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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Changes - part four Word count: ±5600 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work as a team. Summary part four: With reluctance Zoë decides to patch up Dean, but when the older Winchester tries to find out why she became a hunter, tension rises. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Music: Heartbreaker - Led Zeppelin Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish & @winchest09 who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

The thunderstorm has passed on, a low, grumpy rumble sounding from twenty miles away, as the midnight rider pulls over at Motel 6. Red and orange colors of dawn paint the horizon in the east; the sun will rise within an hour or so. As Zoë puts her bike on the centerstand, Sam parks the black Chevrolet next to the Harley. Swiftly, he gets out of the car and walks around to help his brother, but Dean already managed to get out, muttering that he can do it himself.

The Winchesters approach to the entrance with Zoë on their tail, who keeps a sharp eye, more a habit than a necessity, trained to always be aware of her surroundings. But when she glances at Dean - who keeps a tight grip on his shoulder as he stumbles towards the door - she sighs, annoyed. It’s a guy thing, isn’t it? Feeling so sorry for themselves about ending up with a scratch or a bruise. And they truly believe they are the superior gender? She would like to see either one of those whiners live through childbirth. Without warning, Zoë walks up to Dean and smacks him against the back of his head. “Ah! You b--” “Don’t you dare call me that, or it will be your face my hand hits next,” she warns. “What’s your fucking problem?!” he snaps. “You’re acting like you're already seeing the white light. Stand up straight, let go of your shoulder and stay behind your brother,” she barks at him, while passing the two men on their way to the foyer. “Just don’t make a scene, okay?” “Do you have any idea how much this hurts? You put a bullet in my arm!” the older Winchester exclaims. “Be glad I didn’t put it in your heart, darling.”

Narrowed eyes flashing with sarcasm land on him, before Zoë grips the door handle. She’s about to push it open when Dean challenges her again. “You can give me all the attitude you’ve got, sweetheart, but you do realize you’re a fucking amateur for shootin’ another hunter, right?” he chuckles mockingly. With an eye roll, Zoë turns on her heels, fiercely glaring at the older Winchester brother, while biting the inside of her lip. This guy is seriously starting to piss her off. Does he really believe he can outsass her? That’s adorable, actually. “Let me tell you something, Winchester. Firstly, it’s called a warning shot, since you’re not dead. Secondly, I believe I was the one you didn’t see coming inside that house, I was the one who shot you and not the other way around. So tell me; who’s the amateur here?” She arches her eyebrows at him victoriously, then turns back to the door, whipping her hair round as she twists. The door falls shut behind the huntress before Dean can even think of a good counter. Sam huffs, shocked and yet impressed with her accomplishment. Who would’ve thought it was possible? She just shut up his brother. With his lips pressed together in a thin line, trying hard not to laugh, the younger Winchester follows Zoë, but Dean notices his suppressed smirk anyway and gives him a push in the back as they enter the lobby.

The door closes just as the thunder roars louder than it has all night. Dean, although reluctantly, does as told and stays in Sam’s large shadow, so the man behind the counter doesn’t notice his injury. The old man looks up from his magazine. He hasn’t done much, because the paper wrappers and the soda bottle still lay scattered across the desk. He did have coffee, though, probably to get through the quiet night. “At least I’m not just sitting here to become part of the furniture, thanks to you, Mrs. Johnson,” he comments, as it’s the third time in a few short hours she’s entered the lobby. “It won’t happen again tonight,” she promises, taking the room key after he hands it to her. “That’s easy for you to say, considering it’s morning,” he responds, unimpressed.

The man is not wrong. The clock on the wall is about to strike seven AM and she hasn’t had a minute of sleep in the past thirty six hours. While yawning, she continues her way to her room, leaving behind the Winchester brothers. Sam clears his throat loudly and Zoë looks over her shoulder, only then realizing she’s forgetting something. “Oh, right. These are colleagues of mine, they need a room,” she adds. “Sorry, no can do.” The manager flips the page, not even bothering to look up. Sam and Dean await an explanation with confused looks upon their faces. “Why not?” Sam asks. “Lots of folks coming for that Texas Hold’em Poker Tournament this weekend; I’m fully booked,” the old man explains. “Great…” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Sam pleadingly glances at Zoë, but she doesn’t blink. “I guess we have to find ourselves another motel then,” he concludes and intends to turn around. “Good luck with that, but you won’t find a bed at this hour. I think your best option is to take a few hours sleep in your car,” the manager advises, without looking up from his magazine. “Well, you heard the man; good luck with that.” Zoë walks on, not feeling even a bit responsible for the two men. Dean follows her to have a word, as Sam tries to talk to the manager. “Sir, isn’t there some sort of arrangement we can make here? Me and my brother, we’ve been on the road for quite some time and we haven’t slept on a decent bed in days,” Sam explains politely. Puppy dog eyes and a friendly smile; Sam’s secret weapon to get what he wants. His words are calm and friendly, but this time they are not enough to do the job. The hundred dollar bill the hunter slips the manager is, though. The man stands up and leans on the counter, biting on the plastic spoon from his empty coffee container, thinking through some kind of option.

“I don’t have any rooms left, but I tell you what,” he says as he turns over to Zoë and Dean, who are arguing down the hallway. “Room 82 has a double bed and a couch. If Mrs. Johnson doesn’t mind, I will allow you two to spend the night,” he suggests, while looking between the boys and the owner of the room. “What? Like... share?” she returns, her nose crinkling with disgust. “That’s what social people do,” Dean whispers, so only she can hear him. Ignoring his snarl, she looks over at Sam. There they are again, hazel eyes begging her. Her gaze trails back to Dean who hints at his shoulder. The blood is coming through his denim jacket and has started to drip down his arm; he needs treatment. No matter how much she detests sharing a room with the Winchesters, Zoë can’t let him sleep in the car. That would be a little too cruel, even for her. Although she doesn’t like Dean’s attitude, she was the one who did this to him. And so she sighs and nods, approving.

“Alright then, that’s settled. Now, I don’t want any trouble, this is off the books, so if anything happens…” the manager warns. “We understand. Thank you very much.” Sam gives him a grateful smile before he joins his brother and the huntress. The three of them walk through the hallway together, but as soon as they turn the corner, Zoë smacks Sam against the shoulder. She would have rather aimed for his head like she did with Dean a minute ago, but she doesn't, simply because he's too tall for her to reach. Sam puts his arm up in defense. “Hey!” “Why do you think I let you walk in the middle?” Dean comments. “What were you thinking!” she hisses with a lowered voice. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Sam offers when they halt by room 82. Zoë huffs, unlocking the door. “And let him sleep next to me? Not in a million years.”

