie, Julie." He said, shaking his head, shaking her.

Julie continued to scream as the room spun, and then suddenly she was startled awake with another scream.

She could still hear his horrible laughter, still see his oil slick eyes, and she was frantic, panting as though she'd run a mile. Something was still clutching at her and she wrenched away from it only to look beside her and see it was Dean. He'd been shaking her awake, but now his hands were raised as though in surrender.

"Jules, sweetheart, it's okay. You're safe."

Julie's heart pounded in her ears, and her face was wild, terrified. Dean reached towards her again, trying to put a hand to her cheek.

But she gasped and jerked away from his hand, knocking it aside. Her heart slowed slightly as she saw the spasm of pain flash across his face quickly, before he covered it up with a soft smile.

"I'm gonna go grab you some water."

He stood up, walking away from her in his black boxer briefs and white t-shirt and it brought the monster's image to her mind again. Julie pushed the covers off to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

She rubbed her hands over her face, and breathed deeply so that by the time Dean came back in with a cold glass of water, she'd started to feel more in control, her heart slowing to its normal rhythm.

Dean handed her the glass and she gulped it down; the cold refreshed her a bit, and pushed the nightmare images even further away.

She looked up at Dean and felt awful. He wore a look of concern that she could see was also disguising hurt.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." She said, clasping his hand in hers.

But before she could say anymore he gave her hand a squeeze and shook his head. "No, kid, you don't have to apologize. Nightmares can take us all out."

He raised her fingers to his lips, kissed the back of them and then gave her hand another squeeze before letting it go. "Well, I got my four hours, so I'm gonna head to the library. Get a bit of research done."

Julie started to stand, but he kept her sitting with a gentle hand on her shoulder and a smile. "No, Jules, you need to get some more sleep, sweetheart. You're growing a human. Takes energy."

He slipped on the pair of jeans that was thrown over the desk chair, and then smiled at her again; the smile still hid sadness. "I'll see you when you wake up."

He started to bend down to kiss her cheek, and then stopped himself, obviously not sure how he'd be received. His hesitation broke Julie's heart and she grabbed onto the front of his t-shirt, pulling him down so she could kiss him, firm but tender - trying to convey all her love within one, too brief, exchange of breath.

Dean kissed her back, and then cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead.

"Sleep." He ordered softly, before slipping from her fingers and walking out of the room.

***

Dean sat at the library table with a book that told a slightly obscure and differing tale of Cain and Abel. This version came a bit closer to the one Cain had told him and Crowley, though it left out the part where Cain had tried to kill himself with the blade and became a demon in the process.

Dean shook his head. Probably an important part of the story. He thought with a grimace.

He closed the thick, old book loudly and leaned back in the creaky wooden chair, swiveling it sideways and stretching his legs out.

He traced his fingers over the raised mark on his arm, before dropping his right arm back down, and bracing his left on the arm of the chair, covering his mouth with his hand. He slowly rubbed his fingers back and forth across his lips, his mind drifting.

His brain was running riot with a million conflicting images. At the center of them all though, there was Julie's terrified face as she’d awoken from her nightmare, and that image was overlaid with the way she'd looked a month ago, as he tried to crush her windpipe; it was the same fear and terror in both images.

Then his own nightmares crowded into his mind. He couldn't sort through them, didn't want to. There was just endless screaming and blood; the burning mark, and the rush of power that came when he swung the blade.

He closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions and memories, trying desperately to make them go away.

He heard shuffling feet and looked behind him to see Julie wandering into the room. He gave her a chastising smile. It had barely been an hour since he left their bedroom.

"You were supposed to be in bed."

Julie shrugged and then climbed into his lap. She sat sideways across his legs and looked up at him as she settled in, nestling her shoulder into his chest. She raised her fingers to his jaw and ran the tips of them over his scruffy cheeks.

"I don't sleep very well when you're not there."

Dean smiled at her, and held her hand in place against his lips, kissing her fingertips one by one. Julie sighed softly and laid her head on his shoulder.

After a minute, Dean broke the silence. "Do you want to talk about the nightmare?"

Julie shook her head quickly. "No."

Dean thought she probably should talk to him about it, but he respected her refusal. He knew something about hiding from the bad things in your mind and refusing to acknowledge them.

"Any luck with research?" Julie asked him, and he knew she was asking if he'd found a way to rid himself of the mark that had caused her nightmares.

He just shook his head too. "No, nothing."

Julie nodded and was quiet for a long time. He thought she might have dozed off, but then she moved, smoothing her hand across her belly. Dean covered her hand with his.

"We gotta figure out a name." He said quietly as though he was trying not to wake him.

Julie smiled up at him, her dimple showing. "What did you have in mind?"

Dean pushed out his lips. "I don't know. Do we wanna try for something strange, you know, something that no one will ever be able to pronounce or spell?"

Julie giggled. "Like what?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Ah…Jackson, but with an X, or Elijah but with an A instead of an E?"

Julie chuckled, and added to the list. "Um…Kashton?"

"Ooh," Dean said, impressed, "very nice, but I feel like it needs more vowels if we want absolutely no one to be able to pronounce it."

Julie's wide smile turned into a gasp of surprise and both her hands flew to her belly.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, fear sweeping over him.

But Julie shook her head, all smiles once more. "No, no. It's good. He's moving. Kicking. I've sort of felt him flutter a little before, but this is the first time…" She trailed off and then beamed up at Dean.

She took hold of his big right hand and placed it low on her belly. "Here, you might be able to feel him too."

After a minute of silent anticipation, they both exclaimed loudly as a tiny foot kicked against their joined hands.

"Oh my god." Dean breathed. He waited impatiently to feel him kick again and was rewarded with another jab.

"Does it hurt?" He asked Julie, worry briefly replacing excitement.

But Julie shook her head. "No, it feels…strange… a little inexplicable, but also incredible." She smiled, her eyes shining, and Dean leaned down to kiss her gently.

As she rested her forehead against his, Julie chuckled. "I don't think he liked those names we were coming up with."

Dean grinned. "Well, we've got some time."

Julie kissed him again. "What about naming him Dean?"

Dean scoffed and she pinched his arm lightly. "Hey! That happens to be one of my favorite names in the world."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, we'll see."

He stared down at their hands on her belly, just waiting for more movement. The busy baby boy rewarded them both with what felt like somersaults. They laughed quietly, their heads close together. Slowly, though, a small frown gathered on Dean’s brow. He swallowed several times before speaking very quietly.

"I don't want him to hunt."

He looked at Julie, who wore a soft, sympathetic look, and repeated himself. "I don't want him to hunt."

Julie reached up to card her fingers through his hair, automatically trying to soothe him.

He shook his head, feeling a sad kind of panic rising in him. "I don't want to have to tell him monsters are real."

"Dean." Julie said simply, consolingly.

But he continued speaking. "I don't know if I ever told you this, or if Sam did maybe. But, I was the one who told him that monsters were real."

Julie shook her head and her face spasmed with hurt on his behalf. "No, I never knew that."

Dean smiled and nodded. "Yeah, he was just a kid, maybe eight or nine. I didn’t want him to know, just wanted him to keep being a kid, you know? So, I kept telling him to stop asking questions, told him that he didn't wanna know the answers."

He shrugged. "But you know Sam, dog with a bone. So, he never let up. Then one night he found Dad's journal and asked me if it was all true. So I…I told him."

Dean closed his eyes at the memory. "He was so scared. I tried to tell him we were safe, that Dad wouldn’t let anything get us." He paused for a beat. "But I think, even then, deep down, I knew that might not be true." He exhaled softly. "Cried himself to sleep that night. Had nightmares for weeks after."

He pressed his two big hands firmly over Julie's belly, leaning down to kiss it and wishing more than anything that he could just put up some kind of bubble of protection around Julie and their child.

Julie ran her hand over the back of his short hair and his neck. "Dean," she assured him, "of course he'll never hunt as a child. We'll keep him safe."

Dean shook his head, turning it to look into Julie's eyes, trying to convey how strongly he felt. "I don't ever want him to hunt."

Julie lifted his chin up, forcing him to sit back up. "Listen, children should be allowed to hold onto their innocence as long as they possibly can, they should be encouraged to just be kids."

She bit her lip before continuing. "But look, we're in a very different situation from the way John raised you. I mean, he had this horrible life thrust into his lap, and he didn't know the best way to protect you. So, he did what he thought was best, and just tried to prepare you."

She shook her head. "But we don't have to do that. We know all about what goes bump in the night, and we know how to keep him safe without forcing him to grow up before his time."

Dean nodded, admitting that truth.

Julie's voice got soft. "But, you know, even non-hunters have to eventually tell their kids that monsters do exist. I mean, it may be the human variety, but all kids still end up learning, slowly, that evil exists in the world. We just have to make sure he knows he's loved and safe."

Dean tucked Julie's head under his chin, pulling her tighter against him. How did she always know what to say to make him feel better, to ease his fear and sadness?

Julie kissed his neck and then spoke again. "And when he's eighteen, it will be his choice what option he wants for his life."

Dean nodded reluctantly, accepting that that was the only thing they could do. "Maybe he'll decide to go to Stanford." He said with a smile.

Julie pulled back to look at him and kiss his lips this time. "Maybe." She said softly. "But the most important thing is that he'll have options, any and all options, open to him."

Dean nodded solemnly and made a silent promise to his unborn son.

I will keep you safe, and you will grow up knowing you’re loved, and I’m gonna make sure the whole goddamn world is yours if you want it.

But the voice was still there in the back of his mind, like it was when he told Sam about monsters, making him question whether he was really telling his son the truth.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean x ofc #dean x julie #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fan fic series #i will find you in the dark #tw: pregnancy

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impala-dreamer · 1 year

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Magdalena

A Supernatural Story

~ The Mark of Cain has Dean doubting even his own thoughts, but there's one place he can go for a moment of peace, one person who can take away the pain... even for one night. ~

Dean Winchester x Magdalena (OFC)

3,801 Words

Warnings: Bitter Angst. Pain. MOC!Dean drama. Blood. Hurt. Sadness.

A/N: Magdalena is an original character I've created for an SPN spinoff idea I'd written the pilot for. She's not a main character, but this scene would be part of a greater story. I do hope you like it. It took a long time to write, and it's honestly one of my favorites...

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

There were two bars in the town of Lebanon, one on main street- Mack’s, which is full of neon lights and pool tables and teenagers trying out their fake i.d.s every Thursday night for Ladies Night- and JD’s, a filthy, oft times grimey biker bar on the very border of town.

Dean liked to go to Mack’s when he wanted people around, when his stomach was calling for some crappy bar food and nothing would satisfy him but some overdone french fries. It wasn’t really his favorite, but there were familiar faces and he could pick up a few bucks here and there when the local coeds got wasted.

Sam always went to Mack’s.

Dean truly preferred to frequent JD’s.

JD’s was dark and seedy and there was always something sticky on the floor no matter how carefully you stepped. Mysterious stains painted the walls in the john, and the bartop had been lacquered so many times over the years that there was an inch of resin on top of the old wood.

Dean felt strangely at home there.

Maybe that’s why he hid there. Maybe he felt safer there when the Mark was burning, egging him on, changing him. But it wasn’t just the decor that called to him.

Magdalena had been tending bar at JD’s for years, too many to count, and it was safe to say she’d been hanging out there since before it was legal for her to step through the door. She was older than Dean, but he wasn’t sure by how much, or if he just saw himself as younger in his own head. She had faint smile lines around her full, rose-colored lips, and a deep wrinkle between her eyes that deepened whenever she squinted, which seemed to be often. Her hair was as dark as midnight with subtle streaks of silver by her ears, and her eyes were like chocolate, big and brown and filled with adventure.

Of course, she rarely had any.

She’d been at that bar forever.

Dean gravitated towards her, never leaving the bar before he’d tried and failed at a not-so-smooth pick up line. He liked her. She was homegrown but clever, seemed to know a thing or two about nearly everything but never enough to seem bookish. Her voice was like syrup that ran down his body slowly, and she knew it, knew just when to turn up the charm and knock him off his cocky pedistal, but she also knew when to be quiet. She never prodded, never spoke first, always nodding when Dean walked in, letting him come to her if he wanted.

He didn’t always sit at the bar. Some nights he lingered in the back, beer practically stuck on his lower lip, just watching from the shadows. He liked to watch her float around behind the bar; straight hair flipping back and forth over her shoulder as she worked, smile wide when called for, her voice stern and loud when needed. She took no crap from no man, and maybe that’s what Dean liked the most about her. She was beautiful, sure, but not in the way that made him run home and rub one out, or turn up his wayward charm to full power and woo her into the back seat of the Impala. No, she had something else, something he really couldn’t name and didn’t want to. He didn’t even mind that she always rejected him. It had become a favorite game for both of them, and with her, he felt he had one true connection outside of his shitty life, even if it never left the stale air of JD’s.

Maggie looked up the way she always did when the door creaked open: with one eye. It was a technique she’d mastered over the years, a way to let the patron know that their arrival was recognized without leaving them an opening to talk to her. She really hated talking to most people. Well, she didn’t mind it so much until they got drunk and tried to reach over the bar to grab her tits, or used her polite smile as an excuse to drop all of their problems on her shoulders. She had enough problems of her own, thank you, she did not need anyone else’s.

This time when she looked up, she smiled, her entire face lifting towards the entrance.

He walked in with a slow stagger as if something were heavy on his shoulders. He glanced around the room once before turning towards Maggie and tossing over a weak smile.

“Dean.” She said his name like a greeting and a prayer, soft and sweet and hopeful.

He sat down at the bar, hooked his right boot heel on the stool and licked his lips slowly. “Heya, Maggie.” His voice crackled as if his throat was torn raw from days of screaming. He swallowed hard and looked down at his hands.

Something was wrong, she knew; he would have shot a joke at her by now.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she said cooly, reaching below the bar to grab a tiny square napkin. “Thought you ran out on me.”

Dean looked up and she winked which instantly brought out a tiny smile, turning the corner of his mouth upwards. “Oh, come on, Sweetheart,” he countered, the familiar charm seeping back into his voice. “I could never leave you. Not in a million years.”

Maggie held back a laugh. “Beer?”

His eyes closed as he shook his head slightly. “Whiskey,” he whispered. “Double.”

She nodded thoughtfully and grabbed the bottle from the shelf. “Bad day?”

Dean let out a heavy breath and rubbed at his right forearm. He felt The Mark burn and pulse even under so many layers of cotton. “You could say that.”

Upon the napkin, Maggie placed an old, well used tumbler. “Wanna tell me about it?” She kept one eye on Dean as she poured four fingers into the glass and when his eyes met hers, she let a little more pour out.

“Maybe after a few of these,” he replied, his giant hand already wrapping around the glass.

She bit her lip and inhaled deeply, knowing it was going to be one of those nights where someone else’s troubles fell squarely upon her heart. But with Dean, she didn’t really mind. He never said much anyway, always alluding to his woes rather than facing them head-on. If the rumors around town were true, Maggie knew she didn’t want to hear the details anyhow.

“How ‘bout I join you? Loosen up the gears a bit.”

She winked again and Dean felt a gentle wave of calm wash over him; something that he hadn’t felt in days. He knew he was staring as she poured herself a drink from the same bottle, knew his heart was racing as she held up the glass to toast the cruel world, but it didn’t matter. He felt safe around her. Even if the Red Curse on his arm was screaming for blood again.

Their glasses clinked together with a dull chime and Dean held her gaze as they both took a sip. He hissed as the whiskey coated his mouth and stung in the back of his throat, but Maggie took it like a champ, rolling the sip around on her tongue. She held it there, savoring the bite of it as if the pain were part of the flavor. She closed her eyes when she swallowed slowly and sighed happily.

“That’s delicious,” she whispered, opening her big brown eyes to find emerald locked on her lips.

“It is,” he agreed, taking another heavy swallow. He licked a drop from his bottom lip and then set the empty tumbler down on the napkin. “Tell me something…”

Maggie knocked the rest of her drink back and then grabbed the bottle. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “Something. Anything.”

She smiled. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

Her plump lips twisted into a sideways pucker as she pondered and poured them both another drink. “I can roll my tongue.”

Dean laughed around his sip.

“I can! Can you?”

Maggie stuck out her tongue and rolled it into a perfect cylinder. Dean shook his head and mirrored her, feeling like a fool. Her laugh made it worth it though.

“Hey, you said anything,” she reminded him as she wiped a little spit from her chin.

He nodded and stared down into his glass, feeling suddenly cold and sweaty at the same time. “That I did.” A tiny shiver rolled down his back and his shoulders tensed badly.

“Dean?”

When he looked up, she was leaning over the bartop, her hand slowly reaching across for his, hesitant to land, but close enough for him to grab. He held his breath and her fingers fell over his left wrist, gently settling. Her flesh was hot, like her fingertips were flames, and something inside of him wanted to rip them away, grab her wrist and snap it backwards until the bones tore through her delicate pink skin.

“What’s going on?”

He blinked and saw blood, saw her body broken and shredded open at his feet. The Mark burned icy hot and his stomach turned.

“Dean?”

His pulse was racing, every breath sluggish and heavy, echoing in his ears. His bones ached, his flesh crawled. In his mind, he heard her scream.

“Mags! Beer!”

The stranger’s voice ripped Dean away from the horrors of the Mark’s control and he pulled away from her, eyes open in shock.

Maggie withdrew, concern painted on her usually unphased features. “I’ll… be right back, OK?” She tried to catch Dean’s eye but he was unsteady, gaze darting around in the void between them. “Hey! Don’t go anywhere.”

He considered it; how easy it would be to run away, bolt from his seat and peel away in the Impala. He could be four states away before Sam even noticed he was gone. Closing his eyes, Dean ran his hands down his face, hiding himself from the world. There was blood behind his eyes, death in his mind. He felt the Blade in his palm for a second and jolted out of his seat, afraid to look and find it in his hand.

Maggie was back before the stool settled on its feet.

She grabbed his hand before he could protest and dragged him into the back room, straight through the tiny, dirty kitchen, and out the back door.

The alley was dark and the air was blessedly cool.

Dean took a deep breath and tipped his head back, face lifting towards the midnight clouds. She squeezed his hand and he let go, realizing he had been holding on too tightly. “What are we doing?” he asked, voice cracking in the shadows.

She took a step back and leaned against the brick wall. “Thought you could use some air.” There was no judgement in her tone, nothing but genuine worry. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Dean drew his bottom lip in between his teeth and bit down hard. He rubbed at his forearm and shook his head. “I… I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You can’t tell me or I wouldn’t understand? Too very different things, Dean.” She kicked a foot back and her heel caught on a groove in the bricks.

He shrugged. “Both? Neither? I don’t know.” His heart was heavy. “I feel like I’m losing myself again and I… I don’t want that.”

“No one would.”

He sighed and lifted his eyes to find her staring. “Why are you so-”

“What?”

“You’re so…”

She pushed off of the wall and moved towards him. “I’m so what? Annoying? Rude? Sexy? Chill? Pick a word, babe.”

He took a step and his soul reached for her.

“So… you.”

She laughed gently and rolled her pretty eyes. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Another step and he was in front of her, barely inches away. “That’s true isn’t it?” he asked, voice dropping to a deep whisper. “You can’t be anything else… but amazing.” His left hand lifted to her cheek, hovering there, asking, praying for permission.

Maggie touched his hand with her own and pushed it down, pressing his palm against her warm cheek.

“It’s OK, Dean,” she said softly, staring up at him with an open mind and a true heart. “Whatever it is, it’ll be OK. I promise.”

His fingertips pulsed on her skin. “And what if it’s not? What if I lose control again and-”

She pursed her lips and turned into his touch. Caressing his hand with her cheek. “We all lose it sometimes. What’s important is, we come back home.”

His chest was heaving, breaths pushing out quicker than he could draw them in. The Mark clawed at his soul but he refused to let it take over.

“I need-”

Maggie curled her fingers around his hand and pulled it gently from her cheek to her lips. “Tell me. Anything you need, I’ll-”

His body ached for her, but his heart reached out even more. “I need-”

Chocolate eyes looked up and Dean felt himself falling deeper into her, deeper into the feeling of her, the calmness of her touch.

“Tell me…”

It came out like a breath but she heard it, felt it, knew it.

“You.”

She didn’t wait and he was glad. If he had to hold back another second he was sure he’d die. As it was, Maggie took the lead, wrapping a warm hand around the back of his neck and drawing his lips down to hers. She kissed him sweetly at first, just a breath and a press of lips, but as his scent filled her mind, the kiss became harder, fuller. Her tongue darted between his lips and Dean took his first real breath in weeks. He drank her down, hands sliding around her body, holding her close as their lips pulsed together. He could almost feel her heartbeat, smell the blood flowing in her veins.

Even when she pulled back for air, he refused to let her go, closing his arms tighter and hugging her close. She relaxed against him, her face buried in the dip of his throat, ear against his chest. His heart was racing terribly fast and she pushed back to look him in the eye.

“Why don’t you come back inside and sit with me, OK?”

Dean’s jaw dropped but nothing came out, not even air. His muscles tensed as he looked down at her, once more seeing her mangled body lying at his feet, her blood coating his hands.

“Hey-” She rubbed a hand against his cheek, trying to pull him back. “Dean. I gotta stay here until two, but then we can close down and I can take you home, Alright? It’s like a quick hour. I promise.”

His fingers curled on the nape of her neck, blunt nails digging in as he tried in vain to shut out the Mark’s visions.

Maggie squirmed in his grasp, trying to get free. “Dean. You’re hurting me, come on. Snap out of it.”

The more blood he saw, the harder his grip became until Maggie’s hands were on his wrist, desperate to tear him off.

“Dean!”

Her screams echoed in his mind, bouncing around until he cringed and shut his eyes. His body was on fire. He flexed and tore, and Maggie slapped his face.

He startled, releasing her immediately and pressing a hand to his stinging face.

Maggie stumbled back and touched her neck, her hand coming away with a trace of blood.

“Dean, what the fuck?”

He gaped at the blood and his stomach churned. Wide eyed and terrified, he backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to flee.

“Dean! It’s OK.” She wiped her hand on her jeans but his eyes would not leave the blood. He could taste it on his lips.

The Mark was hungry.

He blinked and saw the knife in his boot, the other in his belt.

He shook his head and saw her flayed open, eyes wide and helpless.

Dean stumbled backwards and hit the wall, his hands flying up to claw at his face. “Stop it!”

Maggie fell with him, falling to her knees on the asphalt, trying to steal his attention, get him to calm down. He was immovable, unreachable, growling at nothing, lost in his head.

He could see her face but it was drenched in blood. He could hear her voice but it was pained and shrieking.

“Please. Please! Stop it!”

Again and again, he beat his head backwards onto the bricks, but the pain did nothing to stop the visions.

Maggie left him; she had to. She shooed all the drunkards from the bar as quickly as she could, paying off their last rounds and locking the door behind them. She shut the lights, locked the register, grabbed her coat and raced back to the alley.

Barely fifteen minutes had gone by.

Dean was where she’d left him, huddled in a ball by the dumpster.

She stood in the doorway, single light above shining down on her like the light from Heaven.

Dean turned when she called his name and he looked up to see an angel moving towards him, raven hair glowing with haloed light, her kind face hidden in shadow, her hands soft yet commanding.

The screaming had stopped but something inside of him was broken. He couldn’t move on his own, couldn’t think. He let her stand him up, walk him to her car.

The little Toyota was a mess but he didn’t care. His boots crushed an empty can of Monster as he crammed his long legs into the passenger seat.

“Don’t mind the mess please,” she said with a smile.

Her voice was soothing but distant, his ears were ringing loudly.

Home wasn’t far from the bar and up just three flights of stairs. Dean followed like a zombie, not sure if he should turn and run or stay with her. When she looked back over her shoulder to make sure he was alright, there was no question left.

He needed to stay with her.

Needed to let her peel off his filthy clothes.

To let her guide him into the hot shower.

To relax as she washed the sweat from his hair, the grime from beneath his fingernails.

To breathe deeply and calmly as she toweled him off, not flinching as she ran her fingers cautiously over the scar on his forearm.

The Mark was calm for the moment, as if her touch could turn it off.

Dean lingered in a thoughtless limbo for hours as Maggie cared for him. She dressed him in an old t-shirt that had been left by an ex years ago and pajama pants she’d stolen from her brother last Christmas. She tucked him into her bed and lay with her chest against his back, gently running her hands down his arm, across his shoulders, through his damp hair. He never moved away, never hid from her touch.

She fell asleep sometime around four, but Dean was wide awake. He turned in her arms and pushed up on his elbow, looking down on her sleeping face.

She was beautiful and kind and everything that he needed in that moment, as well as rough and funny and smart and sassy and everything he needed every other time.

It seemed for a moment that she was all he’d ever need, all he’d ever want.

Maggie stirred as he swept a finger down her nose, her dark eyes popping open and a smile tickling her lips.

“You OK?”

Dean nodded and dropped down, his hand sliding back through her hair to hold her close. His lips brushed over hers and Maggie opened up to him, letting him in while sleep faded quickly away.

They tumbled on the bed, hurriedly stripping and reaching for the other. It was quick and sloppy, not either’s best work, but it didn’t matter. It was raw and real and Dean held onto her like he would die if they ever parted.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Maggie asked, pouring him his second cup of coffee.

He took a sip and hissed at the heat. It tasted terrible, but it was strong. “Let’s just say I’m goin’ through something right now. Something bad.”

She set the carafe down on the table and took the seat across from him. “This have anything to do with the monsters you hunt?”

He looked up, shocked. “How do you-”

Maggie laughed, mug at her lips. “Dean, the whole town knows. Or thinks they do. Rumors are, after all, usually true.”

He smiled down into his coffee. “Why’d you never say anything?”

“What was I gonna say? Hey Dean, kill any vampires today? Here’s a beer.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess that woulda been a little awkward.”

“Have you?” she asked, leaning in closer.

“Have I what?”

“Killed any vampires? Are they real? Are they more Tom Cruise or Robert Pattinson?”

Dean nearly choked on his sip. “They are real. More… Buffy than sparkly. And yeah, I’ve killed hundreds. Probably upper hundreds, I don’t keep count.”

Maggie sat back and whistled, impressed. “That’s pretty awesome. So what else is real? Ghosts?”

Dean nodded affirmatively.

“Shit. OK…. werewolves?”

“Yup.”

“Damn. And you and your brother really go out and like kill these things? That’s what you do for a living?”

Dean sighed and nodded. Sam would be worried, he hadn’t even told him he was going out. “Yeah. We do.”

Maggie shook her head and stared at him in awe.

“What?”

She smiled. “You’re really amazing, you know that?”

His heart ached. If she knew how close he’d been to killing her last night, she might not think that way. “Not really.”

“Dean…” She reached for his hand, palm open on the table. He dropped his hand into hers. “You’re incredible. Don’t ever let yourself forget that.”

She squeezed his hand and Dean felt the familiar sting of tears as they formed behind his eyes.

He pulled away and cleared his throat.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, standing up and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “And uh… for everything.”

Maggie nodded slowly, debating whether or not to ask him to stay. She was scared for him, worried if he left she’d never see him again.

“Anytime, Dean.”

He bent down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see myself out.”

She held her breath as he walked away, only speaking again when she heard the squeak of the door.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You know where I am if you need me, OK?”

He swallowed hard and looked back over his shoulder, taking one last look.

“Thanks, Maggie.”

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deanwinchesterswitch · 1 year

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Run to You ~ Chapter Twelve

Chapter Summary: The pair are a filthy, sweaty mess. Kasey surprises Dean with an unexpected gift.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Kasey Belmont (OFC)

Warnings: Language; Here, there be smut; and lots of it.

Rating: Mature 18+ NSFW

Word Count: 10,028

Series Master Post

Beta: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Movie Reference/Quote: Titanic

Song Reference: Love Will Keep Us Alive - Eagles

Author’s Notes: This is an AU. While there are several SPN characters mentioned, basically no one has the same connections as they did in the show, and Dean and Sam are not related.

Written for: @jay-and-dean -Jay’s 3K Celebration and @spnaubingo.

SPNAUBingoSquare Filled: Fugitive AU

Kasey’s chest rises with a deep inhale, legs sliding off him and fingers stilling in his hair. Rolling off her and onto his back, he scrubs a hand down his face and inwardly groans.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It’s as if she’s cast a spell over him. He hasn’t been able to contain any of the feelings he typically hides away from the world. All he’s done from the moment she asked him to tell her the truth is spout a fountain of thoughts and emotions that he never imagined he’d feel, let alone say aloud.

It’s astounding how everything fell so quickly into place. Alarming how easy it is to picture himself happy with her, building a life together. So the demons of his mind come calling to remind him that he’d tried for the apple pie life once before, and look how that turned out. Right now, there’s a big red target on his back, and the need to protect Kasey from any more of his crazy life looms heavy in his heart. The thought of harm coming to her as a consequence of simply knowing him causes his breath to catch in his throat and his muscles to tense.

Dammit, why couldn’t I have met her sooner? Before I got married. Before, my life ended up being a living nightmare.

Dean feels the mattress shift, and then her shoulder is pressed to his, fingers smoothing back a lock of hair from his face as she murmurs his name.

Turning his head to look at her, he’s greeted with a soft smile, and she confides, “We’ll figure it out. Right? We promised to trust each other, remember.”

It’s not a question. It’s a reminder, and just like that, the anxiety melts away.

How does she do that?

The grip on his heart eases, muscles loosen and flex, and his breath comes fast but easy. Placing his hand over hers, he kisses her palm, then pulls her on top of him. One arm securing her around the waist, the other wrapped around the back of her neck as he claims her mouth in a bruising kiss, teeth clacking together with the surge of emotion. He pours every bit of that emotion into the kiss because even though he’s been running off at the mouth, there are still words that wouldn’t make sense to say to someone he’s only known for three days.

