Supernatural

Found some courage from another user. Still learning how posting on here works. Please bear with me on this learning curve while I figure it all out. Oh, profile pic is what Maria Winter looks like as an adult. Enjoy. 18+ I love to reblog things I enjoy here, so enjoy.

[aylacavebear]

Master List

Image, Video, and Dividers made by Plant People Heal LLC

4/6/26 update - I now have a Patreon. I'm just getting it up and running, so there's not much there as I add this little edit. I'm slowly getting my current stories over on there, but I will be adding bonus content that I don't have on here, eventually.

Writing Update: 4/12/26

I hope you guys enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them and rereading them. Most are a work in progress, and I'll post them when I can.

Most of my fics are Dean x Reader/You. Can't help it. I'm a total Dean girl. lol I'm sure I'll expand to Sam x Reader/You, the brothers x Reader/You, Cas x Reader/You, and perhaps even Benny x Reader/You. It'll all depend on the story and how it ends up writing itself. They'll all be labeled.

Whenever I write, I always picture Maria Winter as the character in the story, even if it is Y/N or the reader. She's been with me through many stories that I've written over the past 30 years. I love that I get to share her with all of you.

I'm one who enjoys the reader to be something different than human. Somehow, writing those always brings a lot of unexpected things to the story. I haven't yet written where the reader or OC is human. There's always something hidden below the surface.

I think if I do any AUs, I will try out having the reader be human but with something utterly unique to the AU that's like 1 in a billion.

Many thanks to all my readers. Your comments, reblogs, hearts, and follows are what keep me writing and sharing them here. I love hearing from all of you.

All My Stories In One Place

One Shots Master List Well, it finally happened. lol

Series Master List

This includes - soulmates, Other OC series, A/B/O, Show rewrites I included the links here that are on the Series Master List, hoping it would make it easier for everyone to find what they're looking for.

Soulmate Master List

OC Female Master List

A/B/O Master List

Show Rewrite Master List

Touched Master List OC Female Creature

This includes one-shots and series. A/N: I have several for here, they just aren't ready to be posted yet.

A/N: Sometimes, I have to remind myself that I haven't even been on this platform a year yet as I set up this particular master list. I love all my readers and the other authors I've found on here. If any of you would like to see what my first Master List was like, here's a link.

My Favorite Stories List

Pond Dive Recap with Me and @spnfanficpond, if you missed it.

Thank you

Permanent Tag List:

@roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny @muhahaha303 @barewithme02

@nancymcl @thewinchesterwench @krazykelly @biancalinkas @abbacadabara

@sepho @princessjas1-11 @mightypocketcow @spideyfan1800

If you'd like to be added to any and all future fics, drop me a comment.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

lover

✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦

✦summary: dean learns, slowly, that he's actually pretty good at being boyfriend material. it would be nice if you'd stop pining after him long enough to notice✦

✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, friends with benefits to lovers, age gap (20s - 40s), angst, overprotective, bad at feelings dean, pining, idiots in love because it's the best way to be, dean's down so bad, shameless smut (facesitting, praise kink, big dick dean, fingering, pussy spanking, teasing, dean's dirty talk, spanking, fingering, stripping, body worship, degredation kink, soft!dom Dean, size kink, begging, soft and rough sex, messy, creampie, mean dean, dean has an orgasm rule and you. benefit. dumbification), love confessions, fluff✦

✦wc: 12.5k✦

✦author's note: request! super normal about this one✦

You tell yourself, over and over again, that this is going to be the last time. It’s not something that’s meant to be held onto, so you can just… let go.

But then you find yourself here. Between tangled sheets with your legs spread wide, your nails digging into Dean’s bicep and his cock dragging through your wet, sensitive cunt.

“There you go,” he coos in your ear, every thrust deep and rough. “That’s my girl, takin’ me so good, so- Good-“

Dean moans, pressing up against the soft, gummy spot inside of you, and your eyes roll back in your head.

He always does this. He knocks on your door and grabs your face between big hands, and suddenly all that resolve and determination—never again—dissolves with your willpower. His hands are rough  and calloused, but trace your hips and hold you down so gently, you can almost pretend he cares if you break. His cock is thick and impossibly long, and he always drags it between your soaked heat and bumps it against your clit before pushing himself in just right. His lips are chapped and soft, sucking possessive marks into your neck that he has no right to claim, but that doesn’t stop you from running your fingers through his hair and holding him right where he is. He wouldn’t dare to leave. Not in the middle of this. Not before you’ve both gotten what you want.

What Dean wants. You don’t let yourself pretend that this is everything you need anymore. It’s the only hope you have of one day telling him no, because the rest of you control rests on a thin rope, and it always slips from your hands the moment Dean touches you like you matter.

You never walk away from him with an aching, unsatisfied body. A few nights ago he put you on his face and made you ride until your thighs were shaking and tears were springing into your eyes. Before this, he spit on your cunt and scissored you open with thick, careful finger, kissing and nipping at your thighs as your greedy pussy swallowed him right up to the knuckle. Even now, as every roll of his hips becomes smaller—as his face twists in concentration and his mouth against your jaw becomes desperate—Dean’s thumbing at your clit, trying to get you over the edge with him.

“C’mon, baby, c’mon-“ He pushes himself up to his knees, forcing a deeper, rougher angle. “Show me what you’ve got, I know you can do it, come on-

You whimper, staring up at him under lidded, glazed eyes. The whole world is just a blur of color at this point, but Dean is bright and clear. The heave of his broad shoulder and chest, every muscle in his arm as he wraps it around your waist and makes you arch your back, the flex of his abdomen as he ruts forward like a feral dog. The sharp, unforgiving thrusts are making your head spin with pleasure, turning you into a boneless wreck of need. You grab his arm, trying to steady yourself against something, and Dean’s attention rips up.

He says he likes to watch himself fuck you, and you’ve never doubted that for a second. He’s spent whole sessions just staring at his cock or fingers splitting your cunt open. He likes putting you on his face because he can watch you react. You like it better like that, usually. The eye contact is too close. Too intimate. Too real.

But you grab him, and he looks at you, and it’s almost like a shot. His eyes are blown-out and so strangely soft, staring at your wrecked, open expression with too much, too much, too much-

“De- Deeean-“ You cry it out like a pray, because it is. Dean grunts, hips snapping, the wet sound filling up the air and his eyes never leaving yours. “Dean- Dean- Fuck, please- Please-“

You’re babbling. You never do that with anyone else, but Dean is Dean, and he makes you do things you never counted yourself capable of. He groans your name, and you squeal when he drags you up, off the mattress and straddling his thighs. Your clit drags against his abdomen, his cock bullies right against your g-spot, and Dean grabs your jaw with a single, painfully gentle hand.

“Cum for me, sweet girl,” he rasps, still holding your gaze, even as your eyes start to cross. “Soak this fuckin’ cock, baby, cum-“

You almost scream as your orgasm rips through you, and Dean crashes his mouth against yours, eating every whimper and moan with harsh lips and his tongue down your throat. You press into him, pussy gushing and fluttering around his dick, and he makes that deep, rumbling sound that always comes right before-

“Shit-“ Dean gasps against your mouth, pulling you so close you can’t feel anything but the heat of his bare chest, the sensation of his cock twitching and pumping in your cunt. “Fuuck-“

Dean moans your name, and a warm, pleasant heat starts to spread through your tummy and drip between your thighs. He doesn’t stop moving until his cock is softened, and you don’t try to stop him. You’re barely more than a limp doll right now, returning his kisses with tiny mewls, eyes crossed and body limp.

For a moment after it’s done, you stay tangled together. You always do. It’s the most dangerous part of the whole thing, because it feeds that tiny little fool in your chest, who refuses to believe that this is just sex. Who takes your heartstrings and weaves grand worlds where Dean loves you back, and you’re going to be just fine.

Dean kisses your brow, and your eyes flutter closed. There’s an advantage, to being a crybaby whenever he fucks you stupid. He never once has considered that the tears might be real.

“Think you can walk?” He mutters, still buried deep inside of you, still holding you like he cares.

You shake your head, and his mouth twitches against yours.

“Alright, pretty girl. I’ve got you.”

And you press your face into the crook of his neck, letting that fool take you over. She takes his words as gospel. My girl and I’ve got you and Baby, they’re exactly what he means and nothing more, nothing less.

When the logical part of your brain wakes back up—Dean’s always had this ability to hit a button in you, sliding his hand around the back of your neck and making all your thoughts just bubblegum feelings and electric colors—you’re going to remember why you always say this has to be the last time.

He’s perfect, and he’s not yours. He makes that perfectly clear, until he pulls these little stunts and ends up buried between your thighs. You agreed that he wasn’t yours, when this arrangement started.

Safer with someone you know, he’d told you, like he hasn’t fucked his way across the entire country. Easier. Nothing to worry about, when it’s you and me.

And you’d been a starry-eyed, gooey hearted fool who just wanted whatever part of Dean he was willing to show you. The burning love you kept tended in your ribs hadn’t seen a problem with adding fuel to the wildfire, even if Dean was never going to see it. But now he’s carrying you to the bathroom like a princess, and he’s going to be gone in the morning, and that wildfire is an inferno. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. You can map out everything he’d ever say in response to your feelings, from the harsh sneer he would’ve given when he had the Mark of Cain, to the kinder let down you’d get now.

You’re too young, he’d say, like it was a consolation prize. And I like you, sweetheart, but I don’t do this kinda thing. Not with girls young enough to be my daughter. Not with kids that I hunt with. Not with you.

You press your face further into his neck. He’s always so warm and sturdy, a massive tree that’s offering you just as much shade crushing, unbearable weight and tangled roots that keep you pressed down. He smells like leather and whiskey and something perfectly, faintly spice. You want to drown in it. You want to drown in him.

“You good?” Dean asks, and his voice is too gentle. It rattles the little fool, screaming for the rest of you to listen and just accept that he loves you.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“You’re bein’ quiet, even for- Y’know-“ He chuckles, that low, insufferably charming pride crawling into his voice. “After I fuck you dumb.”

“You did not fuck me dumb,” you mumble against his skin, and you can hear his grin.

“Big words from the girl who couldn’t talk five minutes ago.”

“That was unrelated.”

“Unrelated,” he echoes, his thumb dragging a small circle against your spine. “Always forget how bratty you get after, sweetheart. Dangerous.”

You roll your eyes, and hug him tighter. He laughs, and kisses the side of your head, and he has the nerve to call you dangerous.

“You wanna watch a movie?” He asks, leaning down to run the water, still keeping you tucked so carefully against his chest, and all you can do is nod. Dean sighs. “C’mon, gimme a little more than that-“

“Yes, please,” you mumble, and he pauses.

It’s only a fraction of a second. You don’t understand it, and you don’t want to. Not when he feeds your delusions and kisses your brow again, then your cheek, then your lips. And you let him. You always let him, because you’re a foolish, stupid, lovesick idiot. You don’t want his affection, not like this. But you don’t want to lose him—it would be like ripping a vital organ out of your ribcage, even if you didn’t know you had it a year ago—and you can’t ever tell him to stop being so sweet without explaining yourself, and getting that gentle, horrible let down.

You don’t want it. You don’t want any of it. And this, this had to be the last time. 

You hold the line. You don’t know how, but you hold that line with white knuckles and grit teeth and a taste like bile in the back of your throat.

Dean knocks on the door, only two nights later, and you don’t answer. He calls your name and you sink into the mattress, praying he just thinks you’re asleep. 

“I just- Uh- I wanted to talk?” He says, and you press your face into the pillow like that can somehow shield you. “Really, that’s it. Just talking, so- If you could-“

Dean sighs. You can hear the please, hanging between every word, but Dean doesn’t really say please. He just begs with everything else in him, or gives up. And you can picture him running his hand over his face, the heavy look in his eyes, the defeated sag in his shoulders. It’s like a knife being driven through your gut, and you sit up, ready to open the door-

“Alright,” he mutters, and you freeze. “Night, baby. Sleep well.”

Footsteps retreat, and you stay there on the mattress, frozen and lost, adrift in a sea you dove into.

But you did it. You held the line.

And you keep it. It makes sweat bead and your skin burn, but you close the door and don’t open it back up. You’re done, and you’re going to keep it that way.

Dean doesn’t ask questions. You don’t know if you want him to or not, but it doesn’t matter, because you catch him staring and giving out signals, but he’s taken your no in stride, and doesn’t seem to have any plans to push back against it. When this started, you agreed to leave out a specific book on the war room table if either of you wanted something. Dean starts to leave it out every night, and you never go to his door, and one night, it vanishes.

And that’s fine. That’s exactly what you wanted.

And if it feels like you’re dying because of it, and if you spend an hour over the toilet dry heaving that night, that’s no one’s business but your own.

“Dean’s been grumpy lately,” Sam says one morning, and you blink at him over your coffee.

“Grumpy? Dean? That’s- Woah-“

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Sam gives you a flat look. “You know what I mean. Grumpier.”

You shrug, looking back to your mug. “Maybe he needs to get laid.”

“Uh huh.”

You can feel Sam’s stare. It makes you itchy and small, and you’re not sure if you want to punch him or run. You settle for staring at your coffee harder. It’s the easiest course of action.

“Dean needs to get laid,” Sam repeats your words, something strange—almost sharp—in his tone, and you nod.

“That’s what I said.”

“Dean-“

“What’s up?” Dean walks into the kitchen, stopping right behind you, and you hunch over like you can grow a shell to protect yourself.

Even just a few feet away, he’s always so warm.

“Uh- Hey, Dean-“

“Hey,” Dean mocks back, and Sam huffs.

“Dude-“

“Shut your face-“

“I didn’t say anything- I-“ Sam says your name, and you glance up. His brow is furrowed with worry, his eyes locked on Dean behind you. “We were just-“

“Just what?” Dean snaps. “Just talking? Shooting the shit, getting real comfortable?”

Sam sighs. “Dean-“

“I got a gun, Sammy,” Dean points firmly, and you stare at his finger like a woman driven mad with thirst. “Don’t forget that.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “We all have guns, that- That threat doesn’t do anything-“

“I’ll show you doing something- Hey-“

Dean says your name, and you freeze. You’d been trying to slip out while they fought, but Dean—goddamn him—had noticed. He always notices. You love him so much it’s going to make you cave in on yourself, and maybe take the whole bunker with you, like a dying star.

He catches your arm, and you can’t stop yourself from looking at him. His brow is knit, his jaw locked, and his handsome face has deep lines you only used to see when the world was ending. There are bags under his eyes. Deeper than usual. You want to smooth the lines with your thumb and kiss his jaw until he relaxes, but that’s not your ache to soothe.

Dean doesn’t say anything. You can’t say anything. He looks exhausted, and there’s a lump forming in your throat.

“You- You hungry?” Dean rasps, and you’re starving.

“No,” you breathe before you can think, and Dean swallows.

“Well, when you’re hungry- There’s a diner in town-“

“Henry’s?”

“No, uh- A new one. I- I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go, later, or something.”

“Or something?” You tilt your head, and Dean nods.

“Whatever you want.”

God, he’s cruel. He’s perfect and cruel, and you want to vomit on his flannel and kiss him until you pass out.

“Oh- Okay,” you say, because you’re only so strong.

The lines in Dean’s face relax. His grip loosens. Then Sam coughs, and Dean lets you go.

The diner is… nice. Nice and easy, in a way you haven’t felt in longer than you want to admit. Dean insists on driving you, and paying, and sitting in one of those booths with your feet bumping under the table.

He presses his knee forward, while he orders. You swallow and don’t allow yourself to think much of it. He’s warm through his jeans, but he’s always warm, and he hasn’t tried anything in a few weeks, so you allow it. Your love for him hasn’t been flickering out, but the harsh wind of his absence has made everything feel colder. It’s okay, to indulge yourself in something so small. You’re still keeping it together. You’re still holding the line.

“So, uh-“ Dean clears his throat, turning his bottle in his hands. “How are you?”

“How- Am I?” You blink at him, and he nods tightly. “I- I’m okay. How are you?”

“Good. Great.” He frowns at the table. “You know. Same as always.”

You almost laugh. “You’re always great?”

“I focus on the positives, sweetheart-“

“No, you don’t.”

He rolls his eyes, glancing up to hold your light, amused gaze. His mouth twitches. His fingers tap against the glass, and you try not to let yourself sink too deep into the attention.

It’s okay to drown a little. A long as you don’t drop the line.

“Maybe I’m turning a new leaf,” he says, and your face splits into a full smile.

“You?”

“Yeah, me. Why’d you say it like that-“

“Because you’ve never turned a leaf in your life-“

“Ah-“ He points the head of his bottle at you with a grin. “Not true. Remember when I started learning guitar?”

“Yeah, you smashed it on a werewolf’s head after a month.”

“That was a tactical choice, I would’ve kept playing if the wolf didn’t get in the way.”

“Uh huh.” You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms. “What songs  had you learned to play?”

Dean’s nose wrinkles. “Hey, we don’t need to talk about that-“

“I think we do.”

“Nah, I mean- I only had a month-“

“You learned how to work a rocket launcher in a week.”

“That’s just buttons and triggers, sweetheart. Even you could work it.”

“Even I?” You raise your brows—trying not to let the delight shine too bright in your voice—and Dean freezes.

“I mean- uh- You’re not great with guns, and- I could teach you-“

“You could teach me.”

“Maybe? If you wanted- Or-“ Dean groans, slumping back. “Stop givin’ me that look.”

“I’m not giving you any look,” you tease, and Dean sighs.

“Will you stop if I say I’m an idiot?”

You soften slightly. “You’re not an idiot, Dean-“

“You sure?” He grumbles. “Kinda feeling like one right now.”

You laugh, but it’s gentle. You can almost see him pushing down into himself. It makes you heavy for him, like you’re trying to take that invisible weight off his shoulders, even if he can’t feel you helping the pain. “You’re a dork,” you say, bumping his knee under the table. “But you’re not an idiot.”

Dean grunts, watching you under hooded eyes, and you smile easily.

You missed this, more than you want to tell him. Just talking, without worrying that it’s going to end in world-changing, back-breaking, beautifully heart-aching sex. He feels like your friend again, closer to your fingertips than he’d been when he was balls deep inside of you.

“Wonderwall,” he grunts suddenly. “And Hallelujah.”

You blink. “What?”

“Those were the songs,” he mutters, picking at the label of his bottle. “That I got, before I smashed the guitar.”

“Oh,” you pause. “I love Hallelujah.”

“Yeah. I know.”

You stare at him, and he stares right back. A faint flush is threatening your cheeks, so you duck your head to hide it, and Dean lets out a soft laugh.

“You alright-“

“Yep. I- I’m good-“

“You look good.” Dean laughs again, when you shoot him a glare. “Don’t gimme that face, I’m saying something nice-“

“You’re being a butt,” you stick out your tongue, and his eyes dance with an easy kind of light that almost makes your heart stop.

“You’re the one who was callin’ me old earlier,” he drawls, and you roll your eyes.

“You are old.”

“Yeah, but that’s never stopped you, has it.”

Your mouth falls open, eyes going so wide it almost hurts, and Dean grins at you. If you weren’t shocked into static, you’d slap him or- or lunge across the table and kiss him-

Hold the line.

“Aged wine is supposed to be better,” you manage to say, somehow, and Dean laughs, loud and free.

“That all I am to you? Some wine?”

“No,” you smile at your plate. “You’re also very good cheese.”

“Good cheese, huh.”

“Mhm.” You point a stern finger at him. “No puns.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but dips his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

There’s the flush. You’d keep trying to hide it, if Dean didn’t start talking about something unimportant and easy, and suddenly you forgot to be embarrassed. He’s not trying to kiss you or get you back to the car. He’s just… Talking to you. Dropping that light, teasing praise like it’s nothing, then telling you a story about when he used a tuba to beat a poltergeist, grinning like a winner every time you laugh.

When lunch is over, he rests a hand lightly on your lower back, but doesn’t do much more. He kisses your cheek when you get back to the bunker, and asks if you want to watch a movie tomorrow night. You swallow, locking your hands together like they can force the line to stay firm. Dean says your name, almost panicked, and you blink up at him.

“Just a movie,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Out in town, at- Uh- That shitty theatre next to the coffee place. Or- I can try and find a drive-in, if those still exist-“

“They do,” you say softly, and he swallows. “There’s one out in Beloit.”  

“Beloit,” Dean mutters. “Yeah- Yeah, okay. You wanna go there?”

You nod, and he grins. You smile back, and it feels… Different. Shy, in a way you haven’t been around him since he first started fucking you. Almost delicate. You weren’t supposed to let this feel like something delicate.

Dean jaw works, and you can almost see the thoughts turning behind his eyes. He lurches slightly, brow furrowed, then pulls back up. You’re seconds from asking him what’s wrong when he just leans down and… does it.

His lips graze your cheek, his hand brushing against your waist, and you almost melt right into him.

But then he stands back up, and takes a large step away. You swallow, resisting the urge to reach up and brush your fingers over where he kissed. It’s not like he’s never done that before, but again.

It just feels different.

“See you tomorrow,” he murmurs, and you nod weakly.

If you had a mind that was thinking in more than bursts of glee and songs of Dean, Dean, Dean, you’d tell him that you live together, and he’s always going to see you tomorrow. But he walks away, and you let him, and it doesn’t hurt. There’s a space that he left, but something in you seems to think he’s going to come back. You can’t tell if it’s the fool or not.

For once, you decide not to try.

The movie is nice. Dean rests his hand on your knee, but doesn’t go any higher. You lean into his side, and his arm goes around your shoulders, but there’s no kissing or dragging into the back seat, and you didn’t know there could be a better way to be close to him. Sex is great. Looking up and finding him already watching you is better.

He brushes some hair from your face, and you half expect him to kiss you. His eyes dart down to your lips like he wants to. Your fingers curl in his shirt, and his throat bobs.

“You likin’ the movie?” He whispers, and you nod.

“Good find,” you breathe, and he grins.

“Thanks. Eat the popcorn, it cost me a billion bucks.”

You roll your eyes, and throw some of the over-buttered, half-burnt popcorn at his face. He laughs, catches a kernel in his mouth, and grabs your chin between two fingers. Your breath catches. He just turns your face back to the screen, and pulls you a little closer into his side.

The movie ends the same way the diner did. Dean walks you to your bedroom door like it’s the porch of your house, kisses your cheek, then walks away.