She enters the room and switches on the lights, but before she can turn around, Dean claims the bed. With a sigh of relief, he settles against the backboard and props his feet up on the sheets, not bothering to take his boots off first. “Get off,” Zoë barks, the moment she catches sight of his actions. “I’m actually quite comfortable,” he nags, pressing the drenched, bundled scarf on the injury in an attempt to slow the bleeding. “You are fucking up my research,” Zoë persists. “I’m tired, hungry, and my shoulder hurts like hell, thanks to you. So if you have a problem with me crashing on the bed, you can bite me.” As Dean rants, the huntress raises her brow and cocks her head back. What did he just say to me? “Excuse me? Whose room do you think this is again, you ungrateful little shit!? Because I could’ve sworn that--” “My God, woman! Can you tone it down and cut me some slack here?” he interrupts agitated, hinting at the shot wound. “You’re giving me a headache on top of all this.” “Do I look like I care?” she snaps, turning back at Sam. “You two are either sleeping on the couch or on the ground. Figure out who sleeps where.”

She drops her helmet down on the table and takes off her worn biker jacket, which she hangs to dry on the back of the chair. Dean’s eyes follow her as she crosses the room, but then land on the metal briefcase, swallowing apprehensively when he beholds what’s inside. Right, getting shot was the easy part. Meanwhile, Sam takes a look at the Macbook Pro on the bed, kneeling down in front of it to observe the piece of technology. “This is cool,” he comments, letting his finger glide over the touchpad, enlarging the icons at the bottom of the screen. Zoë, who has started cleaning her surgical equipment, warns him. “Hands off. I just got it.” Cautiously, Sam backs away from the laptop. He’s not surprised by her hostile response, though. He barely lets Dean touch his own computer, let alone allow a stranger to work it, so he understands where she’s coming from. “You know, it just occurred to me -” Sam sits down on the side of the bed facing her, clears his throat and puts his hands together, leaning forward, “- I don’t think you ever answered my question.” Zoë doesn’t even look up, apparently not intrigued. “What question is that?” “How did you two meet?” Sam asks, curiously. Before she even says a word, Zoë looks up at Dean. Clearly, she doesn’t feel like answering herself. Dean keeps a hold of her gaze, his brow slightly furrowed. She nods, approving; he can tell Sam what happened. “Zoe was a case, about four years ago. Right after you left for Stanford,” Dean starts off. “A case?” Sam repeats, stunned. “She was possessed by a Diligo Vesco demon. Nasty son of a bitch, believe me,” Dean elaborates. “I read some lore on those. Don’t they feed on the loved ones of their host?” Sam recalls. “Sure do,” Zoë answers shortly, obviously not happy about the fact she’s the subject of this conversation. “We hung out a bit while Dad was working the job. He took care of it,” Dean tells.

Abruptly, Zoë gets up from where she was seated, gritting her teeth. Tension a little more evident in her walk, as she moves over to the kitchenette. After activating the electric kettle, she opens two cabinets. “Fuck.” Dean, who just wants this day to be over, sighs annoyed. “Now what?” “I’m out of whiskey,” she declares, closing the cabinet doors. “Well, I don’t know ‘bout you, but a beer will do just fine,” he comments. “Not to drink, brainless,” she responds, placing her hands on her small waist as she shifts her weight on one leg. “To fix you up.” “Right.” He clears his throat, but then suddenly realizes what she’s saying. “Wait, you’re gonna fix me up?” She can read the doubt in his facial expression, even though he tries to hide it. Before she can answer his question, Sam intervenes. “I can patch him up if you wanna get some sleep,” he offers. “Can you stitch up an axillary vein? Because I blasted his into oblivion,” she responds with an attitude. “No. Can you?” Sam counters. “She can, annoyingly enough,” Dean answers before Zoë can. “She studied medicine.”

Sam snaps his head to her now, surprised by the revelation. He expected Zoë to be smart, considering she managed to ambush them, but somehow he can’t picture the biker as a student. She is a hunter after all, and hunters don’t get to go to college, let alone university. He has first hand experience to prove that theory. “You’re a med student?” “Was a med student," she corrects, walking to the bathroom to get a towel and a bowl. “Sam, do your brother a favor. Go down the 52 into Rochester and take the first right. You’ll find a 24 hour shop with a liquor department on 55th Street.” “Got it.” Sam needs no further explanation and heads for the door. “Johnny Walker Black Label. If I take a sip it might as well be good,” she adds. “And while you’re at it, bring me a cheeseburger,” Dean also requests. “Extra onions.” “Make that two.” Zoë’s hollow voice sounds from the bathroom, but then she walks out. “There’s a Wendy’s around the corner.” “Anything else?” Sam grumbles, feeling used. “Yeah, I’d like fries with that. And if you deliver in ten minutes or less, there’s an extra tip in it for you,” Zoë answers smartly.

Dean smirks while his brother shakes his head. When the door slams shut, Sam leaves what should be an awkward silence, but Zoë doesn’t seem even a bit intimidated by the Winchester brothers. Without a word, she fills the bowl with hot water. With a clean towel in one hand and the bowl in the other, she walks to the bed and spots Dean’s grin. “What?” She frowns at his expression. “I have to say, you are way more of a smartass than you were back then,” Dean recalls, as he removes the bloody fabric from the entry wound. She sits down on the bed next to him and dips the towel in the sterile water. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re still the same smart ass you were back then. Take off your shirt.” Dean looks at her sideways, pleasantly surprised by the sudden authorial demand. “Don’t get any ideas,” she responds with an icy stare. “Alright, but I normally don’t do this until the second date.” He opens the buttons with one hand, then takes off his flannel. A grunt leaves his throat when Zoë carefully rolls up the short sleeve of tee, the fabric comes loose from the wound. The huntress feels his pain, although she will not admit it, of course. It seems like a pretty clean shot, but there’s too much blood for it to be that simple. She presses the towel against the wound, letting it absorb the crimson red. Dean swallows thickly and looks away, grinding his teeth. He feels uncomfortable.

