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#and dean makes sure to be quiet as he approaches the bed on tip toes
pinkislouder · 2 years
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dean is just a kid whose dad never checked on him before leaving when he was asleep. he was lying awake, hoping john would come to his bed, put a hand on his head, tell him he'd be back soon. Just check on me, check if I'm breathing, check if I'm okay, tell me you love me even though I should technically be sleeping and unaware. So he'll check on Jack when he gets home, even if it's 3am and Jack is up anyway, doing fuck knows on TikTok. Jack beams at him from behind the bright phone screen, the only light source in the room. "You good?" Dean asks and Jack goes: "Yep! Did you catch the ghost?" And Dean tells him about the hunt and they chat a bit and he goes: Anyway, just wanted to check on you. And Jack smiles, small and honest. "I know. You always do."
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The Devil in Disguise
Dean Winchester x Reader
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Summary: Dean’s on the run from escaping a prison where a job went south. Sam is in the wind. With nowhere to go and an injured leg, Dean takes refuge in the only place he could find—an old remote cabin. Normally empty for long stretches, Dean happens to stumble in the same day that the cabin’s owner returns. After a rocky first encounter, Dean comes to believe that a distant connection they share could be the thing that saves his life and gets him back to Sam. But will it happen before Y/N’s finance, a prison guard at Green River, finds the secret she’s hiding in the woods?
A/N: The fic was inspired by the song “The Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars. This is part 1 of ?? written for multiple bingo cards that go for both chapters. Set around S2 (Folson Prison Blues). New tag lists are at the end of the fic. I have tag spots open, let me know if you want to jump on or off for SPN (Dean and/or Sam, or RPF for Jensen)
@spngenrebingo Square filled: Wrong Place Wrong Time
@spndeanbingo Square filled: Cabin in the Woods
Warnings: (Part One): Language, Mild angst, Gunshot wound  
WC: 3.1K
*Banner created by me. I do not own any of these pictures.
Dean bypassed the barbed wire wall without the guards seeing him, but he didn’t have the luxury of the night to hide him forever. Sam had already gotten free, he wasn’t sure how, but he did. Maybe their old friend Deacon had been able to get him through the gates somehow, but at least his little brother was safe. He, on the other hand, still had some running to do and it would be daybreak soon.
The sirens started blaring, a long, whiny cry to alert the rest of the prison and community that they had lost a felon or two. Dean’s heart began racing as he surveyed his very limited options. He had no way to disappear fast enough; no car, no weapon, nothing but his GED and give’em hell attitude. Somehow he had to make those work for him. 
With his back pushed up against the stone wall, he crept along as far as he could. In the distance he could hear the dogs, snarling and foaming at his scent. Despite his labored, nervous breathes mingling with the cold air, he felt himself sweating with anxiety and exhilaration. The rush of adrenaline had set his impulses on fire and made him ready to do whatever he had to do.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled, realizing that his only real option was to take a chance and make a break for the treeline. It was a good fifty-yard dash, and regardless of pre-prison his diet of bacon cheeseburgers and six-packs, he was confident that he could make it. The forest was dense enough for him to get lost in, and in that kind of wilderness, he was sure he would shake them.
Dean waited for the spotlight to come back around one last time, and once it passed, he ran like a bat out of hell. He felt the bullet whizz past his head before he heard the echo of the shot. He didn’t hesitate though. Dean ran faster, nearly gone in the tree line before he felt the white-hot heat of the round pierce the calf of his left leg. He immediately stumbled and fell, then cursed at the pain that rippled through his leg as he got back up. The bullet slowed him down, but it didn’t stop him; Dean kept running and didn’t look back.
Time passed, he didn’t know how much exactly, but enough for the sky to become light and the sound of the dog’s barking to fade away completely. He had been running for what felt like miles and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Dean leaned back against an old maple tree and finally examined his wound where the orange jumpsuit was now soaked with blood. He sighed in relief when he saw two holes in the fabric of the pants, now that he knew the bullet must have gone clean through. Stitches he could handle on his own, fishing out a bullet would be a different story. Still, he had to find a place to hold up, get supplies, food, water… a way to contact Sam. He took another moment to try and calm his breathing, then pushed off the tree and turned west, hoping that would bring him somewhere safe. 