She kisses him back with just as much passion, hands cradling the top of his head, thumbs massaging his temples. He doesn’t break the kiss until they’re both struggling for breath. Kasey immediately buries her face in his neck, bringing her elbows closer to his body. He hugs her tighter, caging her against him with both arms. Sweat coalesces between them—hot, slick, and admittedly a little gross, but neither moves to remedy the situation.

Until her stomach loudly growls in the weighted silence. Chest vibrating against his with a bubble of laughter, a smile is pressed against his flesh.

“Maybe I should have let you have a taste,” he husks into her ear.

Sharp teeth nip at his skin before she pushes off him with a small cry, “Shit, the food!”

Dean reluctantly releases her, each groaning at the squelching sound when their bodies slide apart.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was so damn hot in here?” she grumbles, slipping from the bed. “I would have found another fan for you, or we could have taken the plastic off the windows.”

“Honestly, it hasn’t been that hot until now. You brought the heat with you.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her, earning an eye roll in response.

Hands ruffling through the twisted sheets, she tilts her head and lightly slaps the side of his thigh. “Lift your leg.” Arching an eyebrow, he obliges, bending his knee. Her eyes scan the space, the corner of her mouth curling up when she apparently finds what she is looking for. Blunt nails graze his flesh, causing his leg to jerk, and he grunts in surprise.

She holds up the hair band that had been stuck to the back of his shin with a triumphant smile, then quickly pulls her hair into a high ponytail before wiping her body down with a corner of the sheet.

Dean stares hungrily at the smooth, tanned skin covering lithe muscle, the curve of her ass as she bends to pull her dress up her body, the arch of her back as she glides the material over the swell of her breasts to retie the knot behind her neck.

Dick twitching in response, he drops his gaze, pulling the sheet over himself to wipe away the moisture dripping down his chest. She’s already down the hallway by the time he looks back up, calling out to him, “Are you coming?” He chuckles and shakes his head. He probably could come again just thinking about how good it felt to be sheathed inside her.

“Be there in a sec,” he hollers back. Closing his eyes, he commits it all to memory—the sultry air heavily scented with warm bread and cinnamon, the drag of nails over his flesh, the pull and slide of sweat-slicked skin, the softness and weight of her, the lust-filled, honeyed rasp of whispered words and pleading cries.

He’ll keep it securely tucked away in his heart and mind, a happy memory, so when he’s back in that godforsaken cement cage, he’ll have something to remind him there’s light, even hope, out there. Dean heaves himself out of bed and pulls on the discarded pajama bottoms, padding down the hallway after her.

When he enters the kitchen, he finds Kasey poking her fingers into a large round of dough. Leaning against the doorframe, he watches as she folds and reshapes the mass before placing it into a loaf pan next to the other three. She huffs a breath and swipes the back of her hand along her forehead, leaving a trail of flour behind.

“Saved it.” Brushing her hands together to clean them, she gives him a pleased grin which turns into a pout as she looks around the space. “Hmm, not so much the other stuff, though.”

Dean smiles and pushes off the frame. “What can I do?”

“Take care of what’s on the table?”

Feeling Kasey’s eyes boring into him, he asks without turning, “Like what you see?”

Her reply is swift, voice coated in adulation, “I most certainly do,” and further informs him, “especially since the thin cotton covering that perky ass and those beefy thighs is nearly transparent in the sun.”

Stopping at the end of the table, he widens his stance, hands on his hips, and stares out the large window for a moment, chuckling at the huff of breath and cute grunt he hears in response.

About forty minutes later, he places the last pan in the drying rack. Leaning back against the sink, he follows Kasey’s movement around the room as she hums along to the song on the radio, once again contemplating how ‘normal’ this all feels—the domesticity of it all—something he’s never experienced on this level before. It was never like this with his wife, and he starts to wonder why they ever got married.

Making a conscious effort not to spiral down that rabbit hole, he picks up a discarded towel from the counter as he makes his way over to her. She scrunches her face when he grips her chin, turning her head so he can brush the powdery streaks from her forehead and cheek. Kissing the tip of her nose, he tosses the towel back onto the marble, asking as he steps back, “It’s like Dante’s seventh circle outside. Why all the baking?”

“I was frustrated. Baking has always been a way to help me calm down. Besides, it wasn’t quite as hot when I started.”

“Must have been pretty frustrated,” he teases. “How’re you feelin’ now?”

Entirely unprepared for her response, he doesn’t have time to move before being covered in a mixture of flour and crumbs from the scrap pile on the island countertop. Blinking, he feels the silky powder drift from his lashes to float away on the sun-dappled air. “What the-” He shakes his limbs, trying to dislodge some of the dusty mix, but it clings to his damp skin like the mist of heavy fog.

Bent over laughing, she almost misses seeing him lunge for her, but she skirts out of his reach and tries to put the island between them. He’s quicker, though. Snagging his fingers in the back of her dress, he pulls her flush against his chest.

She squirms in his hold as he rubs the side of his face against hers, smearing the sticky mess across her skin, and growls, “That wasn’t very nice.”

Scooping up the remaining floury debris, he mashes the mess into the hair on top of her head. Kasey laughs louder, her ponytail loosening as she struggles fruitlessly against his hold. She shrieks when he spins her away from him, grasping her hand just before she’s out of reach.

A wispy halo of white surrounds her head, bits of dough are caked in her disheveled hair, and lumpy cream-colored streaks trail from her hairline to her chin. She looks beautiful. Eyes sparkling and a lighthearted smile.

Feeling his chest swell with his escalating heart rate, he tugs on her arm, and she falls into him, warm and pliant. He immediately captures her lips in a hungry kiss, running his hands up her arms to cradle her neck, thumbs gently stroking along her jawline.

Body trembling with the intensity of the kiss, he tries to ground himself in the feel of her. Kasey’s breath hitches as the tips of his middle fingers lightly brush down either side of her spine unhurried. When he reaches the small of her back, his hands fall to gently rest on her hips, and her entire body seems to sigh as she drapes her arms over his shoulders.

The song changes, and he sways them to the slower tempo. Breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead to hers. “This is the song that was playing when the power came back on.”

“Hmm, one of my favorites.” She pecks his lips and then lays her head on his shoulder. He reaches back to take a hand in his, and her fingers wrap around his thumb, the other hand resting against his shoulder blade, letting him dance her around the kitchen. It’s easy and comfortable, intimate, and the same feeling of contentment that struck him when he agreed to stay settles in his soul.

Timothy B. Schmit’s high tenor comes around, and Kasey softly sings along. Dean’s heard the song hundreds of times, but as the low harmony of her voice fills the air, he latches onto a new meaning behind the words.

“I was standing, all alone against the world outside. You were searching for a place to hide.”

Kasey snuggles closer to him, and a sense of hope fills him as she slides her hand over his bare skin to wrap around the nape of his neck.

“Lost and lonely, now you've given me the will to survive.”

A lump forms in his throat at the realization of how closely their lives mirror the lyrics-

“When we're hungry, love will keep us alive.”

-and his pulse quickens over the last line of the chorus.

She met him at the worst possible time in his life, has seen him at his lowest, yet chose to trust him, is willing to face the consequences of helping him overcome the biggest challenge he’s ever faced, has given him hope, and has shown him kindness.

Time has lost all sense of meaning for him. It’s like she’s always been with him—in the back of his mind, his peripheral vision, his dreams—waiting for him to truly perceive her. The fact that he only saw her for the first time three days ago is incomprehensible. He wasn’t lying when he told her he had been hers the minute he stepped onto the porch. He hadn’t realized it then, too focused on the need to survive, but once he knew he was safe, he recognized the feeling for what it was—it had felt like coming home. She feels like home.

He promised no more running. He promised to trust her and told her this was where he felt he belonged. So he shoves down his insecurities and lingering misgivings and chooses her. Chooses to trust his heart. Chooses to stay with her and fight his demons in the same vein she has chosen to fight for his life.

Closing his eyes, he tightens his hold and brings their clasped hands to rest on his chest. “You know,” his voice is steady, further solidifying his resolve that this is where he is meant to be, “this sounds like us.”

Kasey pauses on the following line but doesn’t say anything right away, and he wonders if he should have kept his mouth shut. Then he feels her smile.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” She sighs, fingers playing with his hair while she goes back to singing.

The inevitable happens, and the song comes to a close, but even though the faster-paced strains of Traveling Riverside Blues begin to float through the space, he keeps her close, continuing to sway slowly in place, not wanting the moment to end.

If it were possible, it feels like she melts even further into him as he begins to sing. “Your voice is beautiful,” she whispers into his chest. “I could stay right here like this all day.” Squeezing her hand in agreement, he continues to serenade her as they drift around the room.

About halfway through the song, though, he feels her body shake just before her laughter reaches his ears. “As seductive as your voice is, I think we should finish cleaning the kitchen and then get cleaned up ourselves.”

Regretfully, he has to agree, feeling the tug on his skin as she pulls away, the flour having turned into a sticky paste between them.

Another twenty minutes later, the dishes have been put away, the countertops are gleaming, the floor has been swept and mopped, and the bread is in the oven.

Dean picks at a dried clump of goop on his chest as he leans against the counter, catching the flaky pieces and tossing them into the sink. Sitting next to him atop the surface, she bumps his shoulder.

“Go get in the shower. I’m going to wait for the bread. It’s almost done.”

He’d like nothing more than to wait for her so that they could shower together. However, his skin itches, and he feels gross, probably smells gross, too. Pushing off the counter, he kisses a clean spot on her forehead. “Yeah, okay. Feeling pretty disgusting right now,” he grimaces.

“Me too,” she laughs, pulling a chunk of dough from her hair.

He laughs with her as he heads out of the room, stopping to look back when she calls out to him.

“You can use the one in my room. It’s bigger. Has the fancy shower heads and everything.” She wiggles her eyebrows with a flashy little show of jazz hands.

She wasn’t kidding when she said it was bigger. The wide glass door opens into a walk-in stone slab and river-rock-lined space that should be located in a spa or some million-dollar mansion. It’s slightly larger than his jail cell had been and sports a stone bench, recessed niches for storage, a rain shower, and two multi-function shower heads.

Modern and sophisticated, not at all something original to the home. It appears that the only item left of the original bathroom is the cast iron claw-foot tub placed beneath the large window looking over the side yard.

The update is an interesting contrast to the way Kasey seems to have preserved the rest of the old farmhouse. A unique reflection of her refined yet down-to-earth personality. Perhaps, a piece of the city she couldn’t leave behind.

It takes him several minutes to figure out the controls, but when he finally does, he’s treated to a pulsing cascade of water from almost every angle. He’s just beginning to relax when Kasey surprises him by slipping her slender arms around him from behind, and he nearly elbows her in the side. She squeezes him tighter as he grips her forearms to keep her from slipping.

“Sorry,” she chuckles. “I couldn’t wait any longer to get this crap out of my hair. I hope you don’t mind.”

Gently tugging on her arm, he pulls her around to face him. “Not at all. Was actually hoping you’d join me.” The smoldering look she gives him as her hand slides over his hip to grope his ass makes his cock swell.

After helping each other remove the more tenacious gunk from their bodies and a round of satisfying and only slightly complicated shower sex, they head back downstairs to eat lunch. Opting to forego clothing, they’re each wrapped in only a large fluffy towel, which does nothing to diminish his hunger for her. Now that he’s tasted her, felt her around him, he craves more. He’d love to bend her over the counter and rail her.

Turning from putting the dishes away, her eyes spark, and the corner of her mouth twitches when she catches him staring. He feels the heat spread across his chest and neck, knowing that she knows precisely what he’s thinking, but then she covers her mouth to stifle a yawn, reminding him of how little sleep they have both gotten the past couple of days. Standing from the table, he holds a hand out to her, and they make their way back upstairs to her room.

“Is it always this hot around here?” Dean huffs as he plugs in the fan from downstairs to supplement the ceiling fan in Kasey’s room. Ensuring it’s set securely on the small side table, he momentarily stands in front of it, letting the forced breeze cool his skin.

Kasey laughs as he walks toward the bed to lie beside her. “Not this time of year. It appears you brought the heat with you when you obnoxiously collapsed on my porch.”

“Ha ha, funny,” he grouses, lifting his arm for Kasey to lay her head on his chest. “I could have died.”

“Not on my watch,” she states almost vehemently, causing him to smile at the protectiveness in her tone. He likes the feeling it gives him.

“It seems like this is healing nicely.” Her fingers drift down his body to trace the edges of the fresh bandage she insisted on applying after their shower, where she fussed over the fact that he got it wet. “It feels okay? Doesn’t hurt?”

“It’s fine,” he huffs in exasperation, then yelps and slaps her hand away when she pinches the skin about an inch above the wound. “Hey.”

“Don’t get testy with me,” she derides, but he can hear the humor lacing the edges of her retort. “I’d hate to see it get infected.”

“Seriously,” he grips her forearm and pulls it over his body, “it’s fine. It’s pretty much healed. I got the bullet out and cleaned the wound. I just didn’t have time to stitch it up. Having to constantly do a parkour routine to keep ahead of the law kept opening the wound. That’s the only reason it was still bleeding. I didn’t have time to rest and let it heal properly.”

“You know, you could have made it worse by taking the bullet out,” she sniffs.

“I couldn’t leave the slug in my gut. It definitely would have gotten infected or caused more damage.” Tears dampen his chest, and he tightens his hold, pulling her a fraction closer. “It wasn’t deep. The guy’s hand was shaking; it ricocheted off of a seat, slowed it down. Besides, it’s been over two weeks. If it was going to kill me, it would have already,” and runs a soothing hand over her hair.

Bringing her hand back to lightly rest over the bandage, she mumbles, “Not letting it happen ever again.”

He kisses the top of her head, relaxing into the soft bedding, fingers tracing random patterns on her arm. Moments later, the rhythm of her breathing lets him know she’s asleep, and he follows shortly after.

Dean wakes to a dimly lit room. The sun is low in the sky, deep, vibrant shades of purple and orange painting the view outside the window. Stretching lazily, he tries but fails to recall the last time he’s felt this relaxed. Rolling to his other side, he finds the space next to him empty and a slip of paper on the pillow. Sitting up, he turns on the small lamp on the nightstand. Not sure why he’s surprised to find that her handwriting is just as beautiful as she is, he chuckles.

Get dressed and meet me on the porch. ~K

He’s quick to obey and make his way downstairs to find her lying across the swing, a leg thrown over the side to keep it in motion.

“Finally,” she huffs, sitting up as he steps up next to her. “I was beginning to think I would have to drag you out of bed.”

“Why, what’s up?”

“You’ll see.”

Kasey holds out her hand for him to help her stand, and he tugs on her arm, making her wobble with the momentum.

“I’m not big on surprises,” he drolls, setting a hand at her hip to help steady her.

“Oh, I think you’re going to like this one,” she quips, reaching into the pocket of the Daisy Dukes she’s wearing. Coupled with a bikini top, the outfit leaves little to his imagination. “But hey, I can always just tuck these back in your jeans.”

She hooks a finger into his left front pocket, and he bites his lip as she runs it over the fabric against his skin. The jingle of metal draws his attention to her other hand, where she twirls the small ring that holds Baby’s ignition key around her finger. “Thought you might like to go for a drive.”

Stunned, mouth agape, his eyes repeatedly flick between her and the key as he absentmindedly pats down his pockets. A flick to his nose makes him focus, and he rubs a finger over the tip, remembering how she’d done the same thing that first night when they’d been drinking.

“Did I break you?”

“Phftt… No,” he hedges, rolling his eyes like it’s the most ridiculous concept to ever be voiced, then immediately implores, “Are you kidding? Please say you’re not kidding.”

“I’m not kidding.” Turning his hand, she drops the key in his palm and curls his fingers around the cool metal. “We have a track on the ‘back forty’. It’s dirt, but it’s well-maintained. There’s even a couple of areas where you can get a little heavy on the pedal.” She winks. “Come on, Winchester, take me for a ride.” Taking his hand, she pulls him off the porch and down the steps.

Son of a bitch.

Dean knows that her comment was about the Impala, but the image that springs to his mind of her moaning his name, tits bouncing and silky walls squeezing, as she comes undone while riding his dick again almost sends him to his knees. He stumbles on the last step, nearly knocking her down when he topples into her.

She holds her ground and manages to prevent him from falling in the process. “Hey, are you okay?”

Her eyes scan his body, and when they meet his once again, the tips of his ears burn bright. The coy smile lets him know she has seen the evidence of his wayward thoughts.

“Wow. Should I be jealous of the car?” Her lips twitch, the corner slowly curling up.

“I- What? No,” he splutters. The warmth of embarrassment spreads across his chest and into his cheeks. “That’s not- I-”

She’s full-on laughing now, and he huffs a breath.

Wait. Jealous?

Eyes narrowed, he scrutinizes her demeanor. “Why would you be jealous?” The thought of her being possessive in relation to him makes him simultaneously happy and intrigued. He truly believes that having sex with him is more than a convenience fuck for her, but he never dreamed that her feelings might be on the same level as his.

Kasey’s eyes widen, and the laughter immediately dies in her throat. “What?” She looks shocked, a little frightened, but quickly schools her features. Turning away, she calls over her shoulder, “Let’s go, or we’re going to miss it.”

“Hey, wait. Miss what?” He has to jog to catch up with her.

Once inside the building, she doesn’t give him a chance to bring up the subject again, practically sprinting to the back of the barn and disappearing into a room on the left. When he finally catches up, he finds her in a sizable office, leaning over a glass-topped wooden table. “Here, come and look.”

Dean steps up beside her to find what appears to be a large sheet of paper covered in geometric shapes in various shades of green and brown, sealed beneath the glass. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it’s a plat map of the farm. Golden-yellow lines mark the property lines of each acre. Pale blue squiggles and circles show the creek's path, tributaries, and what he assumes to be a couple of ponds or small lakes.

“This is where we are.” Her finger taps a small square near the bottom middle third of the area before gliding over the surface to a tan-colored line about a quarter-inch thick that splits in two. “See this?” Not waiting for a response, she continues. “Off to the left is the path we took to the creek the other day. It’s narrower and rougher. But here,” her slender finger moves to the right, tracing over what he assumes is the dirt trail she mentioned before, “see how it’s wider, less curvy? That’s the route we’re going to take.”

He follows the trail that cuts through the top third of the property before circling back to the fork in the road where she started. It’s almost like a long race track. If it’s as well maintained as she says it is, he could let Baby loose on that top stretch. The thought of feeling the power of her engine, the wheels eating up the dirt beneath them, sends his pulse racing like a freight train and blocks all other thoughts from his mind.

“Dean, let’s go!” The impatience in her tone and the light slap to his bicep bring his attention back to her. “That’s the second time you’ve spaced out on me. Maybe I’m the one that should be driving?”

“Oh, hell, no.” Bending, he flips her over his shoulder and heads out of the office door, not stopping until they are next to the Impala. Setting Kasey down on the trunk, he wedges himself between her legs, cradles her face in his hands, then plants a firm kiss on her lips.

When he breaks away, her confused eyes scan his face. “What was that for?”

“For… everything.” Emotions surge through him, but thankfully the tears remain at bay this time, replaced by the ramble of words that spill from his lips. “The bed, the clothes, the food, taking me in, helping me, this,” he waves his hand in the direction of the Impala, “for saving me… for- for being you.”

Kasey stares at him, stunned, lips parted around a word she can’t seem to voice. He shakes his head and adds, “I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Her features morph into a provocative pout, eyes gleaming with mischief. Hooking her fingers into his belt loops, she tugs, sliding closer as she pulls him to her. “Oh, I can think of a way you could start to repay me.”

Licking his lips, he plants his palms on the cool metal on either side of her and arches a brow. “Oh?” The thin material of his t-shirt does nothing to hinder the scrape of her nails as she dances them up his torso while pressing her core against his still semi-hard cock. He leans into her and growls, “And what would that be?”

The hard shove to his chest is a surprise, throwing him off balance. Kasey’s laughter echoes around the space, “Show me what you can do behind the wheel of this car.” Sliding off the trunk, she ducks beneath his arm and is opening the barn’s large double doors before he even has a chance to comprehend what just happened.

Fuck. She’s going to be the death of me.

He knows there are much worse ways to go, though, so he shakes his head and smiles. Adjusting himself, he walks around the car and slides in behind the wheel, running a hand over the dash as he closes his eyes. The smell of leather and motor oil is tinged with a fresh sweetness that was never there before. He’d caught a hint of it last night, but hadn’t given it much thought, too overwhelmed and lost in memories.

He inhales deeply, trying to identify the not unpleasant scent. It doesn’t take long for him to realize the same scent surrounds him whenever he’s near Kasey. Unlike the murderous sentiments that usually fill every molecule of his body when thinking about someone else driving his Baby, there’s a strange calmness in knowing that she sat in this same seat and had taken such good care of his most prized possession.

A loud whistle breaks his reverie, and he looks up to find Kasey standing in the open doorway with her arms out and a ‘what the hell are you doing?’ expression etched on her features.

Smiling sheepishly, he turns the ignition key, and the engine roars to life. He maneuvers the car out of the garage, stopping just outside the entrance to allow Kasey to get in.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” she huffs before even closing the door.

“No, sorry. I’m fine. Just got caught up in some memories,” he shrugs.

She smiles warmly, getting comfortable in the seat and rolling down the window. “Alright then, let’s roll.”

When they hit the first long stretch, Kasey tells him to floor it, and they shoot down the trail doing eighty-five. It’s exhilarating. He’d missed this feeling—the adrenaline rush, the sense of freedom, of being one with his Baby and the road—missed it deep in his bones. Never imagined that he would ever experience it again.

The trail is better maintained than he could have imagined. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought they were traveling over freshly laid asphalt.

He sneaks a glance at Kasey. Her arm hangs out the window, hand riding the air currents, laughing as the wind whips her hair around her face. She’s carefree... captivating. He’d give anything to stay in this moment forever, but he needs to pay attention to the road. He’d prefer not to crash and possibly injure Kasey or Baby. Taking the curve at a more reasonable speed, he prompts, “You do this with your truck, don’t you? That’s why the trail’s so smooth.”

“Maybe,” she giggles, brushing the hair from her face. “We race the ATVs too.”

“We?”

“Oh. Yeah, uh, my friends, the farm workers, neighbors...” She waves a hand in the air like it’s no big deal. “We have a huge celebration after the harvest. Everyone brings food, and there’s a local band that does great rock covers. Usually lasts the entire weekend.”

“Where do all these people come from?” Worry churns in his gut, and his grip tightens on the wheel. A sudden influx of people on the property would not bode well for either of them. She brushes back the hair at his temple but quickly drops her hand when he jerks away.

“Hey. It’s alright.” Her voice is hushed, and he glances over to see a tender smile. “This is the lull before the storm. We still have a couple of weeks before the bunkhouses start to fill up. We’ll be well into your case to free you by then, and I have an idea about controlling exposure. But we’re not discussing that tonight. Tonight, we’re going to enjoy this beautiful evening and each other’s company.”

The luminescent smile she gives him when he looks her way again nearly forces his heart from his chest, and he almost misses the next curve, swerving at the last minute to keep them out of the field. Kasey grips the door frame to keep from sliding off the seat, her high-pitched squeal ringing in his ears.

“You know, I honestly thought you’d be a better driver.” she taunts.

He would have been offended, except there’s humor feathering her words, and when he looks, her eyes are shining with mischief and crinkled at the corners with glee. Gripping the hand flattened on the seat, he roughly pulls her across the leather and growls, “I’m the best damn driver you’ll ever meet.”

Putting his arm over her shoulder and hugging her close, he stomps on the gas pedal as they hit the bottom straightway of the makeshift race track, Kasey’s joyful shout urging him on.

After two more laps, she points to a side trail and asks him to take it. The sky is fully dark now. The car’s headlights cut through the eerie reddish glow of the waning gibbous moon as it rises. The path is narrower and rougher, too, so he slowly eases the Impala over the small ruts, not wanting to damage the suspension. A few minutes later, the tree-lined path ends at a clearing containing one of the small lakes he had seen on the map—a little oasis among the acres of corn.

Kasey exits the Impala from the driver’s side, sliding out behind him. Scanning the area, he hears a door of the car open and turns to find her ass in the air as she bends over the backseat to grab something from the floor on the opposite side. He’s really not sure how much more he can take. His dick strains against the soft, worn denim. It hasn’t fully softened since he found her stretched out on the porch swing. He’d love to take her right there on the back seat and have her ride him just like he imagined.

“Stop staring at my ass and come help me,” she laughs.

Shit. Busted again.

“I wasn’t- that’s not-,” he stutters.

Kasey stands, “Really?” handing him a lantern, then reaches back in to pull out a small green cooler she sets off to the side. “You weren’t just thinking about having sex on the backseat?”

Turning on the light, he places it on top of the cooler. Eyes dragging up her body as he straightens, he nearly bites off his tongue, seeing her tease her nipple through the bright purple fabric barely covering her plump, perfectly sized breasts.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“No? Nothing to say?” Gaze intent on the movement of her fingers, he startles when she palms his crotch and pouts, “Too bad because I was.”

Hips instinctively shifting, he presses into her hand with a moan, ready to lose his goddamn mind over the simple touch. It only takes a couple of seconds for the circuits in his brain to reconnect, though, when she starts to pull away. He flattens her hand along the firm line of his shaft with his own and grinds into it.

“Such a tease.” He wraps his other hand around the back of her neck, eyes scanning her form. “Wearing this skimpy little outfit,” he rolls his hips, “that pretty little mouth so full of sass.” Using his entire body, he pushes into her space, only stopping when her ass hits metal.

Laying his forearm on the roof of the car by Kasey’s head, he leans in until her back is flush with the vehicle, her hand trapped between their bodies. “Maybe I should fill it with something else.” He thumbs over her lips, hears the moan she tries to swallow, feels the rapid rise and fall of her chest, “Or maybe,” he snaps his hips forward, hard, the delicious friction nearly knocking him from his course of action, “you wanna ride this?”

“Yes.” One thing he’s learned about her is that she’s not one to back down easily, so it’s no surprise when she curls her fingers as best she can and defiantly replies with a squeeze to his sac. “I do.”

Her other hand pushes against his chest, and he doesn’t fight her, amused and turned on by her confidence. He shuffles back a couple of steps as she continues to grip him tight, eyes locked with his. “I want to ride this big beautiful cock,” she forces the heel of her palm against his shaft, making him choke down a groan, “in that glorious black beauty,” her fingers massage the denim covering his balls, and his hand tightens around her nape, “until I’m screaming your name.”

Jesus fucking christ!

There’s no containing the growl that rises from his chest. He has no explanation for how she seemingly knows precisely what he wants exactly when he needs it, but it’s a helluva turn-on. Kasey grips his forearm, the other slipping beneath his t-shirt, fingers popping the button and dipping into the waistband of his jeans.

With a low grunt, he pulls away. “In the car, now.” Turning her, he gently shoves her toward the open door.

Kasey’s laugh coasts on the breeze. Eyeing him over her shoulder, she croons, “Yes, Sir.”

The sultry voice, coupled with the innocent bat of eyelashes, is like a backdraft settling in his groin before being ignited by his sharp intake of breath to burn through his veins. He’s never before felt the level of desire she sparks in him and takes a moment to close his eyes and palm himself through the denim, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

The sight that greets him when he peels his lids open only makes him harder. The tiny shorts she’s wearing barely cover any flesh, the seam pressed into her crack, giving him a peek of the purple lace beneath as she crawls across the seat. When she stops and steps back out of the car, he challenges, “What are you doing?”

She leans back into the car without a response, and he follows the long line of her legs down to her bare feet. Catching sight of the cooler she’d set down earlier, he notices what appears to be a familiar dent. “Hey, this looks like my old cooler,” he states, the tension easing from his voice.

“Probably is. It was in the trunk when I bought her.”

Dean shakes his head, not even fazed that she has yet another cherished object that belongs to him. It’s like an unseen entity has been gathering them up and placing them in her care until he could come along and collect them again. Maybe there is something to all that destiny crap. But right now, he has far less philosophical matters to attend to.

Bracing a hand on the door, he bucks his groin against her backside, causing her to fall forward onto the blanket she is spreading over the backseat. “A little warm for that, isn’t it?”

Looking over her shoulder, she pushes back against him, stating matter of factly, “It’s this, or we’re going to be peeling our skin off the leather.”

Gritting his teeth against the pressure on his cock, he growls, “Have I told you how sexy that brain of yours is? And that it gets me really, really hard?”

“You may have mentioned it,” she wiggles her ass, “and I can certainly feel it, but why don’t you get those clothes off and show me?” she challenges, folding her arms over her chest as she straightens, leaning against the rear quarter panel.

“Seriously. The death of me,” he grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t hesitate to quickly rid himself of his clothing. As he steps out of the denim, he laughs to himself. Every time he thinks he has the upper hand, she pushes back and turns the tables, but he can’t deny that he’ll willingly dance this little dance with her for as long as she’ll let him.

“Your turn,” he taunts.

Kasey pushes off the car with her ass, eyes locked with his. Stepping up to his side, she ghosts a hand over his chest, letting her fingers trail down his arm as she walks around behind him. Her movements are slow, deliberate, and his breath quickens.

Like the stroke of a feather, the tips of her fingers trace the curve of his butt cheeks. His pulse jumps, and the muscles twitch beneath her caress. She comes round to his other side, her chin tucked, eyes roaming over his flesh. He attempts to make a smart-ass comment. The words lodge in his throat, breaths coming shallow and quick, heart pounding against his ribcage when those delicate fingers he’s obsessed with tickle the palm of his hand, and he watches in anticipation as they drift over his thigh only to stall.