“This is fuckin’ embarrassing,” the hunter mutters under his breath. “Why is that?” Zoë takes away the towel, flips it over and presses it firmly against his shoulder again. “I got my ass kicked by a chick and guess who’s patching me up,” Dean admits. She grins now. “I can see how your pride got damaged.” “You’re enjoying this, aren’t ya?” he notices. “Totally,” Zoë chuckles. “But I would much rather be sleeping.” “That makes two of us.” Dean flutters his lashes, fighting the fatigue which decided to team up with the pain; blood loss probably has something to do with it. “You could have ended up far worse,” she remarks. “Dead, perhaps? You won’t get rid of me that easily.” He smiles cocky. “That’s not what I mean.” Zoë takes a closer look at the wound, careful not to touch it without gloves. “Sam might be the clever one, but my guess is that he couldn’t have fixed this vein.”

He looks aside for a moment, examining her. He remembers her hair being a lighter shade of brown, when the Californian sun still dyed her locks with gold. Now the color is more intense, darker, much like her eyes. Her skin seems soft, but there’s something about her that gives her a tough appearance. It’s a vibe he didn't pick up last time he saw her. Back then she was this innocent rich kid from Orange County; naive, nice, cute, clueless. Quite the opposite of how she comes off tonight. She grew up delicately, left the girl in the Sunny State and became a woman. If he’d spotted someone like her in a bar, he would make a move. Why didn't they end up between the sheets together? Now that he thinks of it, a previous boyfriend comes to mind, not that something like that ever stopped him from reeling women in. He came on to Zoë while working her case back in 2001 - despite her relationship status - but she declined, the good girl. Something tells him she’s anything but a good girl these days, which makes her even more interesting.

“Thanks,” Dean says, barely audible, somewhat out of the blue. Zoë glances at him with her brows curved, clearly not expecting any sign of gratitude. “Did Dean Winchester just thank me?” “Don’t push it.” A subtle smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. It’s the first time he sees a glimpse of the O.C. surfer girl he met back then. “Here, hold this.” She lays his hand on the towel still pressed to his shoulder and gets up. “It’s way too quiet in here.”

When she walks towards the radio on the small table next to the bed, Dean checks her out and nods approvingly without her seeing it. Definitely. He would definitely make a move on her. Heartbreaker by Led Zeppelin comes on the moment she turns on the radio. With a swing in her walk, clearly liking the tunes, she moves to the small kitchen and opens the fridge. “Beer?” He nods and she hands him a bottle. Waiting for Sam to return with the good stuff, she doesn��t open one herself, needing a steady hand for the procedure. Instead, Zoë searches the small fridge for something to eat, bending forward to shove some cans and bottles aside in the back, fortunately for Dean. He can’t help himself. Whoa, you could bounce a quarter off that-- “Dean, do me a favor and stop staring at my ass.” Zoë surprises him with a sudden and piercing glare as she closes the door. He quickly averts his gaze. “I - I wasn’t staring at your--” “Yes, you were.” With a grin she tears the wrapper from a chocolate bar. “Like I said: you haven't changed one bit.” He looks up at the huntress and can’t help but chuckle. She used to be so shy. Past Zoë would’ve felt embarrassed if she caught him checking her out. She would’ve kept quiet and certainly wouldn’t have called him out on it. But not the new version of herself. Zoë 2.0 doesn’t take any shit.

His eyes roam over her features as she sits down next to him and takes a bite of the chocolate treat. A few scars add to her tough appearance without taking away any of her beauty. Typical combat injuries: small white lines run down her eyebrow, barely visible scar tissue on the corner of her full lips and her chin. She puts away her midnight snack and dusts off her hands, after which she cleans them in the bowl of warm water, washing up thoroughly with betadine before attending the wounded hunter. Long lashes frame her brown eyes as she focuses on her hands as she scrubs them; they obviously have seen their fair share of fights, knives, and rifles. She has been hunting. It’s not just her skin that gives her away, it’s the tainting darkness lingering over her. Zoë has seen the worst. “You’ve changed.” She looks back at Dean, then averts her gaze, not knowing how to act or behave. His gaze penetrates her thick armor, the hint of pity in it confronting. She only spent two weeks with him, but she knows these moments are rare for Dean Winchester. The guitar solo of the Led Zep song sets in and gives an awkward feel to the moment, which Dean decides to break up. “So…” he starts off, nodding at the research on the bed behind him. “Hunting now, huh? Finished med school?” “Nope. Dropped out.” Again an unpleasant silence, the tones from the guitar strings echoing through the room as Dean searches for words. “That’s a shame.” Dean takes a swig from the bottle and continues. “What I understood from your sister, you were the best student in your class. I never thought you would--” “- end up like you?” she interrupts him. He nods. She ponders. “Too much happened to ignore and continue with my simple little life.” Zoë looks away, her gaze fading into a thousand yard stare for a few seconds. She doesn’t think about that period of her life very often. “Bullshit,” Dean argues while shaking his head. “You were on your way to becoming a top surgeon; there is nothing simple or little about that. You could’ve helped people your way, y’know, without the motel-to-motel lifestyle, a life expectancy of thirty and no pay.” “Where’s the fun in that when you know what’s really out there?” the huntress bounces back. “Big ass salary, white picket fence, a perfect career,” he fantasizes. “Don’t get me wrong, I dig what I do. I just never thought this would be the life for you.” Neither did I, Zoë thinks to herself, but she doesn’t admit it out loud. Instead, the woman who should have been a doctor bites on the inside of her cheek as she begins to clean the surgical equipment for a second time, trying to get rid of the frustration building inside her. Dean is poking the bear, but trying to provoke her to talk might not be his best move. Fact is, though, his question is spot on. The hunters’ world isn't her scene, yet she got stuck in this loop of endless cases.

“How’s Abigail doing these days?” Dean picks up the conversation again, when the silence drags on too long. Zoë shrugs, seemingly careless. “Wouldn’t know.” “You girls aren’t talking?” He raises his eyebrows at the information, remembering the bond between the Sullivan sisters well. Witnessing them was bittersweet, because the two reminded Dean so much of him and Sam, who had just bailed for Stanford at the time. Abi and Zoë couldn’t be close to one another while his dad was working the case, the risk of the demon manifesting and claiming even more lives too large. It hurt them both, like neither of them knew how to function without the other by their side. Much like how he felt while his brother was gone.