Then, after the movie, you play mini golf. You win, but you know he let you. He buys you a snow cone and licks it off his nose when he eats it like a rabid dog. You wipe a little extra off his cheek, and he stares at you, but still doesn’t kiss you. Not fully. His hand seems to always rest on your lower back, now, but that’s all the contact you get. All that you allow.  

Hugs are on the table, too. They’re somehow more dangerous than the forehead kisses. After the hugs, he sometimes just stares at you and cups your cheek, and your heart moves into your throat until you think you’re going to spill it out all over his chest.  

You manage to keep it together. For the sake of this new, slowly growing garden of what your friendship is becoming, you swallow your love with greater ease and more bile than you ever did while you were fucking. After the mini golf you get dinner and see another movie. You convince him to go on a walk with you, and he hates it less than he pretends to. You eat together in the bunker and call when he’s on a hunt with Sam and go to a car show and it all feels like breathing.

Sometimes he still looks at your mouth, and you freeze up, unsure if you want him to kiss you or not. You know you want him, but somehow you’ve found even more to lose than before, and if it slips through your fingers, you’re not sure they’re ever going to stop shaking and groping at the empty spaces again. You can take holding his hand in the bookstore while he peers over your shoulder, pretending to be interested for no real reason other than to make you smile.

“There are so many of them,” he mutters, and you giggle.

“There’s a lot of ways to write words, Dean.”

“Yeah, but- You’d think there would be repeats or something.”

“There probably are,” you shrug, running your fingers over the spines. “But they’re still all fun.”

Dean sighs, squeezing your upper arm. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You hum, leaning back to smile at him, and all his features relax.

“You want some coffee?” He brushes some hair from your face and you nod.

“There’s a shop next door, could you get me-“

“Hey,” Dean flicks your nose, grinning roguishly. “Trust me, I know what you want.”

You nod a little stupidly, and his smile falters. He looks to your lips again, then almost shakes himself, taking a small step.

“Don’t move,” he squeezes your arm again, then backs away. You watch him go, unable to help yourself, and smile when he looks back. He does that all the time now. And he always smiles back.

You turn back to the shelf, looking at the books without actually looking. You already miss him, and he told you not to move, but that can’t count if you’re going to stand next to him in the coffee line, can it-

“Hey.”

You fumble slightly, turning to find a man leaning against the shelf and smirking at you. You blink, and his smirk widens.

“What’s girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

“The… Bookstore?” You frown, and he laughs. You don’t think you said anything all that funny.

“Look, I just- I saw you from over there,” he nods vaguely, and you frown. “And I thought you were cute. Can I get you some coffee or something?”

“My- My friend is already getting me coffee,” you say, and your voice sounds strangely far away.

The man nods, but doesn’t retreat. “Alright, then can I get your number? Maybe beat your friend to coffee next time?”

And you don’t want to say yes, but this is a chance. To hold onto this new friendship with Dean while also getting over him at the same time. This man isn’t ugly. Compared to Dean, no one really stands a chance anyway, and you have to get over him eventually.

So you give him your number, and try not to feel like you just did something wrong.

Dean clears his throat from behind you, and you spin around on your heels, a sour guilt twisting in your gut.

“You- You’re back,” you say, and he grunts.

He’s not look at you. He’s glaring at the man with the same, deadly glint that he gives monsters and demons before he cuts them in half. You touch his arm lightly, and he tenses. You feel sick.

“Hey, buddy,” he snaps at the man, who—not seeming to understand the gravity of Dean’s glare—grins back.

“Hey.” He winks at you, slowly backing away. “Have fun with your friend.”

Dean’s coffee spills over the top of it’s lid. He doesn’t look away from the man when he leaves the store. He shoves your drink into your hand, not meeting your gaze.

“Dean-“

“I’m gonna go wait in the car,” he mutters, and you swallow.

“Oh- Okay.”

Your arm wraps around your stomach, and you press a little away from him, from the wrath seeming to wave off his body like a volcano. He glances down, jaw tight and a vein in his brow ticking. You stare at his neck, unable to hold the weight of his gaze. He lets out a sharp breath, and shakes his head.

“Get your book.”

You shake you head. “No- It- It’s okay-“

Dean says your name, and your mouth snaps shut. “Just- Get the damn book.”

He looks like he’s in pain, and you don’t know how to fix it, so you do as he says. You get a cheap one, that worm of guilt burrowing deeper and deeper into your gut until you can’t even drink your coffee without feeling like it’s going to come back up.

Dean’s fingers dig into your back, when he guides you out the door. He starts the engine by almost punching in the keys, and holds Baby’s wheel like he’s trying to strangle it. You can see all the anger brimming under the surface of his skin, and worried you’re just going to make it worse. You don’t even know where it came from. It’s not like you’re together, or the guy said something rude. You open and close your mouth too many times to count, then give up, shrinking back into your seat.

Dean looks over at you. You try to look out the window, and nowhere else.

A loud, sharp breath escapes him. “Son of a- Alright.”

You look over with a frown, then squeak when he yanks the wheel off to the side.

“Shit- Dean-“

“Just- Fuck-“ He bows he head, glaring down at his legs, and you swallow.

You fidget with your fingers, watching him nervously, waiting for him to break the silence. It takes while. So long you think about just getting out of the car to give him space.

But then he looks up, and your heart gets cleaved open. His face is twisted in pain, his lips parted and his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard.

“What-“ He takes a deep breath, scanning over your openly confused features. “What else am I supposed to be doin’?”

You blink at him, fingers curling in your lap. “What?” You ask softly, and his throat bobs.

“I- I’m really trying,” he mutters, looking back to his hands. “I swear to god, baby, I’m tryin’ my best, and- I know I ain’t amazing at this but- If you could throw a guy a rope when he’s never- I’ve never done this, alright.” He waves between your bodies, jaw clenched tight. “And I’m really givin’ it my best shot, but I’m still not allowed to kiss you, and you’re takin’ numbers right- Right in front of me- So just- Something.” He gives you a pleading, broken look, eyes shining on yours in the dark. “Anything.”

You open your mouth, but you can’t even figure out what the fuck you’re supposed to say. You know all the words he’s saying, but it’s like he’s speaking a language you never learned, spitting out a code you’re just supposed to magically understand. Dean’s jaw ticks, when you don’t answer, and you try to sputter out an answer, but he’s too loud to hear your confused whimper.

“Look, just- Whatever the hell you do need me to do, I’ll do it, I swear I’ll do it, but- You gotta tell me, sweetheart-“

“Tell you what?!” You almost shout, and Dean leans back in surprise. “Dean, I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean huffs a low laugh, looking back out to the road. “Yeah. Alright,” he grabs the keys, voice rough and pained. “Sure. Whatever-“

“No.” You grab his wrist before he can start to the engine. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“It doesn’t matter-“

“Yes, it does-“

“Nah.”

“Dean-“

“You wanna call that guy, call ‘im.” There’s an almost toxically bitter sound to the words, and Dean’s making a face like he just got shot. “Whatever. See if I care.”

Your nails dig into his wrist, when he tries to yank it away. He shoots you a glare, the bags—gone, after months of ease—already starting to form.

“C’mon, kid, just- let go-“

“Would you care?”

Your question is small, but it makes Dean recoil like it burned. He scoffs, but it’s too loud, and you hold him tighter.

“Would you care-“

“No, I fuckin’ love watching douchebags parade around with my girl, who would care about something like that?”

Something snaps, right at the base of your spine. You sit so tall you’d think someone is dragging you by the nape of your neck, and Dean blinks in something close to surprise.

“What-“

“Your girl,” you whisper. “That’s- I’m- Why would you say that?”

Dean blinks. “Why wouldn’t I say that?”

“Because you and I- We’re not- That’s-“ You lean back, letting go of his wrist, and when you look down, you’ve left little crescent marks in the skin. “No- No- You didn’t- You said no- No strings-“

“Yeah, and then you stopped fuckin’ me, and I-“ Dean says your name as you press back against the window, brow furrowed in worry. “Baby, it’s- It’s alright, I’m not that pissed-“

“You were yelling,” you choke out, and he swallow.

“Well, I was- Just- C’mere.”

He reaches out, cupping your cheek with the same gentle touch he used to use, right before he kissed you. You gape at him, head spinning, panting like you just ran a marathon.

“I’m not mad,” he rasps, almost pleading, and you shake your head.

“You were-“

“Sweetheart-“

“Why?” You whisper, grabbing his wrist, your nails sinking back into the marks. “Why- Why would you care?”

Dean swallows. He shakes his head, looks out the window, and chuckles.

“Dean-“

“I don’t want you goin’ out with him. And- Call it possessive, or stupid man shit, or- Whatever the hell you want,” he drags his thumb over your cheekbone, voice dropping to something tender, something soft. “You’re my girl. And I want you here, telling me what to do, how to- To be what you need.” His voice cracks. “Come on, baby. Just- Tell me what to be.”

You stare at him, a lot of pieces colliding into each other at once in your head. The diner and the movie and the touching and the caution and-

“Are we dating?” You choke out, and Dean frowns.

“What’d you mean, are we dating?”

“I mean are we dating, Dean, are you- Are you my boyfriend?”

“Uh- Boyfriend kinda makes it sound like we’re sixteen and necking-“

“What the fuck is necking?”

Dean groans, dropping his head. “Don’t say that, sweetheart. Makes me feel fuckin’ fifty.”

Your lips twitch. “You are almost fifty,” you say, and he chuckles.

“Yeah. Guess I am.” He looks back up to you, caution lining his features. “You always seemed to like it.”

You swallow. You did. You’d never been sure if it was the older thing itself, or the fact that it was just Dean, but you’d liked it. You always liked all of him, from the uglier wounds to the beautiful, glowing heart that almost managed to peak through, no matter how thick his steel and iron walls became.

He glides his thumb back and forth over your cheekbone, and your breath hitches. He swallows, closes his eyes, and mutters your name.

“Did you… Not think we were dating?”

You shake your head, and Dean snorts dryly.

“Huh,” his mouth curves into a tight smirk. “Makes sense why you wouldn’t kiss me, I guess.”

“You guess?” You squeak, and Dean nods.

“Yeah, makes a lotta sense, actually-“

“How long have we been dating?!” You almost shriek, and he gives you an amused look.

“’Bout three months.”

“Three months?!”

“That’s what I said, baby-“

“Shut- Shut up-“ You plant a hand over his mouth, and he raises his brows. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me we were dating, you- You butt?!”

Dean’s eyes sparkle, looking pointedly down to your hand, and you release him with a scowl. He rubs his jaw, grinning at you like you’re some cute bunny, and you lean back in your seat with a huff.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently. “I thought you knew.”

“How would I have known-“

“’Cause I asked you on a date? And you said yes?”

“That- That never happened.” You snap, and Dean frowns.

“Yes, it did. Sammy- He was there-“

“Sam was there-“

“Yeah, and- I said there was a new diner in town, and you said you’d go with me, and we started dating!”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open. Dean stares pointedly back, and you can’t help yourself. You bark out a loud, sharp laugh.

“That was not asking me on a date, you fucking- Oh my god!” You shake your head, and Dean’s frown becomes almost puppy like.

“Yes, it was-“

“You have to actually say it’s a date, Dean! You can’t just- Just ask me to do something, I thought we were just hanging out! As friends.”

He’s pouting now. If you weren’t pissed, it would be adorable. “I- Uh- I paid for everything. And got you gifts.”

“Friends do that-“

“Do friends kiss your face all the time?” Dean twists to fully glare at you, and you pause.

“Um- Maybe?”

Dean snorts. “No, they don’t-“

“But I thought that was just you!” You protest. “You- You’re always- You know-“

“I know?” He mocks, and you scowl.

“We were fucking for a year, Dean,” you snap, tipping up your chin. “I thought you were comfortable with me.”

“I am comfortable with you,” Dean shrugs, leaning slightly forward. “Real comfortable.”

Your nose twitches. He’s too close, now. Consuming your vision, making your vision all stupid and fuzzy. “You’re comfortable with everyone,” you sniff, and he laughs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls, running a hand slowly up your thigh. “We both know that ain’t true.”

You make a tiny, involuntary sound when his fingers dip under your skirt, teasing sensitive, neglected skin. He hasn’t touched you there in so long. Too long. You have to hug yourself to stop your body from flying at him.

“I haven’t fucked anyone else in eighteen damn months,” Dean mutters, holding your gaze. “I’ve been waiting around for you for months, wondering what the hell I was doin’ wrong, and you thought I was just being nice?!”

You swallow, your voice suddenly small. “You are nice,” you whisper, and Dean snorts.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re nice to me-“

“Because I-“ He cuts himself off, fingers pressing into the soft skin of your thigh. You grab his hand, holding it against you, and his eyes dart down. He heaves a long breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and bows his head.

“Dean?” You whisper, and he shakes his head. “Dean, I- I’m sorry I didn’t- You said we were just going to be casual-“

“I know what I said,” he grunts, glaring at your hands. “But I- I didn’t- I thought it would help me.”

You swallow. “Help you?”

“Yeah.”

“With what-“

“You know what.” He finally looks at you, and you’ve never seen him this vulnerable. Almost bowing before you, holding onto your hand like it’s the last thing keeping him alive. “And I can’t- I don’t know how to-“ He takes another ragged breath, gives you another pleading look. “You stopped letting me pretend, you started- You started telling me no, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t.” He swallows. “I’m tryin’ to do this right, baby.” He squeezes your hand, leaning a little closer. “Please let me do this right.”

You blink at him, tears watering in your own eyes, and nod. Dean’s shoulders shudder, and he holds your hand so tight you think he’s trying to just mold you together. He glances at your lips, but doesn’t move. So you do it for him.

Dean stares at you, completely still as you lean forward, his chest so still you’re worried he’s not breathing. You rest your hand lightly on his chest and press the lightest kiss you can to his parted lips. He shakes, one hand flying to your waist, his touch still heartbreakingly delicate. You kiss him again, a little harder, and a low rumble starts in his chest.

You pull back, pressing your brows tight together. Dean stares at you, eyes glossy and blown out, the restraint ticking in his jaw, and you smile softly.

“I love you,” you breathe. “And I- I know you can’t- You know, say it back, but- I love you, Dean.”

His breathing his ragged, and he’s still gaping. You laugh nervously, looking down to your fingers, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

“If- If you could say something, though, that would be- Um- Nice-“

Dean grunts, and your words fall off into a squeak as Dean drags you forward into his lap.

And this. This is a real kiss. Dean’s mouth slots perfectly against yours, his arm wrapping fully around your lower back, his fingers digging into your hips and his other hand cradling the back of your head. He kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t, pushing his tongue down your throat and moaning against your mouth. You pull on his shirt and he gropes at your ass, dragging you further into his lap. The pressure of his thigh against your core makes your head spin, but that might just be the lack of oxygen. Neither of you seem to be willing to come up for air, taking sharp, tiny breaths between sloppy kisses.

You whimper, already going limp, and Dean leans back with darkened, shining eyes. You know that look. You used to pray for and dread it all at once. It always made you feel like something close to prey, paralyzed and unable to flee his spell.

But this time is different. This time, there’s nothing you’d rather do but fall into his charm.

Dean presses another, small kiss to your lips, dragging his thumb over the tingling swell. Your tongue flicks against the pad of the finger, and he groans, pushing it slowly between your lips.

You wrap around him, sucking lightly, giving him your best, sweetest Bambi eyes. Dean’s throat bobs, his fingers digging into your ass.

“We’re goin’ home,” he mutters. “Then I’m gonna fuck you.”

That’s a lovely plan. You smile around his thumb, and he says your name, pulling his thumb away with a small pop.

“Jesus, you- You gotta tell me yes-“

“Just fuck me here,” you whisper, pulling on the collar of his shirt.

Dean glances to the backseat, then to you. “Uh- I mean- That’s- If you’re sure-“

“Please,” you push a little further forward, dropping your hand to press against the bulge in his jeans. “I need you, Dean. Now.”

And for a second, you think he’s going to demand going all the way back home. Say something about you deserving a soft bed and gentle loving, when you just want him, filthy and raw and yours. You’re so busy giving him doe eyes, you don’t notice his hand dragging down your spine and your ass, right up until it dips under your skirt, and cups your pussy through your panties.

You gasp, and Dean smirks, slowly rubbing his hand back and forth.

“Need me?” He drawls, pushing his thumb against your clit. “Like this, baby? This how you need me?”

“Ye- yes-“ Your lips brush over his, your hips starting to grind down as he drags his thumb in tiny circle, his hand still rocking back and forth. “Just- Just like that, Dean- Shit-“

You push down, kissing him with a sloppy, uncontrolled mouth. Dean grunts, splaying his free hand against your neck and pushing you down. He’s massive and warm, the hand working your pussy offering just enough friction to work you up, but nothing more. You wrap your arms around his neck, panting against his lips and moving you hips to chase more friction.

“That feels good, doesn’t it,” he mutters, kissing you between every word.

You coo, trying to kiss over his face, and Dean slaps your pussy once, leaning back with a stern glare.

“Doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, already getting heavy-eyed and dazed. “So- So good, Dean, feels so good, just- More-“ You claw at his shoulders, trying to at least get to some bare skin, and settle for pressing your mouth back over his. “More- Need some more, De, now-“

Dean silences you with a deep, rough kiss, and taps his thumb against your clit in quick, harsh movements, pushing his palm down hard against your aching pussy. You cry out, trying to force your hips further down against him, and Dean squeezes that back of your neck.

“Look at  you,” he mutters, almost in awe. “Few months without some cock and you get bossy, don’t you.”

“No- No,” you manage to protest. “You’re just- You’re being slow-“

“I’m being slow?” He mocks, running his fingers over the line of your panties. “Baby, I’ve barely fuckin’ started.”

You try to roll your eyes at him, but he uses his hold on your neck to turn your head, forcing your gaze back down to his. Your eyes widen, and he smirks slightly, raising his brows.

“You gonna break out some manners for me?” He asks, slowly dragging your panties to the side. “Or am I gonna need to teach you again?”

“Te- Teach me?” You choke out, and Dean hums.

His thumb drags down from your clit, parting the lips of your pussy and smearing your arousal. Your heart is trying to hammer out of your chest, every nerve in your body seeming to respond to the mockingly sweet touch.

“Dean,” you press your hands against his chest, unsure if you want to push him away or drag him closer. “Don’t- Don’t be mean-“

“I’m not bein’ mean,” he hum, the gleam in his eyes something else all together. “I’m giving my girl exactly what she wants, how she wants it.”

You blink at him hopelessly, and he chuckles, pulling you down into a long, slow kiss. It would be romantic and loving, if it wasn’t for his thumb pushing at your weeping entrance, refusing to dip even a fraction of the way inside.

“Remember how you used to beg for me?” He mutters, and your face burns with a mix of arousal and shame. “I sure as shit do. Spent hours thinkin’ about it lately, planning how I was gonna take you when you let me again. But,” he switches out his thumb for the very tips of his fingers, yanking slightly on your hair when you try to look down. “Jesus, baby, I’m worried I’m gonna break you.”

You shake your head frantically, and Dean raises his brows.

“Words, pretty girl,” he reminds you, pushing his fingers just a little big deeper. “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got it, talk to me-“

“I can take it,” you breathe out, watching him under fluttering lashes. “I- I can take it. I promise.”

Dean works his jaw, his grip on your hair tightening. “Sweetheart-“

“Please,” you breathe, leaning down until your noses bump. “I need it. I need you.”

Those are the magic words. Dean stops trying to play noble, stops trying to hold back for the sake of romance. You loved him when he fucked you like a whore and gave you nothing soft, and you’re going to love him even more when he treats you like a toy, then kisses you everywhere after.

Dean smashes his lips against yours and eases his fingers into your waiting pussy, groaning under his breath when you clench down around him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he mutters, scissoring them inside you. “Never gonna get over how fuckin’ tight you are, sweetheart, like you were made for me. Made to be mine.”

He almost snarls the last words against your lips, pushing himself fully up to the knuckle. You mewl as he finds your g-spot with that precision that makes it look easy, that’s always made you sure you couldn’t ever enjoy someone else if you tried.

Dean pumps his fingers slowly, crooking them so they drag against that spot, and pulls you back to watch your face contort with pleasure.

“That’s it,” he grunts, pulling almost all the way out before slamming them right back in and twisting to bully against that sensitive spot. “That’s just how you like it, huh? Already gettin’ like this from just my fingers,” he chuckles, grinding his hips up against your thighs. “Imagine how you’re gonna be on my cock, sweet girl, if you can barely fuckin’ take this?”

“That- That’s not fair-“ You choke out, every word breathy and weak, and Dean just smirks.

“Isn’t it?”

You try to protest, but Dean pushes your head back down, and his kiss knocks almost every thought from your head. It’s all just the familiar, perfect way his mouth moves against yours, rememorizing something that never stopped being his. The wet sound of his fingers working you open fills the car, and your whole body burns with desire and shame. He’s right. You’re already soaked and ready for him, your cunt clenching down and still begging for more. You need that full, impossible split of him. After months of nothing, you’re worried his cock is the only thing that’s going to be able to do it.

But Dean seems to like proving you wrong today. A coil, tight in your stomach, starts to wind tighter and tighter. He drops his grip on your hair for a second to push down on the base of your spine, forcing your cunt almost right over his bulge. He reangles his hand, forcing in another finger, and you make a strangled sound.

“De- Dean-“

“We’re gonna get you relaxed, baby,” he mutters, twisting his wrist so the drag against your g-spot almost rips through your body. “Nice and relaxed ‘f me, you can do it.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to listen, and your clit pushes down against Dean’s cock, still tight in his jeans. The pressure is perfect, combined with the brutal thrusts of Dean’s hand, and you press your cheek to his.

“That- That’s good,” you pant, clinging to the hem of his shirt. “So- Soo good-“

You whimper, and Dean hums. He’s rubbing your back, and that’s somehow almost as good as the hand obliterating your cunt. “There she is,” he mutters. “Always so good at listening when I got my hands on you, aren’t you sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your head. “That’s my girl.”

That’s what does it. My girl.

The coil snaps, and your orgasm rips through you, making your eyes cross and your body curl limply into Dean’s arms. His hand coaxes you through it, his palm rubbing against your pussy as you mewl and clench around nothing, the light pressure helping you ride it like a long, easy wave.

Dean kisses your cheek when it’s done, then right under your eye, then your nose.

“That’s one,” he mutters, and you whine. He chuckles, hiking your skirt up with light touches. “Come on, you know the rule.”

“Stupid rule,” you grumble. “Never agreed to it.”

“Never heard you complaining before,” he points out, peeling your dress off, and you stick out your tongue.