The air is punched from his lungs, heartbeat arrested, the moment she drops to her knees in front of him and takes him in hand. His legs nearly give out, and a hand falls to rest on her shoulder for support when she flicks her tongue through his slit. He barely registers her comment over the rush of blood pulsing against his eardrums.

“You’ve already denied me once. I want a taste before anything else.”

Eyes dark with desire, peer at him through thick lashes, tongue continuing to tease before slipping him into her warm, wet mouth and sucking as her plush lips seal around his head.

“Shit.” The pressure builds. His fingers compress into the curve of her shoulder as she sucks him in further and moans. His sac tightens when her tongue massages the sensitive v near his tip. “Fuck.” He stumbles backward, dick releasing from her mouth with a pop.

Dean grunts, mouth agape as he holds her at arm’s length with one hand and squeezes his tip with the other.

“What?” Though her voice is laced with angelic innocence, her eyes harbor a wicked glint. “I just wanted a taste.” Kasey curls her fingers around his wrist at her shoulder and stands, licking her lips. “Yum.”

Roughly pulling her closer, he locks her against his body with one arm around her back and cradles her head with his other hand as he claims her mouth in a searing kiss. Kasey pushes up on her toes, fingers pressing into the flesh of his shoulder blades, the heat of her body fueling the fiery embrace. Dean lifts her and walks the short distance to the car. Once he reaches the open door, he releases her lips and sets her back on the ground, careful not to bump her head as he maneuvers her down onto the blanket-covered seat.

Kasey smiles at him and crooks her finger, summoning him to follow as she wriggles to the other side. He doesn’t need coaxing and scrambles inside, leaving the door open for air. It’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway.

As he situates himself in the middle of the seat, Kasey kneels against the bench, hunched over as she shimmies out of her shorts and underwear. Losing her balance as she kicks them off her ankle, her hand slaps down on his leg, nails digging into the tender flesh of his inner thigh.

His dick jumps, slapping against his stomach at her touch. “C’mere.” He’s done with the foreplay. He needs to be buried inside her, and he needs it now.

Kasey reaches behind her back to untie her top, but he grips around her waist and moves her until she’s straddling his lap. “Leave it.” She stares down at him, each searching the other’s face, a silent communication of their desire for each other. With a small whimper, she cups his face and smashes her lips against his as she rises to her knees.

Dean takes the hint. Gripping his dick, he runs the head through her wet folds, she’s practically dripping, and he strokes her slick over his shaft. “You ready?” he mumbles against her mouth. When she tilts her hips to catch the tip at her entrance, he lets go to grasp her waist and help ease her down his stiff cock. Kasey, however, isn’t waiting. She slams her ass down on his lap, taking him in completely.

Swallowing her moan, his fingers clutch at her flesh, holding her in place as she tries to rise again. She feels like tightly wrapped silk around him, and he struggles to keep from immediately blowing his load. “Shit. Give a guy some warning.”

“Hmm,” she nips at his earlobe, “what was it you said?” licks along the shell, and he shivers despite the heat, “Oh, yeah. ‘Why? It’s more fun this way.’” She bites the muscle in his neck, fighting his grip to roll her hips, and whines, “Let me ride you. Let me ride you hard and fast until we’re both screaming.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he growls. “Can’t argue with a request like that.” As soon as he loosens his hold, she’s up and quickly drops down on him again, rolling her hips.

He settles into the seat and runs his hands up her stomach to the soft flesh of her breasts, cupping them beneath the fabric and letting the weight of them nestle into his palms. If possible, the view is even more amazing than the first time she sat atop him.

Hands flattened against his chest, head tilted to the side, mouth parted around a moan, and body gracefully arched, she’s like a beautiful erotic painting, an image preserved in the throes of delight.

Her beauty should be captured and kept for a lifetime. Yet she’s flesh and blood, hunger and heat, sensual and supple within his grasp. The pace she sets is swift and steady, rougher than the first time, and he can’t help but wonder just how rough she’d be willing to get.

Within minutes he feels her walls fluttering, and he flicks his thumbs over her taut nipples and rasps sordid sentiments in her ear. She clenches around him, nails digging into his skin, lascivious words and broken pleas falling from her lips, juices coating his shaft.

He’s so ready to burst, it’s almost painful, and he sits up as she collapses against him, ready to flip her over and fuck her hard like he wanted to earlier. Kasey pushes against his shoulder, stopping him as she pants against his cheek, “I’m not done with you yet. I said we’d both be screaming.”

“Make it quick,” he begs. “I’m ‘bout to explode.” Dropping his hands to her waist, he sucks a mark into the top of her breast, right next to the one he left that morning, and she grinds her clit against his pelvic bone, tugging at his hair, pulling his mouth away from her flesh.

“Settle in, Sugar, ‘cause I’m about to break in a mustang.”

He can’t help but laugh at the over-the-top Texan drawl but howls in surprise with the forceful slap she applies to the side of his thigh. “Hey!” The contact makes his dick pulse in response, and her knowing smirk offers a little more insight into her proclivities. Her countenance turns questioning, and his fingers dent her flesh while giving her a nod.

Gripping his hair tighter, she rises until the very tip of his cock rests just inside her. If either of them moves the wrong way, he’ll slip free. Ever so slowly and with minimal movement, she lets go of his hair and removes her top. Tossing it out the door, she eases down an inch, smiling coyly as her fingers trace lazy circles around his nipple.

She winks, and in that space of a heartbeat, he finds freedom. Freedom to release his remaining doubts, to give Kasey the trust she seeks, lay bare his soul, and open his heart completely. He’d give her anything she asked for and more.

He bites his lip, teeth grazing the swollen flesh as she slides back over him in one smooth motion, reducing his existential contemplations to raw, primal lust.

He shifts lower in the seat, causing her to lean forward, and her breasts hang freely above his face, inciting his dick to twitch inside her.

She squeezes tight around him, rolls her hips, and then starts a frustratingly slow pace. Her hands roam his body, nails scratching, moist lips and heated breath teasing, every touch leaving his skin tingling like he gripped a live wire.

“Damn, you feel good.” He captures a hand in his, kissing her wrist before setting her palm on the curve of the seat next to his head, then does the same with her other hand. Using the seat as leverage, she speeds up her movements, arching into him, her pelvis tilts, taking him deeper. “That’s it. Shit. So tight.”

Her entire body shudders, followed by a whimpering sigh when he ghosts his fingers up her sides, and he does it again to hear the sweet sounds it elicits. Her breath hitches, “F- f- fuck,” when he palms each breast, kneading the soft flesh, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

Sliding a hand down her stomach, he laves his tongue over pebbled flesh, and her pace falters. She quickly recovers, though.

“Guh… that feels good.” Fingers tangle in his hair, “...so f- fu- …big …shit …right there, right there, right there,” she whines as he massages her clit. Nails dig into his flesh when she braces her other hand on his shoulder as her walls ripple and contract.

On the next downward thrust, he latches onto her breast, teeth grazing over the taut bud. Warm slick coats his throbbing dick as she convulses around him, clenching hard enough to nearly push him out. Squeezing his fingers into the globes of her ass, he plants his feet on the floor and gives a hard thrust upward, staking his claim, burying himself and pulsing deep inside her, shouting her name to the heavens as she curses his.

When they’re both spent, he drops his hands to his sides, and Kasey falls against him, elbows set on his shoulders, chin resting on the top of his head as he presses his forehead to her chest, panting. When his softened cock slips from inside her, she slides off his lap to sit next to him, a knee cracking as she unfolds her legs.

“Ooof.” She rubs a hand over the joint before picking up his hand and holding it between hers, intertwining their fingers as she kisses his shoulder. “That was one helluva ride.” she breathes.

“Better than riding shotgun in Baby?” he goads.

“Oh, that’s a tough call,” she muses. “I may have to go another round or two on both to ensure I have thoroughly done my research and have all the evidence to make an informed and objective opinion.”

He stares at her in stunned silence, unsure how to take the seriousness of her face and matter-of-fact tone, but when she purses her lips, throwing him a kiss, he bursts out laughing, head tilted back and body shaking. Kasey joins in seconds later, laying her head on his arm and squeezing his hand.

When he’s recovered enough to speak, he kisses the top of her head and asks. “Hey, what were you afraid we were going to miss?”

“Oh.” She leans back to look out the rear window. “Perfect. Come on.” She scurries out of the car, tugging on his hand.

“Nooo,” he whines, playfully fighting her pull. “Wanna stay here.” Honestly, he’s not sure how she can even stand right now. After all, she did all the work. He feels like a blob of jello. The woman definitely has some stamina. He makes a mental note to test her limits at a later date. When she continues to yank on his arm, he falls to the side in a heap.

“Fine,” she drops his hand and huffs, “be an old man.”

After a few moments of silence, a low growl escapes him, and he shifts his head, peeling an eye open to see what she’s doing. She’s facing the lake, standing butt naked a couple of feet from the car, staring up at the sky. As quietly as he can, he scrambles from the vehicle, scooping her up in his arms just as she turns at the sound of his approach. He runs toward the lake as she squeals in his arms.

He knows the lake is deep; she had told him while they were driving how she would spend her summers here as a child, floating on a makeshift raft, acting out grand pirate adventures, pretending to be the lady of the lake, or jumping from the rope attached to the tree a few feet away. So he doesn’t slow as he nears the water’s edge. “Old man, my ass.”

Arms locking around his neck, Kasey shrieks his name over his shout to hold her breath as he leaps toward the center of the water. Letting go of her legs, he holds her chest to chest as they sink. Kasey presses her lips to his, arms still wrapped around him as they drift downward. It's a welcome relief when the water is warmer than he expected, and he gets momentarily lost in the otherworldly quality of it—the seductive silence, the pressure of the water buoying their bodies, the feel of her skin sliding against his as darkness encompasses them.

He jolts when she starts kicking her feet, fingers tapping on his spine, recognition sinking in that they will soon need air. Kicking out, he swiftly propels them upward, each gasping for breath as they break apart when they breach the surface.

Kasey swims to the far side of the lake, pushing herself up onto some kind of narrow platform. Lying on her stomach, she paddles back to him.

As she drifts closer, he notices the tattered tarp covering a row of slender logs that have been expertly lashed together. Assuming this is the raft she made, he bobs his head in admiration of her handiwork.

“Sorry, Jack, there’s not enough room for you,” she pouts, coming to a stop to float next to him.

“Oh, there was plenty of room for him,” Dean argues. “The issue came down to buoyancy. The added weight would have submerged the wood and made it unstable. Any movement would have made them slide off. Besides, Jack had to die.”

“Seriously?” Kasey stares at him like he just kicked her puppy.

Dean chuckles, gripping her hand between his he pretends to shiver. “...promise me you will survive....that you will never give up...no matter what happens...no matter how hopeless...promise me now, and never let go of that promise.”

“I promise,” Kasey replies, overly dramatic.

“Never let go,” Dean responds just as dramatically. She squeezes his hand and something shifts in her demeanor.

“I promise. I will never let go, Dean. I’ll never let go.”

The impassioned edge to her tone, the way she grasps his face, eyes boring into his as she says the words are gut-wrenching. He doesn’t miss the fact that she uses his name or that he can taste the salt from her tears when he kisses her.

“Dean, I-”

She tucks her chin, but he tilts it back up with a finger crooked beneath it. He’s close enough to see the multitude of emotions swirling in her anxious gaze. Just as she can read and decipher what he leaves unsaid, he understands her uncertainty, the hesitancy to voice the words that lie heavy in both their hearts.

“I know.” He thumbs the moisture from her cheek, and she gives him a brief nod before rolling onto her back with a sniff. He takes a moment to calm his heart and swipe away the tear that spills over his lashes. Stars shine brightly overhead, twinkling little dots in the water. Crickets chirp and frogs croak, lending a melodic soundtrack to the charged moment.

Struggling to find the right words, he falls back on humor to break the tension instead. “You know, for someone that doesn’t own a television or any way to stream, your movie quote game is pretty impressive,” he chuckles.

Kasey snorts. Stretching an arm over her head, she reaches for the back of his neck, fingers slipping as she attempts to tug him around to the side. He takes her hand and moves of his own accord, folding his arms on the edge of the raft, keeping her hand in his as he kicks lazily to stay afloat.

“I worked long hours, and aside from a handful of friends, I kept mostly to myself. Movies were my ‘thing’, plus I have a good memory.” She waves a hand in dismissal of his admiration. “You seem to have a pretty impressive knowledge of movies yourself. Curiously enough, ones that could be considered chick flicks in that repertoire. Titanic?”

He huffs, “There was a girl...”

The little boat rocks with her laughter. “Say no more.”

“Seriously. Made me go see that damn movie five times, but would never agree that there was enough room on that door. If they had just put Rose’s-”

Before he can finish his explanation, she cuts him off, pointing to the sky and exclaiming, “Look!”

Dean lifts his gaze to catch a thin strip of light streaking across the sky. Two more quickly follow, and then the sky is filled with shooting stars. “Perseids,” he whispers in awe.

He holds her hand as he rolls to lie back and float on the surface. When he starts to drift too far, Kasey pulls him back. Arms on the edge of the raft, chin sitting atop his crossed hands, he gently kicks them around the small lake as they watch the universe's light show. When she begins to card her fingers through his hair, he turns his head to watch her instead.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she whispers, still staring at the stars.

“Stunning.”

How the hell did I get so lucky to be pulled into her orbit?

Shifting her glance to him, she softly smiles. “I agree.”

As the meteor shower dwindles, they return to the car. Kasey pulls the blanket from the back seat, spreading it over the ground, while Dean grabs a beer for each of them from the cooler. Relaxed and sated, they let the warm summer air dry their skin as they spend the next couple of hours discussing the classics—music, cars, movies, and cheesy pick-up lines.

After polishing off the six-pack and the remainder of the pie, they get dressed, pack up, and head back to the house. The return drive is quieter, a comfortable calm permeating the air around them. Once Baby is back in her delegated space and the house is secured for the night, they crawl into bed.

Kasey falls asleep almost immediately, using his chest as a pillow, and Dean stares at the ceiling, stroking her hair. There’s a lot they need to talk about yet, but that’s a conversation for tomorrow. He still has to deal with what feels like a cosmic battle for his life, but the day was the break he needed to refuel and find hope, and he has her to thank for that.

Sated and content with Kasey tucked into his side, he kisses the top of her head and falls asleep feeling safe in the knowledge that he can survive anything that comes his way as long as she’s with him.

Love Me Some Pie

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deans-baby-momma // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

#dw's witch writes #fugitive au #dean x ofc #au series #run to you chapter twelve #031523

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

Text

To The Victor Chapter Three - Can't Be Claimed

Summary: Although Omegas had won the legal battle for equal rights, society was slow to catch up. Thought to be the weakest of the genders, they struggled to find opportunities that Alphas and Betas took for granted. Known as the Guillotine, Emmaline Beaumont was woman with a secret. Head of her family’s company; she was smart, shrewd, and tough as nails. At sixteen she presented as Omega and she’s hidden it ever since. Suppressants and hormone reassignment therapy allowed her to live her life as the Alpha her family needed her to be. The perfect solution, so long as she never allowed herself to be claimed. As the President of Winchester Inc. Dean’s professional life was golden. As an unmated Alpha nearing forty, he was restless. Charming and devastatingly handsome, Dean was rarely without female company, but he wanted more. He wanted what his parents had. Someone made especially for him. His match, his true mate. Finding her on a trip to New York had been an unexpected dream come true, but no one ever said the road to love was easy.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!OFC, Dean x OFC, Dean Winchester x OFC

Characters: Dean Winchester, OFC, Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore, John Winchester, Jody Mills

Warnings: ABO dynamics, Heat/Rut cycles, Smut (Unprotected sex, knotting, oral sex, claiming bites), hurt/comfort, sickfic, hospitals and medical talk, fluff and angst, age difference (Dean is 39, OFC is 27), True mates, self hate (OFC struggles with gender)

Chapter Three: Can't Be Claimed

Word Count: 3348

Masterlist

To The Victor Masterlist

The twenty minutes it took for help to arrive were nothing short of agony for Dean. He kept Emma cradled close. Whispering sweet words of encouragement in her ear, telling her to hold on, that help was on the way. She never responded, but he had to believe that she could hear him or at least knew he was there. That he wasn’t leaving her. That he was going to take care of her.

God, she’s so cold!

Dean tugged the blankets closer around the two of them and rubbed her arms roughly, desperate to infuse every ounce of his own heat to her chilled flesh. Give her his strength. Surround her with his scent. In his mind, he kept going over the conversation with Emma’s sister.

Emma can’t be claimed. Family doctor treating her since childhood.

Just what the hell did that mean? If it hadn’t been for the insistent tone in Jess’ voice, Dean would have called 911 instead. As it was, he was doubting his decision.

He pressed a kiss to Emma’s temple, “Keep fighting sweetheart, I’m right here.”

The door to the suite opened without so much as a knock of warning and a short, slight man entered. He wore a slim black suit and tie with a matching fedora pulled down over dark hair. His unsmiling face was sharply featured with beady eyes and a crooked, hawk-like nose. Everything about him was severe and unpleasant. The expression he wore was a mix of displeasure and annoyance. Going by the classic leather satchel in his hand, this man must be the family doctor.

Dean shifted Emma’s unconscious body off his chest and stood, “You the doctor?”

The man removed his hat and placed it on the table along with his bag, “I am Doctor Lancaster, and you are the Alpha who caused all the trouble.” He never spared Dean a glance as he rifled through his bag. His tone suggested an absolute disgust with the situation.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t appreciate being judged by a gargoyle in cheap mortician’s suit. Especially not when his mate’s life was hanging by a thread. “Yup, that’s me. So, are you able to help her?”

Lancaster moved over his patient with efficiency. After he took a few vitals, he drew out a vial and syringe from his bag of tricks. “I believe so, it was a good thing you called when you did. Another hour and she’d be dead.” He swiped an alcohol swab over the crook of Emma’s elbow and administered a hefty dose of the drug.

“What are you giving her?”

“Botox.”

The Alpha didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. He let out a low, menacing growl and clenched his jaw so that the muscle there twitched.

The doctor was equally unimpressed with the show of aggression. “It’s a combination of adrenaline, beta blockers and hormone booster.”

Dean frowned as he realized the implication, “She was on suppressants?”

“Ah! An Alpha with a brain! Nice to know at least one of you rutting beasts can think with something other than your nether regions.” Lancaster checked Emma’s pulse one last time. With a satisfied nod, he shut his bag and stood.

“Your Omega is going to be fine. Her temperature is already rising, and her heat cycle will now continue as normal.” The doctor gave Dean an appraising once over. “Judging by your own state, I’d say you are already aware of that.”

Dean was loathed to admit this quack was right about anything. The cavalier way he was treating a medical emergency should have him barred from practicing medicine anywhere in the civilized world. The fact that the emergency was his mate, made Dean want to rip the man’s throat out on principle alone. Yet, the little troll had done something right, because he could now pick up Emma’s scent. It was intoxicating, and stronger than it had ever been. Apple orchards and magnolia blossoms, it made his mouth water. His rut, that had been threatening since meeting Emma was now in full swing. His thoughts were quickly giving way to is Alpha instincts; protect, care for, and knot his mate.

Lancaster already had his hand on the door, knowing his presence wouldn’t be tolerated by a rutting Alpha for much longer. “She’ll wake in a couple of hours. When she does, the best treatment for her, is you.”

It was the faint, high pitched whine that finally pulled Emma from her dreamless sleep. She felt warm and secure. That lovely scent of sun-warmed cedar forest tickled her nose and she sighed in contentment, snuggling towards it.

“’Mega?”

The worry edged fear in that deep voice had her frowning before she even opened her eyes. When she did, Dean’s face was mere inches from hers, his handsome features tight with stress. The anxiety that rolled off him in waves made her heart clench. He was terrified.

She brought her hand out from under the nest of blankets and threaded it through Dean’s hair, “Alpha.”

Dean crushed her to his chest, his whole body trembled, weak with relief. After that wretched doctor left, Dean had ridded them both of their clothes and bundled them up under a mountain of blankets. He kept their bodies pressed as closely together as possible, his instincts telling him skin to skin contact was crucial to his Omega’s recovery. A warm, safe nest for just the two of them where he could protect her and look after her properly.

He scented her deeply, desperate to drown himself in the sweet fragrance. “Thank God,” he murmured over and over again.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m alright,” she soothed, brushing kisses against his forehead. She held him tight as he shook in her arms. A virile, strong Alpha like him wouldn’t be scared by much, and that told her all she needed to know about how critical things had gotten.

He had taken care of her, gotten her help and no doubt saved her life. Now it was her turn to take care of him, “I’ve got you; I’m right here.”

He kissed her roughly, stealing her words along with her breath. Desperation and urgency in every heated pass of his mouth over hers. His hands groped her aggressively, pawing at any bit of softness he could find. It took him several minutes to regain his control. He abruptly pulled away, panting for composure he would not easily grasp.

“I’m sorry… sorry.” He let his forehead fall against hers as his chest heaved. His voice was low and hoarse. “You need rest.”

Emma studied Dean’s pinched features. The tension coiled uncomfortably, barely contained, under the surface, sweat dotted his skin and his rock-hard length twitched between them. His eyes were nearly black, overtaken by the hormones and lust ravaging his system. This whole mess had triggered his rut, God knows how long he had been suffering with it while she was unconscious. The added worry that his mate was dying had made it nearly unbearable.

Her heart broke for him then and with it came guilt. This whole thing was her fault. She knew the consequences of doing anything with an Alpha while she was still taking the treatments. It was reckless and irresponsible and unforgivably selfish.

She cupped the side of his face, gently brushing her thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone. He closed his eyes and leaned into her soothing touch. “I don’t need rest. I only need you.”

“No,” he muttered, trying to ignore the urges running through him. “I’m rough. Too rough. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

She continued to stroke his face, calming and soothing. “You won’t hurt me, I’m your Omega. And your Omega is a strong Omega.”

Dean mustered up a final ounce of control and looked into her deep, blue eyes. The comfort and consent he saw there eased the tightness in his chest. “’Mega mine.”

“Yours.” Emma confirmed softly and brushed her lips feather-light over his, “Mate now. Rest later.”

It lasted five days in total. Each of them seamlessly providing what the other needed most. Alpha and Omega. Balanced. Each a perfect counterpoint to the other. They relished in the joy of being together. Every experience was exciting and new, every touch satisfied in ways that surprised. Very few words were spoken, their connection was so strong that it over-rode the need to talk. That knowing, that deep down in the soul kind of certainty was staggering. The intimacy of their bond was deeper and more complex than either of them had ever known.

Now that their respective heat and rut cycles had ended, they were left with the rather mundane task of how to weave their lives together. These were the boring, yet very necessary details of the real world. The world outside of cozy one they’d created within the confines of the hotel suite. Neither of them were particularly excited at the prospect.

“So, going by this hotel room we’ve been honeymooning in, I’m guessing you’re not a New Yorker.”

Dean caught her gaze in the mirror as he deftly buttoned up the crisp, white dress shirt and smiled. Even her reflection caused his stomach to flip over. “Nope, Chicago. Born and bred. You?”

“Manhattan.”

“You ever been to the windy city?”

“A couple of times,” she shrugged, tucking her legs up demurely under her backside. “It’s not bad for fly-over country.”

“Fly-over country?” Dean scoffed, “Chicago is in the heartland, the Midwest. Everything a big city has to offer with access to wide open spaces. Way better than this uptight sand bar.”

“Is that so? Then what’s a guy like you doing slumming it around the boroughs? Cruising for a mate?”

“Nah, I just got lucky.” Dean plopped down to sit beside her on the bed and kissed her loudly. “I travel a lot for work. I’m in New York once a month or so.”

“Will you come back more now?” She asked hopefully, the thought of only seeing him once a month had her heart twisting.

“Well, I thought that you’d come back with me. You know, live with me in Chicago.” Seeing her face fall, he rushed to reassure her, hoping that he wasn’t bungling things too much. “I’m sure you will need some time to get things tied up here, but I want you with me ‘Mega. And we can come back as often as you like.”

“Why don’t you move here with me?”

Dean nearly scoffed, but the earnest look in her eyes suggested a softer approach might be better. “Sweetheart, my business is in Chicago. I make a good living, an excellent living actually. I have an apartment there along with some property in the country. I’ll take good care of you; you won’t have to worry about anything ever again.”

She raised her chin to look Dean square in the eye, “My business is in New York. I make an excellent living and I own a beautiful Brownstone on the upper east side. I don’t have a country cottage, but I’m willing to work that into our negotiations.”

“Negotiations?!” He sat back with a laugh, “You are something else, you know that? Omegas don’t negotiate living arrangements with their Alphas.”

She leveled her gaze, “Yours does.”

His mate wasn’t one to give in easily, and he loved that about her. Her spirit. Her fight. She challenged him, made him earn her submission. Made him prove he was worthy of her. He was happy to oblige her.

He leaned in close, his mouth centimeters from hers but not touching. He ghosted over, getting tantalizingly close but never making contact. Catching on, she let him edge her backwards on the bed. It was one of those games teenagers play, like there’s an invisible barrier around their bodies that allow them to get close but never touch. They moved in tandem, he filled up space she had occupied only moments before. She retreated as he advanced.

Dean’s movements were sleek and slow, like a panther. He never stopped his progression, never broke contact with her gaze. He watched with hooded eyes as the glint of rebellion gave over to something softer.

He hovered over her body only a hair’s breadth away, his grin was predatory, “Lucky for you, I’m an expert negotiator.”

Emma struggled to keep her thoughts orderly. It was growing increasingly difficult as her mate hovered above her. His scent surrounded her, his arms and legs caging her in. He was everywhere and she could feel herself start to float on that heady, seductive cloud. She couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips. Nowhere in the whole world felt as good, as right, as being with him.

It wasn’t until he saw her eyes flutter shut that he broke that invisible barrier between them. His nose brushed the claiming mark and inhaled deeply before moving on to the spot just behind her ear. It was one of her favorites and he had discovered just how sensitive it was over the past few days.

When he nuzzled her then nipped, she moaned and brought her fingers up to comb through his hair still damp from the shower. “Mmm… you make a valid point.”

He chuckled as he continued his assault. Moving down the graceful column of her neck, he sampled silky skin.

“I have an idea,” she said as Dean made his way to the zipper of her hoodie and started to ease it down. When he didn’t reply but moved his fingers moved to her waistband, she gave a sharp tug on the short hairs at the base of his skull.

“Agh!” He grunted as she wiggled out from under him. With a pained sigh and a semi hard erection, he propped himself up on one elbow. “Better watch it, Sweetheart. You know I like it rough.”

Emma sat up, regal as a queen. Determined to get back to business. “I think we should date.”

“Date,” he repeated. “We’re mated. We’ve spent the last five days claiming each other in every way possible. Don’t you think we’re a little past the dating phase?”

A worried frown creased her brow, “You don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I know it’s a little… backwards, but so what? Why should we do things the way other people do?” She gave a shy smile as she appealed to him. “I want to get to know you.”

He sat himself up completely and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “We are going to spend the rest of our lives getting to know each other.”

He instead of reassuring her, he felt her pull away. He felt like kicking himself, somehow, he’d managed to say something wrong. He crooked a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. There was disappointment there, “It means that much to you?”

“Well, I thought it would be fun and I… I’ve never dated before. Not really, anyway.” She replied, struggling to keep embarrassment from coloring her voice.

Dean couldn’t help being surprised. Shocked. She was a beautiful woman, stunning actually. He had no doubt that his pretty little Omega had turned heads from an early age. She was so smart and fun and sexy, it seemed impossible that no one had ever tried to date her. Although the very thought had his possessive Alpha jealousy flaring.

“Never? No boyfriend ever?”

She shook her head and bit her lip. One of her more noticeable nervous tells. “No, not really. I mean, I’ve gone on a few dates but there was never anyone special.”

“Does this have to do with those black-market suppressants you were taking?”

“They weren’t black-market,” she countered, “I wasn’t getting shot up in back alleys, I was under a doctor’s care.”

“Oh, you mean that gargoyle that showed up? That guy was a dick, he had the bedside manner of a cab driver!”

“What he lacks in congeniality he makes up for in discretion.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest defensively. She wasn’t accustomed to defending her actions to anyone, especially regarding her presentation treatments. It was a well-guarded family secret, discussing it with anyone else made her very uneasy. Even if that person was her Alpha, the one person meant to protect her.

“Being an Omega is nothing but a liability, it’s a weakness. This city is full of Alphas who think they can drag me back to their cave by my ponytail. Or boss me around because the world order says they should be in charge of everything!”

Frustrated, she blinked back the stinging in her eyes. Tears that threatened to fall only seemed to undermine her point. Usually, she had a tight rein on her emotions but ever since being claimed, they refused to stay where she put them. They were like a storm she was constantly trying to keep from breaking through.

“I just wanted to live my life without having to worry that my presentation would get me overlooked for a promotion or kidnapped by a rut-crazed Alpha.”

Dean hated the fear and stress he felt from her. Her eyes bright with unshed tears. He knew the world wasn’t an easy place for Omegas. Emma certainly wasn’t alone in her feelings on the matter and many others had taken the same route. Suppressants and scent blockers were a common and safe method for most people who wanted a bit of anonymity.

“You’re right,” he said with a sigh, taking both of her hands in his. Reveling in how delicate they seemed compared to his. How easily they could be bruised or broken. “There’s nothing wrong with Omegas using suppressants. Hell, if I were in your shoes, I’d probably do the same thing. It’s just that reaction you had, you were so cold. I thought I was going to lose you. I’ve never been that scared. And then that creepy doctor… acting like he didn’t care if you lived or died. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.”

Emma leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. “I know. I’m sorry Dean, it’s my fault. I knew better, I just got caught up. And then when my heat started, I couldn’t think straight.”