Through a thicket of trees, he spotted a roof peak breaking through the mess red and gold leaves. Dean made his way there, first surveying the outside to see if it was empty or not. When he was sure that there was no one there, he approached cautiously, peeking in windows and looking for a way in that didn’t require breaking any glass. The back door of the cabin opened easily, and he ducked inside. 
The interior of the old place was well kept, and while it was currently empty, it hadn’t been for long. There was no dust or debris, the kitchen was clean and the one-bedroom had a nicely made bed and a bathroom with fresh towels. 
“Shit,” he mumbled and realized he wouldn’t be able to stay for any real length of time. Not that he should, anyway. Dean had been on the run enough times in his life to know you needed to keep moving.  
Making the most of what he had, Dean went through the cabinets and refrigerator looking for supplies. He found a few bottles of cold water and some cans of vegetables in the cabinet. Hunger wasn’t a priority, but he gulped down the water before limping into the bedroom and searching for clothes. Rifling through the drawers, he lucked into a clean pair of dark blue sweatpants and an old gray T-shirt. In the last drawer he opened, he saw the small, gray weapon lockbox and for the first time in a week, felt a genuine smile touch the corner of his mouth. 
Once Dean broke it open, he made sure the wood-handled Ruger inside was loaded and left it on the bed as he tossed his prison orange aside and got changed. Exhaustion was setting in, and the pain from his leg was starting to drain whatever energy he had left. He pulled the shirt over his head and tried to lift his left leg up enough to pull the sweatpants on, but it was enough of a movement to make his ears go fuzzy and black spots to appear before his eyes. Dean knew he was going under, but not even his give’em hell attitude could combat the amount of pain and fatigue that overcame him.
Dean woke sometime later to a distant sound. His long lashes fluttered involuntarily and as his lids slowly opened, his mind tried to discern where he was. He HAD been in prison, but now… flashes of barking dogs, branches slicing at his arms, a bullet piercing his leg. Pain flared loudly at the memory and Dean repressed a guttural groan as he did his best to sit up on the bed, using his right arm to help prop him up and the left hand to grab the gun. 
Another noise; closer now. A door to the cabin slamming shut. Dean was up and off the bed, Ruger in hand, pushing away the pain in his leg and the low rumble of his stomach. His heart was working overtime to pump blood through his body, only adding fuel to the overwhelming rush of adrenaline surging along with it. He went cold, completely willing to do whatever he needed to survive. Civilian or not, if the person standing between him and getting back to his little brother was his only obstacle, if pushed, he would make the hard choice.
Someone was in the kitchen, muttering and moving about. Dean inched closer to the door, tip-toeing in bare feet with the hopes that he wouldn’t creek one of the old floorboards. At the edge of the door frame, he pushed his back against the wall and readied the Ruger, before discreetly peering around the corner of the doorway into the kitchen. 
Dean saw her just as she turned and saw him. He had the gun up, eyes cold and steely against the trembling woman who stared in shock with wide, scared eyes. 
“Shhhh,” Dean warned. “I don’t want to hurt you…”
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The long stretch of road was laid out before her, lined with the brightly colored autumn trees. On the radio of her old Jeep, Patsy Cline was crooning about being crazy, and the bite to the air coming in from the driver’s side window made her smile. It had been a month at least since she had driven out to the cabin, and right now, spending a few days out there was just what she needed. Derek had been a bear since he had been put on overtime at work. The night shifts left him even more on edge, and the last fight she had with him was enough to make her want space for a few days. Using her current work in progress, she could at least use the excuse of needing quiet to write. Not that he minded when she said she was leaving. He claimed the overtime was necessary in order to pay for the wedding and it was just easier to do without her home waiting for him. Though, [Y/N] wasn’t dumb. She knew there was more to it, but shoved it aside for the time being. As the twisting roads wound her closer to her forest retreat, she thought it was more probable that the new intake officer, Rita Martin, was the real reason he didn’t fight the extra shifts. 