“That’s because I always forget- Dean!”

He smacks your ass, and you squeak, pussy clenching around nothing. He’s forming a tent in his jeans as he looks up at you, and you narrow your eyes. You fingers brush against the head of him, and his groan falters, his head tipping back against the bench.

You smile, pushing your hand down against his cock, and he catches your wrist, shooting you a stern glare.

“Not at young as I used to be,” he warns, and you giggle.

“But I want to,” you try to pull your hand free, and roll you eyes when he won’t let you. “Oh- Come on-“

“Nope,” he grunts, even as his dick jumps against the fabric. “You know the rule-“

“Dean-“

“Three to one,” he mutters, a dare gleaming in his eyes. “You give me one, I give you six. That’s the fuckin’ deal.”

You laugh, but his mouth doesn’t even twitch, and slowly, your smile falls into something more serious. More determined.

Damn this stubborn beautiful man and his orgasm rules. Damn you, for thinking he ever wouldn’t want to fuck you when he made you orgasm rules that weren’t proportional or fair at all.

You yank your wrist away, stick out your tongue again, and pull your underwear fully off. Dean watches you with his hands tight on your waist, eyes shining with curiosity, but patient.

And you’ve never been good at riding him, but you’ve always been good at this. You climb over Dean’s lap so your ass is near his shoulder and your face in his crotch, your back arched like some animal in heat, your pussy bare and on full display.

Dean’s never been able to help himself. One hand immediately slides around the arch of your back, then the curve of your ass, then settles back against your pussy. The other slides in your hair, petting your hair while you fumble with his belt. He chokes out your name, and you shoot him a glare, pulling out his cock with light, careful hands.

He’s so hard you’re worried he’s going to hurt himself. Pre-cum is beading around his tip, his veins throbbing like a porno. You stroke him slowly, and he lets out a sharp breath between his teeth.

“I’m serious, baby-“

“Prove it,” you say, before licking a slow, teasing stripe up his shaft.

And you know how this game ends. You’ve played it a million times before. The beautiful thing about it is that—especially when Dean thinks he’s winning—you can never lose.

You take him into his mouth, and the sound that he makes is sinful. It’s a choked, rough version of your name that sounds holy from his mouth, and comes with his fingers dipping into your heat like it’s a comfort toy. You take him until he bumps against the back of your throat and hum, swirling your tongue. Dean grunts, and pushes your head a little further down. You wiggle your ass, pussy cold and throbbing, and Dean groans.

“Jesus, woman- Gonna kill me- Fuuuuck-“

You start to bob up and down, sucking with that perfect pressure you know he likes, getting what can’t fit in your mouth in your hand. You can take him better and better with every second, letting his push against your gag reflex, and you drop that hand to play with his balls. Dean’s already giving shallow uncontrolled microthrusts, repeating your name over and over until it’s more of a choked moan.

“Can’t- Shit, baby, I can’t- That damn mouth, you’re gonna- Shit-“

You squeeze his balls and suck as hard as you can, and Dean almost roars your name, his cock jumping as he shoots thick, white ropes of cum down your throat. You swallow every drop, licking the rest off your fingers as you rise back up. There’s going to be a handprint on your ass, from where he was holding onto you. You hope you feel it in the morning.

And when you smile at Dean, you know you’re in trouble. Naked and wet for him, crawling forward so your tits press into his face and kissing him as sweetly as possible. Dean grunts, one hand shooting up to cradle the back of your head, and his responding kiss is deceptively gentle. He lets you lead it, groaning when your tongues press together, tasting himself on your lips. He lets you pull his shirt over his head and lets you trace over the lines of his muscles. You smile against his lips and lean back, and there’s that predatory glint again.

Dean’s hand twitches on your back. He wipes your chin, gathering some stray cum and slowly pressing his against your lips. You clean it off obediently, and his jaw ticks.

“Back seat,” he grunts. “Now.”

You almost scramble to listen. Rolling off of him and trying to climb over, making it halfway before you feel massive hands wrapping around your waist, holding you in place. You swallow, trying to twist over your shoulder to look at him, but Dean blows a sharp breath over your clit, and you double over with a squeak.

“De- Dean-“ You plant your hand on the bench, blood rushing to your cheeks. “Dean- wait-“

“Hmmm.” He kisses one curve of your ass, then the other. “Wait for what?”

You’re not really sure. “This- I- I can’t hold myself up,” you fumble, and he chuckles, kissing right over your clit.

“That gonna be a problem?” He teases, pressing smaller, faster kisses over the sensitive button. “Or,” he spreads your ass cheeks, humming against your heat. “Do dirty girls get what they asked for?”

Shit. “It’s uncomfortable,” you whisper, and Dean pauses.

He sighs, then kisses your clit again. You squeak when he drags you back down, and melt into his chest as he kisses all over your face, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

“’S why I wanted the bed,” he mutters, and you sigh.

“’M sorry-“

“No,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, massaging your hips with steady hands. “I’ve got it, just- uh-“

He glances up, and you watch him frown around the car with an openly adoring expression. The work of his jaw and furrow of his brow as he thinks, how he holds you so tight in his arms, it’s impossible to not love him.

“Got it,” he mutters. “Trust me?”

You nod easily, and he glances back down. His eyes soften when they meet yours, and this kiss isn’t feral or brutal. It’s just… slow. Adoring, a silent promise of what you’ve sort of always known.

Dean is going to take care of you.

He lays you out in the backseat, rubbing your thighs as you settle into the cushioned bench. You watch him with your heart in your throat, arms wrapped tight around your stomach. Sometimes, under his attention, you’re not sure what to do with yourself. He’s too pretty, too big, too much in the best possible way.

“Getting’ shy on me?” He teases, pushing up your knee, and you flush.

“N- No.”

“Hm,” Dean pins your leg against the bench, guiding the other one so it hooks over his shoulders. “Sounds like you’re gettin’ shy.”

You swallow, hugging yourself tighter, and he chuckles.

“All that work to make you relax,” he mutters, kissing his way up your thigh. “And you’re already wound back up.”

“You took too long,” you whisper, and Dean laughs.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He kisses just the side of your cunt, and your breath hitches as he sucks a small, firm bruise into the skin. “You know I’m gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You nod weakly, then blurt, “Yes!”

Dean’s mouth twitches, and he grabs one of your wrists, guiding it down to his hair. You weave it between your fingers, your breathing already ragged, your whole body lit up with anticipation.

“Easy,” Dean murmurs, kissing the other side of your cunt, massaging your thigh and pushing your leg a little higher. “Nice and easy, pretty girl.” He kisses you pussy, open-mouthed and wet, and you let out a high, shameless sound.

His mouth should be classified as a sex toy or something. It moves and works against you like a machine, kissing you with so much fervor you already start to see stars. You had some recovery from the fingering, but Dean’s already stripping it away with sharp, unrelenting kisses and grazes of his teeth against your clit.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against you, the word vibrating through your body. “Never wanna live without this pussy again, baby girl, shit-“

He groans and dives back down, starting to work you open like a man starved. You push on his head, silently begging for more, afraid to open your mouth. The sounds that leave you will be embarrassing, and you’re already too far gone for them.

But Dean likes you loud, and he won’t let you hold back. He hooks his arm fully around your leg, dragging you further down, giving him a better against your pussy. You mewl when he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking impossibly hard, and Dean laughs against your cunt.

“Fuck- Fuck-“ You grab at the front bench, yanking mindlessly on his short hair. “De- Dean- Oh my god-“

He groans, pushing his face impossibly further. His tongue is deliberate and thick, pumping in and out of your cunt before pressing flat on your clit and dragging back and forth. It’s enough to drive you mad, making the coil in your stomach burn and burn and burn until your whole body is shaking with the sensation.

“De- Dean-“ You whimper. “You- Fuck-“

He nips at your clit, dragging a long, slow stripe up your pussy. Your eyes lock, and you swallow, a broken moan falling from your lips. The first time he did this, he told you that he loved it. That there was nothing better than a woman, right on his face, dripping and sweet for him. It didn’t take you long to believe him.

Here, he looks at you like you’re some kind of heaven he’s been allowed to touch. His mouth never stops moving against you, his eyes lidded and almost drunk, and your arousal shining on his face whenever he reangles it to devour you a new way. It’s a sight that could knock you off your feet, if you had any left to stand on. Dean on his knees, his broad, freckled shoulders forcing your knees apart, his attention a drug you never want to bother being clean from again.

You start to shake, your stomach seizing up as you fight off your orgasm, but Dean doesn’t tolerate that either. His mouth goes back against your clit, his tongue darting up and down and back and forth in tiny motions, almost tickling it, making the little nerves light up and-

You cum with a loud, choked sound that’s really supposed to be Dean’s name, and push at his head. You expect him to stop, and finally get on top of you.

But you forgot about his stupid orgasm rule, and he doesn’t stop. His grip tightens and he starts to make out with your overstimulated pussy. You squeak, pushing weakly at his head, and his eyes gleam.

“De- Dean- Fuuuuck- That’s-“ Your eyes roll back, your body seizing up again, almost unable to take so much. “Oh- Oh my gooood-”

Dean groans against you again, and it’s worse than a vibrator. It’s warm and deep and Dean, mixed with his filthy mouth and stubble, scraping against soft skin.Your thighs lock around his head and he lets them, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pulls you fully onto your back, pushing himself up onto his knees. His cock bounces against his stomach but he ignores it, using his now free hand to grope at your breast. You moan, clenching around nothing as he laps at your clit and pussy.

“I- I can’t-“ Tears spring at your eyes. “Dean- Please-“

He hums, rolling your nipple between deft fingers, and you throw your head back with a broken moan.

Warm, thick fingers weave through yours, and  you blink at him under watery lashes. He’s let go of your breast to hold your hand. His thumb is dragging slowly back and forth, and his mouth isn’t slowing down, but you don’t want it to. You can see the challenge shining in his eyes. You take a ragged breath, give him the smallest nod, and he smiles against your pussy.

You didn’t know the human tongue could move that fast. You’re sure it’s not supposed to, but Dean’s never cared about things like that. He drinks you up like wine, rapidly toying with your clit—swirling and kissing and flicking and sucking like it’s candy—and your eyes roll back in your head as your third orgasm springs through your body like a geyser.

Dean lowers you down slowly, pressing one last kiss to your swollen kiss before rising back up, wiping his chin of your release and cleaning it off his fingers with a smug grin. His cock is at attention, and your mouth waters. He always gets it in. You’re a little afraid of it right now.

“Six?” You breathe out, and Dean snorts.

“You’re the one who pushed for it, princess.”

“It- It’s your stupid rule-“

“You love it,” he shrugs, slowly settling himself back between your legs. “And you’re gonna take it, aren’t you, baby.”

You wrinkle your nose, and Dean gives you a stern, amused look.

“Aren’t you?” He taps the head of his cock against your cunt, and you squeak.

“Dean-“

“You’re the one who got bratty and cocky, sweetheart,” he drawls, pushing your leg back down. “So you’re gonna take it, ‘cause I know you can.”

You swallow, giving him your best doe-eyes, and he just chuckles. Dean lowers himself down, presses a gentle kiss to your brow, and murmurs against your skin.

“That ain’t gettin’ you out of this.”

You press your face into the crook of his neck, and Dean smiles, kissing the side of your head.

“All shy again,” he mutters, dragging that massive cock between the lips of your pussy. “Let’s take care of that, huh?”

You cling to him as he rolls you both over, guiding your legs to straddle his torso and lining up his cock with your weeping, abused pussy. He pulls you gently up, rubbing your side and watching you a painfully adoring gaze. You try to cover yourself again, and he catches your hand, shaking his head.

“Come on,” he mutters, weaving your fingers together. “Let me see you.”

And damn him for being so soft and sweet, you don’t think you could tell him no if you wanted.

“Take it easy,” he says, wrapping both of his hands around your waist. “All you, baby. Show me what you want.”

“I- I can’t-“

“Yes, you can.”

You believe him, in a way you’d never believe anyone else. It might be how he looks at you. Like you’re an angel over him, like you’re really, truly letting him enter paradise as you sink down onto his cock.

He grunts, his fingers tightening against your body as his cock slowly splits you open. Even with how much he’s worked you open—your pussy so wet it’s already dripping onto his thighs—it’s a tight fit. You can feel every vein dragging inside of you, the hard curve pressing right into your g-spot and making you flutter around him.

Dean jerks his head up, squeezing his eyes shut, and you swallow.

“Sorry-“

“’S- ‘S alright,” he exhales sharply, relaxing back into the seat. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, baby. I’m good.”

A smile ghosts over your lips, even as you start to only breathe through your nose. “You look it,” you tease, and Dean gives you a half annoyed, half impressed look.

“You’re tight,” he grunts, and your smile widens.

“You’re big.”

He groans, throwing his head further back, and you giggle again. He’s sitting just right again, his chest rippling under your hands, and you feel like that angel. You feel like a goddess, with how his hands are dragging over your body, how your name falls from his lips.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, eyes raking over your body. “So perfect.”

You take a deep breath, and start to grind down onto his cock. Dean groans, one hand dragging down to squeeze your ass, but he doesn’t move. He won’t unless you beg him, and you’re determined not to. You can ride him until your thighs give out. His cock bumps against your g-spot, and his abdomen drags near your clit, and it feels good. You rock back and forth a little faster, your breath catching, and Dean groans.

“Look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Pretty fuckin’ girl, riding my cock like the needy little thing you are, aren’t you. So fuckin’ wet for me, baby, so- so tight-“

He groans, and you push down on his chest, picking up your pace.

“So big, Dean,” you moan, pushing up your chest like a pornstar, trying to make him break first. “You’re so big, feels so- so good-“

You moan, tossing your hair, and Dean makes an almost feral sound.

But he doesn’t break. The bastard never breaks, and you’ve never been good at riding him. Your thighs are already sore, and they quickly start to ache, making your movements smaller and weaker. Dean watches you start to whine, your brow furrowing in concentration, and just smiles. You both know what he’s waiting for. You don’t want to give in.

“So quiet, sweetheart,” he coos, running his hand up to palm at your breast. “Someone drove by, they’d think I wasn’t fuckin’ you properly.”

You glare at him, unable to even speak, and he chuckles.

“You know what you gotta do, baby girl.”

“Fu- Fuck you-“

“I will,” he winks. “If my girl says please.”

Your eyes narrow. His grin widens, and you think you might be about to fly apart with how bad you need it. Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid face that you love and his big cock that makes you all jelly and dazed thoughts and useless.

“Please-“

The word barely leaves your mouth before Dean moves. A single, well-aimed thrust up into your cunt that makes you fall apart. You fall forward onto his chest with a scream, and Dean groans, giving shallower, gentle thrusts to work you through the orgasm.

“I know,” he murmurs in you ear, his words painfully soft in comparison to the pleasure wracking your body. “I know, princess. Two more to go.”

You don’t think you can take two more. Four has been your max for a very long time, and that was with a lot more prep time and space between orgasms. But Dean doesn’t seem like he’s going to give you much of a choice.

You’re a doll in his arms again, when he hauls you up into his lap. His cock leaves you for a single second, just for the adjustment, and you whimper at the loss.

Dean hums, kissing all over your face as he slides back in.

“That’s my girl,” he starts to rock your hips back and forth with steady hands, picking you up then dropping your back down so his dick drags through every inch of your heat. “Takin’ me so good. Just like that, feel that, baby-“ He pushes on your lower back, making his cock slam against your g-spot, and you sob against his neck. “Feel how fuckin’ good we fit together, my girl.”

Dean’s voice is lined with something darker now. More possessive and hungry. He fucks up into your like an animal, dips drilling forward and mouth attached to your neck. All you can do is take it, over and over until your eyes are crossing and the only words you can remember are babbles of Dean and please.

The neck orgasm is slow, blooming from where he’s slamming against your cervix and spreading pleasantly through your body. Dean moans against your skin, mouthing at your jaw and neck, his tongue dragging and kisses messy. When you try to kiss him back, it’s mostly with a mewl and lips that follow his lead. Everything is humid and light in your body, everything is Dean around you, and there’s a new, strangely hot sensation in your core that’s demanding all of your attention.

It’s tighter than the usual coil, and gets hotter and hotter with every thrust of Dean’s cock. He’s getting uneven now, his own words falling into pants and moans, his balls slapping against your ass and hands leaving prints as he folds you fully over his chest.

“One- One more-“ His voice is gravelly, almost as wrecked as you feel. “Milk my fuckin’ cock, baby girl, cum for me-“

You open your mouth to warn him about the strange feeling, but it’s too late. Dean slams home, crashing his mouth against yours, and you cum with a hoarse scream. Hot cum shoots into your cunt, right as something gushes out of you in wet, burning waves. It feels good, so good you can’t think, so good your mouth hangs open and your moans turn into pathetic, weak babbles.

“Fuck- Fuck-“ Dean groans against your mouth. “Fuckin’- Yes-“

Your body seizes and twitches around him, but even when he’s done, Dean doesn’t pull out. The last of your release pushes itself out and her collapses backward, rubbing your back and craning his neck to grin at your cockdrunk expression.

“Gettin’ stupid?” He teases, and you can’t manage to raise an arm, so you just bite his nose. He laughs, leaning up to steal another, quick kiss from your lips before settling back down.

You curl over him, resting your head against his shoulder while he pets your head, both of you still panting and coming back down. You might be there for a hundred years, or just an hour. It doesn’t matter. The car is going to reek of sex for maybe a year. Sam might never agree to ride in it again. But it was worth it. More than worth it, when you look up at Dean, and find him—just as always—already looking back.

“We’re still dating, right?” You whisper, because you have to be sure.

Dean grins, and kisses you slowly. You hum, letting your eyes flutter shut. Letting him carry you, whenever he thinks is safe to go.

“Yeah,” he mutters, and you can hear it in his voice. All the love he’s been trying to show you, for who knows how long. “We are."

✦End note: if i write enough of these it's gonna happen to me guys trust ✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[godmadeaterribleerror]

green light

✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦

✦summary: dean kisses you while he's drunk, and then the world keeps spinning. all you want to do is figure out if he remembers, if he meant it, and if he feels what you do in return. but he's not making it easy, until he does.✦

✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (20s - 40s), angst, overprotective dean, older dean, pining, dean being a stupid, lovable dork, some plot to get to the smut (dry humping, dean's dirty talk, car sex, praise kink, soft!dom Dean, fingering, begging, handjobs, nipple play, pussy slapping, fingering, mating press sex, creampie, big dick dean, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, light dacryphilia, finger sucking, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦

✦wc: 11k✦

✦author's note: every week i overtake myself for 'horniest thing i've ever made'. enjoy!✦

You don’t know what happened. You’re too afraid to ask.

You don’t want to live in a world where it gets taken back.

Dean isn’t acting like anything happened. He’s not draping himself around you or acting like you’re not there at all. There’s no slobbering man at your feet, acting like the ground you walk on turns to gold, but you’re also not curled up on the curb because Dean won’t look at you, and you can’t stand to be in room where he acts like you’re gum under his shoe.

You’ve always understood that as how this would go. How your little infatuation would end. 

Either a miracle would hit like lightning, and Dean would return your feelings. Or he’d reject you, and never look you in the eyes again.

The data was leaning in favor of the former. Which is why you’ve been so very careful not to reveal your feelings under any circumstances. Witches have gaped about your sheer willpower. Sam’s made passing comments about never seeing someone who could fight demonic possession so well. Everyone around you seems to think you’re some kind of mind Titan, able to simply focus and drive off any monster or force that tries to take you over.

They don’t know that there’s always on common factor. One thing that they try to force you to reveal, that makes you pry your mind back from their bare hands.

When you got possessed by a demon, Sam and Dean had you tied to a chair. You’d still been able to see through your own eyes. Still been able to think, even if the demon had been using your internal monologue as a broadcast public radio, sharing every thought you had the mistake of thinking.

“Aw.” She’d used your mouth, you voice, and it had sounded twisted in your brain. “She’s worried about you two. Isn’t that adorable.”

Sam had frowned, shooting Dean a weary look. “Is there something we need to be worried about? Or-“ He’d said your name gently. “If you’re worried we can’t take this demon, we can.”

“She batting out of her league.” Dean had muttered, glaring down at the knife in his hands. “We’ve tangoed with the bosses and come out on top, sweetheart. No one needs to be worried but the bitch inside you.”

Whatever parts of your heart were still yours—most of it, as the demon had been able to sink her claws into everything but the organ that only played one, embarrassingly loud song—had fluttered at his words. He hadn’t been looking at you since they realized you were possessed. Sam had been doing all the talking, asking questions and trying to figure out what the demon wanted, how long she’d been in your brain. Dean had just sat on the edge of the mattress, fists curled on his knees, jaw clenched so tight you were worried about his teeth. If you were in control of yourself you would’ve told him to stop doing that. It made his headaches worse, and you bought him gum specifically so he could chew on something when he got pissed.

He would’ve smile to himself, shaking his head, and given you the look that always made your knees wobble. The one that had a silent affection behind it, that came with his hand grazing your lower back and teasing about how bossy you were.

You’d think I was dying, way you talk about my health.

I’m trying to avoid you dying, Dean-

Why? Happens to everyone eventually, and I’m further down the line than I thought I’d be-

You’re not a dinosaur. Stop talking like I’m putting you in a home, I just told you to drink some water.

If I drink some water, are you gonna stop circling me like a freakin’ shark?

I am not circling you like a shark-

Yeah, you are. You wanna take a bite outta me, sweetheart, I can see it.

You’d always blink at him, your heart in your ears and your jaw slack. He’d grin, drink his water slowly and dramatically, then boop the bottle on your nose and walk away. When you’d tell him to do something later, he’d roll his eyes and give you that look again.

That was how they figured out you were possessed. The demon had asked Dean to grab the artifact you’d been investigating, and when he’d whined that he wanted to go get pie, she’d smiled and said that was fine, as long as Dean told her where the artifact was first.

You would’ve told Dean that he could have his pie after he grabbed the artifact. You would’ve stood in front of him with your arms crossed and glared until he got up with a groan and let you drag him exactly where you needed him to be. That’s what you and Dean did. He pretended to be annoyed by it, but you wouldn’t ask anything of him unless you really needed it. You got him the pie after, and he teased you about being wound up and needing to breathe for a second. He’d feed you some of his pie like you were a baby, and you’d pretend to bite his fingers off.

But the demon had just bent for him. Dean had stared at her. And you’d know he’d seen it. Right through you, and to the ugly thing inside your body.