“You were thick as thieves,” he recalls when Zoë remains quiet. “Seriously, what happened after we hit the road?” Again her reaction lacks both compassion and emotion. “I became a hunter.” Dean narrows his eyes, reading her. “Yeah, but why?” “Why? Like being possessed by a demon wasn’t enough?” she returns. “No, most people would try to forget it ever happened and move on with their apple pie lives,” he claims. “Well, I’m not like most people, am I?” A deadly glare comes his way, and Dean is caught off guard by her sudden change of character. He’s making her feel uncomfortable, all the more reason to dig deeper. “You used to be.” “People change.” Annoyed, she drops the surgical instruments on the sterile sheet, the metal clattering. Dean keeps an eye on her, carefully observing her reaction. There’s more to this and she’s not telling him. “What happened?” he asks directly, but calmly. “Jesus Christ, Dean! Could you just fucking drop it?” she snaps, as the door of room 82 opens. Sam walks in and detects the tension between the two. Dean keeps looking Zoë in the eye with determination in his expression; he’s not planning to let this go. The huntress on the other hand, stares back at him and doesn’t need words to tell him to shut the hell up. “Okay… awkward.” Sam closes the door behind him and breaks the silence by holding up the bags. “I have booze and burgers.” “Ah, good, I’m starving.” The presence of food has Dean snap his eyes away from the hunters, reaching out for the paper bag, but Zoë snatches it away. “You’re not eating anything ‘til I’m done with you,” she decides, obviously trying to get back at him. Dean watches her walk away with the burgers, his jaw slack and mouth watering from the smell of grease drenched fast food alone. She’s got to be kidding him, right? “Ah, come on! That ain’t fair!” he complains, frustrated. The hunter frantically looks over at Sam who has trouble hiding his grin while watching the scene play out. He’s not going to back up his brother, though; he has learned quickly that Zoë doesn’t appreciate being countered. Not giving Dean’s objections any attention, she leaves the Wendy’s bag on the table, sits down next to him on the bed and pulls the chair by the wall in position to set up her instruments. First, she takes away the soaked through towel. Sam frowns when he sees the pierced skin where the bullet entered, pulls the whiskey out of a bag and places it on the chair. “Good luck with that,” he comments, glad he’s not the one going through it, nor being the one having to patch him up. That shot wound is no joke. “Yeah thanks, bro,” Dean returns sarcastically.

Zoë takes a serious look at his shoulder, making an unsatisfied sound with her mouth. “Sam, get me an empty glass,” she orders without shifting her eyes. Items are shoved in the sink cabinet as Sam tries to find what Zoë asked for. The noises from the kitchen disturb the music on the radio, but also the silence between Dean and Zoë. He hesitates; shall he continue his questioning? He decides to wait. After all, she still has to patch him up. As Sam comes back with clean towels and a glass, she checks in with his brother. “Do you want a local anaesthetic or are you gonna bite the bullet?” He sighs reluctantly. Although a sedation does sound tempting, he decides otherwise. “I’ll bite the bullet,” he replies. “I’ll be honest with you,” Zoë starts off, the tips of all five fingers gently pushing into his chest, beckoning him to lean against the headboard. “This will hurt like hell, but I need you to keep completely still. Without an X-ray I can’t tell for sure where the bullet is. It could be holding a damn finger in the dyke.” As the hunter lays back, he gulps. By now, her patient is getting somewhat nervous. “You do know what you’re doing, right?” Dean questions carefully as she puts on a pair of latex gloves. “Of course I know what I’m doing. You just need to hold still and shut up,” she replies, agitated. When he looks aside at his brother, Sam sees doubt and a slight trace of fear in his eyes. He decides to jump in to help. “Have you done this before?” Sam asks calmly, just as she takes a set of forceps in her left hand.

She stops, but doesn’t look up at him; this time her reaction isn’t as rapid as previously. Of course she could tell them she dug a bullet out of her own flesh only hours ago, but that would involve admitting she got hurt. Besides, a shallow shot wound isn’t comparable to this injury; the bullet tore his shoulder to pieces. The Winchester brothers wait for her to respond, but she decides to ignore the question all together and intends to go to work. Dean pulls away, looking her straight in the eye. “Before you stick that thing in my arm, answer the fucking question,” he demands. “I did this before, chicken shit. Happy?” she answers, annoyed. “On a human being?” Sam wonders, on to her. Again silence. After rolling her eyes, she sighs and shrugs. “On a dead pig, okay? What’s the difference?” “Hey!” Dean says, insulted, until he realizes what she’s actually saying. “Whoa, wait… You’re actually gonna do some difficult procedure on me that you’ve never done on a human being before?” “It’s not that difficult,” she claims, not even a bit worried. “I know what I’m doing, you just have to trust me.” “Trust you?!” Dean exclaims. “You shot me!” “Dean, calm down,” Sam tries, without result. “I am calm!” he argues, raising his voice even more. “Hey, asshat!” Zoë calls Dean back to reality, forcing him to face her by grabbing his chin and turning his head. “You listen up. I don’t see another option here, unless you wanna go to a hospital.” “What do you care?” he returns. She scoffs and cocks her head back, staring at him stunned as she lets go of him. “You know what? You’re absolutely right! I don’t give a fucking shit.” Mad, she gets up and throws the instruments back in the briefcase and tears the gloves from her hands. She slams the lid and heads for the door, which she pulls open and holds for them. “Zoë, come on. Wait a minute,” Sam says, desperately trying to repair the damage. “Nope. Now get the fuck out,” she orders. “You’re kicking us out? You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Dean says, dazed. “Do I look like I’m kidding?!” she returns the question angrily. “Maybe if you would stop being such a fucking jerk, I--” “Okay, fine.” Dean grabs his jacket and his shirt next to him and gets up, while Sam looks over from one to the other, startled and completely helpless. “Can’t we talk about this, guys?” he tries. “No!” both Dean and Zoë answer at the same time.

Dean shuffles towards the door, pressing his shirt against the wound. It’s clear he isn’t feeling well, but neither he nor Zoë even flinch, too proud to ever admit they have crossed the line. Despite his injury, they are about to go separate ways, purely because they are both so arrogant, that they can’t tolerate each other. “Okay, this is ridiculous!” Now it’s Sam who gets frustrated. Dean turns around and Zoë frowns; finally the younger Winchester has their attention. “Listen to her, Dean,” he claims. “Seriously? You’re on her side now?” Dean reacts, betrayed. “That’s not what this is about, damn it! There are no sides, we’re all hunters and we have a job to do. Fighting like cats and dogs isn’t helping!” Sam responds. “She has a point. We’re in Minnesota, remember?”