Arriving at the cabin, she turned the ignition off, pocketed the keys and grabbed her duffle bag along with the box of supplies from the back seat. Kicking the Jeep door shut with her foot, she walked up to the few steps to the porch and across the long stretch of old pine towards the front door. [Y/N] placed the box to the ground and cursed under her breath as the duffle on her shoulder fell quickly forward and knocked a few items out of the box before falling to the porch with a thud. 
She put them back in the box quickly and then lifted up the doormat to grab the spare key that unlocked the front door. It was not a great place to leave it, but she had a terrible habit of forgetting the key to the old place sometimes and didn’t want to get stuck that far out in the woods without being able to get in. She let the door open and then retrieved the box from the ground before entering. 
Standing in the middle of the place, she sighed with relief and the feeling of being there again. It wasn’t the best time in the world to head out that far, but the need to be alone with her thoughts outweighed the need to not get snowed in. 
The small living room was just as she left it, and she was relieved to see that she remembered to leave a good amount of firewood inside already. [Y/N] moved into the kitchen and placed the box of supplies on the round table towards the corner of the room. She turned to the fridge and was talking under her breath, questioning to herself if she had brought enough food. Unsure of how long she was going to stay, [Y/N] brought enough for a long weekend, but knew it could certainly run longer; especially if Derek was going to continue acting like an ogre. 
[Y/N] shrugged off her puffer vest, and turned to hang it on the back of the chair. That’s when she saw the man standing in the doorway of the bedroom off the kitchen. He was wearing Derek’s clothes and had her own Ruger up and targeted right on her chest. The man’s face was dirty, his arms scratched to hell and blotches of blood running through the fabric of the sweatpants on his left leg.  She wanted to scream—her panic begged her to call for help—but her mind knew better. There was no one for miles and doing so may only prompt the strange man to shoot. 
“Shhhh,” he warned.. “I don’t want to hurt you…” 
The man’s face drained to pale, and he swiftly became uneasy on his feet. [Y/N] had a moment where she didn’t know whether to make a run for it or go help the man who was clearly injured and frightened. Yes, he was pointing her own gun at her, but people do crazy things when they feel scared and trapped. 
He looked as if he would topple over from a stiff breeze, and a moment later, nearly did. [Y/N] lunged forward, catching the man’s shoulder and helping to prop him up before he went to the floor. He hadn’t passed out completely, but it was no secret that he was overly exhausted.
[Y/N] moved him towards the bed, as the Ruger slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. Paying it no attention, she was more concerned about the heat that was radiating off his skin. Despite the pallid complexion he currently displayed, the man was burning up. 
Once she got him to the bed, she drew in a deep breath and tried to wrap her head around what was happening. As she turned to go back and pick the gun up off the floor, she noticed the orange jumpsuit off in the corner. Her head snapped around to the man on the bed, who was slowly starting to come around again. Her attention went back to the jumpsuit. She knew what it was; where it was from. [Y/N] had seen enough of them in her day thanks to Derek. 
Bending slowly, [Y/N] picked up the Ruger, and just as she trained it on the man in her bed, he sat up completely, placing a hand to the side of his head and wincing in pain. 
“I’m--I’m sorry,” he grumbled, his throat raspy and cracked. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought the place was empty. Bad timing on my part.”
“Why are you here? Who are you?” she snapped despite the worry she felt for his physical condition. The longer he hesitated, the tighter she gripped the handle of the gun. It took her taking a few steps closer and relocating her aim from his arm, to his head. 
The man put his hands up in defense and tried to stand. “Alright! Alright!” he shouted. “I’m Dean Winchester, okay? I got shot and needed a place to hold up. That’s all. I thought the place was empty!”
He managed to keep his balance for a moment, but his calf betrayed him and buckled his knees, bringing back down to the bed. 
“Shot. How? By who?” she asked, her (y/c) eyes narrowing on him suspiciously. “Don’t give me that bullshit hunting accident story either, I see the orange jumper. I know where you’re from.”
As if on queue, a burst of static came from a distant place out from somewhere else in the cabin. It was quickly followed by a jumbled voice, but it was too far away to make any kind of sense. 
“What the hell is that?” he asked, the fever becoming more present on his face as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing. 
“My CB. No cell service out here. It’s the only way to reach the cabin. I haven’t seen the wound there yet,” she nodded towards his leg, but kept her eyes trained on his, “but I can tell you it's getting infected. Now, I have supplies that will help, but first, you tell me what happened.”