Ugly in a different way that you were. The demon was just cruel, but you were selfish. 

Dean had told you not to go out alone, but you loved him and he’d been sitting so close. The love inside you had been threatening to pour out of you like a flood, and you’d needed to be anywhere but near him. The demon had found you while you were at the convenience store, buying Dean jerky. You’d been too slow, and now you were a burden to him and Sam again. Dean had been forced to knock you out to tie up the demon, and Sam had to burn you with holy water. You could feel it, the burn and blistering of you skin. You’d never tell them that, because the guilt would eat them alive.

You’d never tell Dean. He was already angry with you for going out as it was. You’re already more trouble than you’re worth, most of the time. Your worry hadn’t been for you.

It’s for him. That this was going to be too much for him to deal with, having to hurt another person he cared about.

The demon had plucked that thought from your head, and curved your lips into a smirk.

“Oh, she’s not worried about herself, Deanie.” It had drawled. “I know you see her as a woman of steel, but our lovely girl is just so sweet on the insides here. It’s like swimming through marshmallows. She’s just so perfectly worried about how this is going to effect you. It’s all she can think about, the pathetic little slut.”

Dean’s eyes had narrowed. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that-“

“I’ll talk about her however I want.” The demon had purred. “She’s my meat toy. But if you want to share with me, Winchester, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind both of us inside of her. She-“

The demon had cut herself off. Dean had shot to his feet, looking ready to throw a punch. Sam had blocked him with an arm, and your body had started to convulse. The demon sputtering and choking on nothing as Dean shouted your name. Sam had let him get to you when it became clear this wasn’t the demon making a play, but you hadn’t needed the help.

She’d made her mistake already. You’d been able to feel her next words, building on your own tongue. She’d been sneering in your brain about how Dean would hate you after she revealed the truth, and you’d grabbed her by the throat.

You’d pushed her out of your body, no exorcism required. Sam and Dean had stared at you in awe for about a month after. Sam had even pulled you aside and lowly asked how you did it. You’d told him you had no idea.

It would’ve been insane, to say well, Samuel. It was the power of my love for your brother.  Don’t tell him, or I’ll fucking kill you.

You would’ve been serious about that threat, too. You never wanted Dean to know. If Sam had ever found out and told him, there would’ve been a double murder suicide.

Which is why you don’t know what to do now.

Because Dean kissed you, and the world didn’t end.

Paradise didn’t come. Hell didn’t split through the Earth, and you didn’t have to go into hiding in Romania—your backup plan if Dean had ever found out and it wasn’t Sam’s fault.

The Earth had just kept spinning. Dean had gotten up the next morning and acted like nothing happened at all. Grumbling about his hangover and running a hand through his mussed hair. The same hand that had held the back of your neck last night, certain and possessive in his grip. Dean licked his lips, and you’d mirrored the motion, only able to think of that same tongue pressing into your mouth. ‘

He’d kissed you like he knew what he wanted. He’d tasted like whiskey and had a glazed expression—as if he was looking at the world through glass—but he’d kissed you. He’d lifted you off the ground with the force of it. He’d looked at you with blown out eyes, and been half-hard in his jeans, and begged you to come back to his room, and-

“You alright?” Dean asks, and you blink at him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” His lips twitch. “You look like you spent the night getting run over by a truck.”

You frown, and Dean pauses.

“In a good way.”

“I look like I got run over by a truck in a good way?”

“Uh- Yeah?” He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m not sayin’ you look bad. You’re just all spacey and tired, and-“

He waves a hand at you sheepishly, and normally you’d keep pushing him for how exactly you could be run over by a truck in a good way.

But today, you can only look at his dumb, handsome face and think about how his stubble brushed over your skin. How your noses bumped, how he’d help you to his chest like you were a doll and he was a worried child that needed you.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” You mutter, and Dean chuckles.

“Me neither.”

“You got drunk.” You say, flat and low. “You passed out.”

“Yeah, but I had some dreams, and-“ He cuts himself off, eyes widening and grip on his mug slipping. He catches it with a curse, and looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost.

You raise your brow, not letting any emotion onto your face. Dean clears his throat, eyes dropping for the briefest second to your lips.

“Hey, uh-“ He runs a hand through his hair, shifting nervously on his feet. “If I did anything stupid while I was wasted, you’d tell me. Right?”

And maybe you should tell him. But he looks so worried, and you know, deep down.

He doesn’t really remember.  

“Yeah.” You breathe, offering him a tiny smile. “I would.”

Dean’s silent. He studies you for a second, then shakes his head with a laugh. “Good. ‘Cause I get some, uh- Some crazy dreams.”

You pretend to laugh, but it echoes in the hollow of your chest until you feel sick. You have to excuse yourself to take a shower. To help you wake up, is what you tell Dean.

Really, you just sit on the floor and cry, letting your tears wash down the drain with the water. He doesn’t remember. He kissed you, and he’s chalking it up to a crazy dream.

You have to get over him. It’s a punch in your gut, knocking wind and snot out of you, but it’s what you needed. Dean’s never going to see you like that. He’s older, he’s a hero, he could have anyone he wanted and he’s not going to chose the bossy girl who watches cartoons with him and makes him do bar trivia with her, because he’s better than he thinks he is. He’ll find someone cooler and older. Someone who likes cars as much as he does, who can actually help him with the Impala instead of just sitting on the bench in the garage and bothering him. Someone who can cook as well as he does, and doesn’t make him try all the crazy soda flavors she sees.

Someone just as resolved and perfect as he is.

Not you.

You pick yourself up, and try to set a goal. Get over Dean.

The asshole doesn’t make it easy.

He makes it impossible.

“I’m gonna work on Baby this afternoon.” He says, and you hum. You’re curled up on the couch with your laptop, and he’s been leaning over your shoulder for the past hour, watching whatever you put on the screen. You don’t understand why. He’s got his own TV right in front of him, and he has to put his arm around your shoulders to comfortably be so close.

His fingers keep brushing the bare skin of your collarbone. His warmth is wrapped around you like a blanket, and it’s all impossible to deal with.

“I bought those snacks you like.” He adds, and you hum.

“Okay.”

“They’re gonna be with me. In the garage.”

 “I’ll come get them later.”

Dean’s face twitches. You look over to find him staring at you, nostrils flaring and nose slightly wrinkled.

“I got ice cream.” He mutters, gaze locked onto yours. “’S gonna melt.”

“Put it in the freezer.” You manage to whisper, and he shakes his head.

“Too far. Gotta focus on work.”

“I’m going to distract you from work-“

“That’s different.” He shrugs, and suddenly you’re being pulled to your feet.

“Dean-“

“C’mon.” He moves you in front of  him, and all but herds you out of the Dean Cave. “I’ll even let you pick the music, alright?”

You can’t argue with him. He’s too cute, and always has a command over your body you’ve never been able to fight off. He doesn’t even know that if he asked you to walk over hot coals, you’d do it to reach his side. If he wanted to get away you’d drop everything and go with him. If he needed you to bring him the moon, you’d learn to grow taller enough to grab it in your hands, and shred yourself back down to stay at his side.

There’s no way you can get over him while being his friend. Being his friend alone is a trial that’s slowly wearing you down. Enough that soon, you think, you’ll just be crawling on your hands to lay at his feet. It’s all you’re going to be able to muster. All you’re going to want to do.

You need to get away from him.

You can’t get away from him. Because if he asks you to do something with him—which he always does—there’s no way you’re going to be able to say no.

Which leaves one solution.

Avoid Dean.

Avoid him like he’s the plague.

You wake up in the morning, and touch your lips. Touch them like you can push the feeling of his kiss further into them. Like it’s a sugar that you could gather on your fingers and taste, a tattoo you’re trying to make sure is permanent. You do it every morning now, because it’s the last thing of Dean you’re allowing yourself to have.

If you’re careful, you don’t see him through the day. You’re up before he is, you find a corner of the bunker to hide in, you go out, you stay on the move like you’re prey and Dean’s on a hunt. When you see Sam, he gives you an odd look. If you’re sloppy, and end up in the same room as Dean, you flee before he can say something. If he says something you’re going to crash right back into him. He’s gravity. And you don’t have the strength to pull away twice.

But it’s not working.

You haven’t been alone with Dean for a week, and you just miss him. You feel like you’re trying to carve out a vital artery from your chest. It just hurts. It just makes your love spill all over you, now that there’s nowhere for it to go. You watch something on your computer and hug yourself, because your body seems to think it’s missing a limb without Dean wrapped around you. You sneak out in the middle of the night to get food, and end up just staring at the pie and jerky and beer until you’re sick. You’ve started to hole up in your room with ice cream as if you’re going through a breakup.

It’s pathetic. You look in the mirror and see a husk, with tear stained cheeks and sunken features. You’re wearing one of his fucking shirts, but your skin burns every time you think about taking it off. You’d think you were cursed, if you didn’t know this was just the feeling of love dying.

Not dying.

You’re not strong enough to kill it.

This is the feeling of love being tortured.

Because you’re stupid and tired, you look up how to get over a crush. The internet says to list out all his faults, and logically you know Dean has those, but you can’t remember any right now. His teasing always makes you flush and giggle, his stupid jokes make everything feel lighter, you know he gets angry because he cares. You even miss the loud, sloppy way he chews. You’d always been able to reach over the table and wipe sauce from his cheek, and he’d smile at you after, and you miss his smile. You’d do anything to see it right now.

You scroll to the next step. Think about it logically. If they’d even be a good match. You skip that one. Dean’s always been the one thing you don’t bother to think about logically. Something about him makes all the common sense in your head go down the drain. Which is the same issue the next step—ask yourself why you have a crush on them—fails as well. Of course you have a crush on Dean. You could list out every reason, but they’d all just circle back to he’s Dean. And everything that he is demands that you love him.

Force yourself to move on, is the final step. Go out with someone else. Even if they’re not your soulmate, it will help you realize there are plenty of other fish in the sea.

There are many other fish. The world is filled with men.

That’s part of the problem.

None of them are Dean Winchester.

But this is the most actionable step. The only one you can try to take, even if it doesn’t work. So you get cleaned up, put on a nice dress, and do your makeup a little bit like a slut. The goal of this is to get laid, through, and it’s not like anyone you know is going to see-

“Where the hell are you going?”

You freeze, squeezing your eyes shut. He’s up. Why the fuck is he up. “Nowhere?”

“You’re going nowhere.” Dean drawls. “At eleven. Dressed like… That.”

“Mhm.” You turn slowly, trying to offer a winning smile.

He doesn’t look amused.

You haven’t seen him in person in a month. He kind of looks… awful.

He’s still handsome. You don’t think he’s capable of being anything else but amazing and desirable. But his hair is longer than he usually lets it grow, and there are heavy bags under his eyes. His shoulders are hunched, there’s a stain on his flannel, and when he rubs his jaw you can see grease stains on his hands.   

“Were you in the garage?” You blurt, and he grunts.

“Maybe.”

“But-“ His gaze is lidded, his features pale in a way that only happens when he’s awake for too long. “Have you slept?”

His brow furrows. “Napped.”

“For how long.”

“Long enough.”

“That’s not an answer-“

“Where are you going.” He raises his voice over yours, and you swallow.

“Out.”

“Out where.”

You look down at your heels, fidgeting with the folds of your dress. “To a bar.”

Dean doesn’t respond. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you think you might be leaning forward. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You haven’t even been able to build up a flimsy wall against your feelings, and now they’re all crashing through you like an asteroid, slamming through your world.

He’s right there, and if you took a step forward you’d be able to touch him. Wipe the grease off his hands, pull off the flannel and order him to change into something clean. He needs a haircut, but you kind of like it longer. You could run your fingers through it, like this. Soothe the spots where it’s sticking out, help him wash it if he’d let you.

But you don’t think he will.

Because when you look up under your lashes, he’s staring at you with a pained, exhausted expression that makes you want to cry.

“You goin’ to meet someone?” He finally says, and you shake your head.

“N- No.”

“We got drinks here-“

“I know.”

He grunts. “It’s not safe for you to be out by yourself.”

“I’m bringing pepper spray.” You mumble. “And my gun.”

Dean’s silent for a long moment, and you think he’s going to give up and walk away. Everything will be easier, if he just leaves for you. It will splatter your heart all over the floor, but at least you won’t have the weight of holding onto it anymore. At least it won’t churn like something rotten, when a stranger who isn’t Dean lays his hands all over you.

But Dean doesn’t leave.

He takes a step forward, and suddenly the air is so hot it’s hard to breathe.

“I’m goin’ with you.”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide. “Dean-“

“You said you’re not meetin’ anyone.” He challenges, glaring down at you. “I need a drink. You come with me, or you don’t go at all.”

A scoff slips from your lips. “And how the fuck would you stop me-“

“I’d toss you over my shoulder and carry you back to your room.”

Oh.

He says it so casually. His voice a deep rumble as he stares at you. An ache demands attention between your thighs, and your cheeks burn as you laugh nervously, looking to the side.

Dean doesn’t even crack a grin.

So there’s nothing you can do, but let him walk with you to the car. You try to get in the backseat, but Dean snaps his fingers and points at shotgun with a scowl.

“I’m not a fuckin’ taxi. You sit up here, or we walk.”

You flush, and silently slide into the front bench. Dean drops behind the wheel, his gaze fixed firmly ahead as he starts the engine. You forgot how dangerous being close to him is. He’d grabbed his coat on the way out, tossing his dirty flannel to the side. He smells like leather and pine tree, and even across the bench you can feel the heat radiating from his body. He rolls up his sleeves, and you want to nuzzle close to him and have him put you in a headlock. His hand runs over his inner thigh, and you press your own together.

You’re staring at him. You can’t help it.

Dean must feel it, because he shoots you a look from the corner of his eye. You look away, and hear him let out a heavy breath.

And the game begins. Dean pulls out of the garage, and you’re both perfectly silent, daring the other to break first. You stare out the window, stealing glances whenever you think you can get away with it. Sometimes Dean catches your eye, and you curl further into yourself, twisting away. Once, Dean opens his mouth. He closes it just as fast.

You’ve been driving for thirty minutes, when you realize he’s not taking you to a bar. You’ve passed three bars, and he didn’t even slow down to check them out. You grab all the thin courage you posses, rooted deep in your stomach and sticky with nerves, and drag it to the surface.

“Dean, where are we-“

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He says, blatant and flat. “Past month. Don’t think I haven’t fuckin’ noticed.”

You swallow, pulling your knees to your chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Didn’t even say why.” He mutters, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Thought you were sick at first, but you’ve been talkin’ to Sammy.”

“It’s-“

“And you run outta every room I walk into. Like I got cooties or something.” He’s scowling at the road, and you feel like the smallest thing in the world. “Didn’t even bother to tell me why. Just… Fuckin’ vanished.”

There’s a lump in your throat, and unearned tears stinging at your eyes. He sounds broken, and it’s your fault. You and your stupid, useless love for him. “Dean, it’s not like that-“

“So what’s it like, huh?” His words are harsh. You flinch back. “You start acting like I’m the goddamn devil and I’m supposed to take your word that it’s just not like that? There ain’t anything for it to be like, sweetheart-“

“No, I- I just-“ You lean forward, then curl back. You’d wanted to grab him. You don’t think you’re allowed. “I just needed- I needed-“

“Space?” He spits the word like it’s poison. “Go on. Tell me you just needed space from me.”

“Dean-“

“The hell did I do to you?” He sneers. “I know I ain’t perfect, but I- I thought you- I was so fuckin’ careful, and you promised you’d tell me if I did something stupid.”

You frown, not fully understanding what he means. “Dean, you- You didn’t do anything-“

“Don’t bullshit me!” He shouts, and you don’t think you can breathe anymore. “You promised me, you said you’d tell me, and the goddamn least you coulda done was tell me what the fuck I did-“

“Please- Please stop yelling.” You whisper, not even sure if he’s going to hear you.

But he does.

Dean cuts himself off with that clench of his jaw, and pulls over to the side of the road. You hug yourself tight, trying to shrink back into the seats. This is your fault. He’s angry because of you, and you stupidity. You’re barely a schoolgirl with a crush, and you let it hurt him, and there’s no possible world where he’d ever want you now.

You hide your face in your knees. Tears burn on your cheeks, and when you try to take a deep breath, it’s ragged and aching.

Dean’s silent. The whole car is silent. He’d turned off the radio, and the only sound hanging in the air is your sniffling. You think about climbing out of the car, but he’d just chase after you. It’s started to rain, and you don’t want him to catch a cold.

You wrap your coat tighter around you. Your dress feels too tight on your skin. Feels wrong. You think you’re going to be sick. When you risk a look at Dean, he’s still holding the wheel with white knuckles. Staring at you with a pained expression, eyes even heavier than before.

He leans forward like he’s going to reach for you. Your breath hitches. He pulls back.

For a second, you just watch each other. You wipe your cheeks with your palm, and it feels like a raw, open wound.

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it, and looks back to the road like he’s searching for something.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to yell.” He mutters, voice hoarse. “I just- I’m sorry.”

You nod—you didn’t blame him  in the first place—but when he looks to you for a response, you can’t find one. Everything is lodged in your throat, behind a quiet confession you’ve worked far too hard to shove down.

“I’ll fix it.” Dean rasps, and you blink.

“What?”

“Whatever I did.” He’s staring at you, his voice cracking. “Whatever pissed you off or- Or hurt you. I’ll work on it, alright? You don’t have to do anything, I’ll fix me, and then you can stay.”

“I- I can stay?”

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut. As if the words hurt to stay. “If you can’t, I get it. I do. But you gotta give me a chance to set it right, before you give up. Just one chance, and if I screw it up a second time you can run off, but- One shot, it’s all I need. Don’t- Don’t leave.” His voice cracks, eyes shining in the dark. “Please.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open. He looks broken. Lone tears stain his cheeks, and he’s not even wiping them away. When you shake your head—just trying to make sense of what he said—he cowers away like a kicked dog, and you split down the middle.

“I wasn’t going to leave, Dean.” Horror leaks through your voice. You couldn’t leave him if you tried. “I’d never leave you.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, like I didn’t just fuckin’ catch you-“

“I was going to the bar.”

“Without telling anyone?”

“No, because I knew you’d try to do this!” You wave around you, and Dean’s throat bobs. “No, I didn’t mean-“

“You didn’t wanna see me.” He mutters, looking back to the wheel. “’S alright. I get it.”

He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. And you can see him trying to drag himself back together, still refusing to wipe his tears and breathing through his nose. He’s just sitting there, hollow and angry, and he doesn’t understand.

“You kissed me.”

You say it without thinking, soft and weak. Dean goes rigid. He looks at you with bloodless, horrified features. You wrap your hand around your own throat, trying to hold yourself in one piece.

He shakes his head. You’re going to throw up.

“No, I- I’d remember that-“

“You were drunk.” You breathe. “I- I picked you up from the bar. And you kissed me.”

Dean looks like someone punched him in the face. He’s pallid, looking around the car like there’s a way out, fisting and unfisting his hands.

“That’s- That’s why you’ve been avoiding me.” He rasps, and you nod, fixing your gaze on his chest.

If you have to watch his face while he rejects you, there’s a chance you’ll just die.

Dean says your name, slow and broken, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Bracing for the knife about to be driven into your chest.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

That makes you look up. And it’s not rejection you find in Dean’s eyes.

It’s guilt.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, and- Being drunk’s no damn excuse.”

“Dean-“

“If you want nothing to do with me, I- I understand.” He’s too lost in himself to hear you. “Hell, I’ll move out so you can stick with Sammy. You won’t have to deal with me anymore, you’re- It’s not your fault-“

“Dean-“

“I shouldn’t have forced you on that, my own- My own shit is mine to deal with, and you never gave me any kinda go and I damn well knew it- I’m so fuckin’ sorry-“

“Dean!” You shout, and he falls silent. Squeezes his jaw shut, gaze mournful and completely shattered.

You’re not entirety sure what’s happening. You say the only thing you can think.

“Stop grinding your teeth.”

Dean blinks, but his jaw loosens. He mutters your name, and you shake your head. You don’t think you can stand another apology.

“I- I’m not mad about you kissing me.” You whisper, and he snorts, empty and humorless.

“It’s not your job to make me feel better about hurting you, sweetheart-“

“You didn’t hurt me.” You snap, and Dean stills completely.

He opens his mouth, but you’re faster. Flushing furiously and too tired to fight the words.

“I- I liked it.” You whisper. “A lot.”

Dean sits a little taller, words low and cautious. “You didn’t tell me in the morning. Why wouldn’t you tell me, if-“

“You were drunk. I- I thought-“ You take a deep breath, face burning with shame. “I thought you didn’t mean it.”

“Ah.” He’s silent for a moment. “But- Why the hell would you avoid me-“

“I kissed you back.”

“Did you mean it?”

His question feels like the barrel of a gun, loaded and pressed to your temple. You nod weakly. Dean lets out a sharp breath, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“You thought I didn’t mean it.” He finally echoes, and you nod again. “So you just-“

“That hurt.” Tears are falling again. Everything blurring except for Dean. “That’s the part that hurt, Dean, I just- I had to try and move on. And the internet said that’s how you do it.”

“The internet?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean huffs a low laugh.

“Sweetheart, why the hell would you check the internet for advice-“

“None of my ideas were working.” You hiss. “And I- I didn’t like avoiding you, it felt really bad-“

“You didn’t have to avoid me, you coulda just told me-“

“And you would’ve what, confessed your love and kissed me again-“

“Yeah!” He shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “I would’ve, if you’d just fuckin’ told me!”

Your heart stops, for a full second. You don’t think you heard him right. “What?” You whisper, and Dean sighs.

“I meant it, okay?” He mutters, looking up to the sky. As if he was praying. “Everything I do with you, I mean it.”

“And- And the love-“

“I mean that too.” He gives you a sad, tired smile. “I know I shouldn’t. God knows I tried not to, you’re- You’re young and you got a future and I’m just me-“

“I love you.” You blurt, and Dean’s jaw falls. “I love you just like… you. And-“ You bow your head shyly. He won’t stop staring. “If you- If you feel something too-“

Dean moves before you can think.

One second you’re rambling, trying to figure out how to say it. The next  his lips are pressed against yours, kissing you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Like you’ll die.

You grab his wrist when he cups your face, he turns you to deepen the kiss, and you’re both moving like you’re trying to breathe the other in. Your nails dig into his skin and he grunts, the sound vibrating against you. You roll onto your knees, moving over him without breaking the kiss, and he grabs you by the waist. Tight enough to bruise. To leave a mark.