“It’s understandable. I did kind of sweep you off your feet.”

“You did,” she smiled softly. “That’s why I had only been with Betas before.”

Dean pulled back and looked at her with curiosity, “So you’ve never been with an Alpha before me?”

“No.”

His grin was instant and cocky as his chest puffed out. “Good.”

She rolled her eyes, “Shut up.”

He laughed and pulled her onto his lap, tucking her head under his chin. She fit there so perfectly; Dean knew he would never grow tired of holding her. Leaving New York without her, would likely be one of the hardest things he would ever do. He took a deep inhale of her sweet scent and groaned. “Okay Sweetheart, you win. Let’s date.”

Emma drew back and looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, “Really?”

“Hell, why not!”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with such enthusiasm that he nearly toppled backwards. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Just you wait,” he muttered through their joined lips, “I’ve got all kinds of romantic cards up my sleeve.”

When her face lit up Dean felt his heart swell. Yeah, being separated for any amount of time would be torture, but worth it if it made her so happy.

She eyed him with suspicion. “You aren’t just giving me my way because I cried, are you?”

“I hate seeing you cry, but no. You made a valid point. It’ll take us time to get everything figured out, why not have some fun while we’re at it?”

The dimple in her left cheek appeared and her eyes sparkled with the smile that bloomed. She was practically glowing with excitement and hope. Shining like the sun, the new center of his universe. His whole future held in his arms.

#alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean winchester #a/b/o #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #Jensen x ofc #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #Dean x ofc #a/b/o smut #spn fic #supernatural #To The Victor

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cookiedoughmeagain · 5 months

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SPN Fanfic; Dean/OFC

The first time I met him, I was 21 and he was a couple years older. At least, I assume he was; we didn't exactly find a lot of time for talking about specifics such as that, too busy tearing each other's clothes off the first chance we got... The second time I met him I was 36 and he seemed more than a few years older than me, but not in a bad way. Life had been hard to him perhaps, but hard in a way that made him seem strong rather than worn out... He didn't recognise me, the second time, and I wasn't really surprised. For all that he’d changed, I knew I’d changed more. My hair was dramatically different, I wore glasses now, and that had been one night more than a decade ago in a different State. Sure it wasn't great for the ego, but I wasn’t surprised that he didn't remember me. I remembered him though. Fifteen years, three (semi)serious relationships, various flings and one night stands, a PhD, and a whole load of other general life stuff later, and I still remembered the way he'd touched me ….his hands and his lips and the solid press of muscle as I pulled his chest to mine … Yeah, I remembered alright; frequently and in great detail...

#spn #dean winchester #spn fanfic #dean x ofc

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hunter-hero-nerd · 3 months

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Bathroom Confessions

Prompt: “I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back.” Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC!Female Hunter (Olive O'Hara) Warnings: Nothing major, alcohol, sex mentioned, flirty fluff A/N: Hey y'all This is my first fic in a while, so please be kind! This is a one shot featuring my oc, Olive O'Hara. I have plans to make a series with her. So if you like this, be on the look out for that!

The Olive O'Hara Chronicles Masterlist! Main Masterlist!

The Impala buzzes with excitement as the three of us make our way to the bar Dean had spied up the road. I tug nervously at my dark wash denim skirt that is just a tad too short. It has been too long since I’ve gotten any, if you catch my drift, and I am out to play tonight. The hunt had gone way better than anyone, Sam especially, thought would go. So, when the older Winchester nearly demanded that we all go out for a celebratory drink, I said yes when I normally would say no. It’s painful to watch Dean flirt with any random girl and take her home.

My crush on Dean, I always thought, had always been hidden until one night, a very drunk Sam proclaimed that it was very evident to him. So, after that I decided to stop putting myself in a situation for jealousy and giving my crush away to the Winchester that shouldn’t ever under any circumstances know. As cliche as it sounds, his friendship means way more to me than any stupid crush.

But tonight, I am going to take a huge step in getting over someone… by getting under someone else. Some townie at the bar would have to do to give me the spark to give others a try. “And here we are! Some random bar! But, who gives a shit as long as they have booze!” Dean cheers from the driver’s seat as he puts the Impala in park in front of said random bar.

We all climb out of the car and I catch Dean eyeing me up as I straighten out my skirt. “You dressed up tonight. Lookin’ good.” He winks seductively then offers his arm playfully. My stomach flutters but I take it as I know that’s how he is. He playfully flirts with most people. Really Sam is the only one who’s safe.

“Well, maybe y’all will be a man short going back to the motel tonight. If I’m lucky.” I say with some faux confidence in my voice.

“You really gonna go home with some rando?” Dean says, stopping us short. Is that jealousy I hear?

“C’mon, you do it. And plus, I’m not your average girl. Remember? I haven’t been a civilian since I was 18.” I look up at his face and see it semi-relax, but he still doesn’t seem happy. He drops the conversation and leads us into the bar. His energy shifts and smirks down at me.

“Who wants a drink!” He says and gets Sam and my drink orders and goes off to the bar.

“Look, an open pool table. Wanna play?” Sam asks me with a smile. He knows I know he can beat me any day of the week, but he loves to torture me. And me being the friend I am, I oblige with a wave of my arm ushering him to lead the way. He racks us up as Dean came back with their beers and my vodka Red Bull.

“Here’s your girly drink.” He says with a smirk as he hands me the drink. I take it and chug at least half in one swig. “Better slow down! I ain’t holding back your hair if you get sick. You’ll have to get your rando to do that.” I roll my eyes and then place my drink on the high top table we had claimed. I pick up my cue and saunter over to the pool table.

“Ladies first.” Sam proclaims as he removes the rack from the table. I set my shot up and break the balls evenly throughout the table. I even sink one.

“Solids.” I call, proud I have a chance to out run Sam’s impeccable game.

“Finally getting good!” Dean cheers from the sidelines. I roll my eyes and line up my next shot. It just so happens to be in front of Dean and I have to lean over a bit. I flip my way too long hair out of my face. I need to cut it but every time I think about it I get upset. So, I like to let it grow as much as I can. “Liking this view, sweetheart.” I hear Dean say and I’m thrown off my game. I miss the shot terribly, and hear Sam’s roar of laughter.

“Guess it’s my go!” He cheers as he sets down his beer and surveys the table. I head back to the table and chug the rest of my drink.

“Want me to help you with your next shot?” Dean quips flirtatiously. I smirk before replying.

“Only if you buy me another drink.”

Many, many rounds later, I am drunker than I have ever been in my life. Dean and I have been playing this back and forth that has completely distracted me from my goal of getting over him. As I finish another drink, the room begins to spin. “Maybe let that be your last one, sweetheart.” Dean says as he catches me sliding off the edge of the bar stool.

“M-you’re probably right.” I say slurring my words. I grab his shirt to try to stabilize myself and look up at him as the world fades around me.

-Dean’s POV-

Olive has been killing me all night. The way she’s dressed, the way she’s carrying herself, the way she’s just existing. It makes it hard for me to not get sucked in and try to avoid all feelings for my fellow hunter. When I saw her down her first drink I knew she was in for a night. She never holds her liquor well and usually once she starts drinking, she turns into a fish. So, how could I let this woman that I cared for get shitfaced and go home with some rando to do god knows what? So, I glued myself to her hip.

Olive starts slipping from her bar stool and I instinctively catch her and slide her back on. “Maybe let that one be the last one, sweetheart.” She mumbles something I can’t quite hear in return and grabs a hold of me. She looks up at me and I see her glassy brown eyes try their best to focus. “Oh, you’re trashed.” I joke as I feel a genuine smile appear on my face. She mumbles again. “What’s that?”

“Dean, I don’t feel good…” Her voice is small and almost embarrassed.

“Okay! Bathroom!” I say without a second thought, scooping her into my arms and carrying her to the single bathroom. We’re barely in the room when she rushes to the toilet and pukes up all the vodka she’d been drinking. I follow her and sweep her long ebony hair out of the way. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” I shush as I rub circles into her back with my free hand. She starts to relax and come back to reality.

“I’m sorry…” She whispers as she sits back a little, wiping her mouth.

“Don’t start with the I’m sorrys. Once you start, you don’t stop, Drunk Oli.” She looks up at me with her beautiful eyes.

“I love you, Dean. Like. Love you love you.”

“I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back.” I say as I sweep a few stray hairs away from her face. She whines drunkenly.

“You don’t understaaaand.”

“It’s okay. You can tell me in the morning.” I laugh and help her to stand. “Let’s get you back to the motel.”

#dean winchester #fanfic #supernatural #dean x ofc #fluff #flirty fluff #writing prompt #oneshot #sam winchester

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shyareads · 1 year

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Born Into Legacy | Dean Winchester

Summary: It was 2001 when young Emilia Quinn found out she was pregnant by her current boyfriend, Dean Winchester.

Instead of ditching her, he stays. He never left the hunting life, but Emilia did.

Once John went missing, Emilia felt like it was time to get back on the road...even if it was with a three year old in the backseat.

[Season 1-3]

[Dean x POC!OFC]

Rated M for Mature.

Warnings: angst, mentions of childbirth, pregnancy, fluff, canon violence, implied smut, smut

Chapter One: Prologue

2001

"I'm pregnant."

There was a pause in the room, everything was silent. The young man, who was equally responsible for the bun in the oven, was almost afraid to speak. He couldn't.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do.

The young woman, the expecting mother, was suddenly overwhelmed with the silence. The thought of disappointing her boyfriend, his brother, his father. She didn't know what came over her but once the tears started to pour, they didn't stop.

"Hey," the young man whispered. He wanted to get her attention, seeing her cry was the worst. "Hey, Em, come on. Don't do that. Don't cry."

Em scoffed just before she laughed humorlessly. "Don't cry. Dean...I'm pregnant. I'm a hunter. I have no family. Not to mention I'm only eighteen."

"Well, you got me," Dean told her. He took a seat beside her. Her cold hands were then cover with his warm palms. "You got Sam. You got my dad–"

"How are we gonna tell John?" Em shook her head. "He's just going to ship me back to Bobby's."

Dean got on his knees to be in front of the young lady. His emerald eyes staring into her brown orbs. He placed a hand on her cheek. "I'll handle it. I'm gonna take of you and the kid. I promise."

Emilia couldn't stay annoyed with herself for too long. That was the thing, her and Dean have known each other since they were kids, he always knew what to say to make her feel better.

Dean kissed her forehead before leaving the hotel room.

2002

"Come on, Em. You can do this!" Dean encouraged his girlfriend.

Her grip on his hand was getting tighter as she screamed.

"Ms. Quinn, I need one more push. Just one more."

"Okay," Emilia whispered before taking a deep breath. She gave it her all.

Then suddenly, she felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulder, except she didn't hear it. She didn't hear a cry.

"Is my baby okay?" The worried new mother asked. "Answer me, please."

The doctor turned the quiet baby around. The infant's blue face was troubling.

Dean held onto Em's hand, he was scared. But he was prepared for the worst.

The doctor slapped the baby's bottom. In return, the little bundle of joy started wailing.

The new parents smiled.

"Congratulations, your new baby girl," The doctor held up the baby for her parents to see her.

Dean melted. She was perfect. She had soft, curly brown hair. Her cheeks were like little plums. He couldn't make out her eyes just yet because she had them closed.

Dean Winchester thought he loved Emilia. He thought he loved Sam. But this love for the babe in front of him was a new feeling.

Emilia took in Dean's gaze at their baby. She was so proud of him. She was proud of herself. Yes, they were young. Yes, they didn't know what the were in for. But she didn't care. As long as she had Dean and their daughter, nothing else mattered.

2005

"Mommy, sing to me, sing to me," The toddler sang, twirling around in her pink dress. Emilia nodded her head, staying on beat.

"Zoe, girl, did you know that you use to live in my tummy? Zoe, girl, did you know that I'm in love with being your mommy?" Emilia joined in. Zoe smiled so wide.

She looked like Dean. The little girl have lightly brown skin, wild sandy blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a rad personality that lit up her parents world.

"You are my world, my favorite girl," Zoe continued, off-key. She grabbed her mother's hand and grinned.

Her mother returned the grin, there were tears in her eyes. She loved Zoella Claire Winchester so much. She never expected to become a mom, but she wasn't mad that it happened. She thanked God for her child, and her boyfriend.

"Mama?" Zoella called out. The little girl started stacking her dolls, stuffing them in her dollhouse.

"Yes, my sweets," Emilia answered as she walked in the kitchen.

"When is daddy and papa gonna be back?"

The mother turned around, she grabbed the apple juice off the dining table.

She sighed, "I don't know, pumpkin. Your daddy said a couple of days."

"Days? That's a long time. Too long," Zoe complained as she placed her little hands on her hips. Em shook her head. That little Winchester was a sassy one.

"What? You want me to call him?"

"I wanna talk to papa."

That was another thing. Zoella loved John Winchester. Whenever she was at daycare and they had to talk about their mommy or daddy, Zoe always asked if she could talk about her papa.

Emilia grabbed her purse and pulled out her phone, dialing John's number. When the line started ringing, Em gave the toddler the phone.

"Hello?" John answered but it sounded like he was whispering.

"Papa! Hi! I miss you!" Zoe exclaimed as she walked into the other room.

Emilia chuckled to herself. She stood there for a moment before looking the refrigerator to try to figure out what's for dinner.

"When's you coming back home, pop?" The toddler asked as she made a spot on the couch. John sighed.

"I don't know, buttercup. Have you seen your daddy yet?"

Zoella shook her head as if John could see her. "Not yet, papa."

"I have to go, cupcake. Promise me you'll be sweet?"

The little girl smiled to herself. "No."

"Zoella Claire," John said sternly. He usually goofed around with her but this time he couldn't. He had other things on his mind.

Zoe frowned. "Yes, I's gonna be sweet."

"Good," John sighed again. He didn't know how to break down what he was wanting to say for his grand baby to understand. "Listen, papa is gonna be a little busy for a while. You know what that means, right?"

"Long time?"

Hearing the sadness in her voice broke his heart. "Yeah, buttercup, long time."

"I don't want you to go."

"I have to. I love you."

"I love you too." Then it was silent on the other end. Zoella pouted, she slowly walked back in the kitchen.

Emilia noticed Zoe's change of mood. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Zoe shook her head before running off to her room.

Em turned the stove down so the food she was cooking could simmer. Without hesitation, she followed her child into her room.

And there was Zoe, playing with her blocks. Her mother could tell she was sad, but she didn't know why.

"Hey, why the long face?"

"Papa is gonna be gone for a longs time."

Emilia was use to that though. Dean and John would leave for weeks at a time, just couldn't stay away from that hunting life.

"He'll be back before you know it. I promise."

"Okay, mommy."

Dinner was quiet. Zoe didn't say much, she mostly played over her food. Emilia started to worry about the toddler.

After cleaning up and putting away food, it was bath time, and that lifted the toddler's spirit.

"I have to sleep?"

"Yes, ZoZo love, you have to sleep. You have daycare in the morning." Emilia kissed her daughter's forehead before tickling her.

Zoe giggled, kicking her little feet, messing up the sheets on her bed.

"Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight mommy."

Just as Emilia was about to go to bed, she heard the front door unlock. Immediately, she grabbed her gun, her finger on the safety lock.

She slowly trailed her way into the living room. Then she noticed a little light in the kitchen, when she walked in she saw a someone with their head in the refrigerator. Fortunately, she knew this person.

"Dean!" Em said, making her presence known.

She startled him a little, casing to hit his head on the roof of the fridge.

He stood up and turned around to see his beautiful girlfriend in her nightgown.

"Mmm, happy to see me?" He flirted. Em rolled her eyes but she couldn't help smirk that crept to her lips.

"You're a big dummy. Where's John?"

That's when Dean frowned. "I don't know. He's not answering my calls."

"I'm sure he's fine. Zoe talked to him earlier."

Dean scoffed before giving Em a small smile. "Of course he'd answer her calls."

"That little one has a force to be reckoned with," Emilia laughed. "I wouldn't want to be on her bad side."

"I know that's right," Dean looked around. "Where's my baby anyways?"

"It's damn near midnight, she's asleep. I want to keep it that way."

Dean nodded. He looked at Em and smirked. "Well, since you were about to go to bed anyway..." The Winchester grabbed his Lady, his arms wrapped around her waist. He kissed her.

That's always something she missed. His soft lips, the way he held her. Emilia deepened the kiss, exploring his mouth. Something she hasn't done in weeks.

Dean then led Em to their bedroom where they continued their need for heated passion.

That morning, Dean woke up in bed by himself. He groaned. He loved sleep, he hated waking up.

Before he did anything else, he checked his phone.

He became more alert when he noticed a voicemail from his father.

He pressed play and listened to it. He shook his head before putting on his clothes.

2005

Emilia spent all day at work, she was a waitress in the morning and an after school teacher in the evening.

She was happy to finally be home. She grinned when she saw the impala was still parked outside of their home.

"Look who's here, zozo!"

"Daddy?!"

"Yeah!" Em quickly got her daughter out of her car seat. Zoe wasted no time in running in the house.

She ran into her parents bedroom. Her eyes widen with excitement to see her dad come out of their bathroom.

"Daddy!"

Dean's heart melted every time she called him that. He opened his arms for her to run to him and she did. He picked her up, holding onto to her in a tight embrace.

"My ladybug, I've missed you."

Zoe leaned back to look at her dad's face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I couldn't stay away from my baby for too long."

Emilia stood at the doorway, she loved it when those two would interact. "Hey, you two, what do you guys want for dinner?"

"Pizza!" Zoe yelled from her father's arms. Dean chuckled.

"You heard the little boss, babe. We want pizza."

Emilia rolled her eyes before she laughed. Dean placed Zoe on her feet. "Hey, go get your blocks and meet me in living room. Daddy gotta talk to mommy."

"Okay!" Zoe ran out of the room.

Dean's smiled turned into a slight frown. Emilia quickly caught on to that. Something was not right.

"What's wrong?"

"It's my dad...he's missing. I got this voicemail–"

"John's not missing."

"Oh yeah? You know where he's located at this very moment?"

Emilia folded her arms. "Okay, continue."

"I need to find him. I'm leaving."

The young mother scoffed. "That's so like you. Do you even think about us? About your daughter?"

"Em–"

"No, I don't want to hear that. You're missing her life, Dean! You weren't even here when she took her first steps or when she said her first words."

She was starting to make Dean feel bad.

"I know and I'm–"

"Which is why we're coming with you."

Dean froze when she said that. Not really sure if he heard her right. "What?"

"John's missing and we need to find him. I don't want you doing it alone so me and Zoe are coming with you."

Dean shook his head, not liking the idea. "What if it gets dangerous?"

"Luckily, Zoe has two amazing parents who will make sure nothing bad ever happens to her."

Emilia closed the space between her and Dean, kissing his lips slowly. "Just let me help."

"Okay, let's start packing," Dean said, grabbing a bag for his lady. He paused, forgetting to mention one more thing. "Oh, and we're going to get Sam."

Emilia turned around. "What?"

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean x ofc #dean x you #dean x y/n #supernatural dean #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester imagine #spn season 1 #spn fanfic

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multifandomimagines1522 · 2 years

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Imagine

Dean: listen, have I ever put you in a situation where your life is at risk?

Sam: Yes.

Cas: Quite frequently.

Jack: More often than not.

Y/n: At least once a day.

Dean: Well then you should be used to it by now and should no longer be surprised.

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean x y/n #spn #supernatural #dean winchester fluff #au dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean x ofc #impala #sam winchester imagine #castiel #jack kline #sam winchester #supernatural imagine

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 1 year

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Past Due (Dean/OFC)

Title: Past Due

Rating: Mature

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Original Female Character

Pairing: Dean x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has an effect on an older woman he's known for years. Kansas, Men of Letters Bunker Setting. Set around Season 15 with some canon-divergent plotting.

Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Explicit Language, Smut, Angst, POV First Person, POV Female Character, Librarians, Friends to Lovers, Protective Dean Winchester, The Winchesters Are On A Case, The Boys Deserved A Better Ending

Chapters 1 to 3 Word Count: ~ 5K

Notes: Posted on AO3 10/2/20; Completed 7/16/21.

Chapter 1

Am I being checked out while checking him out?

I scan the barcode on the back cover. His eyes are trained on my face with a little more interest than usual.

Do I have some spinach between my teeth from the salad I had for lunch? God, why does he have to do that thing with his tongue?

I readjust the glasses on the bridge of my nose and make some quiet small talk with the gorgeousness in front of me. I do most of the talking and he does most of the nodding.

No. Dean Winchester is not checking me out. He’s just existing and breathing and short circuiting my brain as he tends to do on occasion with his proximity.

I will not fuss with my hair like I always do when he’s close enough for me to smell him. Oh, Goddammit.

I feel like a sixteen year old around this man. Every damn time. It’s not fair. It happened the first time I met him six years ago. He’d handed over the paperwork and I processed his library card application. He smiled that lopsided grin that says, You poor unsuspecting creature. I’m so handsome I don’t even have to make much of an effort .

That was the day he and his mountain man of a brother, Sam, walked into the Smith Center Library. Back when they had used Campbell as their last names on the application. And before they had helped with a haunting that blew their aliases. At least with me. It was a “job” for them that involved my brother five towns over. The house he had bought for a song at a sheriff sale, turned out, came with a supernatural squatter.

“No shit it was cheap. Because someone was murdered in it. No offense, but your brother was pretty much asking for trouble knowing that going in.” I still remember Dean’s very accurate logic when they’d gotten the full history.

I shouldn’t feel like a sixteen year old - when I’m 46, speeding toward 47 in a couple months - with a man five years my junior. Even if it is Dean Winchester.

He reminds me of my second husband, Lou. Full of sass, rounded out with some grump, and a sprinkle of edge. He drinks like Lou did. I only know that because I’d bought Dean and Sam a round of drinks one night a few years back. It was a thank you after they’d burned the remains of the poor soul that was stuck in what they called a death echo in my younger brother’s house. Top shelf scotch is Dean’s preferred drink of choice when someone else is buying, by the way. And he has a high tolerance for alcohol that one only gets after decades of experience. Like my second husband, Lou.

He drives a vintage muscle car like Lou did, too. You can hear it ten seconds before it turns onto West Court Street and pulls up to park in front of the library. That engine sound always gets my fellow co-workers on high alert and wide eyed, just like me. It’s a disappointment to all of us when it’s not Dean.

He flirts with every female between the ages of eighteen and eighty that crosses his path. Again, like Lou. It’s his default setting. He seems to prefer a tight skirt from what I’ve gathered through my research. But he rarely slights and denies the opposite sex his charms or thorough assessment if they decide to don pants or shorts.

My brain finally registers the title of the book he’s checked out on the computer screen. The attraction fog has lifted for a brief second. I turn the tome over on the counter and read the title aloud. “Fairies and Wood Nymphs? Do I want to ask?”

He shakes his head. I twist my fingers near my mouth to indicate my lips are sealed. Then he flashed me that weird look again. Almost like he’s processing some data. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in here for over a month and I’m paying every flinch and twitch even more attention than usual. I realize in real time I’m cataloguing all of these In case I don’t see him for another month. Or, God forbid, two months. “You really are, aren’t you, Winter?” He finally pipes up with a question, using my surname as usual. The smile returns to his face.

“What’s that, Mr. Campbell?” I respond with a way too giddy smile and slide the book back to him. My coworkers are probably snickering at me behind the periodicals as they watch the show. Sure, like they wouldn’t be putty in this man’s hands, either. Even Ronald turns into mush around Dean.

He bends and leans back a bit to rest those thick forearms on the counter. Plaid clad shoulders, green eyes, freckled skin, and pouty lips are now at eye level with my five foot four frame. “Good at keeping a secret.” He mumbles and lowers his voice more with every syllable.

That voice triggers the floodgates down below.

What the hell is going on right now? “Friends don’t call me ‘The Vault’ for nothin’.” I somehow get the sentence out. Being this close reminds me of the night at the bar. When the scotch had worked its magic at the Mexican restaurant. The neon green cactus aesthetic and terra cotta motif had lulled Dean into some sort of sarape security blanket. He’d divulged a lot after Sam, downing only one drink, had left in the Impala with the promise to pick up his brother in a couple of hours. By the end of the night, Dean said I was a good listener and not quick to judge. That I had a nice calming presence. That I’d must have seen some heavy shit in my lifetime, too.

“Can I ask you something?” His brows raise.

My mouth has dried up so I can only nod in response.

He cocks his head to the library entrance. “Do you have a minute to talk outside?”

I nod again. I may not be the boss, but my seniority and elder status give me a little leeway.

He rises up, taps the counter and grabs the book. “I’ll be waitin’ in the car.” I get a full smile this time and almost pass out.

I push the front door of the library and spill out on the sidewalk a couple minutes later. His black beauty of a car is still there, waiting. The nippy Fall temperature is enough for me to wrap my cardigan tight around my middle. Dean is in the driver’s seat, windows open, with Lynyrd Skynyrd playing on the radio.

He has an eager and appreciative look on his face when he exits the vehicle and walks toward the hood to meet me. “Thanks.”

I shrug. “What did you want to ask me?” I wrap some stray, windswept strands back behind my ear.

“Sam and I, we could use some help at the bunker.”

I can’t help but gasp at the word. Bunker. This legendary place I’ve gotten sparse, verbal descriptions of here and there over the years. Their home base. Sam has boasted of its library to me.

“Well, mainly Sam could use some help. Because I’m useless when it comes to the library. And, he also doesn’t trust me when it comes to the books.”

Library. I’m able to stifle another gasp. I stand in silence, waiting for more.

He sighs. “Let’s just say we had an accident. A lot of the books got damaged, flew off shelves into a massive paper mountain.”

My head nods in a fury. “Yes, I’d love to help.”

He chuckles at my eagerness. “Great.” He hands me a note, like we’re in high school. “Meet me at this intersection and I’ll show you the rest of the way there?”

“When?”

“Whatever's good for you.”

I realize how non existent my social life is lately and offer, “Friday night?”

He nods. Another grin. “Eight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“It’s a date.” He winks.

Lou NEVER winked.

Chapter 2

I left my cottage in Smith Center that Friday after the sun had set. It was a twenty minute drive before I came upon Dean at the crossroads, waiting for me with a grin and a goal when my headlights spotted him. I followed Dean’s Impala in my Wrangler down the long, winding prairie road eventually overtaken by trees for another ten minutes. The radio kept me company in the dark. The wooded area closed in on each side as I drove behind the Impala’s wake.

A clearing amid the trees to the right gets my attention. I peer up and gasp, braking in time to avoid a mild fender bender after Dean’s abrupt stop.

The bunker looks like a massive detention center or secret government facility built into a rather large hill. It’s intimidating in its grey, drab, and impenetrable appearance. Illumination from the moon and stars in the Kansas sky provide a perfect backdrop. I can see the outline of the sharp roofline structure high above the tree canopies.

What the hell am I getting into? These brothers have provided the occasional glimpse into their lives with the weird research requests over the past few years. I should feel scared or worried. But, the quick pace of my heartbeat has more to do with the excitement of peeking at what’s behind the curtain. And, finally seeing the place Sam and Dean Winchester call home in Lebanon, Kansas.

The squeak of Dean’s driver side door as it opens and he plants boots on the gravel makes the blood pound in my ears. He eases, almost pours out. The door cinches shut with a creak. My headlights spotlight him again. He strolls over on those bow legs. I kill the engine. He leans against my open window, staring down, a hand and forearm reclining on the rooftop. “Still okay with this, Winter?”

I smile. He’s such a perfect mix of rugged and that kind of handsome they don’t make anymore. He reminds me of Paul Newman, Robert Redford, John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in their heyday. But, then he’ll shine some cheekiness that gives me the vibe of a Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin hosting a variety hour from the 60s. I stare at those lips a little longer than I should. Again. “Yep. This is already the most eventful Friday night I’ve had in forever.”

He taps the roof. “Alright, then.”

The temperature has dropped and I’m glad I wore a heavy jacket. The gravel crunches underfoot and Dean has enough courtesy and manners to lead the way in the dark with a flashlight.

“Got a few concrete steps here. Careful on the way down.”

I chuckle. “So nice of you to look out for your elder.”

He waves the flashlight in my direction, but low to my chest so it’s not directly in my eyes. “You do that a lot, you know.”

I stop in my tracks. “What?”

“Point out that you’re older than me.”

“Do I?”

“Mh-hm.” The flashlight rotates back around in his hand so we can continue the trek. He waits until we are both at the threshold of a large door. It looks like a bank vault. The click of a key in a lock is heard when he adds, “Why do you do that?”

I shrug in the shadows.

The door gives to Dean’s pull and sounds like he’s breaking some type of hermetic seal. In moments we are atop a stairwell. The door slams behind us and makes me jump. My eyes widen at the view below, something out of a 40s war room. Dean’s already halfway down the iron staircase before my feet are able to move. I track and inventory the vintage communication devices, the art deco architecture, the solid build of this secret place with brick and stone and marble. A huge table in the middle of the room has a world map lit up from below as its surface. Dean drops his backpack on the table without a second glance. “Sam!” He yells.

He walks to a large open entryway into another room with a step up. I glimpse the row of tables and shelves. And the books. The books scattered everywhere. The smell of leather and musky paper fills the air. I inhale deep and get that little whiff of smoke and vanilla that I love.

“I’d invite you to make yourself at home, but that’s not really possible at the moment.” He motions for me to follow. Dean shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the back of one of the chairs. I’m attracted to a nook in the beautiful hall filled with clutter. I drape my jacket on a wingback chair and pick up a hardbound book on one of the stacks. There are dozens of these book pillars piled in various heights, some reaching to my shoulders. “Where the hell is he?” Dean asks no one in particular.