Dean needs a moment to think, but then recalls the case they worked about five years ago, in Lafayette, a little over a hundred miles west from here. The local police caught him and his father with the victim of a poltergeist, they had a clear view of his face before he escaped. When they started digging, they found a list of scams, carjacking, robberies, suspect of several more crimes and now murder to top them all. If Dean walks into a hospital and is listed as a patient, it won’t be long before the cops take him in. Even if he uses an alias, the chance of getting busted is a reality. “Fuck,” he curses, realizing Sam is right; he has ‘wanted’ written all over him. His brother looks over at the woman in their company, who leans against the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her. “Can you fix him up?” he asks, calmly. “Of course I can. I don’t get myself into shit I can’t handle,” she replies snippy. He nods approvingly and looks deep into her eyes. “Please,” he pleads. “I know you won’t do this for him--” “Obviously not,” she interferes pissed, shooting daggers at Dean. “Then do this for me. Please, fix him up?” Sam begs. The huntress watches Sam, still mad, but her mind settling down. Dean realizes that for his best interests, he better keep his mouth shut. Then she sighs and steps away from the door, which she closes. “Cut it out with the puppy dog eyes. I’ll do it,” she mutters.

Dean slowly sits down on the bed while Zoë opens her briefcase again, getting out the things she needs. “Thanks, Zo,” Sam says, grateful, words that Dean can’t possibly get out of his mouth. “Don’t mention it.” She puts on a fresh pair of gloves and takes her patient’s arm, as he leans back against the headboard again. His eyes tell her he would’ve rather gone to the hospital and figure out a plan to bust out later, but at least he isn’t saying it out loud. Considering it’s Dean Winchester, that has to count for something. “If you fuck up, I’ll kill you,” he warns. She glares at him, but finds a coy smile on his face. “Not if I kill you first,” she returns, a slight grin on her lips. He swallows apprehensively and mentally prepares himself. She steadies her hand, the forceps an extension of her fingertips. Both take a deep breath; here goes nothing. And she goes in...

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part five here!

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katehuntington · 5 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part nine) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±5050 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part nine: Everyone deals with the aftermath of the fight differently. Worried about Dean, Y/N goes out to look for him, but doesn’t find the man she got to know in the past weeks. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Save Yourself - KALEO (Y/N and Dean scene), Burden - Foy Vance (end scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

The evening has set in completely, a clouded sky obstructing a view of the galaxy above. Normally, a dark blue would stretch out above the ranch, blending into a lighter tone at the horizon in the west where the sun sank down hours ago. But today the sky is black. No moon nor stars decorate the night’s ceiling. Almost as if the weather knows that it’s not the time to be breathtaking. No one will look up to appreciate her anyway.

Y/N vacuumed the bunkhouse, then gave the kitchen a good once over, just to keep busy. Jo took her example and scrubbed the bathroom. At least the therapeutical cleanup isn’t for nothing, because there was enough sand between the floorboards for the footing of a new arena, and there were several organisms living on leftovers in the refrigerator. Wranglers are a bunch of swines, that much Y/N knows. She neatly folds the wrung out the cloth that she used, leaves it in the sink, and stares through the four-squared window. Still no sign of Dean. Honestly, she’s not sure if it would be reasonable to expect Ash back tonight, since he doesn’t have to show up for work in the morning. But Dean isn’t going to stay away, is he?

While she is cleaning the faucet until she’s able to see her own reflection in the copper, she moves past denying how worried she is about him. Staying here and letting him be, as Jo put it, feels wrong. A breath of air rolls from her lips when she eyes the wall clock again. Ten minutes to nine; he’s been gone for almost two hours. For a moment she contemplates what to do next. She can still ride Meadow, even though she intended to give her the day off. It will keep her busy, for sure, her horse will probably offer some comfort, too. But she cannot take away the concern she carries for the head wrangler, only he can do that. With three determined steps she’s by the door opening, and is about to push away the fly curtain, when she hears stumbling, coming from behind. Jo just exited the bathroom, almost tripping over the stick of the mop while holding up a bucket of water. She has purple rubber gloves on, her blonde hair looks quite similar to the rag she is holding, and her shirt is pulled into a knot above her belly button. It’s quite a peculiar sight.

“Where are you going?” she asks, perplexed. Surely, Y/N isn’t going to leave her friend to scrub the floor alone. “I’m gonna go to the stables. I think we did enough cleaning for one day, or a week,” she excuses. “To the stables, my ass. You’re going after Dean, ain’t ya?” Y/N opens her mouth to counter Jo with a firm ‘no’, but when she looks at her friend, she drops the act. One cocked eyebrow, that same judgemental grin she gave the intern when she commented on her boots being too clean for a ranch hand, the day the cowgirl picked her up from the airport. Darn, Jo is on to her. And so she presses her lips together and sighs. “He seemed upset,” she utters. “He’s a dude, he’ll live. Men are mad for a minute, walk it off and by the time they turn around, they have forgotten what the whole thing was about. They’re like goldfish,” her friend scoffs. Y/N snorts at that comparison. Clearly the ranch owner’s daughter has a strong opinion of the other gender. “I’m just going to check on him, alright?” she promises. “Do what you gotta do,” Jo replies. “You know where I’ll be.” Thankful Y/N smiles at her friend, then moves the fly curtain out of the way and steps outside. Jo might think it’s stupid of her to let Dean get under her skin, but that doesn’t mean she will leave her to struggle with it alone, in case it backfires. Odds are that the wrangler is going to hurt her feelings somewhere down the line, the numbers are not exactly in his favor. But knowing that Jo will be there with a safety net ready to catch her, is reassuring. After a mocking ‘hate to say I told you so’, she will be her friend.

Grateful, Y/N walks down in the direction she saw Dean disappear hours ago. The air is thick, as if another thunderstorm is about to break out. The wind died down completely, leaving the lands in silence. The only sound she can detect, is a rhythmical pound every so many seconds, much like a pile-driver. Y/N isn’t far off, because when she reaches the cattle pens, she finds Dean, slamming a post into the ground with a sledgehammer. Seems like she wasn’t the only one who kept her hands busy to get through the evening. Clearly still worked up over the fight he had with Ash, Dean swings the hammer over his head with everything that he’s got and hits the pole on the head. His grey shirt sticks to his torso, sweat shimmering on his skin, brought out by the lampposts that light the driveway. Veins lay thick on his forearms, dust and dirt smudges add to the shades in his dark features. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so caught up in the work that he fails to hear her footsteps. In silence, she watches, both intrigued and intimidated, but eventually gathers the courage to announce herself. “Dean?”