It’s just a kiss. A hungry, hot kiss that’s making your head spin. It’s better than anyone else touching you. Better than being fucked, just because it’s Dean.

He picks you up, pulling you into his lap forcing you to straddle. You grab his shoulders for balance, letting out a sharp breath, and Dean chuckles. Sucks your lower lip with a tiny smirk, rubbing your hips as your finger brush the back of his neck. You let out a shuddering breath, sinking fully against his chest. One of his massive hands drags up your spine, callouses and teasing fingers dancing over bare skin and you arch, chasing the fuzzy, addictive sensation of Dean’s hands.

Your core presses against his bulge. He’s hard, twitching inside his jeans. You roll your hips once, unable to stop yourself, and Dean hisses against your lips.

“Careful.” 

You don’t want to be careful. You want to be ruined. You grind down again, kissing him while you move, and he groans.

“Hey- Woah-“ He wraps his arm fully around your waist and pins you down. Forcing the outline of his cock against the thin panties you’d worn to go out.

There’s not a single regret in your head. You can feel him better like this. The thick curve, almost pushed between your pussy lips. Your underwear is bunched up, offering extra pressure, but Dean is holding you down so hard there’s not even space to wiggle. You almost whine, pouting at him under wet, fluttering lashes.

He just stares up at you like a man who’s lived underground his whole life, finally seeing the stars. You drag your nails down his chest, trying to spur him into action, but he just keeps staring. He even laughs under his breath, like something’s fucking funny.

You scowl, but don’t even get to provoke him before he’s rising back up.

Dean brushes hair from your face, and kisses you slowly. Sweetly. A confusing, sharp contrast to how his erection is angled right against your heat. Your body doesn’t seem to know what to do with it, and just settles for going limp with overwhelmed, happily dizzy confusion. Dean chuckles again. If your body could listen to any whims but his right now, you’d punch him in the face.

“Stop laughing.” You manage to grumble, but that just makes him laugh again. “Dean-“

“Sorry.” He grins against your lips, rubbing your hips in soothing circles. “You’re just- You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re unbelievable-“

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.” He mutters, dragging his hand up your side. As if he’s marveling in just the shape of you. “Never thought I’d get to have you like this, and- Look at you.” He draws back, whistling with a smug smirk. “They should let people touch the art, baby. You get even prettier.”

There’s nothing coherent you have to respond to that. Your brain is mostly a confusing garble of Dean and touch and more.

He kisses just under your jaw, and you gasp. Your eyes flutter as your head lolls to the side, and Dean chuckles.

“You-“ You bite back a moan as he sucks on a pulse point. “You’re pretty too.”

“Hm.” He nips at the sensitive skin, before flicking his tongue against the hurt. “Pretty, huh.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck until he’s almost in a headlock. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, moving onto another, somehow more sensitive spot. You try to move against his clothed dick, your pussy starting to throb, but he’s holding you too tight. Dean hums against your skin, and you moan, right in his ear. It makes his cock jump, and you almost cry from the fleeting offer of friction.

“Come- Come on-“ You whine, wiggling uselessly in his arms. “You’re being an asshole- Dean-“

He pushes his lips back over yours, right as he grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes. It loosens his grip, letting your hips freely move against him, but you’re so pent up from making out that you can’t even work out what you want to do. You’re grabbing at his shirt and kissing him with spit and teeth, and he’s barely giving you anything in return.

“Dean- Just-“ You claw at his shirt. “Off, get it off-“

“That’s not a very polite way to ask, sweetheart-“

“Fuck you.” You breathe out, moaning when you get the thickest part of him to drag over your clit. “Take your shirt off, Dean, now-“

 A strong hand wraps around your throat, pulling you back down into a mind numbing kiss. You’re still fucking down onto his crotch, but their angle offers less pressure. You might’ve burst into tears, if it wasn’t for the magnitude of Dean’s attention. His hands all over your body, one fisted in your hair while the other started to map every inch of you he can reach.

“De- Dean-“

“Not polite.” He mutters, kissing you between every word. “Not patient. What am I gonna do with you?”

Your heart stumbles, still a little bit bare from the fight and confused from the gentle way he’s suddenly touching you. No more grabbing or marking. Just soft, possessive but careful fingers, tracing your curves like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

“Can I tell you what I’ve wanted to do?” He rasps in your ear. “Since I first fuckin’ saw you?”

“Yes.” You breath, trying to just feel him. His strength all around you, his voice rolling through your chest.

Dean’s words are deep and rough in your ear, and you cling to every one like gospel.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since before you even said your name. Wanted to fuck you when you stood in front of me and threatened to shoot if I didn’t back off and leave you be. Decided I’d marry you when you called me a chicken butt ‘cause I told you to stay behind me. Then I thought I was insane, told myself I just needed to get laid. But I got laid. And you wanna know the only thing I could think about, the whole damn time?”

You nod, and Dean pulls back, dropping his brow tight against yours.

“You.” He rasps. “Closed my eyes and saw you under me. Got kicked outta bed for calling your name, felt sick after ‘cause some stupid thing in my head kept telling me I’d betrayed you. Then Sammy came and told me you’d be coming with us, and I knew I was a goner. If it wasn’t such a selfish freakin’ masochist I would’ve told him that I didn’t want you around.”

Your lip wobbles. “You didn’t want me-“

“I wanted you so much.” He grabs the back of your neck, the words a low growl. “Drove me out of my damn mind, how much I wanted you. Thought I’d need to be put down, like one of those dogs that humps every damn thing it sees.”

“You- You never-“

“What? Thought you’d be into something like me?” He laughs, and you frown.

You plant your hands, flat on his chest, and push up a little taller. Demanding he listen to every word you say.

“I’m into you.” You snap, and Dean’s sarcastic smile falters, slipping back into that awe. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“No.” He answers without thought. “You’re perfect.”

Dean kisses you, slow and deliberate. Everything is suddenly controlled and delicate, like he’s weaving together a song.

You think you’re supposed to be the instrument. You don’t realize, though, until he’s already playing you as if you’re a toy.

Dean’s mouth trails down, leaving wet, open kisses over your neck and collarbone. The beard scrapes and tickles against you. You decide you like it. He’s not allowed to shave later.

You shiver, moving your hands to rest on his stomach. His abdomen flexes under your fingers, and you start to grind back down onto his crotch. When you press further forward, you can get that perfect friction from before. The one you needed so bad you almost screamed. Dean nips at your throat and you pick up your pace.

He grunts, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You squirm like animal, even as he handles you well. You’re moved backwards, your knees still knocked apart as Dean’s spreads his own legs. He pushes you back until your elbows are resting on the horn, and heat prickles over your skin when you realize the position he’s put you in.

Your barely clothed pussy, wet and on full display to Dean’s lust-blown expression. He traces over your inner thigh, teasing and teasing until you’re almost thrusting up to meet him.

“Remember what I said about patience?” He drawls, eyes sparkling on yours.

You just pant, making to grab his wrist and move it where you want. But he’s too strong, and you don’t even get a budge.

“I- I’ve been patient-“

 “Nah. Not enough. But,” he lifts up your skirt, exposing you further. “Look at her. Just begging for some attention.”

Dean presses a single knuckle against your pussy, running it up until it hits your clit, and your elbow slips. Baby’s horn startles you, making you almost scramble back over Dean, and he just laughs. Kisses you sweetly while you pant in his ear, even nipping under the lobe as you try to control your heartbeat.

“Fuck- Fuck-“ Your eyes roll back as you realize what happened.

You’d trapped Dean’s hand between your bodies, and he’s taken full advantage of the situation. For every honeyed and light kiss he presses over your cheeks and lips, he rubs your pussy with light, deft touches. A graze of your clit, then his thumb teasing over your entrance. It’s torture, the touches too light to do anything but make you feel insane, but you’re certain if you move away he’s just going to remove his hand altogether. Leaving you no other choice but to whimper, take it, and plead for mercy.

“More- There-” You bury your face in Dean’s neck, when he rubs your clit back and forth in a frenzy, then simply moves away. “Dean- I- I need to come, please, just, up- No-“

You tremble when he moves away again, humping against his hand. It doesn’t do anything—he’s too good at this—but you don’t think you could stop if you wanted to.

“Please, please, please-”

“You’re real good at begging, sweetheart.” Dean kisses the side of your head, and you nod weakly. “You think I’m not give you what you need?”

“I- I don’t think you’re showing any signs of it.” You breathe, and he laughs.

“Can’t argue with that. But you’re kinda restricting my movements.” He splits his two fingers, placing them around your pussy lips and rubbing slowly up down. “And trust, I’d love to play with your wet little pussy until you were coming all over my hand, but you started something on my pants. Think you should finish it.”

You lean back in slow confusion, and Dean nods between your bodies. You flush when you see it.

The faint dark spot, on his still hard crotch. You can’t look away from it.

Dean pulls your panties forward, then snaps them back against your pussy. Your hips jerk, wild eyes flying up to his, and he grins.

“Keep them on.” He smirks, dragging you back to sit on his crotch. “And take what you want.”

You nod breathlessly, grabbing the bench behind his head and starting to fuck down against Dean’s bulge. You’re more deliberate than before, gaze locked onto Dean’s, knowing exactly where to move to get the best friction. Dean watches you as if you’re sent from Heaven, licking his lips and rubbing your ass. He’s hiked up your skirt, giving him full access to whatever he wants. You expect handprints, maybe more teasing touches to keep you on the edge.

Instead, he grabs the back of your neck, and just watches you move on him. His mouth falls open, and when you lean a little down, he doesn’t hesitate to close the space.

Your speed picks up. The ruined fabric of your panties only adds to the friction, almost completely letting you feel the rough, tantalizing sensation of the denim. When you get your clit, it’s like being rolled between two pinched fingers, and you start to hump that one spot.

Dean groans, and when you catch against something, you realize you’re hitting the head of his cock.

You reach between your bodies, grabbing for something of him to hold onto, and find what has to be his balls. They’re big, heavy even when you’re not really holding them, and when you squeeze softly Dean’s whole body jerks.

“Fuck- Son of a bitch, you can’t just-“ Dean’s words turn into a long moan of your name, when you squeeze again.

You smile to yourself, riding him faster and faster. Dean’s eyes flutter, his fingers weaving into your hair. You throw your head back, and he chases. Starts to bite and suck on your neck again, pushing further and further up until you can no longer get a grip on his balls.

For a second, you try to push back, but Dean’s a solid wall of muscle. You’re using all your energy to keep yourself moving against him, and every thought empties from your head as his lips travel down.

Dean rips the top of your dress open. You hadn’t been wearing a bra. It would’ve ruined the outfit.

He has a clear, direct line to wrap his lips around your peeked nipple, and start to suck.

A loud, uncontrollable sound escapes your lips. You don’t know how he can be so good at that. His tongue flicks and swirls, teeth grazing against the bud, and all you can think of is what he’d do between your legs.

You movements are becoming shorter. More desperate. You press your breasts up, trying to demand more attention. Dean obliges, giving a harshsuckle before a series of kitten licks. He lazily kisses over the valley of your breasts, taking the neglected bud between his lips and sucking even harder than before.

“Oh- Oh my god.” You pull at the short, soft hair on the nape of his neck. He moans, mouth wet and warm wrapped around you. “Yes, Dean- Oh- Oh fuck-“

Your eyes roll back in your head, the pressure in your lower tummy just needing a little more to snap. You’re barely even humping him anymore, just thrashing around and trying to find the right position to get you there.

“I- I can’t-“ You scratch Dean’s back, pressing your cheek to the side of his head as you almost sob. “Dean, I need to cum, need to cum so fucking bad, Deeaan-“

His hand shoves between you, shoving one finger into your dripping pussy. Even with how wet you are there’s a slight stretch, and it’s just the one finger. You slam down onto him, your clit getting plenty of attention against his jeans, and you’re getting lightheaded with the need to find release.

Dean finger crooks inside you. Right against your g-spot. He wiggles it, rubbing fast and firm. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, swirling as he moans, and your shriek with delight.

You cum, shaking and moaning right into Dean’s ear. His finger slowly fucks you through it, but the moment you make a broken sound of his name, his lips are back over yours to swallow it. You don’t think you’ve ever cum that hard before. You can feel it all the way to the tips of your fingers, electric on your tongue as Dean kisses you.

Your pussy is clenching around his finger, and he grunts, angling his head to kiss you deeper. He pulls out slowly, rubbing your cunt until your wetness is smeared all over your thighs.

“The back.” He grunts, words thick and strained. “Get in the back.”

You feel bubbly. You’ve never felt bubbly before. There’s a rough command in Dean’s words that’s probably going to make you melt in a matter of minutes. But right now, you just giggle.

Dean leans back, looking at you like you’re insane.

“Sweetheart.” He wipes the hair stuck to your brow, and you can feel the tension in his voice. He’s trying to be patient. “What’re you laughing at?”

You shake your head, beaming as you press back over him. Dean grunts when you kiss him, but kisses back immediately.

“I just came on your pants.” You breathe.

He hums, leaning back to give you an exasperated look. “And that’s funny?”

“Last week I was crying about how I was never going to hold your hand.”

“Ah.” That makes him smile. He kisses your cheek, squeezing his hold on you. “We can do that later.” He mutters. “After we get in the back.”

You hum, going back in to kiss him again. Dean gives you five seconds, before you’re being picked up like a sack of potatoes and tosses over the bench. You land with a squeal, scrambling up to your palms, and Dean laughs.

“What the fuck-“

“Told you.” He shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head. “But don’t worry. Was counting on you not giving a damn what I told you to do.”

You gape at him. “I- I do what you tell me-“

“No, you don’t.”

“What about when you told me to go grocery shopping, I did that-“

“You got everything wrong.” He gives you an amused look, and you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Your list was confusing. And when I tried to call, you didn’t pick up.”

“List works for Sammy.”

“I’m not Sam, I need you to make a list for me-“

“I did make a list for you.” Dean crawls over the bench, grinning down at you. “And you still bought that fuckin’ turkey meat.”

You swallow, unable to stop yourself from drinking him in. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but it’s always been quick glimpses you forced yourself to look away from, or in the context of a wound. But this, here, the car is filled with steam from your fun before, there’s only to golden halo of the streetlamp, and Dean is all yours to stare at, as much as you want.

His chest is broad, softer in some places than he’s probably been in his youth, but perfect. You’re going to be completely smothered in him, you could shove your face between his pecs, feel his thick biceps wrap tight around you as he fucks you like you’ve always dreamed. He’s covered in jagged scars and freckles. You want to touch every single one.

“Sam gave me twenty dollars not to get red meat.” You breathe.

Dean chuckles, pulling at his belt. “And you chose him over me?”

You meet his gaze again, sure you must look like a lost doe under all of him. You’re not sure what to do with yourself at all. “You didn’t give  me twenty dollars.”

“And if I gave you twenty bucks?” He grins, pulling down his pants.

That’s your queue to say something smart. You can’t think anything smart.

Dean’s cock stands proud above you, and it’s pretty. Prettier than a porn cock, and those things look like they’re plastic. Dean’s thick and veiny. He’s well groomed, his balls heavier than they felt before—they could fit in your mouth, and you might choke, but would that really be so bad—and the tip of him nice and curved. Just the sight of him makes your pussy clench around nothing. Your legs spread wider.

Dean’s throat bobs, as he follows the movement. He’s slowly stroking himself, and you watch his grip get white knuckled as you spread your legs wider.

You need to touch him. He touched you. It’s only fair.

But you reach for him, and Dean catches your wrist. Pins your arm over your head, forcing him to lower down. He settles between your legs, giving you a stern look that makes your breath hitch.

“No.” He chastises, and you pout.

“I wanna put you in my mouth.”

“You- Jesus, woman.” He lets out a sharp breath, closing his eyes. “You can’t freakin’ say that-“

“Why not-“

“I ain’t as young as I used to be, alright?”

You frown. “I know that.”

He shakes his head. “No, I mean-“ He sighs, dropping his brow against yours.

You pull your hand carefully out of his hold, running your fingers through his hair. He lets out a low rumbling sound, almost like a purr, so you keep going. He makes nice sounds. You’d like to collect all of them, and keep them in little jars on your shelf you can listen to whenever you want.

“I like the hair.” You say, soft and casual. Like his cock isn’t pressed right against your cunt. “And the beard?”

Dean huffs a low laugh. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Makes you look your age.”

“I am my age-“

“In a sexy way.” You blurt, and he sits up, brows raised.

“A sexy way?”

“Yeah.” You nod, suddenly wanting to hide your face. “I mean, you’re- You’re always sexy- I’ve always wanted to have sex with you, but- But I also think, if it’s- If you’re going to be kissing me all the time- I’d like this-“

Dean shuts you up with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. You hum, thankful for the mercy, and shiver when you feel him peeling away the scraps of your underwear and dress. You don’t think you’re going to haver anything to ride home in.

Something to worry about later. When Dean’s not rubbing his dick against your pussy. The large head of his presses against your clit, Dean’s beard tickling your neck as he kisses everywhere his mouth can find, and you feel the pressure starting to build again.

“Dean…” You mumble. “Oh- Oh-“

He sucks on a hickey from before, and the previous orgasm had already made you more sensitive. Your back arches, forcing your swollen button to rub against his shaft, and your mouth falls open in a loud, lewd moan.

“Easy,” he mutters, dropping his weight. Forcing you back down. “Tryin’ to tell you, sweetheart. I’m barely fuckin’ holding it together, and if I blow before I get inside of you, I’m gonna drive myself off a cliff.”

You giggle despite yourself, letting your body relax into his touch. You trust him, and the idea of him just having you is enough to make your pussy ache. “Aw.” You turn, smiling at him. “You care.”

He snorts. “You always a brat? Or just when I’m fuckin’ you.”

“Do you want the real answer to that?”

“Hm.” Dean tilts his head, gaze raking over your body. Over every mark he’s left, to the point that you’re mostly a map of his hands and lips.

A smirk curve on his lips, and you feel one strong hand grab under your knee, moving it up to your chest. Putting you on full, naked display.

“Nah.” He drawls. “I think I’m good.”

The air is knocked from your lungs, as he presses forward. His cock slides slowly into you, filling the car with the hottest, wettest sound you’ve ever heard. You grab his forearm, just trying to ground yourself, and he goes for your other knee.

Dean bends you in half under him, folding you into a pressed little ball. You can see yourself swallowing his cock. See every inch disappear into your pussy, every vein right before it bumps inside your gooey walls. Dean’s chest is heaving, his features open and slack.

“Fuck.” He grunts. Reverent and as wrecked as you feel. “Son of a bitch, you fit me like a goddamn glove. Takin’ me like a champ, sweetheart, c’mon- Just a little more-“

He spits on where you’re meeting, on your clit, and you try to arch up. He grunts, pushing the last few inches fully in.

You throw your head back, trying to adjust to the feeling of being so full. He feels even bigger than he looked, and you’d forget to breathe if he didn’t wrap his hand around your ribcage, and squeeze gently.

“Good?” Dean’s voice cracks, and you can almost see his chest rippling with the restraint to hold still.

You nod, opening your mouth, then closing it when words fail you. He’s just- He’s so big and everywhere. He’s pushed over your g-spot, and it’s making you feel like you’re being dragged through a pool of pleasure. There’s nothing else to think about.

Dean’s brow furrows. “Baby, I need you to talk to me-“

“Good.” You breathe out. “So- So good, Deaaaan-“

You tug on his wrist, trying to bring him down to your level. He immediately understands, bending over for a kiss. You relax as his lips move against yours, pushing your hips a little up to take in more of him. You might be able to cum just like this. Impaled on Dean’s cock. Usually you’d need something more, but you’re hypersensitive, and it’s like he was made to be inside you.

You smile at him, when he pulls back up. He swallows, slowly reaching up to grab your jaw.

“I’m gonna move, alright?”

You hum, still smiling, and Dean takes in a slow breath.

“Can you keep lookin’ at me?”

You nod, and his lips twitch.

“You really can’t talk right now, huh?”

Head shake. Dean’s eyes glint, and your mouth falls open as he thrusts. Once, harsh and short against your g-spot.

“So fuckin’ cockdrunk you can’t speak.” He drawls, grinding slowly into your pussy. Still too shallow to be anything. Just working your g-spot until tears prick at your eyes. “You think you can at least say my name, baby?”

“Deeean-“ You mewl out, gasping as he finally gives a full, deep thrust. “Dean- Dean-“

“That’s it.” He grunts, pulling almost fully out before slamming back in. “That’s my girl. Nice and dumb on this cock. Just letting it happen, aren’t you sweetheart.”

“Mmmm.” Is all you can manage, but it’s Dean’s fault.

He’s fucking you like a man possessed. Cock slipping in and out of your channel, drilling into your g-spot and cervix. You can see it, see the vein in his brow as he moans your name, see the mess forming around your pussy as you soak his dick.

“Dean.” You babble, a strange, tight heat forming deep inside you. “Deaan, ‘s- ‘s big-“

“I know.” He coos. “I know, baby, but- Shit- You’re takin’ it so well. Best thing I’ve ever fuckin’ felt-“

He grunts, balls slapping against your ass. His body is sticky and shining with sweat, and you can’t stop yourself from staring at how he moves as he fucks you. Each motion is so powerful, and there’s an impossibly good, perverted feeling you get from watching where you meet, and-

“Look.” He grunts, tapping your chin with his thumb. “Look at me, sweetheart, come on-“

You blink up at him, and he groans, bending over as he slams inside.

You don’t think. Your mouth opens, and you take his thumb between your lips, sucking softly. It’s nice to have something to do, when you’re too fucked out to even remember your own name.

And it does something to Dean. His thrusts stutter, and a deep, growling sound comes from his chest. You hum, blinking up at him from glossy eyes. He groans, chest heaving, and something snaps in his expression.

Dean fucks you so hard you could swear the car was shaking. His thumb pushes further between your lips, and you take it happily. You can feel the sensation between your legs building, a little different than your usual orgasm, but it’s good. Tingly and hot, almost like you’re being shot up with direct euphoria. Your lashes flutter, and you moan around Dean’s thumb as he starts to give sharp, abusing thrusts to your g-spot.

He bends like he’s trying to get his mouth on your pussy, only just remembering his body can’t move like that and pulling his hand away from your mouth. You’re about to whine in frustration, but then Dean finds your clit.

He gives it tight, back and forth rubs that make your hips buck up. He uses his cock to bully them back down, rubbing even harder, and the sensation explodes like fireworks. 