His face drew into a frustrated scowl, one that told her he realized how cornered he was and that truth was his only way out. Dean sighed in resignation as his shoulders slumped. “I was in prison. Found a way out. Got shot running away.”
“What were you in for?” she asked, but with much less bite than before. 
“B ‘n E… maybe a few other things,” he muttered. “But, I got myself locked up on purpose. I wasn’t supposed to actually be there.” He snorted a laugh and shook his head; even he seemed surprised by what he was admitting.
[Y/N] lowered the gun from him momentarily to try and process what he had just said. She couldn’t put the pieces together in her head and raised the Ruger again. “You need to explain better than that, Dean Winchester. I’m not someone you can lie to easily. I grew up a Preacher’s daughter, so I can smell bullshit from a hundred miles.”
Dean raised his eyebrows considering her reply and nodded. “Yeah, well. I’m not lying. What I do… my brother and I--”
“Your brother? Is he here too?” she asked, an edge of nerves lacing her question.
“No, he got out the right way. He should be safe.”
“The right way? What the Hell does that mean?”
“We had a plan, okay? Once the job was done inside, Deacon was helping us to get out.”
“Deacon? You mean, Deacon Kaylor?”
Dean’s face lit up. “Yeah, you know him?” 
“Yeah,” she replied hesitantly and once again, lowered the Ruger. 
“If I were to radio Deacon, and pass your name along to him… what would he say, exactly? What kind of job were you doing that required you to break into prison only to have to break out again?”
“He’d say just what I told you, that I didn’t belong there and vouch that he was trying to help us get out. As for the job, well, that’s a whole other story.”
“Good thing I’ve got time.” She was curious, but also leary of the green-eyed stranger currently bleeding on her grandmother’s favorite quilt. 
“Yeah, well, I don’t, sweetheart. You weren’t kidding about my leg, it hurts like hell and I can’t imagine it looks real pretty. I’ve answered your questions. Maybe you could come through on those supplies now? If not, I’m not gonna be conscious enough to answer anything.”
[Y/N] considered his point and nodded reluctantly, then tucked the gun in the back of her jeans, and covered it with her shirt. 
“Alright. Sit tight, they’re out in the other room. But… try one thing… make one move where I feel threatened, and I promise you, that leg will be the least of your worries.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dean held up his hands in relent as she walked past where he sat on the bed and back out into the kitchen. 
[Y/N]’s mind was racing, trying to know what the right thing to do was. Should she call Deacon? Check up on this man who claimed to be innocent of whatever crimes had gotten him locked up? What could this job possibly be that he mentioned? Something was strange here, she could feel that in her gut, but she could also feel that he wasn’t lying. That line about spotting a liar a mile away wasn’t wrong. Growing up with Preacher Steve as a father had forced her to become quite attuned to bald-face lies, subtle ones, too. For Preacher Steve was as big of a liar as they came. Yet every Sunday, he stood on that pulpit and scared the people of Green River County into believing each and every one of his lies.
She was rummaging through the box just as the CB came to life again from the base it sat on in the living room. As [Y/N] walked slowly towards it, through the cracks of static and interference, she could hear the call being intercepted from the radio at the prison: ‘BOL: manhunt continues for the missing Green River, prisoner DEAN WINCHESTER...’
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SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson // @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @his-paradox // @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @lefthologramdeer // @maddiepants
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pherryt · 6 years
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Angry kiss. McKirk Shy Kiss. Saileen
okay, so i posted your angry kiss prompt earlier, now here’s you Shy one :D
Word Count: 1036
“Dude, you like her!”
“What? Dean! No, shut up!” Sam blushed.
The roar of the Impala did nothing to cover up Dean’s chortle.The Skype call with Eileen had just ended and, as loathe as Sam was to admitit, he was sad to see her go.
He wasn’t even sure what they had. Eileen was great. She was anawesome hunter, had the best sense of humor and she was sweet and tough all atthe same time. Like, how was that even possible? She was adorable and kick assand…and…
Friends, Sam decided firmly. That’s what they were, and that’s whathe’d be content with. Eileen wouldn’t be looking to settle with a hunter. She hadn’teven wanted to stay in the life after she took out the bansidhe, and Sam wouldnever be so selfish as to call someone back in that had managed to get out. Becauseface it, you never just came back for one job.