He pauses his action for a brief second and looks at the timid woman, bewildered. Out of breath, he takes her in, but decides not to respond and heaves the hammer again in order to smash it down, driving the post deeper into the ground. “It’s getting pretty late,” she adds, hoping to get some kind of response that is more than just a look. “I have to finish this fence,” he returns, his voice monotone, as if he is trying to restrain every emotion. “The fence will still be there tomorrow,” Y/N returns. “I’d rather fix it now.” He hits the pole again. “At least this fucking fence –” and again, “– I can fix.” Oh, yeah; this is definitely a good way to deal with things. Y/N watches him jam the sledgehammer down a couple of more times, overworking his body. “You’ve been going at it since 4 AM,” she counters, trying to convince him. “Please come inside?” “I’m fine,” he replies bluntly, between swings. Y/N huffs, sarcasm evident. “Yeah, I can see that.” The head wrangler doesn’t respond, yet keeps grinding. He feels the young woman’s eyes on him, though. She is reading into his actions, his words, his behavior, and it’s bugging the hell out of him.

Cautiously, she moves in a few steps closer. “Do you want to talk about it?” He drops the sledgehammer on the ground with a loud thump and turns to her, chest heaving and clearly annoyed. “Do I look like I wanna talk about it?” he scolds between breaths. “I told you I’m fine!” Taken aback by the hostility in his voice, Y/N stares at him. This is a side of Dean she has never seen before. Sure, he gave her a cold shoulder when she turned him down on her first night at the ranch, but the darkness that clouds his eyes now is different. He has closed himself off and as he was rebuilding the fence, he pulled up a wall as well. She understands that he’s hurt, but he is the second friend to lash out at her tonight and it’s more than she can handle. “You know what? I won’t waste your time then. I’m certainly not going to waste any more of my time on you,” she spits, acrimony on her tongue. “Good luck with your damn fence.”

Angry, Y/N turns on her heels before he can spot the tears burning in her eyes. Hurried steps take her away from the man that gets to her more than she should let him. You dumb goose. How could you have been so naive? Jo was right to warn her every single time she did. She has known her cousin her entire life and still Y/N begged to differ. For hours, she’s been worried about the guy who is only nice to his intern when he thinks he can seize the opportunity to get her into his bed. She empathized with him, and this is what she gets in return. A snarl from that selfish dick when she tries to help him. The cowgirl can hear him call out for her, but she ignores it. It’s not until she hears her name again close behind her, that she hesitates. “Y/N…” Strong yet tender fingers lock around her wrist and stop the woman who tries to flee from him. The action spins her around, but she avoids Dean’s eyes. When Y/N does glance up into those green orbs bouncing over her features, she can detect the dismay in his expression. If there is anything that she does not want him to see, it’s the tears that threaten to roll down her cheeks. The bitterness that affected his temper a moment ago is gone and guilt replaces it. Shit, what has he done? “I’m sorry,” he says, not a trace of swallowed pride. “You’ve been blamed for things that ain’t your fault enough today. You didn’t deserve that.” He loosens the grip on her wrist a little and lets his fingers slide down her smooth skin until he holds her hand, squeezing it gently. There are so many emotions from both sides of the spectrum coursing through Y/N, but the most evident is the sensation that races up and down every nerve like a racetrack, the start and finish where he touches her. She looks down at their entwined fingers, at how her hand, soft from the all-purpose cleaner, fits in his palm. This is the first time that there is intentional physical contact and it shuts down her brain and sends her heart into overdrive.

“You’re not fine,” she manages to say. “I’m not a simpleton, Dean.” “I know you’re not,” he acknowledges. “It’s just that…” He pauses, hesitant about his next step. Opening up about the things that occupy his mind and keep him up at night is not something he’s comfortable with. His entire life he only had a few of those conversations, a few with Bobby, the others with Ellen. He only talked to them because they already knew a thing or two about his past and the issues that it brought along. But apparently the newest member of the crew is able to pierce through that veil and see behind the mask he thought he wore so well. “Dean… I know this isn’t all about Ash, and whatever it is that is bothering you, it’s okay. You can talk to me.” Y/N squeezes his hand, ensuring, letting him know she’s ready to listen. The anger she felt a moment ago when he shut down on her has disappeared as the ice on the lakes at the end of winter, back in Freeport. She isn’t even sure how this happened, but standing here in the wide-open spaces, lingering in his touch, it feels so good and so safe. It brings a calm over her she didn’t realize she longed for.

“I - I don’t really talk about this stuff,” the head wrangler admits. “I dunno, it feels like when I do, I just rattle shit up… It wouldn’t do anyone good.” He lets go of her, before the girl he feels attracted to starts to wonder what the connection means, but runs his thumb over her knuckles gently before her fingers slip from his. The moment he pulls away, the wrangler already aches for her touch. Uneasy, he turns away and rests both his hands on the mid rail of the fence, his hunched shoulders blocking a clear view of his face. He cannot let her see it. He cannot let her see him. “So that’s your strategy? When something bad happens, you bury it?” Y/N isn’t judging him, he can tell by the way she asks the question and is looking at him, curious and sympathetic. What she is doing, though, is trying to understand how his mind works. What if she’s able to decipher his code? What if she can speak this foreign language that he made his? What if she figures me out? Just the thought of letting it all rise to the surface scares Dean to death. Knowing that the one person he wants to impress, who he wants to do good by, will be able to tell how broken he truly is. And yet, despite the fear that is eating him up inside, he cannot pretend. He cannot lie to her. “Yeah, I guess I do,” he admits. “Usually it works for me.” “But not always,” she knows. “No, not always.”