 It’s wet and messy, spilling out of your pussy with Dean still seated deep inside you. He moans, dropping over you as you milk his cock, dragging him into orgasm with you. You’re shaking, cumming and cumming harder than you can keep up with. You can feel the release—yours or Dean’s, doesn’t really matter—sticking inside of you and dribbling down your ass.

Dean kisses you, and you barely manage to kiss him back. You’re boneless and floaty again, your body so washed with pleasure you might be shaking from it. Like he’d struck you with lightning.

“You did so good.” Dean murmurs, pulling slowly out. “That was- Fuck, that was awesome.”

You smile in a dazed agreement, beaming up at him, and everything in Dean seems to soften. He presses a gentle kiss to your brow and pulls you upright, helping you settle in the bench before getting himself to work.

He tries to clean up the seats, but gives up fast and mumbles something about doing it back home. You were right in assuming your clothing was ruined, so Dean just gives you his shirt and wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you against him for the drive home.

When you pull in to the garage, he doesn’t give you a chance to try and walk. You’re hauled into his arms like a princess and marched inside, Dean only pausing to wipe the back bench and stop a smell.

First stop is the bathroom. Then Dean offers to bring you to your bed—the words weighted and reluctant—but you shove your face into his neck and shake you head.

Dean. You need to be near Dean.

He carries you to his bed with a tall pride, and somehow manages to keep a hand on you as he changes into his own sweats. You cuddle into him, smiling when he presses a kiss to your brow.

“If I forget this,” he murmurs. “Remind me in the morning.”

You laugh softly, voice quiet but returned. “If you forget, I’m going to kill you.”

“And I woulda earned that.”

“Mh.” You curl further into his arms, and—unable to help it—whisper. “Don’t forget.”

Dean kisses the top of your head, words a lullaby as you drift off to slip.

“Never. I’m yours now, sweetheart. Like it or not.”

You like it.

You don’t think you could like it more if you tried.  

✦End note: deeply unfair that he isn't real. we gotta talk to someone about that.✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Open The Door

✦Read on a03! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦ ✦summary: Dean is known for never forming attachments. Never doing more than a night, never leading on, just loving and leaving. It's better like that. Safer. But for you, he can't stop himself from coming back every time.✦ ✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, kind of friends with benefits to lovers, angst, pining, Dean Winchester needs to talk about his feelings and get a hug, fluff, love confessions, light smut, light jealousy, no use of y/n✦ ✦author's note: I've wanted to do a fic like this for such a long time please enjoy it thank you✦

You always open the door. 

Dean’s told you not to. He has these stupid code-words and questions you’re supposed to ask—riddles with strange answers like how do angels take their coffee, they don’t they prefer liquor, and does the king of hell like Tuesdays, yes, unless it’s his mother’s birthday—to make sure that it’s really him. Every time you open the door without asking them, he sighs and gives you a heavy look, refusing to cross the threshold until you play his little game. 

“You gotta ask-“

“But I know it’s you-“

“Could not be me. Could be something wearing my face, sweetheart, we’ve talked about this-“

“I know we have.” You cross your arms over your chest. “And I told you. I know it’s you.”

Dean makes a face, like he wants to smile. He’s trying to fight it, to keep the upper hand in the argument, but he always caves. You smile at him, and hold a hand out. 

“I could be a shifter.” He grunts, crossing his arms like he doesn’t trust himself not to take your hand. “Could be possessed. You been keepin’ the holy water like I-“

You toss it on his face, and giggle the way he barely even flinches. 

Dean wipes his face, eyes shining on yours, and you know you’ve won. 

Again. 

For a game he insists you play, he’s quite bad at winning. 

“Alright,” he smirks, slowly advancing through the door. “You’re gonna get it.”

You back away, smiling widely the whole time, and squeal as he chases you into your tiny apartment. There’s not much space for you to run—there’s barely enough space for Dean to fit—but you make do. He kicks the door closed and you retreat into the cluttered living room. You try to jump over the couch, but he catches you around the waist and you both fall into the cushion. When you wiggle a little for the show of it, Dean groans and hold you tighter against his chest. 

He noses at your neck, kissing the soft skin under your jaw, and you keep giggling. 

His presence does that to you. Makes you feel airy and foolish, the thrill of the coming days already buzzing over your skin, the joy in his return making you dizzy. 

Because you’re never sure he’s going to return.

He’s told you that one day, he might not. That if that happens, you’re not allowed to look for him. If you’re lucky, he’ll just be dead. 

“That’s lucky?” You’d asked, and he’d chuckled. 

You’d been lying on his bare chest, his fingers mindlessly tracing your arm. You know about what he gets up to, when he’s not here. Know about the longer shadows in the world, know why the fifth time he was here—when you both realized that maybe this wasn’t the no-strings thing he’d claimed it had to be—he spent the whole weekend quizzing you about monsters and installing security in your apartment. You have a strange circle on the ceiling of every room that your friends call an interesting decoration choice. There’s dead man’s blood in your freezer, holy water in a flask near the door, and an iron poker in your living room, no fireplace to pair with it. 

And you ask questions. So many questions. Dean says you’re worse than his brother sometimes, and you just kiss his nose because if he really found you annoying, he wouldn’t answer or bother to come back. 

That night, you’d been asking about the worst thing he’d fought. He’d paused, then said God’s sister, and forbade you from asking follow-ups. 

You’d ignored him. He couldn’t just say God’s sister then keep talking like that wasn’t fucking insane. It had only taken about two minutes to push him into saying the whole story. But when he’d finished, a long shadow had crossed his face. He’d held you a little closer, and given you the order to not look. You’d asked, because you always did. 

And he’d entertained you, because he always does. 

“Worse things than death, sweetheart.”

“Like what.” 

“Y’know. Things.”

You’d given him a flat look. “Dean.”

He’d just smiled back, drawling your name, and you’d lowered yourself down over his face. Hovered an inch away, scanning over his smug, handsome face with narrowed eyes. 

“Is there like, a Death two that you’re not telling me about?”

He’d snorted, running his hand through your hair. “Death two?”

You’d nodded, and he’d smiled up at you fondly.

“Nah. No death two.”

“Then what-“

“It’s- Nothin’ you wanna know about, baby, I promise-“

“Has it happened to you before?”

Dean had fallen silent. He’d let out a heavy breath, scanning over your face, and you’d dropped your brow over his. 

“Please?” You’d whispered, and back then—almost a year ago, now—you still hadn’t understood why it was so important to know everything about him that you could. 

You’d both been playing another one of his games. The one where he reminds you that this means nothing, and you act like that doesn’t split your soul in half. The one where Dean says that shit, then spends the whole weekend worshipping your body and treating it like it means everything, slowly stitching you back together. Then he leaves, and you promise him you won’t wait, and you both pretend to believe that you mean it. 

You always wait. You always take everything he gives you. Collect every little fact and story and scar, and keep them in a special valve in your heart. A reserve, for the time that he’s gone. It acts as a fuel, keeping your love for him burning and alive, each little bit feeding into the others until you’re less spending the pieces like currency, and more adding water to the flow of a river. It sustains itself. It only grows and grows, sacred and gentle. 

And you’re not sure if Dean feels the exact same. But he keeps coming back. He plays your games, letting you ask all your questions and collect your stories. 

He looks at you like this could be something. 

He touches you and speaks to you like he cares. 

“You really wanna know?” He’d muttered, and you’d nodded. “It ain’t pretty-“

“I know. Please.”

Dean had rubbed his mouth, looking at you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and caved. 

“There was this thing.” He’d said slowly, watching you so cautiously as he spoke. “Little while before we met. Whole shit with demons and Amara-“

“God’s sister.” You jump in quickly, because you want him to know you pay attention. 

He’d smiled softly. “Yeah. Her. Well, she’d been shoved in a cage, and I was wearing the lock, and- It didn’t do good things to me. It messes with your head, makes you… Angry. Angry and violent. Turned Lucifer into the devil, made Cain kill his brother, made me… Something.” He’d swallowed, eyes dropping to your chest. “Got me killed. But it doesn’t let you just die. It brings you back. Makes you a demon.”

“And… Did you-“

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.”

He’d nodded, trying to smile, but it hadn’t reached his eyes. You’d climbed a little further over his body, and just hugged him tight.

The tension had eased from his chest, as he hugged you back. When you’d looked up, there was something shining on his face that you hadn’t named as tears, but still wiped away gently. 

Dean had caught your hand, giving you a desperate, almost pleading look. 

 “You gotta promise.” He’d rasped. “If I walk out and don’t come back, you move on. ‘Cause if that shit happens again, and you find me- It ain’t me that you’d be finding, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” You’d whispered. “Promise.”

It had soothed him. He’d nodded, relaxed into the mattress, and pulled you down into a long kiss. 

And there are some things you don’t ask about. That you don’t really want to know. The kind of thing the Mark turned him into, what hell was like, the specifics of those nightmares he gets, where he wakes up with his limbs flailing and a wild, almost inhuman glint in his eyes.

He doesn’t seem to believe you, when you tell him that you like him how he is. He lets out that sad, huffing laugh and mutters you don’t know me, baby, and you just roll your eyes, and remind him that you do. 

You really do. 

You know Dean so well, for a stranger who’d been drowning in a bottle of whiskey at the bar downtown, and offered you the night of your life. Who’d said one time, then showed up on your door a month later. Then two months after that. Then three weeks, then another three, the one month again. 

Dean says he lies for a living. That it’s a big part of his job, and he’s pretty damn good at it. 

So either he’s a lot worse at his job than he’s led you believe, or he’s just really bad at lying to you.

Because he reminds you that he might not come back, every single time he goes. Reminds you that this—waving a hand between your bodies, backing up a whole step like he’s trying to remind himself—is still just fun. That’s it. 

You nod, and let him do his little dance and show. 

Then, like always, you end up like this. Tangled in his arms on the couch, his mouth tracing over your skin. Sucking small bruises where the last ones had faded. Slipping his hand under your shirt and rubbing, re-mapping your body, grinning whenever he traces a spot he knows is sensitive, proud of himself like he hasn’t done this a million times before. 

“Missed you,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

You twist, pressing your lips fully over his. He melts over you, cradling your face, wrapping an arm fully around your stomach. You smile against his mouth, opening when he swipes his tongue over your lips, humming happily as his hand splays possessively over your stomach.

“Missed you too.” You whisper back, and he makes a deep, almost purring sound from his chest. 

You end up rolled over under him. He kisses you into the cushions, pulling off his flannel and almost ripping your shirt away, before letting his mouth wander down your body. You run your fingers through his hair—it’s gotten longer than you know he likes, you’ll cut it later—and moan as his mouth finds your nipple. 

“Dean…”

“Missed you so fuckin’ much.” He mutters to himself, squeezing your hips and using his knee to nudge your thighs apart. “My pretty girl. Still fuckin’ wet for me, still fuckin’ perfect.”

You beam, and if you ask him about it later, he’ll say it’s just dirty talk. You’re not really his girl. You’re just fun. 

But you’re not stupid. You mostly keep playing this game because it’s Dean’s, and it’s important to him, and you love him. 

That was the first thing he told you not to do. There’s a long, long list of orders you’ve received from Dean—don’t open the door, don’t look for me, don’t pray to anyone but this specific angel, don’t mess with the safety measures—but this was at the top of the list. 

“Don’t fall in love with me, sweetheart.” He’d said that first night. It had been teasing. You’d laughed, because he was just a handsome man at a bar. You weren’t there because you were looking to fall in love either. 

“I’ll try.” You’d said back, and he’d smiled. 

You really had tried. 

The joke had turned into a warning. One that he gave over and over, after that visit where he started monster-proofing your place. You’d kept smiling, and telling him you’d try.

Every time he’d walked out the door, you’d reminded yourself that he might not come back. Every time he had come back, you’d repeated to yourself over and over—in the shower, sleeping next to him in ed, watching TV with his head in your lap—that you can’t fall in love with him.

He might never come back. He’ll never be able to love you back in a way that matters. He’ll never be able to give you a real life. He’s almost twice your age, he sleeps with a gun, he’s legally dead and a former FBI most wanted member, he’s been dead and tangled with demons and you still have to sit on the floor for twenty minutes to convince yourself to talk to your insurance company. 

Dean’s a hero. 

The hero doesn’t end up with the girl who’s barely ever left her village. 

So you’d really tried. For your sake, you’d tried. 

But he does this thing.

He leaves himself everywhere in your life. Hickeys on your neck that take a week to fade, a flannel he forgot on your bedroom floor, socks in the bathroom and half-eaten pie in the fridge. You downloaded songs he likes on your phone, because you spent a whole afternoon trying to convince each other to like your music. He made you a paper airplane that sits on the highest place of honor, the top of your fridge. 

Once, after a long weekend where he’d fucked you on every surface of your apartment then lay on the floor counting fake stars with you until two in the morning, he’d tried to draw you. 

He’d been drunk. You’d been laughing and moving the whole time, and for a man with such a steady hand, he’s not the best artist. 

Your nose had been too small. Your lips had been too wide, and your hair had looked like pasta and your eyes had been crossed and he’d forgotten to give you ears. He’d groaned, and crumpled it up before crawling across the floor to lie in your lap. 

“I don’t think of you like that.” He’d grumbled, nose grazing your inner thigh, and you’d laughed.

“I know, De.”

“You’re prettier, guess I just can’t draw.”

“No. You really can’t.” You’d leaned down, and kissed the top of his head. “I liked it anyway.”

He’d smiled—small, but for Dean that was practically beaming—and the tips of his ears had turned red as he hugged you tighter. A few drinks later, he’d passed out in your arms. You’d tried to draw him. Sketched with the pencil and paper left of the coffee table, then given up because his beauty didn’t seem willing to be captured in the paper. 

So you’d taken a photo of him. Snorting below you, his cheeks smushed and mouth hanging open. Still unreasonably handsome. 

In that single moment, all yours. 

You’d smiled to yourself, and fallen asleep just that. With Dean all around you, hidden from the world on the floor of your apartment. He’d left in the morning. You’d kissed him, and made that same promise not to wait for him to come back.

But it had hit you, after a week of taking out your phone every few hours, and staring at the photo until your eyes were blurred with tears. 

You always wait for him to return. You miss him so horribly when he leaves, it’s like part of you goes with him, and you’re just praying he’ll bring it back so you can feel alive again. So you can smile, and not worry about work politics or the asshole who lives down the hall and hits on you or friends who are always busy.

When Dean’s here, he’s the best thing in the world. 

When he’s gone, he’s the best thing in the world, and the only thing you’re not allowed to have. 

You’re not allowed to have him when he’s here either, though. 

When he kisses you, or makes you breakfast, or pretends to watch TV while just staring at you the whole time. It’s a game you play alone. 

Dean is yours, but you’re still not allowed to have him. 

It’s not a fair game. You’re his, and he has you. You sit around waiting for him when he leaves, and pull him in every time he returns. There’s no amount of time that could pass, where you wouldn’t keep waiting for Dean, and it’s a rotten, torturous game. 

He did warn you not to play it. He told you there was no winning. 

But you keep playing. As hard a game as it is to lose, it’s a more fun game to play.

It’s easy to love Dean. So easy, you don’t know why you faked playing his game in the first place. He stopped warning you not to fall in love with him a while ago, but he seems to have his own game, where he lies to himself about you one day moving on without him.

“I got anyone to be worried about?” He asks at night, his arm tossed over your body, pinning you to the mattress. 

You hum, playing with his fingers. “No.”

“No? Not even the- What’s his name, Hank?”

“Hank?”

“The asshole from your book club-“

“He’s not an asshole, De. He’s a nice man, and you know his name is Frank.”

“Hm.” Dean grunts, his hand closing over yours. “So not even Frank, huh?”

You sigh, twisting to look at him in the dark. Taking a deep breath, and scanning over his far too neutral expression. You wish he wouldn’t torture himself like this. You know it’s his game, but he doesn’t have to play it. He could just let you love him, even if it meant you spend the rest of your life staring at the door. 

But he’s committed. He gives you a tight smile, and squeezes your hand.

“If he’s… Nice.” The words sound like they pain him. “And you like him. Y’know, you deserve the world, sweetheart-“

“Frank doesn’t have the world.”

Dean jaw twitches. “He could have it,” he mutters. “If he wants.”

His words are low. Low enough you’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to hear. 

And you reach out, cradling Dean’s jaw in your hands. He slumps into you with a sigh, dragging you a little closer. Holding you against his chest, face pressing into your hair, voice strained.

“You should. If you like him-“

“I do. He’s nice.” You swallow, leaning back to hold Dean’s hooded gaze. “But I like him Dean. Not like like. He’s nice.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “You said that already.”

“I mean it.”

“Uh huh.” He pauses. “I’m not nice.”

“Yes, you are.”

He laughs dryly. “Sweetheart, I got a grenade launcher in my trunk-“

“You got two grenade launchers in your trunk.” You press your knee up between his legs, and he hisses, rutting up against your thigh.

“Fuckin’- Woman-“

You giggle as he rolls you fully on your back, pinning your arms to the bed and looking down at you with a shine in his eyes. You smile freely up at him, because it’s so easy. Dean said don’t fall in love with me like it was a joke, but it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done in your life.

He crashes down, kissing you deep and fervently, until your laughter is replaced by soft moans, and your legs are spread in invitation on the bed. Dean pulls up, licking his lips, and stares at you with something close to awe.

You just keep smiling at him. It always seems to make him soften within a few moments.

And it does. Like clockwork, Dean shakes his head, sighs, and leans down to kiss you a little more gently.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he murmurs against your lips, letting go of one hand so he can cradle your neck, and you drag your fingers over his chest with a hum.

“I’m not worried about it.” You whisper. “You’d come back to me.”

He nods.

The tiniest nod. You don’t think he even knows he does it. There, all the same. 

And you know. Neither of you are going to win your games.

But you’re both still so bad at playing them. 

“Do you like like me?” Dean asks an hour or so later, when your legs are shaking and little Dean is twitching against your thigh from being slightly overworked—though he never complains. 

“Do I like like you?”

“Uh- Yeah?”

You laugh. Force yourself to roll over, and crawl forwards to your rightful place on Dean’s chest. 

“C’mon, it’s not that dumb a question-“

“It is a little.”

“Well, if you don’t like like Frank-“

“I don’t sleep with Frank.” I don’t wait for Frank like the Earth waiting to get back to the Sun. “I sleep with you.”

“Eh.” He smirks, squeezing your ass. “Not a lotta sleepin’ going on- Shit-“

You squeeze his still softening dick, and he moans, rutting into your hand. You almost giggle again, but it falls into a gasp when he sits up suddenly—keeping you against his chest but flipping you around so your head drops on his shoulders and your ass pressed on his cock—and drags his hand between your thighs. 

“You’re good at helpin’ me win arguments, baby.” He drawls in your ear, and you whine. 

”Dean-“

“Mouthy girl.” He drags his mouth over your throat, and you shake in his arms. “You know what you do me, sweetheart. Not real fair to tease, when you know I’m barely keeping up.”

You try to squirm, to get just a little bit of friction, and Dean lands a firm slap on your pussy. Your whole body jolts, nails sinking into his arm, and he chuckles. 

“I know, I know.” He’s cooing, taunting, and it only makes you ache for him more. “I’ll give you anything you want, baby. Just gotta say please.”

You nod, and manage to babble out the words. You didn’t know you were capable of having so many orgasms, until you met Dean. You know he’s the only one who can do this. Reduce you to a drooling, cockdrunk mess, and still have you crawling back on your knees for more. 

It would be nice, if that’s all he does to you. 

But he also makes you feel wanted. Desired. Loved, even if he never says the word allowed. Even if the idea is all but forbidden. 

But you still wait for him at the edge of the mattress, while he brushes his teeth. Shifting restlessly until he comes out of the bathroom, and smiles at you. 

Dean crosses the room, and takes your face between his hands. Stares at you for a moment—always fondly, always like he’s not sure you’re real—then leans down to kiss you. Slow, like you have all the time in world.

Like he won’t be gone in the morning.

“I like like you.” You whisper, still a secret with no one else around to hear it. 

Dean smiles. Squeezes his hold on the back of your neck.

“Thank you, baby.”

You nod, curling your fingers on the fabric of his shirt. If you get him to take it off, you’ll be able to hide it before he goes in the morning, and you can wear it until it stops smelling like him. 

It might not even take tricking him. He’d just let you have it, if you asked. You know he doesn’t want to go either, but he has to. And he’s going to tell you again, not to wait for him. And you’re going to agree, and you’re both going to know it’s a lie. 

He’ll walk out the door. Look back once, before forcing himself down the hall. 

You’ll watch until he’s out of sight. Run to the window, to wave at him as he pulls out of the parking lot. Watch until the Impala is out of sight, too. 

The world with get a little duller. A little more painful. 

And then you’ll count down every second, until you see him again. 

Dean had been a goner the first time he saw Her. 

He remembers the moment clearly. How the world had slowed and he’d been sure he’d just been drinking too much, because he’d seen a lot of beautiful women but this one set off a bomb in his brain, wiping out everything but just the sight of Her. He remembers how She’d come up to him, and started talking with this voice that might’ve been made of every good song in the world. How She’d talked damn circles around him, and how She’d been young enough he felt a little like a perv, but then She’d said her name and it became the only thing he’d ever have to know again. 

Dean remembers thanking Sammy for getting annoyed at Dean mark-induced anger, and telling him to go out and do something safe and productive. Thanking the Mark, for agreeing in the moment that drinking was a good thing to do. Thanking the vamp nest that had settled on the edge of the town, for bringing him here in the first place. 

Remembers how She’d smiled in the light of the bar, how he’d tried to buy her a drink and she’d teased him about trying to get in Her pants, how they hadn’t even fully made it to the car before he’d been rubbing over Her underwear, and had barely been on the road for five minutes before She’d been taking him in her mouth. 

But mostly, Dean remembers waking up the next morning, and feeling something dangerous blooming in his chest. 

Peace.

He’d reached over the mattress, traced his thumb over Her cheek as she slept, and he’d felt like the world was more than just blood and loss and another day to get through that turned into a night to survive. The Mark hadn’t been burning in his blood and demanding more, more, more. He’d just been in this soft bed, with a pretty woman he’d spent the night giving good things to, watching the morning light shine over Her face. 

Dean hadn’t wanted to get up. He hadn’t been able to make himself, because every time he shifted, She’d make this sad little sound and it echoed in his damn chest.