I notice a Samurai sword on display to my left when Sam’s free floating voice calls out. “Be there in a minute, Dean!”

Dean sighs and slinks through the maze of books. He lands on my right and stares down at me. “Are you hungry? We’ve got a stocked kitchen for once. Sandwich? Snack? Beer?”

I shake my head, too busy splitting my gaze between his expectant green eyes and the volume in my hands. “Is this an actual first edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales?”

Dean opens his mouth but Sam answers, peeking over the Samurai sword on the bookshelf. “Yep. From 1909. Thanks for coming to help out.” He smiles.

“This is… wow.” I’m speechless.

“Well, I’m hungry.” Dean pipes in. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He darts and bounds up another small set of stairs leading out of the library.

“Remember,” Sam begins.

Dean halts in the other doorway. “I’m not bringing any food in here. I got it, Sam, nothing that might mess up your precious. You're worse than that goblin thing in Lord of the Rings.”

“Gollum was a hobbit.” I correct him.

“Stoor hobbit, actually.” Sam nods in agreement.

Dean purses his lips and raises both hands, then slams them in mock defeat against his thighs. “Thanks for clarifying. Looks like we found the best person to help.” He shakes his head and gives me a tiny smile before disappearing.

My heart beat skips at that smile.

Sam and I spend a good fifteen minutes deciding on a strategy to divide and conquer. He’s as giddy as I am to get these things back in their proper spots. The Dewey Decimal system makes the overwhelming task a bit easier. He really only needed another pair of hands and a bookish mindset. I’ll take one side of the library, Sam the other. He’s pulled out a pencil sketch of the shelves and their categories, as best as he can recollect.

“Dean got this glazed look when I asked him to help organize after we got them piled up and out of the middle of the room.”

I thumb through the index cards in the catalogue to get my bearings and hope to find homes for a couple books to start. Anything that doesn’t go on my side that I come across, I’ll leave for Sam on the table closest to the war room. He’ll place anything for me on the other table. “An actual explosion?”

Sam nods. “It was like an earthquake. Shook everything. And, then, there were the…” He clamps his lips tight and runs his fingers through his long hair. “Too much information for your first night. I want you to come back and help.”

I narrow my eyes. “I was already crazy enough to come. It would have to be pretty terrifying for me not to return.”

He shrugs and only repeats, “I want you to come back.”

We talk. He’s hesitant to indulge me with certain facts. But when I ask if Dean has any culinary skills to speak of, he’s almost an open book. Burgers and charring meat appear to be Dean’s specialty. I smile, feeling the tap and tug of my heart, thinking about how good my first husband, Rick, was with a grill and a smoker. I ask about Jack. Sam tells me that he’s staying with Cas for a while.

One afternoon, a couple years back, Dean and I stood huddled by a monitor in the technology area. He was dressed in a sharp blue suit and wore a cologne that filled my nose with citrus and cedar. To this day, I’m not sure how I managed to remain upright.

He was in need of some topographic maps of Lebanon. I didn’t ask why and he seemed grateful. I asked about Jack, since he was fresh in my mind from a recent visit. Dean steeled his jaw before confessing he and Sam were having difficulty with their new charge. I learned they had saved Jack from a dangerous situation. I assumed it was something supernatural. His mom had passed when he was born and their friend, Cas, had taken the boy under his wing not long after that. Now that friend was in need of more assistance with Jack. There was more to the story, but I didn’t press.

I knew why he mentioned Jack’s mom. He knew about my first husband. It had been one of my confessions over those drinks years back. Rick had been my high school sweetheart. We’d married halfway through university at KWU in Salina. I got my bachelors. Rick had turned his volunteer firefighter position into a career, dropped out after two years at university, and kept telling me he was going to go back to school after. After was Rick’s favorite word.

We moved back to Smith Center after school. I got a job at the library soon after that. Our son Ricky came along a year later. Rick had promised a five year old Ricky at the dinner table they would go to the neighbor’s farm over the weekend. He’d get his first pony ride. After his 24-hour shift at the firehouse.

Rick never came home after that shift.

Chapter 3

I shake myself from the memory. I’m not sure how long it is before I turn around to grab from a new stack and find Dean standing right there. My nose brushes against his shirt. I avoid slamming the rest of me into him.

I smell the fresh clean showered scent of him. He’s sporting loungewear like a male supermodel. The spiky damp hair is doing weird things to my insides. I want to run my fingers through them like I’m sprinting through a field of wheat. And, then I want to tug on those strands while he…

“Is Sam taking advantage of you?” He smirks, chin to his chest, looking down at me. “Free labor and all. Sure you aren’t hungry?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Getting in the zone.”

He nods into his chest. “Well, if you plan on it being an all-nighter, we’ve got plenty of space for you to crash.”

“Dean…” Sam side eyes and scolds him with a slight shake of his head.

I realize how curious I am to explore more of this amazing place. I also realize how much being this close to Dean makes me wish he’d never be more than an arm’s length away. See? Sixteen year old. My twenty-three year old son would be mortified at his mother’s behavior right now. Thank God he’s on his own and away at school, working on his Master’s in Library Science. He would love this book collection, though. “I could use directions to a bathroom.”

Dean smiles. “Sure. Follow me.”

I nod to Sam. His gives me a hesitant smile.

Dean leads out the library in slippers that remind me of something my father would wear. I stare at the heels of his bare feet peeking out from the slippers when he steps up. For a second I get an image of the two of us on the couch watching television. His long and solid frame spread out across all the cushions. I’m seated at one end with his calves propped up on my lap, massaging his tired and sore feet. “Coming, Winter?” Dean’s voice calls out. He’s turned to wait, a quizzical stare at me. Shit, how long have I been daydreaming?

I join him. He’s along my left down the marble and stone corridors. They contain a plethora of doors and intersections that turn my sense of direction on its head. The halls feel cold, antiseptic, even though the design and style is meticulous and elegant.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “You probably have a dozen more questions now.”

“Try a hundred. It’s just the two of you in this huge place?”

“Well, sometimes Jack. And, Cas.”

“Do you have a cleaning service come in or something?” I run a finger along the marble wall as I pass. I tilt my head in approval at the lack of dirt.

He chuckles. “We’ve got a really great filtration system. Just have the usual upkeep with the common areas and our rooms.”

“I need to get me one of those.”

“Or live in a secret lair with no windows.”

“Hm, that’s true, you don’t have any. You really could not know what’s going on outside while you’re in here.”

“It’s a hermit’s fantasy. Like that hobbit.” He grins and stops at a door. “It’s the bathroom slash showers. Don’t get lost in there. Or on your way back. Make a right out the door, left at the dead end.” He points down the hall with two fingers like a cop directing traffic. “Pass two cross streets, then make a right onto the next one. You’ll see the library entrance on your left. Eventually.”

I frown. “If I get lost?”

“Just call me, Winter.”

My flats shuffle down the hall. I make my way back to the library and feel like I’m at work. I shift into my quiet and unobtrusive mood. Unseen unless needed or called upon.

Dean’s instructions were clear and easy to follow. The slight panic at being in an unknown maze subsides when I hear their voices. I turn down the hall. The warm amber light from the library spills into the corridor yards away.

Their voices travel toward me. The acoustics are quite good in this place. I can tell they are trying to keep their voices low.

“You should ease up.” Sam sounds irritated.

“What?”

“Not every woman needs to be a conquest, Dean.”

“Shut it. I-I don’t think about Winter like-.” Dean stutters. “I’d never think of her as a conquest.”

And that. That’s what makes my heart drop into my stomach. Of course he doesn’t think of me that way.

Sam sighs. “I can really use her help. And, she’s always been nothing but nice to us.”

Dean sighs back. “I know that.”

I take a deep breath, beat myself over the head with reality. Cough for good measure so they know I’m coming. When I turn the corner, Sam is busy in his section and Dean is between the tables, ringing his hands, and smiling at me.

He’s been sweet because, why, felt bad for me? Placating me, maybe? He just knows he’s got that effect on women?

“Great at directions, Sam. Told ya.” Dean claps his hands. “I’ve been told enough space has been cleared and that snacks may be brought in.” He raises a finger in the air for emphasis. “I’ll be back.” A quick turn and dash around the corner of a table has him disappearing through the war room.

When I step in to assume my spot I catch his figure heading through a doorway by the stairwell entrance. I resume the work. Quiet and unobtrusive.

“Everything alright?” Sam notices the change.

“Yep.” I flash a smile full of teeth. “This is an amazing collection.” I pretend to rifle through the pages of one book with interest before placing it on a shelf.

“Did Dean… say something… to make you uncomfortable?” Sam strolls closer and leans on the table to sit. I think it’s an attempt to shorten our height differential. “He can get a little carried away.”

I fidget with the frames of my glasses. “No. I’m used to it. He’s like that with every woman, right?” I grab two books and study the spines.

Sam shrugs. “Kind of.” From my peripheral view, I can see him lean down farther and try to make eye contact. Or get a read on me. “I mean, it’s not like you’d be interested, right?”

This weird sound comes out of my mouth that resembles a laugh being choked out of my windpipe. When I look up Sam has a deer in the headlights expression. The wrinkles on his forehead have multiplied.

He chuckles and blinks. “Right.” Fingers tap on the table surface and he’s back to work on his side.

I spend another hour and a half with the brothers in the library. Dean brought a variety of things to munch on. My heart feels a little heavy at my assumption about his interest. The fantasy couldn’t last forever in my head. But I try to enjoy Sam and Dean’s company and take everything at face value. They are nice guys, after all. I’m sure there wasn’t any intentional misleading on the part of my emotions.

I crunch my last carrot stick and slide another book home. “Alright, gentlemen. I do know how to party it up on a Friday night. But it’s close to 10:30. I should get myself home.”

Dean squints. “If it’s too late for a drive back…”

I raise a hand in protest. “They haven’t taken my driver’s license away from me yet due to old age. I’ll be fine.”

Dean’s half-hearted smile disappears. He stuffs a few potato chips in his mouth as he gets up. “Let me put on some shoes.”

“What for?”

He lifts both hands up. “Want to make sure you get home safe. I’ll follow you back.”

My mouth opens. There’s a thrill that I’m quick to squash down. “I might not want you to know where I live.” I interject without thinking.

His eyes widen and then he smiles. “It’s cute that you think we don’t already know where you live.”

My head whips to Sam. He shrugs. “Part of the job. We vet everyone who gets let into our little circle of chaos.”

“Be right back.” Dean confirms there’s no way I’m getting out of an escort home.

Sam is ever so grateful for the assistance tonight. He wraps me up in a huge friendly hug that’s warm and comforting. He thinks he can manage the rest of it on his own. But he offers to have me come back soon, inspect and approve what he’s done. The library is always open for me to visit in case I want to do some actual reading.

Dean returns a few minutes later, fully dressed again. The man is quick and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Could have been a firefighter.

I’m quiet on the way out. I follow him down to our cars. He provides the lead and lights my way to the Wrangler. He clicks the driver’s side door closed once I’m in and suggests a three point turn to head back the road we came in on. He offers to lead in the Impala. I decline, sure in my navigational skills.

I keep checking my rear view mirror on the drive back. I see the silhouette of the assured, confident Winchester. I’m positive that man has broken many hearts. But, probably provided some amazing memories for some lucky women. I’m also positive he’d be a hard act to follow for anyone that came after him. I’m not sure I could handle either of those scenarios at this point.

And how lucky could one woman get anyway in a lifetime? I think back to Rick and the memories that have a grainy film overlay to them now. How special those years were. How misguided and unfair I was to Lou, constantly comparing him to the man I lost. Knowing that my expectations and a multitude of sins on his part led to our divorce five years back.

It’s better like this: to admire Dean Winchester from afar with the occasional heart palpitations.

I pull into my short drive. I’m self conscious about the loud rumble of the Impala’s engine as Dean rolls past me to stop in front of my house. My neighbors are scattered here and there along the prairie road. No one is on top of each other. But it’s usually quiet this time of night. Jody or Harry will be peeking because of the noise. A second later my prediction is confirmed. I stare off to the right through my passenger window to see a light snap on in the Wilson’s kitchen window.

I hop out of the Wrangler, ready to walk over to Dean’s driver side and thank him for seeing me home. Dean cuts off the engine and emerges with an energetic self propulsion. I stall in my tracks. Even in the dark I blush at those eyes that I know are trained on me. Goddammit.

“Thanks.” I squeak out and clear my throat.

“No problem. Wanted to make sure you got home safe.” I hear his hands slide into his jean pockets. He’s closer now. My eyes have adjusted to the dark. His tongue peeks out and brushes that full bottom lip. It glistens in the moonlight. He cocks his head to my porch. “Alright if I watch you get inside?” He raises a hand. “Not me being stalky. Just cautious.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you have a target on your back or something?” A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s due to fear or standing for too long in the chilly October night.

He grins. “Not at the moment.” My mouth opens up at the cavalier response. He turns serious, maybe because of the look I gave him. “We didn’t want to tell you, didn’t want to worry you…”

“That’s a great way to start things off.” I frown and cross my arms.

“You should get inside, Winter. Gettin’ cold.”

“You can’t do that to me. Leave me hanging like that.” I hear a familiar screen door screech open on hinges that need greasing.

He sighs and nods past my shoulder to something behind me. “I don’t want to explain out here. We’ve got an audience.”

I turn around, past my Jeep and the drive to see Harry in his sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s leaning against a pillar under the floodlight of his porch. A sharp nod in my direction. Jody’s voice travels in the night air, asking her husband what’s going on over at my house. I sigh and give the neighbor a wave. “Well, we’ve given them something to talk about.” I mumble. “Might as well come inside for a minute so I get all the facts.”

#spn fanfic series #dean winchester fanfic #dean x ofc

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 8 months

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I Will Find You in the Dark Ch. 6

Series Summary: Dean and Julie's story continues through turbulent times in the Winchester's life. Can Dean and Julie survive through it all? Can their love survive?

Chapter Summary: Now that they have the demon chained up, can they cure him and bring their Dean back?

Pairings: Dean x OFC (Julie) Established Relationship

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence throughout. Smut throughout. More detailed chapter warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Show level violence, Demon!Dean (with all that his black eyes bring with them), Demon!Dean being cruel for the fun of it, threatening behavior, mentions of pregnancy, and lots of angst.

Word Count: 3,433

Series Masterlist

A/N: The sixth chapter in the sequel to my fic, Green is My Favorite Color I strongly suggest that you read that one first, since there will be references made to it throughout this sequel. Also, I suggest you read the Dean and Julie Mini-Series I wrote as a bridge between that fic and this one. (The Mini-series’ title is a bit of a spoiler for the original series, so I won’t post it here, but it can be found here.) I had a lot of fun writing that original series, and the mini-series, and certainly hope those who read and enjoyed those, enjoy this sequel. 💓

The beautiful dividers below and at the end were created by @talesmaniac89 ❤️ Title card was created by me.

The room was dark when Julie opened her eyes; they couldn’t adjust fast enough, and she sat up with a cry of fear.

“Easy, Julie.” She recognized Cas’ voice just before he turned on a bedside lamp. She looked at him in confusion, her brain refusing to fill in the blanks.

“Cas?” She asked stupidly.

But the angel seemed to understand that his name alone was encompassing a myriad of questions that were chasing themselves around inside her head. Though he still seemed baffled occasionally, he’d come very far in understanding the way humans’ minds worked.

“You’re safe.” He informed her in his deep angelic voice. “You’re in your room, and I’ve healed you completely.”

She shook her head. “Healed me from what?” But as soon as the question was asked, everything came flooding back into her mind.

***

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was loud and full of fear. He slapped his brother’s cheek hard, and Julie put a hand over her mouth to stifle her own terror at Dean’s ashen, sweaty face.

Good god, we have actually killed him. She thought as bile rushed up her throat.

But after another slap, Dean sucked in a deep breath and let out a low groan. Sam let out the breath he’d been holding, and Julie felt the relief flood her, as tears ran down her cheeks. She dashed them away quickly, not wanting to give the demon in Dean’s soul more ammunition for his cruelty.

“Come on, come back to us.” Sam said as he gave his brother a bit of a shake. “You okay?”

Dean raised his head slowly, and seemingly painfully, as he mumbled out his answer. “You call drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils okay, then yeah, I’m okay.”

Sam stood up and moved out of the devil’s trap and back to the table that held the syringes full of purified blood.

“Look,” Sam told him with regret in his voice, “I can’t stop doing this.”

“Sure you can - just stop!” Dean said, anger lacing his exhaustion now. “It’s too late to get your brother back. He’s long gone. But I’m liking the new model.” His gaze swiveled to Julie and he gave her a smirk. “Lean, mean, Dean.” He nodded towards her. “You’d like him a lot, sweetheart.”

“No thanks.” Julie told him coldly. “My husband’s gonna be back anytime now.”

Dean chuckled roughly. “That what you think? Huh? That he’s just gonna stroll back into your life? Well, I’ve got news for you, this asinine plan of yours isn’t gonna work. So, you’re either gonna have a demon husband, or a dead one.”

He shook his head at her. “I don’t know why you’d want that pussy back anyway.” His gaze was lustful as he scanned her body from head to toe. “Promise you I’d be a lot more fun.”

When Julie remained silent, he let out a bark of harsh laughter. “Yeah, what am I thinking? I’m talking to the girl who waited around for years, for whatever scraps I threw her way. No matter how many times I walked away, you’d just be sitting there begging like a good little bitch, every time I came back.”

He tilted his head and his voice dripped with disdain. “Pathetic and weak.”

His penetrating stare was only broken as Sam stabbed another needle into his arm, making him scream in rage and pain. Sam tossed the syringe back onto the table, and hustled Julie out of the room, pulling her down the hallway far enough that she could no longer hear Dean’s grunts and growls.

She covered her face and leaned against the wall, thumping her head onto the hard tile. She shook her head and then pulled her hands down to look at Sam.

“What are we doing to him, Sam? What if we are killing him? He said it felt like his blood was boiling?” Her face was stricken. “I mean, what the hell?”

Sam let out a deep breath and scrubbed his big hand over the scruff that grew on his cheeks. “I know, Julie, but…” He shrugged, his expression as helpless as his tone. “What’s our other alternative? This is the only solution to get Dean back.”

Julie felt tears gather as her frustration and heartbreak overflowed. She nodded sadly and dropped her head. “I know.” She said in a whisper.

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call Cas again, and see how far out he is, and I’m gonna go unlock the door for him.” He pointed a finger at Julie as he put the phone to his ear. “Don’t go in there.”

Julie nodded and Sam’s long stride carried him away quickly so that she only heard him ask Cas. “Man, how far are you? We need you.” Then his voice was gone and there was just the quiet hum of air vents and machinery in the walls.

Julie ran a protective hand over the baby bump that seemed to get rounder every day. “He’s coming back, sweet pea, I swear it. Your daddy is gonna love you when he gets to meet you.” She was determined it would be true.

A couple of minutes ticked by before she heard it. Dean’s voice - and it was scared.

“Jules?”

She stood staring towards the light spilling from the door until he called again, his voice slightly louder and laced with pain.

“Jules!”

She rushed to the doorway to see Dean slumped over once again. As she watched, his face spasmed in pain, and he lifted his head slightly. Relief washed over his face when he saw her. “Jules.” He groaned deeply and she came into the room.

He looked at his tied up hands and then back to her. His expression was all confusion. “I don’t…what’s going on?” Again pain seemed to wrack his body for a moment; he gritted his teeth against the onslaught before he slumped over, deathly still.

Julie’s eyes widened and she ran up to just outside the devil’s trap. “Dean!” She called out to him, but he didn’t answer. Her eyes held panic as she looked down at his chest, but it wasn’t moving.

She ran up to him and lifted his head in her two hands, as Sam had. She tried smacking his cheek, and shaking him slightly, but he didn’t respond.

“Dean!” She screamed in horror.

And faster than she could blink his eyes opened, coal black, and he snapped the ropes that held him, reaching out and getting a vice grip around her throat. He pulled her in close to his face and grinned.

“Pathetic and weak.”

Giving her a shake, he raised her up above his head and walked out of the devil’s trap with a grimace. She saw the demon cuffs dangling from the arms of the chair just before he slammed her against the wall, still outstretched in his hand.

He shook his head. “Good god, you are a sap. And I always thought you were so smart.” He shrugged. “Guess I was wrong.” He raised his free hand to scratch his chin in thought. “Now that I’ve got my hands on you, what am I gonna do with you?”

Julie felt the increasing pressure he was exerting on her windpipe, and she began clawing at the back of his hand, but he ignored her like she was an annoying fly, simply grabbing her right arm and slamming it beside her head on the wall.

Her free hand still clutched at his wrist as though she had any hope of loosening his grip. “Dean.” She croaked out. “Dean, please.”

He just chuckled as his black eyes stared into her and his grip tightened on her throat and arm. “You know, I could snap your neck with nothing but a flick of my wrist. Humans’ bones snap so easy. See?”

Julie screamed a choked and almost silent scream as he twisted her arm slightly and she felt the bone break. Pain radiated through her body. But panic was setting in quickly to overshadow it, as her vision began to blur and her lungs began to ache.

“I could kill you right now.” Dean’s voice was low, almost soothing.

Julie closed her eyes, shutting out the monster’s face, and conjuring Dean’s image into her mind; his sparkling emerald eyes and the way they grew warm when he looked at her; the soft smile he wore in the mornings when she woke him with a kiss, the silky way his lips felt against hers when he kissed her back.

If she was going to die, she wanted her husband’s beautiful face to be the last thing she saw.

The last thing she heard before blacking out was the demon making his decision. “N’ah, you might be fun later. I’ll kill my brother first.”

She felt her body hit the ground, and then everything went dark.

***

As the memories flooded her mind, Julie turned frantic eyes on Cas. “Where’s Sam, what…what happened?”

Cas patted her shoulder. “He’s fine, he’s fine. I got here in time to stop Dean, and we got him back into the devil’s trap, and the demon cuffs. Sam is about to give him the last injection. Then we’ll know.”

Julie rubbed a hand over her belly, her body shaking slightly from shock and worry. “Is the baby…?” She couldn’t finish the question, but Cas answered quickly.

“He’s just fine. His heartbeat was a bit fast for a while, but it’s returned to normal and his brain and organ functions are all what they should be.”

Julie looked up at the angel with a soft smile of relief. “He?”

Cas looked guilty for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t know.”

Julie shook her head though. “No, it’s okay. We couldn’t tell the last time we went to the doctor, but I wanted to know.”

Rubbing her belly, she breathed in deep and long. Then she stood up.

“Whoa, Julie, you should rest.” Cas admonished.

But Julie just shook her head. “No. You healed me right?” Cas nodded reluctantly. “Then I need to be there. I need to see if after all of this, Dean comes back to us.”

***

Dean sat in their bedroom, leaning against the headboard and looking around the room at all the pictures Julie had put up on the walls, as well as on every flat surface in the room. They were pictures of the two of them, sometimes alone together in the frame, and sometimes showing their arms slung around Sam or Cas, Benny or Charlie. Without fail every one of them showed Julie beaming out at him.

And every time he looked at them, the vision of Julie’s terrified face staring down at him as he squeezed the life from her, replaced her smile in his mind. He dropped his head into his hands and felt the deep gnawing pit in his stomach grow larger.

Suddenly the door opened gently and Julie’s head poked through the crack. Her smile was soft and questioning. “Hey.”

Dean was shocked to see her, but he stood up quickly. “Sorry, I’ll go.”

But before he could make it to the door, Julie walked through and pushed it closed behind her, leaning against it. She shook her head. “Please don’t go. I wanted to see you.” She reached towards his cheek. “I missed you.”

But Dean stepped back, his heart constricting. “Julie…” He stared at the ground, unable to look at her. “Don’t do this.”

Even without looking, he could see the way her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

He turned his back on her and went to stand and stare at the weapons mounted on the wall. They made him frown now. Why had he put these here? Why did he fill their bedroom with weapons of war?

Cause you're a killer, and a monster, of course. Said the voice in his head. That’s all you know.

When he answered, his voice was rough with tears he refused to shed; he didn’t deserve to cry about his sins. “Julie, you can’t just pretend none of this happened. You can’t just…” He turned back to face her, but kept his gaze averted. “You can’t just forgive me.”

Julie was quiet a moment, before she responded, annoyance in her tone. “I don’t think you actually get a say in whether I forgive you or not.” She shrugged in his peripheral vision. “But the fact of the matter is, there’s nothing to forgive. It wasn’t you.”

Dean scoffed and shook his head. “It was me, Julie. That’s the whole problem. No one possessed me, no one had control of me. It was all just my own fucked up, black soul.”

Dean could see Julie was shaking her head the whole time, barely letting him get the end of his sentence out before she was contradicting him.

“That’s simply not true. It was the mark, it twisted your soul, made your heart go black. But the mark isn’t you, it’s not who you really are. It’s a dark, evil thing, and it leached into you.”

She walked up to stand directly in front of him, putting her hands on his forearms. Dean turned his head further to the side, desperate not to look at her. He didn’t want to see her compassion, her certainty that he was good; he couldn’t take the forgiveness in her features.

“Dean,” she said softly, but sure, “I know who you are, the real you, and that black eyed thing wasn’t you. It was like an infection, and now you’re healed.”

Dean stared at the ground again. “Not that simple.” He mumbled.

“Of course it is.” Julie argued, stubborn as always. “It. Wasn’t. You.” She said in a staccato rhythm.

“But I remember when it was.” He said, his voice a mere croak.

Finally Dean looked up at her, seeing her beautiful face properly for the first time since she’d entered, and he swallowed over and over to rid his throat of the lump of unshed tears that grew there.

Dean was determined to make her understand. “I remember everything. Every moment. I remember every cruel, hateful word.” His jaw clenched tightly. “I remember the feeling of your arm breaking in my hand. I remember your scream, and the way panic filled your eyes, all the fear and terror, I remember it.”

Julie dashed away her tears angrily. “I know -”

“But mostly I remember the feeling of absolute glee I felt watching you struggle, hearing you choke…” He broke off, shoving his fingers through his hair and turning away again. His hatred of his own body and soul made him reach up and rake his hands down the wall, smashing weapons to the ground, clearing the way for him to deliver two solid punches to the wall, breaking his knuckles against the stone.

“Dean!” Julie yelled out, rushing towards him, but he sank down on the bed.

“Please, Julie.” He looked up at her, knowing that he was begging. “Please don’t act like nothing happened. I hurt you, badly. Broke your bones, considered ending your life.” His voice was desperate and strained.

He glanced down at the bump that showed through her flowy shirt “I put them in danger.” His mind ran away from that train of thought, simply too horrified to examine it for the moment.

Instead he continued trying to make her understand the truth. “I lied to you, tricked you, used your love against you. I said horrible, awful things to you.” He paused, and his mind rebelled at his next words too, but they were also the truth and needed to be spoken.

“I cheated on you.”

His voice was a whisper as he looked into her eyes again, and saw the pain that truth caused her. Whatever she may say, he knew that it mattered, that his sins and transgressions couldn’t be overlooked or brushed aside.

Julie tried to hide her hurt with a raised chin and a stubborn glint in her eye. “I’m aware of everything the demon did.”

“The demon WAS me, Julie! For Christ’s sake, why can’t you see that?” He yelled at her.

Julie’s careful façade began to crumble, as pain swept across her features, and tears overflowed her lashes. Instinctively, Dean reached for her; desperate to stop them. He took her face in his hands, but her tears fell too fast and too hard for him to swipe them all away.

“I know what happened.” Julie choked out. “I know all the horrible things that have happened over the last two months. Do you think I don’t know?” Julie shook her head and pulled away and straightened up, throwing her arms up.

“I have had a really awful couple months, and today was one of the worst days of my life.” She sniffed, and scrubbed her face with her hands. “Some asshole demon really hurt me, and I was really scared.”

She cleared her throat and walked back up to where he sat on the bed. Reaching behind him, she pulled a small metal disk from where it hung on the wall and, taking his unbroken hand in hers, she set the worn and battered talisman there. The old piece of jewelry looked much different than it had when he’d given it to her nearly eighteen years earlier. But it still held the magic of their love and he gripped it tightly in his hand as he looked up at her.

She ran a hand down his cheek and he shivered. “I’ve had a really shitty few months recently. So, I’d really like to just be here with my best friend. And I’d like my husband to hold me, and tell me that things will be alright.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. “I don’t mean everything will be fine today, or even tomorrow. But I need him to tell me that they will be, eventually. That we’ll pull through this like we always do.”

Dean closed his eyes as his need to comfort her, to hold her and reassure her, warred with his guilt and his fear of the mark that was still etched into his arm.

Finally he opened his eyes and let his tears fall at last, hoping they would tell her that he was more sorry than he could ever express. “Julie, I swore I would never leave you, and I won’t.” He shook his head. “But you have to promise me that when you want me to leave, you’ll tell me. Tell me to go.”

Julie shook her head. “That will never happen.”

Dean closed his eyes briefly, opening them again to peer up into her sunshine face, always his brightest spot; even now trying to lift him out of darkness with her unceasing light.

“Jules.” He said in a broken voice, filled with both awe and shame. “I’ve done nothing to deserve you.” The awe was there because he simply couldn’t understand her love, and the shame was because he knew that, in fact, he didn’t deserve it.

“I’ve told you a hundred times - you’re my hero, Dean Winchester. Plain and simple” Julie’s voice was clogged with tears.

Dean shook his head. He would never understand her, but he believed her. And he loved her - needed her - so much.

So, he pulled her down into his lap, and held her close. He shifted them back against the headboard and tightened his grip a little more, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and running his hand through her hair.

After a few minutes of silence, Dean took a deep, steadying breath, and then moved his hand down to spread across Julie’s belly. His voice was whisper soft. “So, I’m gonna be a dad?” The word alone conjured up contradictory feelings of excitement and complete terror.