Look at him. Bobby. Rufus. Dean. Krissy. Pamela. Cas. Mary. And somany more.
They’d all tried to leave the life. They all came back, for onereason or another. Look where that had got them. Bobby, Pamela and Rufus weredead…Dean and Sam and Cas were all messed up in one way or another. Mary was…well,Mary was complicated, as usual.
Of course, Eileen hadn’t actuallygotten out yet. And she hadcalled him first. So what did that mean? Was she going to remain a hunter? Goto school? Or…or…
He’d be sad to see her go. The hunting community could use morehunters like her. But he refused to stand in her way and if she left the life,Sam resigned himself to letting her go. The chances of seeing her ever againwould be pretty nil. Not if he wanted her to have a chance at a normal life.
But he couldn’t help but wish…that she’d stick around. That sheliked him. As more than a friend. Only that was a stupid, selfish wish.
Wasn’t it?
Sam startled out of his thoughts when the engine stopped. Heblinked and looked out at the motel Dean had chosen for them. He’d been lost inthought for a few hours, apparently, and he wasn’t even sure what he’d been thinkingabout.
No, wrong. He’d been thinking of Eileen.
Wishful thinking.
But at least Dean had stopped teasing him.
Sam was a little groggy from the drive, despite not being theone driving, and was once more startled when he found out Eileen had beat themthere.
“I was already in the area,” she said, her hands moving in timewith her mouth as she approached the brothers and the car. Sam already had hisduffle slung over his shoulder and Dean was rummaging in the trunk.
“Oh! Well, heh, how lucky was that? Aren’t we lucky, Dean?” Samturned to his brother, attempting to give him a casual slap when he joined themafter slamming the trunk shut, but instead Sam’s action caused Dean to stagger.
Dean glared before turning to Eileen and nodding at her, afriendly smile on his face. “Good to see you.”
“Oh, come here, you,” she said, pulling Dean in for a hug. Herolled his eyes but went in willingly and Sam felt a pang of jealousy. No, stopthat. Their just friends. We’re all friends here. Beside, Dean has no eyes foranyone other than Cas.
“Look, I’m going on a food run. You two behave,” Dean said,shoving his duffle at Sam. “I got us a room. Couldn’t get the one at the end ofthe hall, but I got the one next to it.”
“Yeah, that’s because somebody-“ Eileen grinned, “-got herefirst.”
Dean snorted and waved while Sam laughed. Sam picked up Dean’sbag and followed Eileen along the walkway to the end, the sound of the Impalaroaring to life behind them, leaving Sam and Eileen in silence.
They stopped at the doors at the end, side by side and Sam fidgeted,looking for the room key – only realizing then that Dean seemed to haveforgotten to give it to him with the duffel. Eileen shook her head, unlockedher door and tilted her head in invitation, holding the door open.
Sam nodded. “Thanks.” He followed her in and dumped the bags bythe door. She closed it behind him and flicked on the light.
She was very close to him.
“It’s good to see you, Sam,” Eileen said before reaching up onher tip toes to hug him. There was a light brush on his cheek and – did shekiss him? No, she’d definitely kissed him! – and he blushed.
“It’s…it’s good to see you too,” he said carefully, his fingersclumsy as he tried to sign back. He’d much improved over the last few months.But then, he’d had great incentive to do so. Still, clumsy or not, Eileenseemed to appreciate his efforts and never made fun of his attempts, onlyhelping him to get better at it.
Boldly, she took his hand and pulled him to sit on the bedbefore letting him go, leaving her hands free. He looked down at her shyly.
“Eileen, what…what is this?” he asked? Hope was lodged in histhroat now, making it hard to speak. His hands shook as he signed.
Gently, she covered his hands, steadied them.
“Nothing more than you want to give, Sam. I just wanted to tellyou, that I like you,” she said. “And that it’s all right if you like me too.”
“Yeah?” Sam breathed. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes, Sam, you can,” Eileen said solemnly, with a twinkle in hereyes. The butterflies in Sam’s stomach seemed to triple as he leaned forward andgently pressed a kiss to her lips.