He’s quiet now, his gaze locked on the soil that has become solid again after this morning’s rain. Y/N observes his body language; how he’s turned slightly away from her, head tipped down, resting his arms on the fence as if he needs something to lean on. It’s a stark contrast to the confident smile and bright eyes that she got used to. This is a part of him people rarely get to see, Y/N is very much aware of that. What she’s also aware of, is how delicate the situation is. Pushing him to talk will only trigger the opposite, and so she lets him be. The words she leaves between the two of them have only one purpose: to make him feel better. “If you don’t feel like talking, that’s alright. But what happened to Ash, you know he was wrong to take it out on you, right? This is not your fault.” Even in the dim light she can see his jaw flex, confirming her suspicion that he does, indeed, blames himself for his friend’s departure. “It was my decision. One I had to make, but still. At least I should’ve been honest with him. He had a hunch that something wasn’t right and I could have eased him into it. Instead, I told him everything was going to be alright. Who does that?” the handsome wrangler ponders, able to kick himself in the head for his tactic. “He’s family, he deserves better.” “You tried to protect him,” Y/N soothes. The cowboy scoffs and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. “And look how that turned out…”

Dean appreciates the cowgirl’s efforts. Hell, he admires her for them, because she could have walked off and let him rot after that snarl he gave her, and it would have done him justice. The thing is, Y/N wasn’t far off when she assumed that he wasn’t just upset about Ash. His whole life he has tried to protect the people he loved at the expense of himself, without question. One person stands out from all the others. A boy with hazel hair, bangs hanging in front of his eyes which used to look up to Dean admiringly. Always carrying some book around, always reading and studying. Quiet, observant, smart, a will of his own, even at a young age. A boy Dean fought for to keep safe, tried to make sure he would land on his feet alright, and be given all the opportunities he deserved. A boy who he took the hit for, every single time. A boy who would call Dean his big brother. A boy called Sam. He failed him, just like he failed Ash today.

“Hey…” The woman who is breaking down his walls brings him out of the trance he was stuck in, her voice alone having that effect. He turns to her again as she steps closer and looks up at him. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but sometimes it’s easier to open up to an outsider.” She’s not done with her pledge, but Dean interrupts her either way. “You’re not an outsider,” he makes clear. “I know you’re not from here, but that doesn’t mean you don’t belong. In fact, I think you are exactly where you should be.” The words quiet her, leaving a smile on her lips and warmth in her heart. Feeling accepted and welcome, she lets her eyes glide over the dark desert lands on her right. Her surroundings look exactly the same as it did on the evening she arrived on the property. She remembers how alien this world seemed, witnessing a landscape like she had never seen. Her gaze captures the overhead sign above the driveway, ‘Gold Canyon Ranch’ carved out of the worn pinewood. Maybe Dean is right; maybe she is exactly where she needs to be. “Well, outsider or not…” She restores eye contact, a calm exuding from her that soothes him. “You can always knock on my door.” For the first time tonight, she can spot a glint of relief in his expression. It’s almost unnoticeable, but it’s there. Dean is not going to make any promises, though. Not because he doesn’t want to get close to her; on the contrary. But revealing what he’s truly about, what has inflicted the scars which haven’t healed even after all those years, it will scare her away. “Thank you,” he responds, grateful. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a good enough answer for Y/N and she smiles back, glancing up into his eyes. There she is again, trapped like a butterfly in a spider’s web, unable to move or look away. His breathing has slowed and is back to normal after the exertion, but beads of sweat are still forming on his forehead, a drop rolling down his temple. He wipes his brow with his forearm, barely breaking eye contact. They both sense it, the change in the atmosphere, just like when the two had a moment under the Joshua tree. God, he wants to kiss her so bad that lust almost wins the battle it’s fighting with his confidence. He is offered another chance to make a move, but he’s not going to take it. This smart, kind, and strong woman deserves much better than the damaged man that he is. He breaks the tension by glancing down briefly while clearing his throat. When he looks back at her, he could swear he sees disappointment in her gorgeous eyes and regret stabs him in the gut. “I’m, uh - I’m gonna finish up that fence,” he stammers, making a fist and pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Need a hand?” she asks, recovering quickly from the letdown. Dean seems stunned by her offer, because he frowns at the intern after a double-take. “You want to help me fix the fence?” “I’m only offering once,” she warns jokingly. The head wrangler grins, amused. “Well, in that case. Yeah, I could use a hand,” he accepts.

The cowgirl walks past him, eyeing him over her shoulder as she parades away. He stares for a second, smiling at the sight of her picking up the sledgehammer along the way, which apparently is heavier than she anticipated. The clumsy way she handles the large tool makes him chuckle, joyful for the first time tonight. No wonder, because without trying, she is absolutely stunning. A warmth spreads through him in waves, and he is highly aware of it. He recognizes the sensation. It has washed over him several times already, always when he laid his eyes on her. The girl with bright eyes and messy hair after a hard day’s work, despite her efforts to contain her locks. The girl who cares for others, who is kind to every living creature on this planet. She is beautiful in every way, inside and out. Under the yellow ray that falls down on her from the lantern above, she turns around. The spotlight creates dark shadows on the ground, but at the same time, it illuminates her features with a warm glow.

“Are you coming or what? That fence isn’t gonna fix itself,” she challenges. Dean scoffs with a laugh, appreciating the attitude. Then he heads her way, stopping her when she almost loses her balance after heaving the large hammer above her head. “Why don’t you give the sledgehammer to me, before someone gets hurt,” he mocks, holding out his hand. “I can handle a hammer,” she returns, huffing defensive. Doubtful, the wrangler looks back at her. “I think the fence is gonna disagree with you there.” “Do you want my help, or not?” she recalls, letting out a laugh. “Yeah, I want your help,” he admits.

The words lay deeper than would appear on first notice. It’s not intentional and Dean is worried for a second that she will pick up on what he really wants; he wants her to help him. Help him to heal, help him breathe, help him to love. No one has ever come through to him like she has already, and that’s exactly why he won’t make a move. He is beginning to understand what this all means, what is happening to him. How he feels about the newest member of the crew, is different. It’s mind-blowing and exciting, yet at the same time, it scares the shit out of him. The space she has occupied in his heart is growing steadily, but he can’t allow himself to act on it, because he simply can’t be selfish with her. That’s okay, though. Having her around as a colleague and a friend for the limited time she will stay with him trumps not having her in his life at all. “I’m gonna give this pole a couple more knocks on the head. Can you fetch the new woodwork?” He nods at the wooden planks, stacked up in the back of his truck, a little further on the driveway.