So he’d just stayed, until he could explain that he had to go. She was so perfect, She at least deserved to think he wasn’t running out after taking advantage of her. 

But then he’d looked Her in the eyes, and asked if she wanted to get breakfast. And She’d smiled—it had too quickly became the sun for him, the center of everything, what moved him and offered him every bit of life—and he’d been more than gone. 

He and Sammy had cleared out the vamp nest. She’d gotten caught in the middle, Dean had gotten Her out—the Mark roaring louder than usual, and Dean not bothering to resist it at all—and he’d cleaned Her up after. Stayed an extra day to make sure She was on her feet. 

Not for any selfish reasons. Like wanting to cling to the strange peace for a little longer. Like taking advantage of Her clearly growing attachment to him, and letting himself indulge the sweetest thing he’d. ever found before he ripped it out of his hands. 

He’d explained everything, in the desperate hope that She’d help him leave. That She’d do what Cassie and Lisa had done, and told him they wanted nothing to do with that life.

But She’d just… Understood. Gotten all pouty and sad-eyed, when he’d dragged himself out the door. Smiled at him, and waved goodbye. 

And Dean didn’t count himself a good man. He had blood on his hands and a lot of wounds that didn’t seem to bother to heal. Hell, back then he’d been bearing the damn Mark of Cain, been made of all his worse thoughts and urges. But he’d always thought he’d made up for it by not being a douchebag. Maybe he had a body count so large he lost track, and maybe he lied and tricked and fought dirty, but he respected food workers. He tipped. He never touched a lady unless She wanted it, and he never judged—most of—the shit he heard. 

He also kept upfront about what he wanted. He’d given Her the usual speech, before they’d started stumbling out of the bar laughing like teenagers.

One night. 

He could give Her everything she ever wanted, for one night. 

She’d agreed. He’d made his don’t fall in love joke, but it had sounded flat to his ears. 

Dean thinks he might’ve known, even then. 

He certainly knows now. 

“You remember what you said to me?” He asked last time, sitting at Her feet while she did something with string and his favorite flannel that made it look new again. “That first night?”

“What I said to you?” She’d frowned. “No? Am I supposed to?”

“Nah. Just wonderin’.” He’d turned his cheek, pressing it into Her knee. 

She looked almost delicate, in this kind of light. Like a mist that was going to blow away with the wrong wind. A dream Dean might forget if he dared to wake up, a trick of the light that would vanish if he blinked. He could’ve been happy there for the rest of his damn life. At Her feet, watching her softer hands work, right where he could keep Her safe and adored for the rest of his sorry life. 

She’d paused Her work on his flannel. Smiled down at him, running Her fingers through his hair. Dean had felt like a damn dog, and turned into the touch. 

“What did I say?” She’d asked softly, and he should’ve guessed She would. She likes to know everything. 

He still doesn’t understand, how She can know him and still open the door every time.

“Was it stupid?” She asked softly, and Dean had chuckled. She couldn’t be stupid if She tried. 

“Nah.”

“Well, what-“

“You told me I had big shoulders.”

She’d stared at him for a second. Does that thing he loves, where She sorta blinks and gapes and flushes, like just a few words from his dumb mouth are capable of short-circuiting Her quick brain.

Dean had leaned up and cupped Her jaw to close her mouth. She’d swatted his hands away with a scowl, and he’d laughed.

“Fuck off, I did not say that-“

“Swear you did.” He’d kissed the back of Her hand, because it makes him feel more like a gentleman than the ass who just shows up and crashes in Her bed. “You just sat down and started objectifying me, was pretty freakin’ rude-“

“Shut up.” She’d said with a smile. “You love being my object.”

Dean had chuckled and pushed up into a kiss. 

She had no damn idea. 

And when She finally shoved him gently away, reminding Dean that She had to finish Her work on his flannel, he’d gone back to watching at Her feet. She stitched that thing up like it had never been worn in the first place. Even gotten those complex seams that used to make him declare a shirt as good as dead. Gave him new buttons, too. Like he deserved something so small and important. 

Dean had wondered, as he watched Her. Wondered if he should start ripping up flannels, so he had a better excuse to come back. If maybe She’d like a life in the bunker, stitching flannels and talking to him forever, and if She’d ever forgive him for daring to think something so selfish. 

He’d wondered if She knew. That She stitches him up like that flannel, every time She let him back into her arms. 

And if Dean were a stronger, worse man, he’d just let himself take Her. Sweep Her fully of her feet with the love confession he’s been rehearsing in the shower and on longer drives, for damn near two years. The one that goes I can’t offer you money. Or a real house. Or healthcare, or children, or even really damn pets. I can’t promise you I’ll come home, every time I walk out the house, and I can’t promise there ain’t always gonna be a target on your back just for holding my hand. 

But I can promise I’ll protect you. And love you. And take care of you until someone shoots off my hands, cause even if they shoot off my head I’m gonna figure out how to keep my body working to take care of you. 

In his imagination, She’d make a face and whisper like a chicken?

And Dean would laugh, and smile at Her because he remembered how to, when She was around. 

Yeah. A chicken, sweetheart. I’ll be your chicken. And I’ll damn try, all the time, to come back. I’ll try to give you everything you want that I got, and if I don’t got it, I’ll figure out a way to make it. 

Please. 

His confession always ended with please, because even in Dean’s fantasies he can’t work out a world where She says yes. 

There are moments, where She looks at him for a long enough moment that the words work their way to his mouth. The sit on the tip of his tongue like a sour candy he needs to spit out. He almost says it, then chokes it back down. 

There are a lot of moments, where he almost tells Her. 

Sometimes it’s only nights like these, that stop him. 

He had a nightmare again. It’s a reoccurring one, now. 

She gets hurt. It started more abstract, but it’s narrowed down to one, horrible scenario. 

Dean wakes up in Her apartment, and she’s gone. He calls Her name, tears the place up, tears the town up, and She’s still nowhere to be found. 

Then he turns, and She’s there. And the world feels peaceful again. He runs towards Her, reaching to pull her back into his arms.

And She dies. 

Dean touched Her, and she just… dies. 

He woke up in a cold sweat, fighting the pillows and reaching for his gun. It took him a minute to realize it wasn’t real. Another three to calm down, after he looked at Her side of the bed and realized she wasn’t there. 

Because he was in his room. At the bunker. 

The place he’d worked so hard to keep Her away from. 

But now he’s just lying here. Staring at the ceiling and holding the sheets on Her side of the bed. Trying to close his eyes, but it’s damn impossible when he does and just sees her lifeless body again. 

He fumbles in the dark and grabs his wallet. Stares at Her drawing for an hour, then tries to lie back down again. 

She’s fine. She has to be fine.  

He closes his eyes by accident. Shoots right up, and makes for his pants and shoes. 

“Where’re you going?” Sam asks when Dean storms past him, barely looking up from his book.

“Out.” Dean grunts, because it’s not worth even trying to lie to Sam anymore. 

He’s not even that good at lying to himself. 

Because he tries to protect Her from afar. He swears up and down that he won’t go back to Her, won’t keep stealing Her time and affection, won’t tempt himself with something he can never have. With a love he’s never going to be able to hold. 

But he has to see Her. Now. Just to be sure that she’s safe. 

So Dean goes. 

It’s three in the morning, when you hear the knock. You wouldn’t have gotten up to answer it, if you hadn’t recognized it as Dean’s. He knocks the same way every time. Sometimes you mimic it on the table, to torture yourself with the idea of him being there. 

And he pops up whenever he pops up. You’ve long stopped trying to track his appearances, but you know he doesn’t show up on your doorstep at the start of the week, and he doesn’t show up in the middle of the night. 

It’s a Tuesday. It’s been Tuesday, for three hours. 

You walk a little faster, rubbing your eyes and grabbing the baseball bat he insists you keep in the closet. If it is your Dean, he might be in danger. If it’s not, you’re about to bash someone’s brains in and sprint for the hills. 

The knock repeats, a little louder than last time. You hear him call your name through the door, and it certainly sounds like Dean. When you lean up to look through the peephole, it looks like Dean. 

He’s swaying in the hall, eyes glossy and a little bloodshot. There’s a strangely relaxed look on his face, and sighs heavily when you still don’t open the door, stumbling forward to drop his brow against the wood. 

“I know you’re in there.” He mumbles, hand reaching up to trace the door. “Heard you walkin’ around. If you got someone in there, I can just sit on the couch or somethin’. Won’t even talk, just wanted to…”

He sighs heavily, and your chest aches. Your fingers move to the knob, begging you to just remove the barrier between you, but something’s twisting in your gut. You’ve never seen him act like this. Never seen him look so tired and desperate, and that doesn’t seem like a monster thing, but he had told you to be careful- 

“I was thinkin’ about you.” He mumbles. “Missed you. Always missin’ you all the time, and- I dunno. Had a dream, it’s kinda fuckin’ stupid, but- Can you cough for me, baby? Need to hear that you’re alright, then I’ll go.” He looks up, almost staring at you through the peephole, and you swallow. Your hand closes around the doorknob, the opposite one slipping on the bat, and- 

You wait a little too long to respond. Dean sighs heavily, taking a large step back and shoving his hands into his pockets. The step alone takes a second for him to recover from, his whole body swaying from the motion. You let the bat fall from your hand, because you need both hands to reach for him, but-

“Never mind.” He says, shaking his head. “’m gonna go. Sleep well, baby. Love you.”

You almost kick the door off its hinges, his words like ice water being doused over your head. 

Love. 

He said he- He said- 

Dean’s face splits into a wide, boyish grin the moment he sees you. He says your name, barreling forward, and pulls you into his arms. He’s warm, holding onto you tight enough you’re being picked up off your feet. You hug him back, still dazed, the world moving too fast. 

Love. He said love. He said- 

He mumbles your name, pressing his face into your neck, and you brush your fingers through his hair lightly. He’s still made of muscle and soft strength, but something about it feels delicate. He’s not really saying anything, which isn’t Dean at all. He’s still swaying back and forth, and he smells like the same warm cologne and full, deep Dean smell he’s always had, but there’s also- 

Liquor. He smells like whiskey and beer. 

He’s drunk. 

You sigh. The swaying and strangeness. For whatever reason, Dean’s just wasted, and he chose to come to you. 

It’s not something you can allow yourself to read into right now. That can happen in the morning, when he’s safe and sobered up, and you can try to read his reaction to waking up in your apartment. For now you just guide him backwards inside—you try to pull away, but he makes a sound like a kicked puppy and holds you tighter—and slowly coax him out of his shoes and jacket.

“Did you drive here?” You ask softly as you work the jacket off his shoulders, and he nods. 

“Mhm. You’re warm.”

You swallow. “Thank you. Dean, baby, you shouldn’t drive drunk-“

“‘M not drunk-“

“You really are-“

“Only had like- Five drinks. Four.” He leans back, scrunching his face a little too adorably. “How many are in the big pack thingys?”

“How many… Beers?”

He shrugs, fingers reaching up to play with your hair. “Uh huh. We can go count the bottles. I broke one when a freakin’ bird started shoutin’ at me, but the others. Got ‘em still.”

“You- Dean.“ You lean back, grabbing his face between your hands. He looks at you with a bright, hopeful adoration, and it only makes your chest ache more. 

He says your name, leaning forward with a grin—a full, wide smile you’ve never seen on his face—and you take a deep breath.

“Did you drink them, then drive? Or drive, then-“

“I drove ‘em then drank.” He shrugs. “‘M not that stupid. Not tryin’ to die before I can see you.” He leans down, pressing his brow against yours. “You’re pretty.”

You flush. “Thank you. I- I didn’t think you were gonna, but- Shit-“ He presses further over you, making you stumble back slightly. 

Some of Dean’s usual instinct seems to kick in as you fall. He wraps his arm tightly around your back, and pulls you up before falling to the couch, forcing you to straddle his lap. 

He grins up at you, still open and joyful, and sinks into the cushions so easily. 

“I ain’t drunk.”

You sigh. “Dean-“

“‘m not. You’re pretty.”

“You’ve said that twice now.”

“Doesn’t make it less true. You’re so hot, it’s freakin’ crazy.” He drops his face into your chest, like it’s physically paining him to look at you. “You don’t get it, sweetheart. I haven’t even been able to watch porn anymore ‘cause of you. ’S not the same.”

You flush, opening and closing your mouth in a pointless attempt to try and find a way to respond to that. 

There really isn’t one. Not with the word love still ringing in your head like a church bell. 

You settle for a soft. “Oh.”

Dean just hums, and when you gently guide his head back, his eyes are heavy and a little dopey. He’s still smiling at you, even as they droop. You run your fingers through his hair and he sighs happily. 

“You’re okay.” He murmurs, almost to himself. It cleaves your heart in half.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” You smile softly. “You’re drunk.”

“Nah-“

“You had six beers, my love.” You let yourself call him that. If he said it, you can too, and he doesn’t even really seem to notice at all. 

He just makes another like face and shakes his head. “No, I had the pack-“

“Yeah.” Your smile grows. “That’s six.”

“Hm.” He pauses, clearly thinking a little too hard about this. “Six. Siiiix. Sex.” He grins at you. “We should have sex-“

“No.” You place a hand flat on his chest, giving him a stern look. “You’re drunk, buddy. No sex.”

He pouts for a second, staring down at his shoes, then sighs. “Fine.”

You giggle at his complete dejection, tracing your hands over the planes of his chest. His breath starts to pick up, fingers squeezing on your hips, and it might be rude to tease him like this but it’s so fun. Especially when he leans a little bit up like he’s going to try and take you, but then manages to pull himself back and flops down sadly into the cushions.

“Can we have sex in the morning please?” He asks hopefully, and you hum. 

“We’ll see.”

That just makes him pout more. “Why. If you don’t wanna, just tell me and I’ll be super cool about it-“

“You’re begging me right now,” you tease, and he makes a sour expression. 

“‘M not begging.”

“You said please-“

“It’s bein’ polite. And,” he leans up, until his handsome, drunken face is only inches from yours. “I really wanna have sex with you.”

“I know.” You whisper, eyes wide on his. 

And you shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t. He’s drunk, he doesn’t know what he’s saying, he might not mean any of this at all.

But-

“Why?” You say, so quiet you almost can’t hear it yourself. 

He frowns. “Huh?”

“Why do you wanna have sex with me? We-“ You swallow. “We’ve done it a lot before. In almost all the positions.” You smile weakly. “You gotta be tired of me by now.”

Dean blinks at you. Like he doesn’t even understand what you’re saying. “Yeah, but… I love you.”

That’s what you wanted to hear. What you were fishing for. 

It still knocks all the air out of your lungs when you hear it. In full, plainly like he can’t fathom that there would ever be another answer, hanging in the silence of your living room as you just stare at Dean’s open face. 

He said it. He said it. You’re breathing too fast, your nails sinking into his shoulders like you can cling to the confession, like you’re trying to swallow it down before he can take it back. 

But Dean just keeps blinking up at you, almost innocently adoring.

He’s so drunk. 

This isn’t about you. It’s about Dean. About forcing yourself to smile and kiss him gently, before standing up and guiding him into the shower. Checking him for injuries before getting him changed. Brushing his teeth then herding him into bed. 

Some foolish part of you thought you’d be able to go turn off the living room light while he waited. You don’t even get off the bed before Dean’s arms are around your waist, and you’re being yanked back down. 

“Don’t go.” He mumbles against the back of your neck, and you sigh. 

“Dean-“

“Please.”

You swallow, then nod. Curl fully back, rubbing his forearms around you until his breathing starts to steady, his body slowly going limp. 

“Never want you to go.” He says suddenly, right before you think he’s about to fall asleep. His voice is raw and tired.

Tears sting at your eyes. “I’m still here, Dean. Right here.” You squeeze his arm, and he sighs.

“Yeah, but it’s gonna be gone.” He sighs. “Wish I could stay. Or take you with me, but… Can’t.”

“You could.” You whisper, twisting to watch him in the dark. “I- I’d go.”

He just stares at you for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I would.”

His throat bobs. For a second, there’s something new shining his eyes. It’s clearer than everything else. Burning right into you with his attention, his hands a little tighter on your body. 

“I keep a drawing of you in my wallet.” He rasps, and your heart does a little skip. 

“I have a folder of your photos on my phone. I- I show them to my friends.” You flush. “They think I made you up.” 

Dean’s mouth twitches. He’s starting to sound like himself again. “Did you?”

“Make you up?” You whisper.

He nods. 

“I don’t know. I- I hope not.”

“I hope I didn’t make you up either.” He traces his hand down your arm, never breaking your gaze. 

You swallow. “I feel real.”

He hums. “That’s good. Would suck pretty bad if you weren’t.”

You laugh softly, and Dean watches you like you’re the most important thing he’s ever going to see. You smile at him. He leans a little closer. 

“Sometimes I just stand outside.” He rasps. “If I got a night. I’ll drive up here and just… Sit in the fuckin’ parking lot.”

“I watched a documentary about you.” You offer. “It called you a crazy serial killer.”

His mouth twitches. “I am-“

“I left it a one-star review.” You raise your voice over his. “And I- I still opened the door.”

“You… You did.” He mutters. “Every single time.”

“Yeah. I did.”

For a second, you just stare at each other. Time doesn’t feel like it’s moving. You don’t want it to. 

“When you sit in the parking lot.” You say softly. “Why don’t you come inside?”

He chuckles, rolling onto his back. “Cause I’m gonna do something stupid. Like this, and sayin’ that I-“

He cuts himself off, hand curling on his chest. You push up on your elbows, hanging over him, and he stares at you with a clear helplessness. 

Dean mutters your name, clearly begging you not to say it. 

But he said it first. And you need to know. If you’re allowed to stop playing games now. 

If you’re allowed to have him. 

“You love me?” You finish for him, and Dean sighs. 

“I- Don’t say that, sweetheart-“

“You said it-“

“I was drunk.” He mutters. He won’t look at you anymore. “I was drunk and talkin’ stupid and- Just don’t. Please.”

You swallow, your heart caught in your throat. You could swallow it, and hope you digest it this time. That it finally passes through you, and the game is done like that. 

But you don’t want to. 

Dean is looking at you like he expects you to kick him out. Like he’s bracing for you to spit venom and hit his chest and curse his name. He’s almost shrinking away from you, one hand clinging to your wrist even as he makes a face like his heart is already breaking. 

You won’t let it. Not here. Not when him breaking would break you too. 

So you lie down next to him. Move your hand to tangle in his, your shoulders pressed together, Dean’s breathing shallow as he turns to watch you in the dark. 

You look at him, and smile. Let all your love for him shine in it, squeezing his hand once. 

He holds yours tighter. Holds onto it for dear life. 

Says your name, and this. This is begging. Maybe for you to stop, or go, or just do the simple thing and kick him out. 

You won’t. Not now. When he’s there, and maybe yours, and- And- 

You could have him. 

In all his broken, drunken and exhausted beauty, you can have Dean. 

“What would you say?” You murmur, and his lips press in a tight line.

“I- I dunno-“

“Can I tell you what I would say? If- If you’d ever asked?”

Dean swallows, but nods. You smile again. It’s so easy, when you’re looking at him.

“I’d tell you I love you.” You whisper. Dean’s grip tightens. “That I’ve been in love with you for- Pretty much the whole time. That I hate watching you leave, and I hate when you pretend like you don’t care if I’m dating, and I hate when you remind me that you might not come back, because I need you. I need you to come back. Every- Every time you go-“ You cut yourself off, your voice starting to ache. “Every time you leave me I hate you. But I love you so much it doesn’t matter. I- I like loving you so much more than I hate missing you. Dean, I-“

He says your name, words tight and choked, and you shake your head.

“I love you. I love you so, so much, I’m never gonna-“ You take long unsteady breath. “You just leave me here. And I wait. Because I love you.”

And Dean just stares at you. Holds your hand and stares at you, his face pale and flushed all at the same time. 

“No.” He finally mutters. He still doesn’t let go of your hand. “Sweetheart, that’s- You love the idea of me, you don’t love the real thing-“

You snort dryly. “The real you?”

“Yeah.” He snaps, sitting up suddenly. “The real me. I’m not just some fuckin’- Sex guy who drops in, fucks you, then runs off to a day job. I kill people, baby. I got a body count bigger than any documentary is gonna tell you, I got people who hunt me down for what I’ve done, there ain’t anyone in my life because everyone who was there is fuckin’ dead, and I-“ He shakes his head, starting to pull back. “I’m not lettin’ that happen to you. No. No way in hell-“

“Why?” You demand, and your voice isn’t harsh or even that loud, but it cuts Dean off completely. “Why don’t you want it to happen to me?”

He makes a sour expression. “Because.”

“Because?”

“Yeah. ’S what I said-“

“Is it because you love me?”

Dean scowls. “That doesn’t matter-“

“It matters to me-“

“‘Cause you think you’re in love with me.” He spits. He’s still holding your hand. “And I’m tellin’ you, you’re not, so it doesn’t matter-“

“I am in love with you.” You sit up, making your voice firmer. Unwavering. “And I know you, Dean. I’m not just some girl who got the wrong idea about something, I know you. You’ve told me everything, even the ugly shit, and I kept opening the door.” You glare at him, and he freezes, staring at you with wide-eyes. “I sit with you after all your nightmares, I let you bring a gun into my house, I look you up on the news every day because I am terrified you’re going to die and come back all wrong or whatever, and I’m going have to figure out how to be strong enough not to open the door.”

Dean’s mouth falls a little bit open, and you glare at him, far from done. 

“Because I would. I’d let you in with those creepy black eyes and I don’t even think I’d regret it. Because I love you.”

Dean makes a strangled sound, and you poke his chest.

“You show up covered in blood and talking crazy about angels and demons, you give me fuckin’ gun and booby trap my apartment and make me do codewords, and I let you in. I know who you are, Dean Winchester. I know exactly who you are.”

He catches your hand on his chest, expression fully broken, and pleads your name. You curl your fingers on his chest and hold his hand.

“You’re a good man.” Your voice turns soft, and he cringes like you hit him. “You’re a good man, Dean. I don’t love you because of the sex, even if the sex is great.” You laugh softly. 

Dean looks like he tries to laugh, but it comes out more in a sound like a wounded animal. Silent tears are streaming down his face, and you sigh. 

Reach up to wipe them away, and let Dean bow into your touch. His eyes are hooded, and trapped on yours. 

You offer him a small smile. 