When they pulled away, Eileen smiled at him fondly and he almostducked his head like an embarrassed little boy. She didn’t push for more, andneither did he. Life was short, sure, but he was happy to have this quietmoment, Eileen in his arms, warm against his side.
He hoped they’d get a chance to have many more quiet momentslike this.
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houseofglass · 7 years
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ABO Virus: Pack Life Chapter 10 - Pregnant
AO3 link
Dean woke in the wee hours of the morning for what felt like no reason at all. He tested the channels and discovered his two mates sleeping deeply, so it wasn't them that woke him. He tuned his ears to the bunker and found no threat present, so it wasn't that. He felt a spark flare inside of him. Yes, that was it. Followed by intense nausea.
He managed to get himself off the bed and into the bathroom before kneeling in front of the bowl and doing his business as quietly as he could. No, he thought, not again. Please, he prayed to nobody in particular. When he felt like he wasn't going to be needing the toilet for that purpose any more, he rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth. Just to be sure, he pulled the plug out and drained himself, thinking maybe he had a poop brewing. He was wrong. The spark was still there and eerily familiar.
He wanted to scream and shout at the top of his lungs but knew that would not be wise. More than anything, he wanted to process what was happening without anyone else around. He wanted to know how he felt before other people put their opinions on him. Testing the channels again he found his pack still asleep and unaware. Dean crept into the bedroom as quietly as he could. Taking every bit of energy he could muster, he kept his shields up so as not to alert the two sleeping figures he was awake. Dean got dressed in the first things he grabbed, found his phone and keys, and exited.
Dean clutched the keys as tightly as he could so he didn't make any noise while he got his boots on. It wasn't easy, but he managed. With one thread of reason left he scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table. He suspected he would catch Hell for driving alone, but he would deal with that later. The chances of running into any Alphas on the rutting drug at this time of the morning was extremely slim. He hoped. One last test of the channel confirmed they were still asleep, and he snuck out.
Never had Baby's engine been as loud as it was in that instant. The roar filled the garage, the vibration shook the foundation, the raising of the garage door rattled the walls. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he put Baby in drive, and left.
He had zero idea how long he drove. All he knew was it was dark when he left the bunker and now the sky was lit from below the horizon in the promise of a sunny day. The roads were blessedly empty, the air shockingly fresh, and the world thankfully asleep. Once he got far enough away that he couldn't feel his connection with his mates, he let himself begin to absorb what was happening to him. When he felt like he couldn't contain himself one more second, he found a side road and pulled over next to a chain link fence. Baby was barely in park before he was outright bawling. Huge, heaving sobs made him unable to do anything other than hold the steering wheel while he rode the wave. It crested, as waves tend to do, and he felt himself come back to reality. A quick fumble in the glove box revealed the Kleenex packet Sam had left there from before, when Dean was weepy frequently. He cleaned himself as best he could, considering his eyes still leaked.
And so he sat, dazed, staring out the windshield without seeing a damn thing. The spark flared again. Dean grabbed the tissue packet and left the car as if he could leave the spark in the seat. He walked for a bit before seeing a bench facing the sunrise. He didn't even think about it, he just plopped himself down and stared at the trees and how a beaten path slipped around them until it was out of sight. While he stared into the distance he unconsciously brought a hand to his mark and rubbed it gently.
A woman approached from behind and sat next to him, startling him so badly he had to check to make sure he didn't A) wet himself or B) have a heart attack. She seemed completely unfazed that he'd jolted as if he was electrocuted. When he composed himself, he noticed she was holding a chipped mug out to him, and the delicious aroma of coffee drifted to his nose. “Didn't know what you took in your coffee, so it's only got two sugars,” she said as if they'd been talking for hours.
“Uh...th-thanks?” Dean took the mug and sipped from it, the sugar sweetening the dark roast only enough to cut the bitterness down.
She nodded in acknowledgement and drank from her own mug of milky coffee.