Julie nodded softly and moved his hand a little lower. “Try talking to him, he likes voices. You might be able to feel him move.”

Dean’s gaze shot to hers. “He?”

Julie nodded and gave him a watery smile. “So Cas says.”

Dean felt a warm place start to grow in his battered heart right alongside the cold fear. But his mind’s eye conjured up the vision of a curly-headed little guy with big brown eyes, toddling around the bunker and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m gonna need to build him a yard, and a playground. He can’t stay in the bunker all the time. But it’s gonna need to be heavily warded, and protected.” He nodded with conviction. “But we can do it.”

He looked into Julie’s tear-stained face, gripping the talisman tight in his fist, and promised. “We can do it.”

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

#dean x ofc #dean x julie #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fan fic series

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spnfanficpond · 8 months

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Hi! I want to be added to the Tag List, please! My name is Sonia, I’m over 18, and I want to be tagged in the following: dean winchester x reader fics, oneshots, etc: Fluff (%100 my favorite!) , angst, smut, crack. Thanks!

Ps: I don’t know what “OC/OFC” or “orgies” are…so I cut them out.

Hi there! You're on the list!

FYI: OC stands for Original Character, OFC means Original Female Character, and OMC means Original Male Character. If you are interested in being tagged in fics that have original characters instead of reader inserts, then we would check off that column, too.

Orgies/Multi-Character Smut - This is when it's more than one character with an original character or reader insert character, or more than two SPN characters getting and giving some lovin'. For example, I once read a fic with a reader insert and five or six characters all just loving on each other in a hot tub. That's a lotta love and if you're into that, we can check that off for you!

If you have any other questions, or want to add some things to your request list, just let us know!!

#michelle answers #pond tag list #original character #dean x ofc #original female character #original male character #dean x reader

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spn-fanfic-reblog-writes · 2 years

Text

Blood in Heaven and Hell - Chapter 2

Chapter 1| | Chapter 3

Summary: A small town where some dreams come true and others lead to murder. Alex decides to have fun while on call as backup at the bunker.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x OFC!F!Alex (Undercover)

Cannon: Supernatural (AU), Season 10.

Characters: Bobby, OFC!Alex, MOC!Dean, Sam. OFC!Sarah (FWB), Townies

Word Count: ~5k

Warnings: Cursing. Flirting. Fluff. Mentions of previous smut and innuendos. 18+.

Author’s Notes: AU Spn. Bobby Lived. Charlie lived.

Beta’d: @myloversgone and @fluffiest-dreams

The next morning in the map room, Bobby sat down with a cup of coffee in hand and skimmed through a few books.

“This is a bad idea, Bobby,” Alex said, hands on her hips. “You’re not entirely certain this is even a demon, let alone a djinn. They look way too alike.”

“And this is why I didn’t ask for your help on the case. I know how you feel about possibly encountering djinns,” Bobby yawned.

Alex yawned in response and glared at Bobby for a moment then threw her hands up, “Fine.” She turned and walked to the kitchen, “I don’t appreciate being dragged a few States away to a fucking concrete hole in the ground dug by a bunch of dead people who know way more about monsters and such for your stupid research.” She grabbed a clean mug and filled it with black coffee half way then gave a loud throaty growl in frustration at him, surprising Dean who had just walked around the corner from the hall with his hands up and out as if about to pounce on what made the sound.

“Shut up, ya Idjit,” Bobby hollered back.

When he realized the growl came from Alex, his eyebrows shot up concerned, “You ok?”

“No, I’m not Ok. I think Bobby going after this demon alone is a bad idea. I know demons. I know the fucking mythology and history ridiculously well. Why else would I be here you may ask if not to work on the case? Because he has to fucking babysit me, like I’m a fucking child.” She spoke through gritted teeth staring towards Bobby and then walked past Dean towards her room. He opened his mouth then closed it, thinking better than to get involved, as his gaze followed her down the hallway and he watched her round butt and hips gently sway as she walked. Sam came out of his room, looked at Dean then peered behind him to see Alex almost at her room. He quickly walked up to his brother smacking him on the chest, his eyes saying stop it.

“What?” Dean responds innocently.

Sam rolled his eyes and stopped at the steps from the kitchen up towards the main entrance to tie his shoes. He walked to Bobby, “How’s it going?”

“Still no luck,” he responded.

“Bobby,” said Dean with food in the side of his mouth, “Why are you looking this up? We got a demon-killing knife, the first blade if it’s needed, and we can exorcise them.”

“Yeah, that second one isn’t a usable option,” Bobby stated with an eyebrow up, staring at Dean like he was stupid. “Always good to have back up options, kid.” He returned to reading through the book in front of him and sipped his coffee.

Sam looked to Bobby, “Then we’ll come with you and Alex as back up.”

“If it looks even remotely like a djinn, Alex won’t go,” Bobby stated keeping his eyes on the book. “She wouldn’t come until its been confirmed it isn’t a djinn.”

“What?” Dean said sarcastically. “Seriously?!” Sam looked at him like he should be ashamed of himself.

“Yes,” Bobby responded flatly. “While it isn’t a competition of who has had it worse, she could keep up with you two.” Bobby paused, “Possibly even with the Mark.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Sam questioningly, who shook his head. “Ok,” said Dean. “We will go. I don’t see leaving her in the bunker to be an issue. The safest place there is.”

Sam interjected, “Let me research online some more and if we can’t find anything, then we can go and just do what we do.”

Later, Sam, unable to find anything, informed Dean and Bobby of the lack of new information, so they decided to pack and head out the following morning.

Bobby knocked on Alex’s bedroom door with no response. He knew she was there. “ALEX!” He yelled. “I KNOW YOU’RE THERE! ALEX!” He pounded on the door waiting a few seconds and no response. Sighing, he covered his eyes with his cap and slowly opened the door, “Alex?!” He peaked to see her in her sleep clothes, shorts and a spaghetti strap shirt.

She appeared to be swaying her hips and butt as if listening to music which Bobby confirmed when he saw her gamer-style headphones covering her ears. She took small steps around the room with a closed book in her hand.

Not wanting to startle her, her called her name loudly a few times. The last one caused her to pause and look behind her. Her mouth opened and eyebrows rose. She pulled her headphones down to rest on her neck revealing she was listening to “Oh My Dear Lord” by The Unlikely Candidates—

o| …My future used to shine, it's bright as a diamond/Where'd the time go, I was too high, it was frightening/ Know I messed up but there's no use in crying/ No use in crying/ (Oh my dear Lord)… |o

She quickly grabbed her phone from her back pocket and paused the music. “Sorry, Bobby. Is everything OK?” She asked, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. “Just didn’t want to startle you,” he explained. “I want to let you know the boys and I are gonna head out in the morning.”

She crossed her arms, leaned on her hip, furrowed her brow, and drew her lips into a thin pale line. “Bobby,” she warned.

He raised his hands up as he tried to soothe her, “I know. I know. The boys are coming with me, so I’ll be just fine.”

She sighed and relaxed. Her hands falling to her side, “Ok,” she said and shrugged. “You call or text the moment you can confirm what it is and or if you need any help, even if it’s just research, promise?”

Bobby smiled at her concern, “Yes, I promise.” He chuckled, “I cannot believe you still do that after all these years.”

She half grinned, shrugging again. “Am I OK to stay here by myself?” She asked.

“Yeah, just don’t mess anything up,” he warned.

“One time. One time and you won’t let me forget it. I was 16. I got everything back in order and even bought you a brand new tv,” she defended.

He rolled his eyes and half smiled, “Ya idjit.”

“Stubborn old man,” she responded and chuckled.

She went up to him and hugged him, “Night, Bobby.”

“Night.” Bobby returned the hug and left the room. Alex went back to listening to her music.

It was a little after midnight before Alex turned off the lamp and went to sleep. She slept on her side with her hand on the hilt of her throwing knife under her pillow.

Approximately four thirty in the morning, Alex sat up straight and looked around, noticing the time on her phone light up at her movement on the bed. Her breath came out in pants, sweat dripping down her face and in between her breasts with the AC blasting cool air making her shiver. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and looked around. Within a few minutes, she was able to start taking deeper breaths and calm her racing heart, she groaned quietly at the realization of the time and laid back down on her bed. She wrapped her weighted blanket back around her shoulders, slid her hand back under her pillow, grasped the hilt, and closed her eyes in an attempt to get some sleep.

After lying in bed for another thirty minutes, she gave up. She turned on her lamp, got dressed to her boots— a thin long sleeve shirt and her usual jeans, made her bed, and headed to the kitchen. With a flip of the switch, the light in the pantry was on leaving the kitchen dark, and she took out various ingredients as she decided what to cook, then off to start whipping food together.

By the time the guys all woke up the lights had turned on throughout the bunker, bacon was in the oven and plates of scrambled eggs, pancakes, syrup, butter, along with dishes and silverware were in each place setting.

She said good morning to each one as they entered while she stood by the stove and cooked and oven waiting on the bacon. The men had all sat down with their cups of coffee and began putting food on their plates.

“This is wonderful. Thanks, Alex. You gonna join us?” Sam asked.

“I already ate while I was making the food. Eat up.” She put on a smile and motioned to the guys at the food on the table. Suddenly, Alex pulled out a pan sheet of crisp bacon on top of a cooling rack with her covered hand. She grabbed a plate lined with paper towels then carefully placed the bacon on it and set it down on the table. “Enjoy.”

“Oh! Sam, I forgot.” She opened the fridge and brought out a clear cup with a green viscous liquid inside. “I recall Bobby telling me that you prefer healthier breakfasts, so I made you a shake with the fresh veg you have in there. I hope you like it; totally ok if you don’t, honestly. I like shakes and smoothies myself but it's been a while since I made one. It seemed to taste good to me but I don’t know how you like them.”

Handing him the shake, Sam smiled and tried it. “Mmm hmm,” he responded positively and drank more. He licked his upper lip. Alex smirked slightly at the sight and stared at his lips a moment then looked at his eyes, “Glad you like it. I don’t always make breakfast but I try to when I’m up before everyone else.”

“You’re usually up before everyone else,” commented Bobby in between sips of coffee.

Alex stuck her tongue out at Bobby and turned around to clean up the kitchen counters and put the dirty dishes away in the side of the sink full of soapy water. “I don’t always make breakfast though,” she explained.

Bobby nodded silently as he had food in his mouth.

“Well, it’s really good. Alex,” said Dean with his mouth half full of food as he spoke.

Alex grinned and chuckled at Dean and quipped, “You know Dean, it’s not nice to talk with food in your mouth but I’ll ignore it since you complimented my cooking.” She winked at him and bit her lower lip then returned to the grin as Dean just kept chewing his food with a smirk on his face.

At six am, the Winchesters and Bobby packed up the trunk and headed out in the impala. Bobby sat in the front passenger, navigating Dean to the small town a few hours away they were investigating.

Dean parked on the street next to a diner and a coin slot newspaper machine when he saw the headline: MAN SLAUGHTERS GIRL OF HIS DREAMS.

“Hey,” Dean said and pointed to the headline. “Got any change?” He asked them.

Sam dug in his pocket and gave Dean a few coins as he came around the car. He looked around at the section of town they were in, noticing a large church further up away from the downtown area. “Sammy, make sure to put coins in the times,” Dean told Sam. Sam looked at Dean glaring, “What? I don’t carry change.”

Scoffing at him, Sam did what he asked and made sure to feed the parking timer for three hours, “Ok. We got three hours. Let’s see what we can find out.”

“I’m getting some grub,” said Dean who walked towards the diner.

“Not a bad idea,” agreed Bobby, who followed. Sam put a few more coins in the newspaper machine and got his own newspaper out to read. He followed the guys into the diner and they sat in a booth, the boys across from each other and Bobby next to Sam.

Ordering some food, Dean and Sam skimmed through their newspapers. “The murder seems to be the front page news.” Sam put it down, allowing Bobby to skim through and he dug out his smartphone, searching online for any similar news articles. Except the town’s newspaper was not online or any mention of the town at all, except an obscure news article from another town for their annual May Day and Halloween festivals.

“Looks like we need to go to the library to get more information on the town, they’re not online. Other towns reporting on them and it’s just town festivals,” Sam explained.

“Ok, you can go to the library and Bobby and I will hit the police station to see if we can get more information on the case and any others like it,” Dean advised.

“Look at the town history too while you’re there, Sam,” Bobby said. “More might be going on than we are aware, with their lack of technology.”

“True,” Sam agreed

Their food came and they ate. Refill of coffees for them all as Sam continued on his phone.

“Excuse me, Miss,” Sam said, with his usual endearing smile. “Where’s the library?,” he asked, looking into her eyes.

The young waitress giggled, “If you just go down the main road and turn right at Turner’s store, it’ll be about a mile down the road.”

“Great, Thanks,” Sam said smiling.

After Dean and Bobby dropped Sam off at the library, they found the only motel in town and got rooms, and then changed to their suits before going to the Sheriff’s office.

Bobby’s phone buzzed to find text messages from Alex:

Alex: Hey, Bobby. Is there a gym here?

Bobby: I told you not to mess with anything.

Alex: You didn’t answer my question and it’s: do they have a gym?

Bobby: No, they don’t have a gym. Do NOT mess up the bunker.

Alex: 😈 It isn’t messing up if it’s beneficial. 😝

“Balls,” said Bobby. “You guys are gonna have a gym when we get back.”

“How?” Asked Dean. "Alex?"

“Yes, Alex,” Bobby confirmed. “She likes to work out and has found makeshifting or jury rigging a gym not satisfactory. She makes one whether you want her to or not.”

“You have a gym at your place?” Dean questioned.

“Yes,” Bobby replied incredulously. “She tried to put it in my panic room, then my basement and then I finally thought I got her to stop. Nope. I was away on a case for a weekend and she renovated my house with the Sheriff and the girls who were just as excited, so I have an indoor gym now with its own window ac unit and a working sink.” He crossed his arms with ‘grumpy’ written all over his face.

Dean busted out laughing at the comment and Bobby’s reaction, and worked to calm himself. He grinned and chuckled, then said, “I like her.”

“Do I look like I have time to work out?”

Dean glanced at Bobby and tried to hide his grin. “Do you want to?“

Bobby ignored him and replied, “We got a case to work.” He walked into the building with Dean quickly following.

Sam walked into the library and asked the librarian at the desk where the town history was. He went to the section and grabbed a few books. Finding an empty table, he put them and himself down, and began reading.

“Thanks,” she called to the guy and brought the giant box down the stairs carefully. Her phone rang. She answered it once she got down the entrance stairs, not looking to see who called. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sis,” said her brother on the other end.

Her stomach dropped and her chest instantly felt tight and knotted. Her breath hitched in her throat for a moment before she could speak again.

“Surprised?” He asked.

“What do you want, Aloy?”

“Just called to check in on my little sister. I’m not allowed to call?”

“Bullshit. No, you’re not,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Just thought you might wanna know what Dad’s been up to?” Aloy explained.

“Ok. I’ll bite.”

“He’s been in Hell chatting up the King, Crowley. All hail the King, Baby.” he grinned.

“Ok, and?” She asked flatly.

“Just thought you might wanna know is all. After all, you’re stuck with his friend, Bobby, aren't you?”

“Leave Bobby alone—“

“Don’t need Bobby,” he stated.

She remained silent for a few moments. “So, Dad’s in Hell. I care, why?”

“He’s relenting what he said originally,” Aloy’s grin turned to a smirk as he spoke.

“You’d kill him before letting him join you,” she spoke incredulously. “I’m not gullible, moron.”

“You sure about Dad, Lizzie? You sure you know him well enough?”

Alex rolled her eyes silently. Just trying to instigate me. Bastard, she thought.

She grunted at his inquiry.“Is that all you called for, what, to lie to me and try to piss me off? I’m hanging up.”

“Wait,” he almost sounded desperate.

“She’s going to kill me,” his voice sounded desperate the moment he spoke. “Just like the angels and demons. I have to get out of here, please,” he confessed quietly. “This was never a team effort. She’s going to destroy it all by herself. She’s making a bomb.”

“Whatever, Aloy. Boy who cried wolf. Go look it up. You might learn something,” she spoke sarcastically and hung up. “Psychopathic asshole. Making a bomb. With what? Grace and demon blood? They don’t even function that way.” She shrugged and then picked up the boxed gym equipment moving it to the room she picked. It was surrounded by a few other smaller boxes that had arrived.

She went back to her room and picked up where she left off in her book; however, her brother’s words bothered her as much as she tried to ignore them.

Bobby and Dean walked into the Sheriff’s office flashing badges and asking to see the information on the murder mention in the newspaper.

“It’s an open and shut case, Agents. He killed her in self-defense. Manslaughter, easy,” the Sheriff explained.

“We are here to review and make sure of that. Please provide all the paperwork and please point us in the direction of the Coroner’s office,” said Dean assertively.

The Sheriff nodded and handed over the paperwork on that specific case as well as related cases.

“Thank you,” said Bobby flatly.

“We share the building with the Coroner, so it’s on the other side of the building; go back to the entrance and follow the signs,” sighed the Sheriff, still seated.

Bobby and Dean walked out of their office and followed the directions to the Coroner.

After looking at the bodies, there was nothing unusual about them other than their organs seemed somewhat older than their actual age.

Dean called Sam as Bobby and him got into the car. “You’re on speaker. Find anything?”

“The church has been here longer than the town, so it might be a good place to look,” he replied. “Especially since these cases seem to go back every 33 years since the American revolution.” He added, “Looks like Alex might have been right. This could be the demon.”

“Ok. We will come and get you, then head to the church,” Dean stated to Sam and hung up.

Bobby looked to Dean, “I’m calling Alex.”

A few hours later, Alex’s phone rang. It showed Sarah and she answered. “Hey, you get my text a few days ago?”

“Yeah, you know, I live in Topeka. I could come visit since you’re alone,” she grinned.

Alex pursed her lips and confessed, “True but it is like a three hour drive and…I think I kind of like my roommates a little too much.”

“Are they there?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Alex replied and thought. Sarah remained quiet waiting for her to speak again, knowing she would give in and invite her over. “Ok. Come over,” she said with a smirk.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” Sarah responded.

“You sneaky bitch,” Alex exclaimed. “You were gonna just show up if I had said no?”

“You’re my best friend, and honestly, being able to play with you when you’re single is the height of my own singleness.”Sarah explained.

“Oh my God, Sarah, you’re terrible. You do taste pretty good though,” Alex grinned and giggled. “Oh, you’re gonna need to stop and get alcohol.”

“The usual?”

“Yep. Get lime too.”

“Okie doke. See you in an hour and a half,” Sarah said and hung up.

As soon as Alex hung up, it rang almost immediately. She raised her brow then wrinkled her nose as she saw it was Bobby. “Pizza Hut, what’s your order?”

Bobby snorted, “Hardy har har. It’s the demon.”

“Seriously?” Alex asked exasperated. So much for fun times with Sarah.

Sam closed the door loud enough for Alex to hear. He asked, “What’s the plan?”

“Was that Sam? Let me talk to him.” Bobby hands the phone to Sam.

“Hello?

“Hey, so, it’s the demon?” Alex asked Sam.

“Yeah, I realized when looking at the town's history. The church has been here since the American revolution which also happens to be when these weird murders-attacks have happened, every 33 years or so.”

“Shit. Gimme Bobby back.”

“Go for Bobby,” he said.

“Text me the motel address and give me 20 mins.”

Bobby hung up. “Head to the motel. Alex is gonna meet us.” He started typing away on the phone when he was interrupted.

“She’s three hours away,” exclaimed Dean.

“She’s not,” replied Bobby. “She’s meeting us at the motel.”

“Oh,” said Dean, confused but complied anyway. He glanced at Sam in the rear view mirror who shrugged in response to his facial expression.

In the bunker, Alex texted Sarah the town she was going to since the case was confirmed and recommended for Sarah to head home since it’s only a little ways outside of Topeka. Alex texted before Sarah could respond, asking if she could pick her up since she would probably be tired and didn't want to ‘blink’ anywhere after finishing a case.

In her room, Alex stuffed her duffel full of her armor, a work dress and heels in a suit bag, and a few weapons as well as the charms from the cigar box. She put on her boots and did one more look around her room. Grabbing her phone, she did the address search in the map app finding the motel and went to street view to see where she could drop in at. She found an alleyway between the motel room building and front office which was a small separate building.

After a sudden knock at the motel room door, Dean opened it to find Alex with a duffel bag over her shoulder. He moved out of the way and she walked in, placed her duffel next to the tv. “So, where we at?”

“The plan is to go to the church and find the demon,” said Sam.

“Ok, so,” she looked at Dean and Bobby then Sam, “are we doing this suited up or casual?”

The guys looked at each other.

Alex spoke, “I think casual would be best being a church. Looks weird for FBI or whatever to investigate a church when you wanna be inconspicuous in the long run.” She added, “If not, I got a dress.”

Bobby looked at Alex then Sam.

“Alex,” he began, “which dress did you bring?”

“Why?” Alex asked and then sat down on the other bed.

“Town hasn’t really seen you two. I figured you and Sam—“

“No, I hate doing the fiancé-newly wed thing. Faking all that lovey dovey shit,” she crossed her ankles and her arms in protest.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Dean. “The latest guy, he had this huge crush on this chick and they finally got together.”

“If it’s the demon, it could be a way to identify them. Grant their wish and everything,” Sam added.

“That reminds me,” Alex got up and dug in her duffel. “Abraxas charms are supposed to help against their magicks.” She got out three and handed one to each of them. “Just keep it on you. You should be good.”

She looked at Bobby who gave her a look. Alex rolled her eyes as she got up, grabbed her duffel and went into the bathroom. “Gimme five mins.”

Unzipping and shifting clothing could be heard and then Alex yelled from behind the door, “Can I wear my boots?”

“Do they go with the dress?” Bobby called back.

There was a long pause then “Damn it” heard from the door.

“Sam, you’re gonna need to change too,” said Bobby.

“When she’s done,” he nodded.

Alex came out of the bathroom a minute later with her hair clipped to the side, natural tones of makeup wearing a pale peach colored dress with princess puff sleeves and fluffy, flowing skirt that stopped mid-calf and cream colored closed-toed high heels. “How do I look?”

Sam shook up and walked over to her with a large grin, “You look beautiful.”

Alex blushed lightly and cleared her throat, “Um, do you need to change?”

Sam nodded and grabbed a hanger from the closet. He glanced back at her before going in the bathroom. She just grinned as she watched him go into the bathroom.

Bobby cleared his throat, “Practicing?”

Alex immediately looked at Bobby’s eyebrows raised, “Yup.” She walked over to where Sam had been sitting and sat waiting for him.

“You look amazing,” Dean finally replied to her question. His eyes were a bit wide and he was sporting a genuine smile.

She looked at him with furrowed brows at first but realized it was meant as a compliment, not an afterthought like it seemed. She smiled chastely, “Thanks.” She looked at Bobby as Sam exited the bathroom in a long sleeve striped button up shirt.

“So, fiancés looking for a church to wed in?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Sam.

“Are there any of those little toy vending machines about?” Alex asked.

“I think the front off had a few. Why?” Asked Dean.

“Did it have rings?”

“I think so,” replied Sam. “Why?”

Alex got up and dug in her duffel bag again, she brought a clutch out, “because everyone loves silly little love stories and I have never been able to top the one I heard. I’ll be right back.”

Bobby shrugged.

Sam finished getting ready as they waited.

A few minutes later, a knock came at the door again and there was Alex with a lollipop encased in a smile as she held up a small round plastic container. Her clutch on her shoulder, “And then she said ‘I do.’ When Alex popped open the small toy container a plastic rhinestone ring was revealed.

“What?” Dean looked confused.

“So,” she began as she put it on her left ring finger. “My third ever case was this elderly woman who was this amazing upstanding citizen, everyone knew her and loved her, and her husband had died like a year before. It was odd because it was thought to be suicide; however, she was actually haunted by her dead husband who was turning vengeful spirit. The thing was she wasn’t wearing a ring; she had told me she pawned both of them for money to help pay for his funeral like a year before, so it couldn’t be the rings. When I sat and talked to her claiming it was for a school project, she told me how they grew up together and when she was six and he was seven, he gave her a toy ring as a promise to marry her. This is the early 20th century so life happens, war happens, and eventually he moved back to town. They met again and he kept the promise. She kept the ring which they had put in a picture frame along with their main wedding photo.” She paused and added, “That sadly I had to burn since the husband didn’t want to move on freely.” She shrugged, “Anyway, everyone loves the story and thinks it’s the sweetest thing ever. Few people know about it. If they do know about it, you can say that one of us heard the idea from a grandparent.”

“That’s so cute,” Sam agreed. “Right? Super sentimental stories always calm and relax people unless they have some terrible experience related to the object or situation, and then you tend to be screwed but I haven’t come across that happening yet in the, what, 20 years I’ve been doing this..?”

Dean looked at her confused, “How old are you?”

Alex rolled her eyes, “Oh my God, Dean. I’m legally allowed to…” she held up a finger for each item as she stated them, “drive, see an R and X rated film by myself, drink, smoke, rent a car and hotel room by myself and have sex without it being a legal issue.” She paused trying to think what else has age limits, “I guess joining the military and having to pay for my own health insurance would be in there too. Anything else I should add? “

Bobby and Sam chuckled at her as she listed off the typical age ‘milestones’ for an American.

Dean gave Alex an irritated look, and she cheekily grinned in response.

“So you know I’m at least 23 or is it 26?” She shook her head and shrugged. “I need one more thing before we go, Sam.” She dug in her duffel again and pulled out a thigh holster with five throwing knives in it and sat down on the bed. She raised the dress up her left thigh and clipped it in place then lowered the dress.

Bobby groaned and got up. “You’re all teenagers,” said as he caught the brothers watching Alex then looked elsewhere for a moment or two.

“What?” Alex asked, confused, as she got up and grabbed Sam’s hand. “Let’s go, Darling.” She opened the door, “Shall we, everyone?”

They piled into the impala with the lovebirds in the back. “You clean up really nice, Sam,” she said with a smile. “Very handsome.”

He blushed, “Oh. Thanks.”

“Ok. Was that ok with the endearment? I don’t want to call you something you find funny, stupid or just uncomfortable. I’m ok with you calling me: Dear, babe, baby, sweetie, and sweetheart. I was screening around with darling before. Don’t call me that. My parents do and it’s creepy when others do.”

“Noted and same,” Sam replied.

“Good.”

—————

Comments and feedback are always welcome!

Please feel free to reblog. Do not post on another website without my permission. Thanks!

Chapters are posted weekly.

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Tag list: @riley-phoenix @myloversgone @fluffiest-dreams

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deanwinchesterswitch · 2 years

Text

Run To You ~ Chapter Eleven

Chapter Summary: Lack of sleep, shared insecurities, and emotions in overdrive lead to words and actions that can’t be taken back.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Kasey Belmont (OFC)

Warnings: Language-Kasey’s potty mouth makes a vehement appearance(seriously!); Here, there be smut; Angst; Feeeellings; Verbal argument; A little fluff for fun

Rating: Mature 18+ NSFW

Word Count: 13,457

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Movie Reference/Quote: Gone With the Wind

Author’s Notes: This is an AU. While there are several SPN characters mentioned, basically no one has the same connections as they did in the show, and Dean and Sam are not related.

Series Master Post

Written for: @jay-and-dean -Jay’s 3K Celebration and @spnaubingo. Prompt used: Quote with 3 ~ “I have nothing to offer, 3 dollars and a bad bottle of whiskey, nothing more.”

SPNAUBingo Square Filled: Fugitive AU

SPNQUOTEBingo Square Filled: “You should be kissed—and often—and by someone who knows how.” - Gone with the Wind

**ETA - Updated title card and format 3/14/23**

“Hey, sweetheart, did you miss me?”—the words of endearment Dean had spoken swirl almost reverently around Kasey’s mind as they both pant for breath, and though he was talking to Baby, she wants to answer.

Yes. Yes, I did miss you.

Which is certifiably crazy. How can she miss something she never had?

She says his name softly, pulling away, but he holds her hands against his chest. Eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t. Please don’t say that we shouldn’t or that it’s… a mistake.”

We shouldn’t? No. We most assuredly shouldn’t. But a mistake?

Kasey can’t imagine one circumstance where she would ever consider that kiss a mistake. However, there’s too much at stake to start an entanglement they may not be able to pursue. She knows that kiss was mainly brought on by the surge of emotions from the last few days and seeing his beloved car again.

Dean releases her hands when she flexes her fingers, and she gently slips her arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest. The strong beat of his heart resonates in her ear like a lullaby. If she weren’t so conflicted, she’d remain in his arms and let it quell the burgeoning turmoil inside her, but she needs time to think, weigh the pros and cons, sort through the emotions, and make a level-headed decision.

Spying their reflection in the polished metal of the car, her heart jolts. To an outsider, they would look like a couple entwined in a lovers’ embrace. Pulling away before he can tighten his hold, she whispers, “I’m glad you found her.” His wistful expression prompts her to cup his cheek, and he closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. Her bottom lip quivers with an unexpected rush of emotion, and she drops her hand, clearing her throat as she turns. “Make sure to lock up,” she blurts before walking away.

Once at the porch, she hesitates on the top tread, debating the direction of her next step. It would be so easy to let the remaining threads of logic and common sense drift away on the breeze, race back out there, and throw herself at him.

Lips pressed together to contain the sob rising in her throat, a forced footfall followed by another carries her toward the small lantern. Extinguishing the flame, she grabs the quilt and heads inside, not daring to look over her shoulder.