Reluctantly, Y/N lets go of the hammer and turns to get the new material for the fence. By the time she brings three new rails over, he has leveled the post with the others still standing. While she holds the board in place, Dean nails it to the post. In order to hold still, Y/N stands close to the head wrangler as he secures the fence. She fixates on the plank she’s holding, trying to ignore the fact that she is seriously invading his personal space. He smells like the damp earth below their feet and a hint of deodorant mixed with hard work; it’s the opposite of a turn-off. Trying to distract herself, she listens to the ticking sound of the head on the pin, until all the new woodwork is mounted to the posts. Sometimes he pauses for just a short second, his gaze burning her skin. Once he’s done, Y/N picks up the broken pieces left by the cattle when they stormed through, and carries them to Dean’s Chevrolet, where she lays the wood down in the cargo bed. Now that she and the handsome wrangler are a few more feet apart, she feels like she can breathe again, missing him close by at the same time. As she leans against the truck, he loads up the last of the wood that he didn’t use for the restoration. Again, his eyes linger on her briefly; the poor guy just cannot help himself, can he? Suddenly she feels bold.

“Ash was right about one thing, though.” “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” he wonders, as he dusts off his hands. She grins cheeky, biting her bottom lip. “You are desperate to get in my pants.” Dean stares at the cowgirl flabbergasted, eyebrows shooting up. Whoa, where the hell did the shy girl go? One question surfaces in the sea of thoughts that her remark triggered; what is her angle? Does she want him to get in her pants? The handsome wrangler scoffs nervously and looks down flustered, as he rubs the back of his neck. But he doesn’t deny it. He can’t. “What, no comeback?” she nags, expecting either a smart or flirty return. “There are some things I just can’t argue with,” he chuckles, a blush pushing past the freckles on his cheeks. “Ain’t no reason to get cocky, though.”

He winks at her flirtatiously, his bright green eyes joined by a smug grin and Y/N cannot help but laugh. Who would have known that she missed Cowboy Casanova? It’s good to see he got his wit back, because he had her worried there for a second. She has spotted the pattern, though. Whenever he is forced to deal with an issue he wants to steer clear of, he dodges the matter by either making fun of the situation or by shutting down completely. So this is his defense mechanism, this is his armor. But beneath all the silence and the horse crap, he admitted straight up that he wants her. Ash might have implied that the head wrangler is only following her like a lost puppy because he wants to keep counting the girls he had in fives, but Y/N knows that’s not all that there is to it. With nothing more than a look, he made it pretty clear he feels something for her that Friday evening after training when they had a moment under the Joshua tree. Now that assumption has been confirmed.

As the gears in her head are turning, she begins to walk across the gravel parking lot back to the bunkhouse, but it’s not just her grey matter that is doing overtime. Contemplating his own words, Dean gets behind the wheel of his Chevrolet. The fact is, he wasn’t just flirting. He’s simply telling the truth. But hasn’t that been the case the entire time? The wrangler is hungry for the new ranch hand, he’s pining so bad that selflessness alone is stopping him from running up the driveway and closing her in his arms. Strangely enough, it has nothing to do with sex, or greed, or any other sin, despite what others might think. For a moment, he worries if she might have read into his words just now. He doesn’t want to give her hope, or does he? Fighting his mind, he sighs; he’s so tired he can’t even think straight.

With a flip of the key, the engine comes alive, only to drive a couple of hundred yards. After steering the black pickup to a spot next to the shed, Dean leaves the transmission in park. He will unload tomorrow, today he’s calling it quits. A grunt passes his lips when he hoists himself out of the car again. Damn, if his muscles are sore now, he doesn’t want to picture how bad it’s going to hurt in the morning. Maybe a long hot shower will do him good, he definitely needs one to rid himself from the filth he’s covered in. The head wrangler strolls up the trail that leads to his bed and finds the girl he’s losing himself to, watching the bunkhouse from some distance. When Dean levels with her, he sees why she stopped. On the bottom steps of the porch, two figures sit and talk: one of them is Jo, the other is Ash. “Well, what do ya know,” Dean huffs, surprised. Relieved, Y/N smiles. “Seems like he came around. Go talk to him.”

His chest constricts a little with the thought of the confrontation alone and he hesitates. His friend is most likely still mad at him. What if doesn’t want to settle this? What if he screws it up again? When Y/N detects that the man next to her is in two minds, she nudges him reassuringly with her shoulder, smiling at him before he gathers enough courage to step forward. The pair are walking up to the steps, when Jo spots them. The cattle worker next to her looks up now too, shame and uneasiness draping his features when he sees the head wrangler. The blonde cowgirl gets to her feet, picking up her hat that she had put down next to her. “I’ll leave you guys to it,” she says. “Comin’, Yankee?” Y/N nods and passes Dean, shortly squeezing his arm supportingly as she does. “Good luck,” she whispers, as she glances over her shoulder. He nods at her thankfully and takes Jo’s spot on the porch stairs, as the two girls retreat inside. An awkwardness fills the air within seconds, thick and suffocating, yet neither of the men say anything in order to break it. After what feels like minutes of going over what has been said and still needs to be, Ash gets up. Motionless, Dean sits on the step, forearms on his knees, fingers forked together. He hears his friend’s footsteps on the floorboards, followed by the rattling of the bamboo fly curtain and then the eerie silence; Ash has walked away.

Pained, Dean closes his eyes and presses the knuckles of his clasped hands against the bridge of his nose. The tightness in his chest that he felt when he realized he had to face his friend has turned into an uncomfortable ache now. It seems to be a recurring theme in his life, people walking out on him. Fuck, why is it so hard to do this? Why can’t he just tell Ash he’s sorry? He takes a breath and lifts his head, staring at the lights coming from the neighbors property, several miles up the road. Then something moves into his peripheral vision and he turns to find a can of PBR beer handed to him. Dean’s eyes move up to see who is holding the beverage, the weight falling off his shoulders when he sees the guy who rocks the mullet. The head wrangler takes the cold refreshment while Ash sits down next to him again. They both open their cans and take a slug of the golden brew. The silence returns, but it’s a much more pleasant one this time. Without saying a word, they’ve made peace. That does not mean, though, that nothing should be said.

“Ash?” “Hmm?” “I - uh… I’m-–” “– Yeah, brother. Me too.”

Thank you for reading! I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part ten here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester series #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester x Y/N #Dean x Y/N #Dean Winchester reader insert #Supernatural AU #SPN AU #Dean Winchester AU #Supernatural #SPN #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Dean angst #Dean fluff #Kate Huntington

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