Dean stared at her, his own issue pushed away for the moment. She was, he realized, what a scriptwriter would describe as 'indeterminate age'. Her hair had white in it, her face lined, her hands gnarled with arthritis or a lifetime of hard labour. She was small but not small. Short for sure, possibly even under five feet tall, and stocky. Not wiggly fat, but firm and muscular with soft edges. Her clothes were somewhat mismatched; a blue t-shirt with a polka-dotted skirt, beige cable knit cardigan, striped fuzzy socks in unlaced beat up army boots, feet dangling slightly from the bench. She could be anywhere from 35 to 70. And she had no scent.
“You have no scent,” Dean blurted then blushed. “I mean.....”
“No, I did not present. Immune, you know. Or too damn old for the virus.” She didn't sound put off by his comment, or even ruffled.
“I'm Omega,” he offered, unsure if she wanted to know.
“Yes. Your mark gave that away.” She tipped her head to his neck.
To avoid talking, Dean drank more coffee and tried to drown the feeling that he had been unsettled and now was not. “Do you live nearby?” he asked when he couldn't stand the silence of her sipping her coffee and gazing at the world in front of her.
A smile ghosted over her mouth as the mug reached her lips. Pausing from her sip she said, “well. This is my bench. In my yard. On my property. That is fenced in,” and then took her sip. She lowered the mug and cradled it with both hands in her lap. “So yes. I live nearby.”
Dean felt himself flush right down to his toes. He did remember parking next to a tall chain link fence. There might have even been a 'no trespassing' sign on it. He only had to move one panel to get in, now that he thought about it. Obviously it was a gate the same height as the fence, but it hadn't been chained. If he really thought about it, there were ruts in the road below the gate. It was a driveway. Well fuck.
He didn't know if he should apologize, leave, or make excuses, so he just sat. “I'm pregnant,” he startled himself by saying out loud.
She tilted her head back and laughed, taking ten years off her face. “What a wild ride! Men who can get pregnant. Who would have predicted that?” She shook her head in amusement before resuming her stare at the trees.
Dean twisted his face back to the same view. “So....no congratulations or anything?” he ventured with more than a splash of confusion.
“Is this a congratulatory event?”
“I....” Dean was at a complete loss. “I don't know,” he finally admitted, fiddling with the handle of his mug.
“I would hazard a guess that it is not.” She tipped her head thoughtfully. “Not yet, anyway,” she amended.
“Why?”
She looked at him, full on for the first time since sitting down. “You are on a stranger's property without realizing it. You are driving alone, at dawn. Your face shows signs of crying. Your shirt is inside out. Your shoulders are slumped as if there are weights sitting on them. You were so lost in your own world you didn't notice my approach, and I was not attempting to be quiet. You are mated. You are well cared for. I would guess that your pregnancy was not planned.”
“Ok. All right. That's......accurate.” Shockingly accurate, he thought.
She turned back and resumed her assessment of the scene in front of her. The sun had broken the horizon and was sending beams through the forestry.
“I had an abortion. Before.” Why am I telling her this? he thought as he felt the sun warm his knee. He checked his shirt, it was indeed inside out.
She simply nodded thoughtfully.
“I shouldn't have been able to get pregnant. The abortion caused damage. And I'm on birth control,” he babbled.
“I see,” she said without judgment. She drank more coffee, toeing her boots off. She raised her legs and thrust her toes into the sunbeam, smiling a little.
“They won't be mad if I don't want to keep it.”
“Is that a fact,” she stated evenly while wiggling her toes in the thick socks.
Tears leaked out again along with a single sob. He tried to rein himself in and failed. Before he was aware of it, he was crying again. He covered his eyes with one hand and tilted his head away from her. She simply waited him out, swinging her feet gently. “I don't know what to do,” he cried.
“What do you want to do?”
“Keep it,” he said before thinking about it. He dug out his tissues so he could wipe his eyes and blow his nose.
“Then keep it,” she said with a single shoulder shrug.
Dean opened his mouth to talk but nothing came out. He gave an impression of a fish for a moment before managing, “but...” and nothing else.
“Why must there be a 'but'?” She asked just before drinking her coffee.
But what if the pup isn't healthy? But what if I'm not a good dad? But I'm too old. But a baby will change everything. But I don't want to be a baby factory. But what if I lose the pup? But what if I think I want it but I really don't? But what if I don't live long enough to see my pup become an adult? “Do you have children?” he asked somewhat nastily.