Until that kiss, she’d been trying to tamp the feelings back down, re-bury them under the guise of helping someone in need. She could tell herself that what she was feeling was simply a thrilling titillation, something she’d feel seeing a handsome actor or a sexy model, nothing more. Now that she knows what he tastes like, what his lips feel like, it’s not so easy to deny.

She makes it to her bedroom, locking the door behind her before losing control. Dean’s lips had unleashed a hurricane of restrained emotions. Like a levee breaking, guilt, anger, fear, shame, loneliness, and heartbreak surge upward, and the tears rain down. Kasey slumps to the floor, back pressed against the footboard of her bed. Pulling them up close to her chest, she wraps her arms tightly around her legs and rests her forehead on her knees, rocking in place, trying to dispel the ache she already feels at not holding him.

How did all this happen? One day, she’s blissfully enjoying a lazy afternoon of peaceful seclusion. Two days later, that carefully crafted isolation was shattered with the force of a crowbar smashing a car window. Dean’s touch made her realize how starved for human interaction she truly is, making her feel a desire only depicted in movies and cheesy romance novels.

The pressure of his lips lingers on hers, and her tongue slides over them, tasting the remnants of toasted oak and caramel from the bourbon they’d been drinking earlier. Heat surges through her veins, remembering how rough-skinned hands that nearly encompassed her head tenderly cradled her face while his beard deliciously chafed at her soft flesh. Her breath hitches, reliving the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, the smooth silkiness of his hair. Goosebumps dance across her skin as she recalls the shiver of his body when her nails scraped across his neck, pulse rapid and strong beneath her thumb. The thud of his heart beating with hers echoes in her ears, sending her pulse racing. If she’d remained pressed against him for two more seconds, she would have been trapped in his embrace—protected, content, and, as insane as it sounded, loved.

Christ fuck! I am a sensible grown-ass woman, not some starry-eyed Disney princess. This, whatever this is, is not love!

The sting accompanying the hard slap of her palms against the solid floor is a welcome jolt back to reality. Angrily pushing herself up, Kasey begins pacing the room. Dean’s presence has shown how utterly foolish she’s been, unarguably naive, lying to herself that she could make it alone. That somehow, she would be perfectly happy living as a recluse. She had made the choice under duress, a spur-of-the-moment decision. The farm had been a safe haven, a place to escape the cruelties of the world and the mistakes of the past, but, as the saying goes, all actions have consequences. Hers had come barreling at her in the form of a tough-skinned, soft-hearted fugitive.

Kasey leans against her window frame, staring out at the night sky. She can’t see the barn’s door from this angle, but the warm glow of the light still shines over the yard. Her lips curl upward as she pictures him sweet-talking his car. His face had lit up like a 5-year-old given free rein in a toy store. Just as she wonders if he’s thought about climbing into his Baby and just taking off, the rev of the engine can be heard. Momentary panic rocks her back on her heels, fingers twisting into the curtains, but the thought disappears as quickly as it came.

She wouldn’t have left the keys with him if she genuinely thought he would leave—disappear from her life as hastily as he’d materialized in it. Where would he go? The farm is one of the safest places for him to be at the moment, and she’s pretty sure he knows it too.

Besides, if his plea about that kiss is any indication, Dean is wrestling with similar questions regarding their predicament. Well, a predicament for her anyway. After all, sleeping with a client is generally frowned upon in the legal community—conflict of interest and that whole ethics thing.

It feels like an eternity before the night falls silent again, and moments later, the view outside her window darkens as the light in the yard disappears. Several minutes pass before she hears him moving about in the room below her, and she lets the final bit of fear fade away. Tightening her grip on the curtain, she wills herself to stay put, to not run to him, the consequences be damned.

With a heavy eye roll, Kasey goes back to pacing. She needs to be rational here. She’s already walking a thin line by harboring him. Sex would throw a wrench the size of Thor’s ax into an already complicated situation. But, damn, she desperately wants to feel his solidness against her again, feel those hands caress her bare skin.

Kasey’s fingers trace a path down her neck and across her decolletage, drifting down her body. “Hoooo.” The sigh is long and drawn out as she closes her eyes, envisioning Dean’s hands and thick fingers ghosting over skin that he has yet to see or feel.

Stop it!

Throwing herself onto her bed, she rolls to her back and stares at the ceiling, fingers clenched in the sheets as she desperately tries to banish the images now racing through her mind.

Affidavits. Burden of proof. Conviction. Depositions. Evidence…

An hour later, she has filtered through an extensive list of legal terms multiple times, trying to squelch the wayward thoughts of what she wants to do to Dean and have him do to her. However, sleep eludes her, and she still hasn’t come to a decision about whether to remain a legal advisor for him or give in to her desires.

At one point, she’d heard the water pipes rattle, signaling that Dean was taking a shower, which had triggered another round of images that she’d had to quash without much success. Rolling to her side again, she punches her pillow and sits up in a huff.

Sam is going to be furious with her no matter what she decides. She can’t keep her feelings for Dean hidden from him. Sam and Charlie can handle the case without her, but she wants, no, needs to be a part of the process to help secure Dean’s freedom.

Adult enough to admit that she has selfish reasons for getting the charges against him reversed, she prays that Sam won’t follow through on his threat of pulling the plug if it all starts going sideways. She shoves the dread of making that phone call to the back of her mind. Right now, she needs to do something, anything to distract her over-stimulated brain.

The sky is still dark, the predawn light a couple of hours away, but the rising humidity can already be felt. Kasey takes a leisurely shower, puts her hair up in a loose ponytail, then fishes out one of her mother’s old halter-style dresses from the closet. The less material against her skin during the day’s sticky heat, the better. Once dressed, she quietly makes her way down to the kitchen, starting the first of many rounds of coffee.

Dean tried to sleep. He honestly did, he may have dozed off for an hour or two, but it was fitful. Rubbing the backs of his hands over his eyes, he chuckles. The absurdity that he’s gotten less sleep in this big comfortable bed than he did sleeping on cold hard surfaces the last couple of weeks is not lost on him. Turning his head to the side, the small clock in his room reads a little after six in the morning.

He couldn’t get that kiss or the hug she’d given him afterward out of his mind. When she'd placed her hand on his cheek, a flood of unexplainable emotion surged through him, and he’d had to close his eyes to try and keep himself in check. The loss of her touch had left him feeling bereft, and he’d almost run after her—torn between the desire to see where another kiss might lead and knowing he’s not the type of man Kasey needs. He’s not an idiot, he knows there’s an attraction between them, but it’s clearly just sexual tension, lust, nothing more, so best to leave it alone.

Each time they open up to one another and share a little more of themselves, there’s an immediate hesitancy, a guarded cautiousness, from her afterward. He gets it; he does. They’re strangers. He’s a convicted felon, a man most people would fear. She’s a woman that’s been pitted against men for the majority of her life and has been hurt to such a degree that she shut herself away.

Concerned that he had screwed things up with that impromptu kiss, he’d contemplated going after her to make sure things were okay between them, but he also wanted to respect her feelings and apparent need for space. In the end, he’d decided to stay with Baby; she was a known entity. There was no need to fear rejection from her or worry that he would somehow ruin everything good about her, unlike with Kasey.

He’d honestly been surprised that Kasey had left the keys with him and briefly wondered if she had simply forgotten about them. He had a fleeting thought about taking off, not to run away—where would he go anyway? He feels safer here than he has anywhere else in a long time. He doesn’t want to leave the farm… or Kasey. He just wanted to hear the purr of Baby’s engine and feel the thrum of the open road beneath her tires.

As much as he had been jonesing to take the Impala for a drive, he settled for checking her over, ensuring that all her fluid levels were where they should be, that the tire pressure was good, and that there wasn’t any damage on her beautiful body. With everything meeting his satisfaction, he’d started her up, letting the sound and vibrations of the rumbling engine wash over him for a few precious moments while losing himself in memories of more carefree days.

He’d stood at the bottom of the stairs for several minutes, hand on the railing and one foot resting on the bottom tread, when he came back in, contemplating, debating, churning scenarios over in his mind. Ultimately deciding it was best to let things be until the morning, he made his way to the bedroom. After spotting the streak of grease on his forehead in the dresser’s mirror, he decided to take a shower before crawling into bed. Even though he knew the likelihood of getting any sleep would probably prove futile.

Sitting up, he buries his head in his hands, clearing his mind, listening for any movement from the room above him, but no sound is forthcoming. Well, at least one of them is able to sleep.

The air in the room is thick, heavy with heat already—the fan Kasey had given him, not yielding much relief. He looks over at the plastic-covered window, wishing he could open it to let in some fresh air. Deciding that he will offer to finish painting the room for her, maybe do some other repairs around the place as a form of payment for helping him, he slips from the bed.

Opting out of wearing a shirt, he pulls on the pajama bottoms he'd discarded on the end of the mattress. Now that the sun is up, it will get even hotter, and it’s not like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before when she’d stitched him up. Of which she’d done an excellent job.

The skin around the wound is a healthy pink and no longer leaking blood now that it’s properly sealed. Although still tender to the touch, a sharp twinge reminding him of the injury if he turns the wrong way, it is no longer a throbbing, angry red, and thankfully, not infected. He hadn’t had time to stitch the wound before almost getting caught at the clinic he’d broken into and had tried to at least keep it clean and minimize the bleeding.

He’s grateful that Kasey was able to take care of it and that he won’t have a gaping scar. Yeah, he definitely needs to do something to show her his appreciation for saving him. That is, if she doesn’t kick him out after last night.

Opening the bedroom door, his senses are engulfed by the combined scent of coffee, bacon, and something cinnamony sweet. Quickening his pace, he is entirely taken off guard by the sight that greets him as he enters the kitchen. Every inch of counter space is covered in a myriad of ingredients, pans, mixing bowls, baking dishes, and what appears to be a mound of dough. Kasey is nowhere in sight, though. The house is silent except for the whir of the ceiling fan above the table.

His eyes land on the coffee press sitting on the far counter, and he makes his way over to pour a cup of the divine nectar. After the first couple of reviving sips, he roams around the space, peering into bowls and lifting the lids of the pots on the stove, trying to discern what she’s making. From the looks of things, she’s been at it for quite a while, meaning she hadn’t slept much either.

Lifting a corner of a towel draped over a bowl, he immediately drops it back in place, startled by her growl.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Lost in thought about whether they would have slept better if they were in the same bed, he hadn’t heard her come in. “Sorry.” He smiles and raises a hand in mock surrender while taking a step back from the counter, but she isn’t looking at him. Kasey makes her way over to the stove, setting the basket she collected eggs in on the counter next to it.

The dress she’s wearing reminds him of another era, and if he didn’t know better, this would be the second time he would have thought he’d been zapped into some Twilight Zone time warp. The bright turquoise and green print is a stark contrast to the worn, dust-covered boots she just kicked off.

“Hope you like Eggs Benedict,” she says, still not looking at him. “It’ll be ready in about fifteen. I had to go out and get some more eggs.”

He stares at the sun-kissed skin of her back, imagining the arch and twist of her body, the softness of her flesh beneath his fingertips as he trails them down her spine. He huffs out a breath, expelling the images along with it. He’s caught between the need to say something and waiting for a cue from her. Her tone, while not mean, is definitely on the cool side.

Son of a bitch! I knew I fucked it up.

“Uhm, can I help?” If she hears the desperation laced in his words, he doesn’t care. He’d do almost anything to get back to the comfortable camaraderie of last night… before the kiss.

Throwing a glance over her left shoulder, she replies, “You could make more coffee.”

“Awesome.” He nods happily and rubs his hands together, pleased she didn’t shut him out. At least not entirely. Dean sets about emptying and cleaning the press as Kasey gently whisks the hollandaise, moving it to the back burner. By the time she’s done poaching the eggs, the new batch of coffee is ready, and Dean mentally high-fives himself for getting the timing right.

Seeing Kasey’s mug sitting amongst the array of dishes on the island, he quickly rinses it out and makes her a fresh cup, carefully adding the same ratio of cream to coffee she’d taken yesterday. Humming the Eagles tune that’s been stuck in his head since that first day he woke up in her home, he places her cup and the press on the table, then rocks on his heels, waiting for her to join him.

Dean sips his coffee, silently watching as she removes a tray of Canadian Bacon and English muffins from one of the ovens and assembles all of the food on a large cloth-covered tray along with a single plate and set of silverware.

“Take a seat.” She glances up as she nears the table but quickly looks away, waving a hand over the tray she just set down. “There’s plenty, so eat up.”

Not waiting for a response, she picks up her coffee cup, “thanks for this,” and turns on her heel, heading for the second stove. After a quick sip, she sets her cup on the island counter, cracks the oven door, and peeks inside. Slipping on an oven mitt, she reaches in, and Dean’s jaw nearly comes unhinged when she pulls out a pie heaping with apple filling. Placing it on a cooling rack, she then pulls out a cake pan. She heads back to the table, grabbing a small metal bowl and butter knife on the way. Sliding her hand out of the oven mitt, she leaves it beneath the hot pan of what he can now see is full of cinnamon rolls and sets the bowl of frosting next to it along with the knife.

Dean closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Those smell amazing. Did you make them from scratch?”

“Yes,” is her quick, concise reply. It sounds muffled, and Dean opens his eyes to find that she’s already walked away, and he’s again left staring at her back as she enters the pantry.

Seconds later, she returns with two small jars of what appear to be spices in hand. She lightly drops them on the island and reaches for the rolling pin.

“Kasey.”

“Hmmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Baking”

“I can see that,” he chuckles. “Uh, I know I’m a big guy and all,” hearing the self-assurance in his tone, she doesn’t dare to look in his direction for fear of being knocked on her ass by the blue-steel swagger that’s most likely plastered on his face, “but there’s a ton of food here. Are you going to sit down and eat with me?”

“I need to finish this.” The heel of her palm lands heavily on the dough round, denting one side. She quickly turns it and slams her palm into it again.

Dean takes a sip of coffee and hums with pleasure. Hoping to prevent the tense silence from encroaching on them again, he says, “I don’t know about you, but I barely slept last night.”

Kasey whirls around, bits of dough skittering to her feet, brandishing the rolling pin before pointing it at him. “DOES THIS KITCHEN LOOK LIKE IT’S BEING MANNED BY SOMEONE THAT IS WELL-RESTED?!”

Wide-eyed and slightly disconcerted, he mumbles into his coffee cup, “Okaaay. Just tryin’ to make conversation here.” He hesitates momentarily before pressing, “We need to talk.”

Ignoring his comment, she grips the rolling pin with both hands and forces it down into the semi-flattened dough, then flicks some flour over the surface before picking up and turning it. The small, thick disc hits the surface with a loud slap, followed by the thud of the wooden pin as she aggressively thins what he assumes is a second pie crust. Between each slap and thud, she huffs out a breath.

Dean takes a bite of the eggs benedict and grunts in approval. Pulling a cinnamon roll from the pan, he immediately drops the hot bun on his plate, shaking his singed fingers in the air. After slathering the roll in frosting, he sinks his teeth into the warm, fluffy dough and takes a large chunk out of the confection. The spicy-sweet concoction literally melts in his mouth, and he can’t hold back the moan of satisfaction. The thunk of the rolling pin is loud, echoing around the kitchen. Sneaking a glance at her, he frowns, watching her take out whatever emotions she’s working through on the innocent pastry.

When the dough is the size of a large pizza crust, he taunts, “If you were making another pie crust, it’s going to be tough as hell now.”

Kasey stops the forward roll of the pin and looks down, seemingly in shock at seeing the almost paper-thin sheet of dough. “Son of a bitch.” Grabbing a spatula, she scrapes the mess into a small pile near the corner of the countertop.

She still has yet to make any meaningful eye contact with him or say anything other than clipped comments. Worried and frustrated, he blurts out, “Are we going to talk about it, or are you going to continue trying to ignore me?”

“Dean.” She tucks her chin, placing her hands flat on the counter as she leans forward. “We’ve only known each other for a little over two days-“

“Almost three,” he interjects, glad she didn’t try and pretend she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Paying no heed to the comment, she shoves off the counter and turns away. “I’m your legal advisor.”

Well, damn, got stiff-armed with that one. It’s all good; I get it. At least she’s still willing to help. She’s settin’ boundaries, and obviously, one of us needs to. Wish I was inside those boundaries, though. Deep inside. I mean, look at those legs, that ass, and those hands. Would love to have those hands… oh, for fuck’s sake.

I’ve already screwed this up enough. I need to keep this professional. Stow the personal crap. Bury it like always. Besides, someone like her deserves so much more than I have to offer, which is nothing but a broken heart and a screwed-up life. It doesn’t matter that it feels like we’re perfect for each other. She deserves someone better—better than me.

She opens a cupboard next to the stove and reaches for a dish on the top shelf. Pressing up on her toes, it looks like she’s about to grasp the base but only succeeds in pushing the glassware further back into the cabinet.

When it looks like she’s going to try climbing up on the counter, he shakes his head at her stubbornness. Reticently pushing away from the table, he makes his way over to her. “Here, let me.” Reaching over her head, he draws out the dish, setting it on the counter in front of her. A rush of dopamine sends his pulse skittering when she rocks back into him, making him realize that ‘stowing his personal crap’ will be much more challenging than he imagined.

Entering the house, Kasey nearly drops the basket of eggs she’s carrying upon seeing a bare-chested Dean standing in her kitchen. He’s about to peer into one of the dough-filled covered bowls, tongue peeking out between his lips like a kid getting ready to steal a cookie from the cookie jar. Except he’s not a kid. He’s an Adonis. DaVinci’s divine proportions incarnate. The backdrop of faded wallpaper on her kitchen walls appears even bleaker compared to his stunning vibrance.

She takes a step forward, drawn to him like a tide in the moon’s pull. The rush of blood redistributing itself in her body makes her light-headed, and she presses a hand against the wall to steady herself. In a matter of seconds, she shifts her distress into disgruntlement, annoyed that he has such an immediate effect on her. Kicking off her boots, she growls, “Don’t touch anything.”

How the hell is she supposed to remain professional and rational with him walking around practically naked? To protect her sanity, she decides to avoid looking at him and makes a beeline for the stove to finish preparing breakfast.

Dean tries to engage with her, offering to help. In contrast, she tries to remain unaffected by his presence, offering clipped responses while still trying to sound friendly as she finishes preparing breakfast. Once he’s settled at the table, she returns to her baking tasks, wanting to make one more pie before cleaning up the mess she created.

Baking has always been a soothing pastime, and after her little outburst when he mentioned his lack of sleep, she distinctly needs some soothing. Some of her favorite childhood memories revolve around helping her grandmother bake the multitude of sweet treats they supplied for the harvest festival held at the farm every year.

While reliving memories of her past in an attempt to ignore her indecent thoughts of the man currently making obscene noises while eating her food, she loses focus on the tender dough in front of her. That is until the molasses laced gravel of his voice cuts into her thoughts, and she finds a thin sheet of dough worthy of a strudel layer beneath the wooden pin. Frustrated, she scrapes it all into the garbage.

He had asked her about the kiss without asking her about the kiss. She’s not ready to talk about it, though.

Is it too early in the day for whiskey?

Yeah, it probably is, and she feels like she’ll need some whiskey before talking about it, and they do need to talk. A decision needs to be made about whether to push the feelings aside and get on with business or get on with business.

Ugh. I am so not funny.

Deciding that it’s too early to deal with it, she reminds him that she’s part of his defense team and turns away. Looking for another excuse to continue avoiding him, she decides to pull out her grandmother’s favorite glass-topped cake stand to store the pie on.

Seriously. What the hell does he think he’s doing, walking around looking like that?

Kasey pushes up on her toes to try and reach the dish but only succeeds in pushing it further out of reach. Debating whether to get the step stool or climb onto the counter, she feels the air shift when he steps up behind her.

“Here, let me.” Dean effortlessly reaches above her head to grab the serving dish from the shelf.

Her entire body feels like it’s been set ablaze. Muscles stretch and harden beneath the slide of his bare skin against hers. He places the dish on the counter, and Kasey sighs, flesh skimming over flesh as she flattens her feet back onto the floor. His sharp intake of breath pushes his chest closer to her.

The small scrap of objective reasoning she has left causes her to tense. When he doesn’t move away, she relaxes into him. The solid strength of him pressed against her is ecstasy and torture at the same time.

She’s been starving, depriving herself, and the hunger for human touch is no longer bearable. A moment of tense silence stretches between them, and then Dean whispers, “May I?”

Kasey knows that his touch could break her, that she probably won’t be able to come back from it, but right now, at that moment, she doesn’t care. She’s tried to take a logical approach and argue her feelings away, but it’s no use. It’s more than just the feeling of a warm body or needing that quick high of pleasure. She can’t suppress the way every molecule in her body reacts to him any more than she can stop the sun rising and replies with a breathy, “Yes.”

A hand smooths over her abdomen, pulling her flush to his body. He lifts a stray lock of hair from her shoulder and presses it against his nose, “you smell like ginger and honey,” before tucking it behind her ear. A tilt of his head and his tongue traces the shell of her ear, warm breath skimming over her cheek. Deft fingers chart a path through the dip in her clavicle, “your skin’s so soft,” then glide down her arm to intertwine with hers. Lifting their clasped hands, he kisses the tips of her fingers, “delicate fingers,” her palm, “strong hands,” then her wrist, “you taste like crisp green apples,” soft lips lingering on her pulse.

She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against his shoulder. He’s trimmed his beard even closer, and the scruff scrapes deliciously against her skin as he lowers their hands, placing a kiss on her temple. She can feel the rapid bassline harmony of his heart, and her pulse picks up the melody, creating a rhythm that will forever be tattooed on her soul.

Like a lit fuse, quick, fervid kisses down the side of her face and across her collarbone leave a trail of smoldering heat. Slapping her palm over the hand on her stomach, she slips her fingers between his, bringing it up to cup her breast, and murmurs, “Fuck, that feels-”

A burst of heat burns the words away and threatens to send her to her knees when sharp teeth graze the curve of her shoulder and deft fingers knead her flesh through the fabric. Never in her life has she been so turned on by a few kisses and a simple touch.

Silken strands tickle her fingers as she snags a fistful of hair, tugging his head down. The pressure of his grip tightens, bordering on pain. Her body bows, forcing her breast further into his grasp and her ass against the hard line of him. Her whine meets his growl, captured between the crush of their lips.

She cranes her neck, fingers still clutching the handful of his hair, body squirming, trying to get a better angle and prolong the kiss. Cool fingers brush along her side, sending ripples of pleasure through her. When they slip beneath the material of her dress to pinch her other nipple, the sensation makes her jolt, a tiny squeak sounding in her throat.

Dean immediately releases her and steps away, leaving her gripping the counter to keep from falling. “I’m sorry.” His voice is low and gruff, filled with regret.

“You-” Struggling to catch her breath, she waves a hand behind her in an attempt to assure him it’s alright, “no-” Kasey brings her hand back to fan herself as she turns and leans her ass against the counter, smile fading as soon as she sees him.

He’s further away than expected, leaning on a fisted hand on the corner of the island, the other rubbing along the side of his thigh, a poker face etched on his features. She tries to catch his eye, but he looks over her shoulder. “I was out of line. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Hmmm.” She nods, turning to pull a glass from the open shelf. Filling it with water, she faces Dean again, sizing him up over the rim as she slowly quenches her parched throat with the cooling liquid. “Do you want it to?” Her eyes never leave him as she places the empty glass on the counter behind her.

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Pursing her lips, she bobs her head. “Huh.” Kasey tugs at the straps of her dress, putting the material back in place. Dean’s eyes flick down, watching as she smooths the fabric over the front of her body, quickly looking away when she arches a brow. “Well, do you think I don’t want it?” She walks her fingers along the countertop and takes a couple of steps toward him. “Because, if that’s what you think, then maybe you’re not as good at this as I imagined you to be.”

“Y-You imagined this?” His eyes snap to hers, brows shooting up, and the pink tip of his tantalizing tongue presses against the backs of his teeth.

“Uh, huh,” she murmurs, tilting her head and smiling, stopping about a foot from him, flattening her hand on the counter. “I imagined it all night. And this morning. Hell, I can’t NOT imagine it.”

Fingers tapping against his thigh, Dean’s eyes narrow; a few tension-filled moments pass, then he clears his throat. “Listen, Kase,” her mouth quirks at the shortening of her name. She likes the sound of it, though, and remains silent as he continues. “I know I asked you not to say that the kiss last night was a mistake, but maybe it was. I mean, I don’t think it was… but maybe… under the circumstances… it was. It’s like you said, you're part of my legal team. You’ve already put yourself at risk by letting me stay here and helping me. You’re an amazing woman. Smart… so smart… it’s fucking hot how intelligent you are. Funny… kind… beautiful… inside and out… seriously. Sexy… fuck… I mean, look at you.” He waves his hand, indicating her entire body. “Uh… sorry.”

He drags a hand over his face. “I have nothing to offer you, well, unless you count three dollars and a bad bottle of whiskey that I found in Baby’s secret compartment, nothing more. Hell, I don’t even own her anymore. I just… I don’t want to endanger you or cause you more trouble.” He opens his fist on the counter, tips of his fingers barely touching hers like he craves the connection but is afraid to make it. “I’m a convicted felon, for christ’s sake. You don’t want or need someone like me around. You deserve better. If I drag you any further into my life… my mess… you'll get hurt…” His shoulders slump, and he slides his hand away from hers.

Well, fuck. How did we get from a steamy make-out session to this?

Dean takes a step back, his hand almost off the edge of the counter, but she reaches out and grasps his wrist, denting her fingers into his skin in hopes of keeping him from pulling away. “Don’t.” Dean stills, but his face remains blank. “‘Please don’t say we shouldn’t or that it’s a mistake.’” She can’t quite tell if the flicker in his eyes is pain, anger, or fear, maybe all of the above. “That’s what you said to me last night. Why did you say that if you were planning on running away? Because when you said that, it sounded like you enjoyed the kiss and wanted to take whatever is going on between us to the next level.”

He remains silent, jaw rippling as he clenches it. He takes another step back, and she moves with him keeping her grip tight.

“No.” She digs her nails into his flesh, it has to hurt, but he doesn’t even flinch. “You are not leaving. I’m not letting you run. We agreed, remember? No more talk of running. Besides, it’s not up to you to decide what I want. It’s certainly not your responsibility to protect me.” Throwing her hand up, she exclaims. “The things you said to me a few moments ago, the way you touched me, what was that? You heard and felt the way I responded to you. What happened? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone freeze up so fast.” Kasey stops, inhaling sharply.

Why am I pushing this? If he wants to leave, then it’s for the best. Let him leave. I didn’t ask for my life to be thrown into this maelstrom. Once he’s gone, I can get back to my normal, peaceful routine.

Yeah, it might be for the best, but it hurts like hell thinking about it. Fueled by fear, she lets the anger begin to rise. “I call bullshit. You know something is happening. There’s chemistry between us, and you’re scared. You use witty sarcasm and flirty smiles to hide behind and keep everyone at arm’s length so that it’s easier to leave when things get too complicated for you. I’ve seen it before, and I see it in you."

Cocking her head to the side, she sneers, "You think I don’t have the same war going on in my head? You think I don’t know that it’s insane to have these desires that make me question my morality? That I’m not trying to figure out how to deal with your case and my feelings at the same time? It’s fucking overwhelming, but I’m not running.”

The muscles in his arm flex, and he shifts on his feet. Dean’s initial look of shock is quickly overshadowed by what she can only assume to be outrage. The cold intensity of his glare rocks her back a step, and for the first time, she’s afraid of him and what he could do to her, but the controlled composure in his tone takes her completely off guard.

“But you did.”

“What?” Releasing her hold, she crosses her arms over her chest, an instinctive urge to protect herself, taking control.

“You ran. You shut yourself off in this time capsule hideaway with no cell, no television, no computer,” he advances on her, and she takes a couple of steps back, “cut off from the world. You ran because things got too complicated.”

“It- it’s not the same,” she stammers weakly, eyes going wide when the truth of what he’s saying settles in her mind.

Dean is the mirror. He’s the catalyst, the beginning, the end, and every damn thing in between.

“Oh, yes, it is! You-“ He slams his fist on the counter, making Kasey flinch. Apparently noticing her reaction, he sucks in a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I knew this would happen. That somehow, I would screw everything up.” Stepping away from her, he puts the island between them. “I would never physically hurt you, Kasey, but you will get hurt if I stay. I will cause you pain, and I’m not worth it.”

The acute anguish and sorrow swimming in his eyes are gut-wrenching. It pisses her off and breaks her heart in the same breath. What happened to him, beyond what she already knows, to make him feel so inconsequential? Adrenaline still running high, the anger retains its precedence.

“I’m not a saint, Dean. You,” she points a finger in his direction, “don’t know shit about me, so don’t put me on some goddamn pedestal and then use it as an excuse to justify that somehow I’m better than you. If you genuinely think I am, then fuck you,” she scoffs, “because I’m not. Your life is worth so much more than you evidently believe. You deserve to have a good life, someone to take care of you, love you,”

Well, he does deserve someone to love him. Honestly, why can’t it be me? Oh, for fuck’s sake, you idiot, because he's your client, well, sort of… It would be unprofessional… wrong.

“and… and you certainly deserve to be free.”

Dean remains silent but shakes his head and backs away when she moves toward him.

Frustrated with everything that’s transpired, she shouts, “You know what?! Go! I won’t, can’t, force you to stay! If you believe you deserve to spend the rest of your life in a six-by-eight cell or living in the shadows, the door is right behind you. You still have the keys to the Impala. Take her and FUCKING go! I won’t tell anyone about you.”

She turns her back on him, leaning against the kitchen sink and staring out the window, hand clasping into a towel nearby. Tears burn a trail down her cheeks. All she wanted to do was help a man that had been wrongly accused, but she can’t force him to see his own worth. He doesn’t know her, not really. She shouldn’t expect him to have blind faith in her, trust that she can help overturn his conviction, and believe that she can genuinely care about him.