Her eyes cut to him sharply, making him jerk in his seat. “Watch your tone. You are a guest.” She visibly softened when he nodded. “Yes. I have had children.”
“What is the hardest part?” Dean wanted to know.
She considered it for a while. “Judgment from others.”
He was not expecting that. “I mean-”
“My answer stands.”
Dean gave a single nod. “Will you elaborate?” he tried.
Again, she considered. “The world I raised my children in seemed to be set up for mothers to fail. Always having 'you're a good mom if' held over your head. Heaven forbid you be in a homosexual relationship, or a different belief system for God, or not breastfeed, or breastfeed in public. And oh my word the number of people that offer unwanted, unsolicited advice about everything from diapers to college. Please understand, men were not subject to the same scrutiny. If the father changed even a single diaper he was lauded as a great father. A mother waits a few minutes to change the baby so she can stir supper or use the washroom and she's a neglectful mother.”
Dean took that in. He'd never even considered how it would be different if he was born female, how the world saw mothers different than fathers. He didn't even know if things were still this way, just replace 'Mother' with 'Omega', or if things are different now with the virus and men getting pregnant. “Judgment from others,” he whispered.
“Judgment from others,” she confirmed lowly. “What is your worst fear regarding your pregnancy?”
That made him shift in his seat uncomfortably. He hadn't thought that far. “Dunno,” he mumbled.
“I don't believe you.” There was no heat or accusation in her voice, just a simple statement of fact.
Anger flared in Dean. How dare she presume to know what I feel, or how I think, or what I'm afraid of or- “Judgment from others,” he sputtered.
“Care to elaborate?” she asked kindly.
“I don't like that people will see me differently. People will think less of me. I used to be....not important exactly....but....relevant. Somehow....I think.....people will see me as.....less.” Dean struggled with the core of what he wanted to say. By now he knew she would not rush him, so he took his time. “I don't want people tiptoeing around me because I aborted before. I don't want them thinking I'm unstable,” he admitted very quietly.
“Are you unstable?”
Dean took a long time with that one. Long enough to notice his coffee was cold. “Yes. A little. More than I ever was before I presented.”
“Ok.”
“Okay?!?” he sounded incredulous to his own ears.
She gave a single nod. “Ok.”
Dean flung his arm up and slapped it back down. “Aren't you going to give me some advice or something?”
“No.”
“No!??”
“No.” She slouched down in the seat so her toes could find her boots. She dropped her weight slightly to get them on without using her hands. “You already know what you want to do. You know how you feel and what you need. You know what the next step must be.” Very slowly she stood up, like she was testing her back and legs to ensure they could support her.
He watched her without offering help, her movements seeming so familiar to her that help didn't seem wanted. “I have to talk to Sam and Cas,” he confirmed.
Her eyebrow twitched up slightly as if to register the names, nothing more. She held her hand out for the mug, which he relinquished. “You have a big day ahead, and I have a small bladder. Drive safe now.” She turned and walked away without another word, clearly dismissing him.
Dean sat only for a moment, now feeling like he was intruding. When he got up he turned around and saw a house at the top of a small hill, maybe three hundred feet away. It wasn't exactly well tended, but nor was it terribly run down. He walked away slowly, turning everything over in his mind, knowing that he was going to have to talk to his mates sooner rather than later. They'd scent the pregnancy on him anyway. He had a fleeting thought that they must still be sleeping since they hadn't texted him at all. Pulling his phone out he saw it was dead. When he got to the car he plugged it in to the adapter just after starting the car. He waited until his phone charged enough to check and yes, there were a ton of messages from them. A peek at the clock told him he'd been out for longer than he'd realized, so he shot off a quick text saying he was driving but on his way home.
Baby rumbled nicely as Dean turned her around and set out back to the bunker with thoughts of cribs and baby clothes on his mind. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, the morning sun already warming the world around him. It was irritatingly low on the horizon still, creating glare on his windshield. He didn't even see the car shoot out from a hidden intersection. He didn't feel the impact, only noticed that his windshield was shattered, and lamented to himself how expensive it was going to be to replace as his world went black.
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