Three days. Three goddamn days and her heart feels like it’s been put through the harvester, reaped and threshed until all that remains is the raw kernel, stripped clean of any defenses. The only person who can sustain it is Dean.

What have I done?

The epiphany wracks her body with sobs. She doesn’t want to go back—can’t go back—to the life she had before he stumbled into it. She doesn’t care that it’s only been three days, the obstacles they’ll have to overcome, or what Sam or anyone else might say. Ready to turn and run after him, beg him to stay, she jumps when a heavy hand rests gently on her arm. Dean offers her a weak smile when she looks over her shoulder. Whimpering, she buries her face in his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head, arm snug against her back, holding her close. “I’m sorry I scared you.” His voice wavers with the apology. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

She sniffs and nods, clinging to him like ivy to a tree, unable to speak yet. He continues to run a gentle hand over her head, cheek resting against her temple. His heart's strong, steady beat is soothing and helps to quell the flurry of residual agitation.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she whispers after the hiccups pass.

“It’s alright.” He squeezes her tighter. “I had no right to get so angry.”

“No,” she pulls away, grimacing at the wet slide of her cheek against his chest. Reaching for the towel next to the sink, she wipes away the salty dampness her tears left on him, “it’s not. I had no right to talk to you like that. I don’t know you any better than you know me.”

Dean takes the towel from her. With one arm still loosely wrapped around her waist, he squats to her eye level and gently dries her face and neck. “Well, you’re wrong about that. You seem to know me pretty damn well for someone that just met me. Your grandpa was clearly right about that gift of yours.”

Tossing the towel onto the counter, his hands frame her face. “You were wrong about something else, though.” He tilts his head to make sure she sees him. “I’m not afraid of the feelings. I’m genuinely afraid you’ll get hurt somehow. Worse than me making you cry, and I never want to do that again. It felt like Baby was sitting on my chest, listening to you break like that.”

He slides a thumb over her lips to silence her when she opens her mouth. “I’m afraid that the crazy, wonderful,” he pauses, “feelings I’ve been feeling will be ripped away if we start something. So, yeah, I understand why you feel like you’re getting mixed messages. ‘Cause I’m having a really hard time wrapping my head around what’s going on.”

Kasey’s eyes widen. She honestly hadn’t expected him to fully admit his feelings, assuming, correctly, that his first instinct is to shut down, but listening to him openly express his fears and explain why he reacted the way he did, fills her with a sense of relief.

“I feel that, for whatever reason, I don’t understand right now, this—this farm, this house, this time—it’s where I’m supposed to be.” He taps a hand over his heart, and the other drops to cradle her neck. “That I belong here, with you. I have this sense of knowing you forever, yet it’s only been a little over seventy-two hours. And that freaks the hell out of me. What? Why are you grinning at me like that?“

She steps closer to him, wrapping her fingers around his forearm at her shoulder. “That’s exactly how I feel. You know… what you said about being afraid to start something and then having it torn away. But I don’t want to let this slip through my fingers and always wonder… What if? I told you before that I don’t believe in soulmates, fate… or any of that crap, but I don’t know what else to call this. I just know, with absolute certainty, that I’m afraid to lose you, and you're not even mine.”

Kasey’s not certain if Dean’s eyes have glossed over or if the tears welling in hers are distorting the view, but either way, his soft smile sends hers spilling over her lashes. He pulls her against him, cradling her head against his chest and arm holding her firm. Her heart swells with the awareness that it makes her feel exactly how she imagined it would—protected, content, and loved.

Seconds later, she feels his tears dampen her head as he mumbles, “It’d be really awesome if I could shut off the damn waterworks for a while.”

Chuckling, she kisses his chest just above his heart as he places a kiss on the top of her head. As happy as she could be staying just as they are now, she irrefutably knows what she wants and isn’t going to waste another minute stressing over the repercussions. She turns out of his embrace and takes his hand, pulling him with her. After only a moment’s hesitation, Dean lets her lead him down the hall to his bedroom.

Dean pushes the door closed behind them with his foot as she walks backward, drawing him along by the hands. Stopping when she reaches the end of the bed, she cradles his neck, fingers massaging at his nape. “I want you, Dean, but more than anything, I want you to take what you need. I’ll give you everything if you will just kiss me again.”

“Shit, Kasey, I-“

“Shh.” She pushes up on her toes, pulling him down toward her.

Resting his hands on her hips, he presses his forehead to hers, a glimmer in his eye. “Well, you should be kissed—and often—and by someone who knows how.”

“Oh, and I suppose, Mr. Butler, you think you’re the proper person?” she teases in her best southern drawl.

“Yes, I do.” Dean slides his hands up to encircle her ribcage and lifts her from the floor.

Maneuvering her legs beneath her to kneel on the edge of the bed, hands on his shoulders, Kasey stares at him in deference, willing to do almost anything to feel those supple lips roaming her flesh again.

Once she’s settled, his fingers lightly graze over her bare skin, thumbs slipping beneath the material of her dress to caress the underside of her breasts. The glimmer of humor in his eyes shifts, and she gasps, captured in their smoldering depths.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, she tilts forward as Dean sets a hand at her hip, the other cradling the back of her head, thumb caressing her jaw. Kasey sighs against his mouth, eyes drifting closed when their lips finally meet.

It starts sweet and gentle, soft-lip open-mouthed kisses, almost tentative, like each is expecting the other to pull away. They give in to the kiss when neither does, lips moving in sync like a well-choreographed dance they’ve been practicing for years. He claims her mouth, hungry and demanding, steals her breath only to replace it with his own, fueling the fire blooming deep in her center. Her lips part of their own volition, and the first slide of his tongue against hers is electric and delicious. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon, and she whines into his mouth, begging for more.

Thick fingers tangle into her hair, loosening more strands. Reaching back, she frees her hair from the elastic band, letting the loose waves cascade down her back. Weaving a few tendrils through his fingers, he closes his hand and gently tugs, breaking the kiss. He doesn’t go far, scruff scratching over her skin as he trails kisses down her neck. “So beautiful,” he whispers, his breath hot and damp, making her body twist and shiver with pleasure.

Kasey’s fingers slip over the silky strands of his hair on the back of his head, holding him in place as he continues the assault on her neck, nipping and sucking marks into her skin. The muscles of his arm twitch beneath the fingers of her other hand as she traces a path along the dip in his forearm and over the ridge of his tricep, coming to rest at his shoulder. When he hits the sweet spot near the back of her neck, they flutter against him before seizing into his skin.

Continuing to play with his hair, she lightly scrapes her nails over his scalp, waiting for his reaction, and is rewarded with a low moan that vibrates over her skin. The sensation shoots straight through her to pool low and warm in her belly.

Plump lips find hers again, teasing her with quick pecks at the corners of her mouth, a slow slide of his tongue over her top lip, the sharp nip and release of her bottom lip. By the time he presses his full mouth to hers again, she’s wound tight as a guitar string. Ready to snap at the slightest pluck. Ready to fall apart, needy and wet, and all he’s done is kiss her. It’s so not fair. He briefly pulls away, tilting his head in the other direction, rolling a taut nipple between his thumb and index finger with the motion. Blood rushing, heart pounding, she inhales what might be her last breath as his lips seal over hers again.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die from this kiss.

The thought plays on a loop in her head, and just as she’s about to relinquish her soul to whatever entity gifted him with those lips and the knowledge of how to use them, he breaks away. She greedily sucks in a breath along with his bottom lip, roughly grazing her teeth over the sensitive flesh as she slowly releases it. Dean hisses, digging his fingers into her. He looks slightly dazed, eyes stunningly dark, lips swollen and glossy with spit.

His beard is damp with sweat, the short hairs tickling her palm when she cups his jaw. She brushes a thumb over the lush, reddened skin of his mouth, and he grins a cheeky little smirk, tongue slipping between his parted lips to lick the pad before sucking the digit between his lips and gently biting down.

Nope, not a kiss. His mouth. My death certificate will read, Cause of Death: ‘Dean Winchester’s mouth’.

“What a filthy mouth,” she teases. Dean wiggles his eyebrows at her, still holding her thumb captive between his lips. “No… sinful. You’re a wicked little incubus, aren’t you.” She licks at the corner of his mouth, scraping the nails of her free hand down the skin of his side. His body jerks violently, and he releases her thumb with a grunt.

She nearly falls off the bed, hands slapping against his chest to steady herself. “Oh. Someone’s ticklish,” she laughs. Wriggling her fingers, she prepares to dig in, but Dean’s quicker. Grabbing her wrists, he pins her arms behind her back, forcing her closer to him, a smug smile and sparkling eyes meeting her startled expression.

“I don’t think s-” Dean chokes on the words when she nips at the base of his throat, then licks up the underside of his chin and across his jaw.

He smells divine, a scent that’s distinctly him rising over body wash and shampoo, and she inhales deeply, nudging her nose behind his earlobe. She kisses the salt off his skin from ear to chin, his pulse skipping when she lingers over the vein in his neck, giving it a quick bite. “You taste yummy,” she purrs, licking her lips as she straightens up. She kisses a corner of his mouth, “So,” a kiss to the other corner, “Winchester,” looking up through her eyelashes, their lips brushing against each other’s like butterfly wings as she whispers, “what else can you do with this mouth?”

The deep growl rumbles from his chest to echo in hers, making her heart pound faster. Releasing her wrists, large hands encircle her upper arms, and he lifts her from the bed, holding her steady until her feet settle on the floor. She’s always been a sucker for someone big enough to manhandle her yet be gentle too. Her walls clench at the thought of whether he’s big all over. The bulge she felt against her ass earlier seemed pretty impressive, but she’s eager to have a look, feel the weight of him in her hand. Eyes flicking downward, she reaches out to palm him through the loose cotton pants, but Dean stops her once again.

He lightly grips her hand, kissing his way up her arm as he pulls it around the back of his neck. “I want to enjoy this for as long as possible. Besides, you wanted to know what I could do with my mouth, right?”

Kasey brings her other arm up, hands meeting behind his head, twirling a lock of hair through her fingers. “You know, I’ve wanted to tell you since that first day you walked into the kitchen, showered, shaved, hair falling in soft waves, that I thought your hair was the perfect tuggable length.” She snares a handful, “Do you like your hair pulled, Dean?” and yanks his head back. The fingers sliding over her arms dig into her triceps, a gruff croak slipping from his lips as his hips pitch forward. “Oooh, yes… you do,” Angling her hips, she rocks against him, the feeling of how hard he is, inciting a gasp from her.

“Aww, shit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “I- I can’t wait-”

“Then don’t.”

A hand at the nape of her neck prevents her from stumbling back when his lips crash into hers. Crossing her arms behind his head, pulling him closer, her body arches to meet him. He breaks the kiss all too soon, and just like that, she’s left breathless again. Panting, she presses her forehead against his chest as he unties the knot holding her dress in place. She swirls her tongue over his nipple, alternating between soft kitten licks and sharp flicks of her tongue. The sounds she draws from him make her panties moist with slick. She drops her hands and works the material of his pants down over his ass.

The knot falls loose, and Dean holds her at arm’s length letting the dress slip from her body to pool on the floor. Tilting his head, his mouth falls open as if in awe, eyes raking over her from tip to toe and back again. “Damn, you're gorgeous,” he husks, teeth scraping over his lower lip.

Eyes locked with his, she palms over his hard length before loosely fisting around him. “So thick, just like the rest of you.” Wetting her lips, she slowly strokes him, slipping her thumb over the small V just below the head. Dean sputters and moans, and she kisses the tip of his chin. “Fuck, me.”

Dean tugs the garment down his thighs, and Kasey drops with a heavy bounce as he steps out of the material, pushing her back onto the bed. Keeping him in hand, she strokes the length of him. Pre-cum leaks enticingly from his slit, and the need to taste him, feel that weight of him on her tongue, is overpowering. Pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger, he tilts her head back when she leans forward to lick at him, preventing her from reaching her goal.

Brows pulled together, she flicks her eyes upward and pouts, “I want to show you what I can do with my mouth.” She constricts her grip and tugs. Dean thrusts into her fist, fingers denting into her cheeks, other hand grasping around her wrist to halt any further movement from her.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

“I want everything, your mouth, your fingers, those hands, that dick.”

He hisses through clenched teeth, looking down at the hand still holding him. “I knew these fingers, this hand,” his thumb strokes over her skin, “would feel good wrapped around me. I didn’t realize just how good it would feel.” He loosens the hold on her face but tightens the one on her wrist. “I need you to stop, or this will be over way too soon.”

She unfurls her fingers and pushes her bottom lip out a little further, whining, “But I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“Fuuuuucking, hell.” Dean looks like his dick isn’t the only thing about to explode. Releasing her hand, he leans into her, forcing her to lie back. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Kasey smiles as she watches him struggle to regain control, silently reveling in the knowledge that she can rile him up as much as he had done to her. The moment his demeanor shifts, she tries to move up the bed, steeling herself for his next move, but he quickly grips her knee holding her in place as he straightens. “Where do you think you’re going?” His long, lean body is now on full display in all its glory, and she nearly melts into the mattress. The air leaves her lungs in a whoosh, making her dizzy, and she grips the bedding to ground herself. There’s so much to take in that she’s unsure where to look, so she briefly closes her eyes.

No one has a right to look that good. If he were to be arrested for anything, this should have been it. It’s cruel and unusual punishment. Oh! I wonder what kind of punishment he would dish out?

When she finally peels her lids open, her eyes immediately land on his beefy thighs, and an image of her straddling one as large hands guide her over those taut muscles makes her chest heave. The air around her sizzles with heat, or maybe it’s her skin; it could be both. She swallows hard and brushes her tongue over her lips, futilely attempting to slake the thirst of her parched mouth.

“You okay, there?”

The deep bass of his voice is a shock to her already overloaded system, and her shoulders twitch. “Just kill me now.”

“Kase?”

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The concern laced in the word brings her frazzled brain into a semi-focused awareness. She manages a smile as she lifts her eyes to his face, all sense of intelligent thought once again fleeing when she’s greeted with a cheeky smile and a knowing gaze. “I, uh, I said, I- I’m fine.”

The arch of a single brow accompanied by the nod of his head ignites a spark of defiance. Dean’s eyes darken and shift, intently watching as she brings a hand up to tweak her nipple. Focused on the hungry glint in his eyes, she’s startled by the feel of her underwear being slipped from beneath her ass and over her ankles.

“Time to let me see.” With a wink and a wicked smile, she brings her knees up and lets her legs fall open. He brings the scrap of fabric to his nose and tugs on his shaft as he inhales deeply. “Who knew you’d be such a tease,” he smirks, tossing the white cotton to the floor.

Kasey gulps, feeling her cunt dripping onto the sheets. She hurriedly scoots up the bed, but Dean moves like a jungle cat, pinning her down before she can reach the pillows, mouth immediately latching onto a breast. She yelps in surprise, the slap of her hands against his shoulder blades echoing through the room. Her back instinctively arches, but she has nowhere to go, his weight hard and heavy on top of her.

“Shit, shit, shit. Give a girl some warning,” she huffs.

He smiles against her skin, tongue flicking across the hardened nub trapped between his teeth before releasing it. “Why? It’s more fun this way.” He turns his attention to the other breast, fingers drifting featherlight down her body, making her leg twitch when he brushes over the crease of her leg and hip. “Huh, seems like someone else might be ticklish,” he murmurs, chuckling softly, the sound vibrating through her body.

Whining his name, she squirms beneath him when he ghosts his fingers over the area again, then gasps as he shifts his body, giving himself room to run a finger through her folds. He sinks his finger in to the first knuckle while his thumb circles her clit.

“You’re so wet,” he taunts, pushing in further before pulling out. “Is that all for me?” Kissing the valley between her breasts, he adds a second finger and starts a slow slide in and out… in and out...

Kasey’s brain short circuits.

Not a kiss. Not his mouth. Him. I’m going to die from all of him.

“Who- who the h- hell else would it be for, you ass.” she manages to splutter. “Just fuck me already.”

“Whoa, no need to get mean. But I do love the sound of nasty words coming from such a pretty mouth.” He sucks a mark into the top of her breast, his fingers picking up the pace as he continues to pump them into her slick heat. “You gonna talk dirty to me? Make me lick that filthy mouth clean?”

She can’t reach what she wants to grab, so she settles for grabbing a handful of hair and pulling his face up to hers. He looks fucking giddy, a shit-eating grin plastered on his lips. She narrows her eyes and snarls, “I’ll spew every fucking filthy word I know. Hell, I’ll even swear in fucking Latin if it helps. All the fucking filth you can goddamn fucking STAND from this pretty mouth; talk so motherfucking dirty to you, you’ll need to shower twice to feel clean if you. will. just. fuck. me.” She’d laugh at the unmitigated shock that adorns his face, but the coil is wound so tight it’s almost painful. “Please,” she sweetly begs.

His eyes hold an ardent enthusiasm, but his smile softens, and he kisses the tip of her nose. “That’s why I need you to come for me, honey. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She keens his name when he scissors his fingers and grinds onto his hand when he adds a third, making her walls convulse. “That’s it,” he whispers in her ear, “I can feel you getting closer.”

“Shit… feels good.” Curling in on herself, she breathes, “p- please.”

He places a peck on her cheek, “I want you to come hard for me, okay?” presses a kiss to her temple, “I want to feel you dripping down my arm,” taps his thumb over her clit, riling her up, enticing her to the edge. “Can you do that?”

“Y- yes…” Slipping a hand around the back of his neck, she thrusts against his hand, “fuck… feels so good,” as the other grips the arm working her over, “right there… right there.” Each thrust of his hand buries those long thick fingers deep, deeper than she could ever get on her own. She writhes next to him, yearning for release but not wanting it to end.

“Good girl.” Dean nips sharply at her earlobe and curls his fingers, thumb pressing into her clit.

Hips canting off the bed, back bowed, her body seizes, breath stalled, sound trapped in her throat, and walls clamped firmly around his fingers.

“That’s my girl,” he coos. “Fuck, that’s tight.” He tries to wiggle his fingers, and she cries out.

It’s all too much—his fingers, his voice, the weight and heat of him, the wave of euphoria that rolls through her. She collapses back onto the bed, her nails digging into his flesh, walls spasming around the fingers still fucking her. “Christ… fuck…” She twists her hips and clenches her thighs together, trying to stop the overstimulation, chest heaving, and heart threatening to burst.

“Nuh, uh.” Dean wedges a leg between hers, keeping them separated, his hand slowing as he eases her down. “Deep breaths.”

Kasey tries to do as he says, sucking in lungfuls of air, slowly exhaling in time with the rhythm of his fingers… in and out… in and out… she dissolves into the mattress, dazed and blissful.

“There you go.” He kisses her deeply, tongue slipping in as he frees his fingers completely.

Hips jerking, she whines, already missing the feeling of fullness he’d provided. Damn, he was right. He needed to prepare her. If she felt that full with just his fingers, that cock of his will split her open. She can’t wait.

Dean bites her bottom lip, bringing her focus back to him. Leaning up on his elbow, he brings his hand up from between her legs, “Look at the mess you made.” Kasey looks down her body to find his entire hand glistening as he wiggles his fingers, her juices dripping from his wrist. “Such a good girl, doing exactly as you were told.”

She can’t lie; the praise makes her feel warm and fuzzy, tightening the coil again a notch or two. He swipes his wrist across her thigh, then scoots down to lick it from her skin. “Tastes so good.” He breathes over the wet trail his tongue left behind, laughing as the goosebumps rise on her flesh, making her whine. Flicking his tongue out, he laps at his palm before shoving a finger into his mouth and moans, then proceeds to suck each finger clean in turn, releasing his thumb with a loud pop when he’s finished.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his thick fingers. Fuck his sinful mouth and talented tongue. Fuck his dreamy eyes and sexy voice, broad shoulders, and ripped arms. Fuck his bowed legs and meaty thighs. Fuck him.

And she categorically does want to… fuck him, that is. Dean rolls over the top of her, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of her shoulders, their noses nearly touching.

“Ever taste yourself?”

The question sounds obscene, depraved, the rasp of whiskey and smoke-filled barrooms pervading the words. It makes her stomach flip and her toes curl. He could be the devil incarnate, and she’d willingly follow him to hell and back if he promised to talk to her like that every day. She shakes her head. She can smell her arousal on his breath, and it turns her on more than she ever thought it would, making her squirm beneath him, wanting nothing more than to taste the tang of her release.

“Seriously?” Eyes dark and hungry, he smiles wide and bright. “Do you want to?”

Nodding eagerly, she unconsciously licks her lips in anticipation.

Dean’s smile is wicked as he breathes, “Go ahead.”

Tilting her chin up, she gives him a tentative peck on the lips, which reveals little in the way of taste. He patiently watches as she bites her lip, then licks along his top lip.

She scrunches her nose at first, and he chuckles, brushing back the strands of hair sticking to her cheek. “Try again.”

He parts his lips further, letting her sweep her tongue in to explore his mouth with the next kiss. Kasey moans, and he pulls away, kissing the tip of her nose, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. “Exactly.” His cock lies heavy against her thigh, and he ruts into her, mouth capturing hers, letting her lick his mouth clean. She pants when they break apart, “I want to taste you now.”

Wincing, he groans, “Later. I want to fuck you hard. Like you’ll feel me for days hard. I almost blew my load watching you fall apart. I can’t hold back much longer, and I really, really want to feel that tight cunt squeeze around my dick as you come.”

“Well, well, look who’s got the filthy mouth now.” she giggles. “Unfortunately, I think we will have to wait for that.”

“Wait? Why?” He looks terror-stricken. “I can’t wait. I mean… if you need to… don’t want to… then, yeah, we can wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… assume… anything. I just thought… with everything you said… what we just did… “

She lets him ramble on a bit more before kissing him to shut him up. Dean blinks down at her, confusion written into every gorgeous angle of his face. Sliding a hand down his side, she traces the edge of the bandage. “I meant the rough sex, but-”

“Ah, phfft.” He cuts her off, rolling his eyes like she’s a crazy person. “I can barely feel it. It’ll be fine.”

Pinning him with a stern glare, she huffs, “May I finish?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I have an idea that I think will make you just as happy.”

“Does it involve me feeling that sweet pussy around my dick?”

“Jesus.” It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Yes.”

“Awesome, what’s the idea?”

“Get off me and lie on your back.”

Dean’s eyes immediately light up, quickly catching on, and he rolls off her, situating himself in a semi-reclining position against the pillows. Kasey sits up on her haunches, then moves to straddle him, only to jerk back when he slaps his palms against the sheets and angrily shouts, “Son of a bitch.”

“What?” Not sure what’s happening, she quickly scans his body paying close attention to the bandage on his injured side. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he laments, “Uhm… condoms?”

She blinks rapidly, comprehension taking a moment to set in. “Oh! Well, I’m sure there are a couple around here somewhere, but they won’t be any good.” The forlorn-little-boy look on his face nearly sends her into a fit of laughter, and she bites her lip until she can swallow it back down. “I have an implant,” she tentatively states. Resting her hand, palm up, on his thigh, she taps the skin over the tiny bar.

Dean tilts his head curiously, eyes narrowing a bit. He wraps his fingers around her arm, thumb resting about an inch from the device, and eyes her quizzically.

“You can touch it,” she nods.

Lightly running his thumb over the area, he grimaces. “That feels weird. Does it hurt?”

“No, I don’t even feel it anymore. I got it right before I moved.” Smiling, she carefully watches his face. “So, we’re covered on that front. We good?”

“I’m good,” he nods eagerly.

Dean continues to hold her arm, helping her to balance as she throws a leg over his thighs, settling her ass just above his knees. “What are you doing so far away?” He holds his other hand up, and she flattens her palm against his, forcing their intertwined fingers onto the pillow above his head, moaning in unison with him when her still wet folds slide over his shaft.

She leans in and gives him a short, sweet kiss, sliding her hips back as she bears down on him. Dean grunts and releases the hold on her arm to cup the side of her face. His gaze is intense, but his eyes are soft and apologetic as he brushes his thumb over the apple of her cheek, and for a second, she worries that he might ask her to stop. Instead, he kisses her, sensual and slow. The rush to get where they are is gone, and now he clearly wants to savor the moment. Fingers slipping into her hair, he lifts his chin and pulls her closer. Nose pressed alongside hers, he hesitates, sharing a breath, looking at her with something akin to wonder. Kasey softly wraps her fingers around his wrist and whispers his name. Eyelids fluttering closed, he tilts his head to slot his lips with hers. The emotions he imparts in the kiss are startling. It’s passionate yet tender, intoxicating and exhilarating, loving and sweet. She swears she could come again just from this kiss.

She swirls her hips, his cock slipping through her folds, and he growls into her mouth. The smile it elicits causes him to pull back, smirking at her. “I want you so bad it hurts. But feeling you raw, I think this might end quicker than either of us would like.”

The sincerity in his tone warms her heart, and she responds in kind. Squeezing the hand she’s holding, she turns her head and kisses his palm. “We have all day. I’m sure we will have ample opportunity to find ways of enjoying each other.”

He visibly relaxes under her gaze.

“So let me take care of you.” She rocks her hips, sliding him through her wet heat. After her second pass, he drops his hand to her waist and thrusts against her, and she immediately stills. Lightly smacking his chest, she growls, “You don’t move. I’m in charge now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The smug smirk falls from his lips when her fingers grip his cock and squeeze. “I mean it. You, don’t move.”

“Got it.” She runs her thumb through his slit and strokes him a couple of times to make sure he’s fully covered in her slick. “N-No moving.” Lifting, she notches his tip at her entrance. “I’ll just…” She slowly eases down an inch or so. “lie h- here and take-”

Grunting, he slams his head back into the pillows, fingers denting into the top of her ass cheeks as she drops, impaling herself on his shaft. Falling forward, she presses her hand into his pec and tucks her chin, taking a moment to let the burn of the stretch dissipate. She knew he’d feel good, but damn, this… this is illusory. The stuff fantasies are made of. He’s broad and long, just like the rest of him, and he fills her so completely.

“Kasey?”

“Yeah, one more sec.” She clenches around him, feeling every thick ridge and throbbing vein.

“Kase, I need you to move.” Voice strained, he begs, “Please.”

Chuckling, she lifts her head to watch him as she slowly rises, then eases back onto him, setting a slow, steady pace. She releases his hand and kisses the tip of his chin as she brushes her knuckles over his cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

Dean scrunches his face at the word, and she smiles sweetly. “You are.” She tucks a section of hair back at his temple, “you’re smart.” Her index finger traces an eyebrow, “your eyes are kind, filled with emotion.” She trails the finger down his nose, tapping the end. “An adorable freckled nose.” Leaning forward, she rubs the tip of her nose against his, continuing to thrust shallow and slow. Her finger slides through the dip of his Cupid’s bow and drags over his bottom lip to his chin. She lets her tongue take over, placing her hand to rest on the bed above his shoulder. Keeping his gaze, she licks along his lower lip and whispers, “This deliciously sinful mouth.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, cock twitching inside her, fingers flexing into her flesh. “Such a gorgeous smile.”

Kasey sits back, and he slips in deeper, stretching her snug walls around him. The sense of fullness and the drag over her g-spot makes her tremble in anticipation. Despite his reservations, she has no doubt that he’ll make her come again.

Dean regards her with rapt attention as she undulates over him, her body slowly twisting and curving, building momentum. “Do you know what I think the sexiest thing is about you?” Perfect white teeth rake over his bottom lip as he shakes his head. She snakes a finger down his chest before tapping two fingers over his heart. “This heart. It’s a good heart.” Her other hand slips between them. “Strong and steady.”

“Fuck… oh… shit…” Dean’s body jerks, and his cock swells when her fingers brush against his shaft as she circles her clit. “Kasey…” His big hands squeeze the globes of her ass, then drop to grip around her ankles, forcing her knees forward and drawing her legs closer to his body.

Fingers curling into his chest, she pitches forward, her other hand landing on his shoulder as she grinds down onto him. Mouth pressed to his ear, she breathes, “Come for me.” And he does, spurting hot and deep inside her with a strangled shout.

Dean’s hands encircle her waist, helping her move as she continues to bounce on him while he throbs inside her. Seconds later, she bites into the skin of his collarbone, clenching around him while he holds her flush against his pelvic bone, the wave of pleasure washing over her even stronger than before.

He wraps her up in his arms when she collapses on top of him, chests heaving against each other and hearts pounding. His skin slips against hers, where the sweat has pooled between them as he flips them over. Brushing damp stray hairs off her forehead, he places quick, tender kisses over her face, then slides down between her legs, laying his head over her heart, using her breasts as a makeshift pillow.

“Damn, that was awesome.” His warm breath tickles her cooling skin.

“It was,” she chuckles, fingers drawing random patterns on his shoulder. “I can’t wait to do it again.” She hooks her heels over his thighs as his laughter shakes the mattress beneath them.

He dips his head to kiss her skin before replying, “Give me a minute to catch my breath.”

She smiles, looking down at him; the weight of his body grounds her. Dean hums, breaths slowing as she cards her fingers through his hair. He slides his arms closer to her body, hands resting against her sides, not quite cupping her breasts, and relaxes further into her, pressing her deeper into the bedding. It’s hot and sticky, but she doesn’t care and has no intention of moving. She closes her eyes, letting the bliss-filled silence stretch between them. She’s on the edge of sleep when he murmurs against her.

“There was one more thing you were wrong about.”

“Sheesh. Is this going to become a thing now? Are you going to start keeping a list?”

He chuckles as he lifts his head, resting his chin in the cleft below her breasts, and she peels her lids up just enough to see him. “Earlier when you said that… that I wasn’t yours. You were wrong. I’ve been yours from the moment I stepped onto your porch.”

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