“I love you because you make me happy.” You say. “I love you because you keep trying to protect me, even when it hurts you. I love you because when I tried to hit on you at a bar by saying you had big shoulders, you gave me pointers about how to pick other guys up, then asked if you could be the first I try them on. I love you because when I laughed, you apologized and started just talking to me. And we talked for so long, and you called me pretty, and I- I’d been called that before, but-“ You give him a sad smile, tears staining your own cheeks. “You didn’t want anything. You just- You just said it because you wanted me to know, and it felt good to be known.” 

You shift toward, rising on your knees to press your brow to his. 

“I like you.” You whisper. “Like like you. I like like knowing you. And I like like loving you. I- Never used those moves on anyone else.” You giggle softly, tears still falling. “They worked once really well. And I don’t want to try them again. I kind of really love what I have.”

Dean blinks at you slowly. His tongue darts over his lips, eyes flicking down to your own, breath still ragged. If he needs to kiss you, you’ll let him. 

But instead, he just starts to cry.

Dean folds over you, body shaking, and cries. It starts muffled and restrained—like he’s still trying to shove it back down—but you rub his back and hold him close, and he slowly falls apart. 

You move slowly, so that you’re lying against the headboard and Dean is in your lap. You keep him gently in your arms, kissing the top of his head every few moments and running your hands soothingly over his shoulders, his back, through his soft hair. Slowly, the choked sounds turn to heavy breaths, and he eases himself down. 

His face presses into your stomach as his chest rises and falls. You wait, cradling the back of his neck and humming to yourself softly. Eventually Dean turns to look up at you, eyes still red, and lets out a heavy sigh. 

“I- I do.” He says, voice rough, and you just smile.

“I know.” 

He heaves, crawling a little up your body. “I mean it, baby, I do-“

“Dean.” You cup his face, and he freezes. “I know.”

His mouth twitches. You just smile in return. Dean grabs your hand, turning to press a kiss to your wrist. His eyes shine when you giggle, tension releasing from his shoulders. 

He collapses over your body with a heavy sigh.

“I’m gonna feel like shit in the morning.” He grumbles, and you laugh. 

“It’s six, De. Basically is the morning.”

“Great. I feel like shit now.”

“You could go to sleep. That might help.”

Dean hums skeptically. “Are you gonna sleep.”

“No.” The whole night still has you too wound up. “Not tired.”

“Hm.” He pushes up over you, elbows braced on either side of your head, pinning you to the mattress. 

His nose bumps yours, and your eyes widen, hands flying to his chest.

“I could help with that.” He murmurs, and you swallow. 

“Dean-“

“I got a clear head.” He kisses the corner of your mouth gently. “Swear. I’ll do the alphabet backwards if you wanna hear it, but if I’m bein’ honest I can’t do that front or back-“

You tug him down for a full, deep kiss. It’s slow. Lazy. His tongue traces your lips and you open with a soft moan, legs spreading as Dean’s mouth works you up quickly. 

But still, you gently push him back. He goes easily, raising his brows, and you flush. Glance down to his shirt, where your fingers have started to play with the soft fabric.

“Are you…” Your eyes dart back up to his. “Are you gonna stay? In the morning?”

Dean nods, no uncertainty in his voice. “Yeah.“ He grabs your hands, pulling them up to kiss your knuckles. “I’m gonna stay until you kick me out, alright. Might come and go, but- You can come if you want. An if you don’t, I got a phone, and my brother’s phone, and a laptop that I can steal-“

“Dean-“

“Point is I’m yours.” He says quickly, sounding a little frustrated with himself. “I stay until you kick me out.”

“I won’t.” You say quickly, and Dean grins. 

Truly, fully grins. 

“Guess I’m gonna be here a long time, then.”

“Yeah. Guess you are.”

His grin impossibly widens, eyes darting down to your body. “And…”

You laugh. “We can have sex in the morning.”

Dean collapses back over you with a dramatic groan of relief. “Thank god. And- After that, too?”

You giggle, kissing the top of his head, and he curls further into your body. Looks at you like you’re more than an angel, his voice still teasing, but also just a little more. 

Filled with affection, and hope, and love.

He’s yours to love. 

“Yeah.” You say, and Dean beams. “We can do whatever you want.”

✦End note: thank you for reading i don't even have a joke for this one i really hope you liked it i hope it wasn't butt thank you.✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦ ✦divider by @/cafekitsune✦

[aylacavebear]

Doppelgangers - Chapter 7

Summary: Everyone has a doppelganger—someone out there living a life that mirrors your own. Y/N and Dean Winchester never met theirs, but they both loved them. Five years after losing their almost-spouses to monsters on the same day, they’ve each carved out a life in hunting fueled by grief and unfinished promises. When a case in a quiet September town pulls them into the same orbit, neither realizes they are walking toward the person who once loved a reflection of themselves. Familiarity lingers where it shouldn’t. Instinct pulls where logic resists. And some connections refuse to stay buried—even when they were never meant to exist in the first place.

Pairing: Dean x You/Reader, Dean x OCF, You/Reader x OCM

Word Count: 2544

Warnings: Grief, Angst, Poor Sam in all of it, Doesn't follow the show timeline, Altering POV's.

A/N: Another one that just came to me that I've been working on for a while and finally finished. I wanted to have this one done before I even posted the first chapter. Super Angsty and full of Grief. Sorry guys. Does have a happyish ending.

Chapter 6 ----- Chapter 8 - coming soon Doppelganger Master List Touched Master List Main Master List

Chapter 7

It was him.

Not him.

The shape of him, if he’d been hardened by hunting. The tilt of his shoulders. The stance balanced instinctively for a fight. Green eyes sharp beneath the dim cabin light.

But not Mark.

Your breath caught hard enough to hurt.

For one impossible heartbeat, the world stopped moving around you. Time stretched thin and fragile, every second pulling tighter until it felt ready to snap beneath the weight of what you were seeing. 

Your heart stuttered. Lips parted in a soundless gasp. The world held its breath for a heartbeat, stretching seconds into eternity.

Across the cabin, the brothers froze too.

Sam’s gaze flicked rapidly between your face and Dean’s profile beside him, confusion flashing openly across his features before instinct forced it back down. But Dean—

Dean looked like he’d been hit.

His grip tightened around the gun in his hands until his knuckles blanched white beneath the dim yellow light overhead. Every line of his body locked rigid as he stared at you like his mind physically could not process what his eyes were telling him. 

Maria.

Not Maria.

The same impossible collision slammed through all three of you at once.

Ghosts wearing flesh.

Memories standing upright and breathing.

Reality snapped back violently a second later.

Ice flooded through your veins.

Mark was dead. 

You knew that with horrifying certainty. You’d held his body after he’d been killed. Buried him piece by piece inside yourself afterward, just to survive the grief of it. 

Which meant—

Anything wearing his face wasn’t human.

Your instincts reacted before your thoughts fully caught up.

Your hand moved immediately, sliding the gun free from the waistband at your back in one smooth motion honed through the last five years of hunting. The familiar weight settled heavily into your grip, silver bullets loaded inside like a final answer waiting to happen. 

At the exact same instant, both brothers reacted too. Weapons snapped up higher, grips firm, pulses racing. Their minds were spinning, the pieces locking into place with terrifying clarity.

Sam shifted automatically to widen his angle.

Dean’s stance lowered subtly, prepared for violence before his mind had even fully caught up to why.

The cabin exploded into tension so thick it felt alive.

And then Dean’s voice cut through it, low and sharp: “You don’t get to wear her face.”

Simultaneously, your words echoed in the tense air: “You don’t get to wear his face.”

The words hit like a gunshot. Silence crashed down afterward.

The night outside seemed to lean closer around the cabin, branches swaying softly beyond the open back door as if even the forest itself understood something irreversible had just happened here. 

Your pulse hammered violently against your ribs. Every muscle in your body coiled tight beneath your skin, ready for movement even while your thoughts spun completely out of control. The gun in your hand felt solid. Real. Anchoring. 

Across from you, Dean looked equally wrecked beneath the surface.

You could see it now.

Dean’s breath was tight. His hands wrapped around his weapon, knuckles white, the weight of a memory pressed against the front of his chest. Maria’s face haunted his mind. The ghost of her smile, the tilt of her head, the way she’d laughed at things he didn’t get—five years of absence collided with this impossible mirror.

Sam clocked all of it immediately.

Which was why his voice came first before either of you could make the mistake of pulling a trigger.

“Hold it,” he said, voice calm. Measured. “Both of you.” 

Sam slowly raised one hand slightly away from his weapon, fingers spread carefully in a nonthreatening gesture without fully lowering his guard. 

Then his eyes flicked sharply toward Dean, “Look at her.”

The words hung heavily in the air. 

For a moment, the cabin itself seemed to exhale around them. The old lamp buzzed softly overhead. Wind shifted through the trees outside. Somewhere far off, crickets resumed cautiously singing into the silence again. 

You didn’t move; every instinct inside you screamed to. Fight. Run. Survive.

But Sam’s tone didn’t challenge you—it reminded you of reality, of the line you weren’t meant to cross.

“She’s not moving toward us,” he continued carefully. “She’s not attacking. She’s holding position.” 

Your grip tightened fractionally against the gun anyway. 

Sam’s gaze flicked between you and Dean again, piecing together the impossible similarities even while trying desperately not to let emotion override logic.

“Whatever your history,” he said slowly, “whatever this looks like… it doesn’t make sense to pull the trigger before we know what we’re actually dealing with.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, but Sam’s calm authority was magnetic. The gun in his hands remained steady, but barely. 

Because logic and grief were warring violently behind those green eyes now.

You could see it.

Sam pressed forward before either side lost control of the moment completely. 

“We don’t know what she is,” he said. “Silver’ll tell us. If she’s human, she’s fine. If she isn’t…” He exhaled carefully. “Then we deal with it.” 

You felt the corners of your vision twitch slightly, the subtle sharpening that came whenever your instincts surged too close to the surface. Every scent inside the cabin separated itself instinctively in your mind. Old wood swollen with moisture. Dust trapped deep in warped floorboards. Gun oil. Them.

Human. 

Your fingers loosened around your weapon by degrees, though you didn’t lower it completely. Not yet. The silver-loaded gun remained steady in your grasp, pointed downward enough not to threaten, but still ready if instinct demanded it. 

Across from you, Dean’s weapon stayed raised longer. 

His gaze was locked on your face—her face—and every fiber of him ached to act, to protect, to strike—but Sam’s calm insistence, the simple logic, anchored him in place. 

Every line of him radiated restraint wound painfully tight beneath the surface. You could see the war happening behind his stare. Instinct clawing against grief. Logic trying desperately to hold the line. 

His jaw flexed once before he finally exhaled hard through his nose, the breath uneven beneath all the control he was trying to maintain.

Sam’s calm voice anchored the room before the silence could swallow it whole.

“I’ll keep mine down,” he said steadily.

He shifted first, deliberate enough that neither you nor Dean could mistake the intention behind it. Slowly, carefully, Sam lowered the muzzle of his gun toward the floor.

“You do the same.” 

The words weren’t a demand. They were survival.

“This isn’t trust,” Sam continued quietly. “It’s making sure everybody walks out of here alive. Because right now, one bad move ends with someone dead.” 

Your chest rose slowly beneath the pressure tightening there. 

Outside, wind stirred softly through the trees beyond the open back door. Crickets chirped unevenly again somewhere deeper in the woods, cautious sounds returning now that violence hadn’t exploded immediately into the clearing. 

The gun in your hand suddenly felt heavier and lighter all at once.  Not because it had become less dangerous. Because Sam’s words had opened the sliver of clarity you needed to think.

Across the cabin, Dean’s stare finally shifted—not away from you, never fully away—but enough to glance briefly toward Sam before returning. 

The fight inside him eased by fractions. Not gone. Not safe. But no longer driven by instinct alone.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the muzzle of his weapon dipped toward the worn wooden floorboards beneath his boots. His grip never loosened.

The tension inside the cabin stretched tighter instead of breaking. Like a wire pulled to its limit without snapping.

And for the first time since the three of you stepped into this town, you existed fully in the same room without shadows or timing or distance hiding your faces from one another. 

The night itself seemed to hold its breath around the cabin.

The lamp above the sink buzzed softly overhead, casting warm amber light across peeling counters and scarred floorboards. Thin curtains near the open back door drifted faintly with the cool breeze moving through the room. The smell of rain-soaked earth lingered beneath everything else, grounding the moment in something painfully real.

Three strangers. Two ghosts. Balanced carefully on the edge of violence.

Sam moved first again. Every motion deliberate.

Measured.

Almost ritualistic in its caution.

He holstered his weapon slowly before lifting both hands slightly away from his body, palms open and visible. Nothing hidden. Nothing threatening. 

Then his fingers drifted toward the leather sheath strapped near his belt.

The quiet whisper of metal sliding free seemed unnaturally loud inside the cabin as he drew the silver knife. The blade caught the lamplight briefly.

Your pulse ticked harder once against your ribs. 

Without breaking eye contact, Sam turned the knife carefully in his grip and drew the edge shallowly across his own palm. 

A thin cut opening instantly, a bead of blood followed. 

Sam tilted the wound outward slightly, toward you, so you could see it clearly. No burning. No smoke. No reaction beyond the ordinary sting tightening briefly across his expression.

“Silver,” he said simply.

Beside him, Dean didn’t hesitate. 

He held his hand out toward his brother, his gaze still locked on you. Sam made the same small cut across Dean’s palm. The sting flared, sharp and familiar, but nothing burned. Nothing reacted as silver would to a shapeshifter. Just a human cut, simple, unremarkable.

Sam moved carefully toward the small table near the fireplace then, slow enough not to trigger anyone’s instincts. His hands remained visible the entire time. When he reached it, he placed the silver knife gently against the worn tabletop.

The soft click of metal against wood echoed quietly through the cabin. Then Sam stepped back, giving you space.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Your gaze remained fixed on the two men across the cabin, cataloging details automatically the way instinct had trained you to. The tension still locked through Dean’s shoulders. The faint sheen of sweat near his brow despite the cool night air drifting through the open back door. The tightness in his jaw every time his eyes settled fully on your face.

And Sam—

Sam watched differently.

Steadier.

Measured in a way that suggested he was thinking three steps ahead even now, weighing possibilities against survival while trying to keep the entire room from detonating.

Neither brother lowered their guard completely.

Neither did you.

Slowly, you tucked your gun back into the waistband at your back beneath the loose flannel. The cool metal brushed against your spine as your fingers lingered briefly near the grip, ready if instinct suddenly screamed again.

But it didn’t.

Not yet.

The old floorboards creaked softly beneath your boots as you stepped away from the counter and toward the table. Every movement stayed deliberate. Controlled. The kind of caution born from understanding exactly how fragile the moment had become.

The silver knife waited where Sam had left it beneath the warm glow of the lamp.

You reached for it carefully.

The weapon felt unfamiliar immediately once it settled into your palm. Heavier than your own blade. Balanced differently. The metal colder too, the chill biting faintly against your skin as you turned it once in your grip. 

Dean’s attention sharpened visibly the moment the knife touched your hand.

You could feel it.

The room tightened again around all three of you.

Without speaking, you pressed the silver edge carefully across your palm.

A shallow cut.

Enough to prove you weren’t a shapeshifter.

The sting bit instantly beneath your skin as blood welled slowly along the line. Sharp metallic scent bloomed into the air a second later, mingling with damp pine drifting through the open doorway and the lingering traces of rain soaked deep into the cabin walls. 

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t heal instantly either. The wound remained exactly what it should have been. Your healing only answered true damage. Real danger. Not controlled tests and shallow cuts. 

But watching the proof settle visibly across the brothers’ expressions still sent something strange twisting through your chest.

When you finally lowered the knife back onto the table, the soft click against wood sounded unnaturally loud inside the quiet cabin.

Then you opened your hand slightly toward them. Blood. Nothing more. No burn. No reaction.

Slowly, you stepped backward toward the sink again, instinctively reclaiming space while never once letting your eyes leave theirs. 

Outside, the forest breathed softly around the cabin now. Wind stirred through the trees in low whispers. Leaves shifted somewhere beyond the clearing. Crickets continued their uneven song deeper in the woods, fragile sounds threading through the heavy silence hanging between all three of you. 

The lamp overhead cast long shadows across the floorboards, stretching and shifting whenever the curtains near the back door moved with the breeze.

You weren’t a shapeshifter.

They weren’t either.

The silver had answered the immediate fear.

But it changed absolutely nothing about the impossible reality standing in front of you.

Your thoughts churned violently beneath the calm you forced across your expression.

Because if this man wasn’t a monster—

If he wasn’t wearing Mark’s face—

Then how?

How could another human being exist with the same eyes, the same voice, the same shape carved into memory so deeply it still haunted your dreams five years later?

Across the room, Dean looked equally shaken beneath the surface now that immediate violence had passed.

Because you could see it in his stare too.

The same question.

The same impossible disbelief clawing at rational thought.

Not a monster.

Not a trick.

So what the hell were you to each other?

The silence that followed didn’t feel empty so much as suspended—like the entire cabin had been caught mid-breath and forgotten how to release it again. Dean stood in it, rigid, gun still lowered but far from relaxed, eyes locked on you out of habit more than choice. 

He should’ve been thinking about the town, about the dead, about the thing that had already killed at least two. Instead, his attention snagged on the smallest, most irrelevant movement—your hand shifting slightly as you stepped back toward the sink, the faintest swing of the cord over your shirt catching the lamplight just long enough to flash something metallic against your collarbone. 

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It almost didn’t. Until it did.

Dean’s breath caught so sharply it felt like it scraped his ribs on the way in. The world narrowed down to that glint—warm silver against skin he hadn’t even consciously registered before now. 

A ring. Simple. Familiar in a way that punched straight through the present and dragged something buried and locked away for five years right back into the room with him. 

His grip tightened instinctively around the gun he wasn’t even aiming anymore, jaw going tight as his mind supplied the impossible detail before he could stop it: the exact ring still sitting in his duffel, wrapped in old fabric like something he hadn’t been able to throw away, even when he should’ve.

His gaze lifted to your face again, but it wasn’t your face anymore in his mind—it was hers, layered over yours so cleanly it made his stomach drop.

And before he could think better of it, the words were already out, quiet and wrecked—

“...That ring.”

Chapter 6 ----- Chapter 8 - coming soon Doppelganger Master List Touched Master List Main Master List

Images, Video, and Dividers made by Plant People Heal LLC You can also find me on Patreon

Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny @muhahaha303 @barewithme02

@nancymcl @thewinchesterwench @krazykelly @biancalinkas @abbacadabara

@sepho @princessjas1-11 @mightypocketcow @spideyfan1800

Touched Tag List: @sir-thisisadndserver

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Here Comes The Light

✦Read on a03! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦ ✦pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader - Wc: 2.5k✦ ✦summary: Lately Dean's been removed, whenever you're in public. You finally build the confidence to ask him why.✦ ✦warnings/tags: age gap (20s - 40s), light angst, secret-ish relationship, Dean Winchester needs to talk about his feelings and get a hug, possessiveness, shameless smut (cowgirl, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink), no use of y/n✦ ✦author's note: I'd raw dog that old man so hard you guys don't understand. Enjoy!✦

“Look at you.” He coos, running a hand up your side. “So pretty, baby. All pretty and dumb, riding my cock.”

You whine, above him, and Dean just chuckles. 

He does this. He always does this. 

You spend the day shooting him your best smiles and twirling your hair like an idiot. You walk too close to him on purpose, bend over with your ass high in the air, wiggling over him in diner booths. 

He’ll glower at you, but then grab your hand if you try to step back. Cough and turn red when you catch him staring, grab your thigh or hip so tight he’s going to leave a mark. 

You smile at him sweetly. Brush your fingers over the bare skin of his wrist, tease him with every one word through the whole case. 

He keeps his distance. Hands fisted, jaw tight. Something you know too well burning in his eyes, as you drag his control further and further from his hands. 

Dean considers himself a man of willpower. You know, because he’s told you with his arms crossed and body braced. Like a wild animal he was ready to wrestle with, an axe over his head he was going to try and catch. 

He’d said you test him. That he wasn’t a good man, but he sure as hell wasn’t weak enough to give into something like this. 

Like you. 

And Dean Winchester is a lot of things. A bad man is not one of them. 

But a liar is. 

Every single time, he snaps. Every single time Sam leaves you alone, he walks you back against the wall and attaches himself to your body. Strong, rough hands cradle you so delicately, his mouth claims yours like he’s trying to leave a mark, and he fucks you like the world is slipping from under his feet. Like you’re the last thing he really knows. 

Sheets get tangled. He whispers promises in the dark, with a hand around your throat and his cock splitting you open, then doesn’t keep them in the morning. 

Mine, is what you get to be when there’s no one to notice the claim. 

Too young, is what you are whenever you push. 

In the daylight, you were the kid partner. The smile and kindness that both Sam and Dean seemed have wrung out of them a long time ago, a light inside of you refusing to go out. 

It almost did. Once. 

When Dean told you that he was done with this for good, and you felt a tiny little thing in your chest—with wings that had been looking to rest for a while, and thought they’d finally found a safe place—broke. You hadn’t spoken to him for a week. Hadn’t spoken to anyone. 

He’d snapped. Caved. Knelt before you and apologized, kissed all over your face and taken you slower. His mouth worshipping between your thighs in an apology, before he’d rolled you over him and held you carefully, grinding you down onto his cock. Offered you a million apologies. Done something for you that was rarer to see from Dean than two nights, even rarer than an apology he’d meant. 

He’d changed. 

Let you share his bed and held you in the night, just to keep you there. Kissed you where there were eyes to see, even if the eyes were only Sam. Let his hand rest on your thigh in the car, and said the closest you knew he’d get to I love you. 

“Need you.” He’d rasped one night, eyes hooded and red from another nightmare he wouldn’t talk about, but still let you witness. “Don’t go, I- I need you.” His face had buried into your neck, hands digging into your soft skin like he was trying to memorize every inch. “Please don’t go.”

You’d swallowed, and brushed your fingers through his hair. Hummed softly, and leaned back into the pillows. There until the sun rose, and the shadows became a little easier to look at without seeing their eyes. 

“I won’t go.” You’d whispered, kissing the top of his head. “I’m here, Dean. I’m here.”

And you know that Dean hasn’t mistaken your light for weak or naïve since. Hasn’t seen it as anything but what it is. 

Hope, that’s made of something a lot more spiked and angry than it shoulder be. Defiance that breeds only from being beaten down and standing back up. A deep, unyielding love for things that blooms in the dark, because that’s the only place it was taught to be. 

Dean worships it in you. When there’s a door between you and the world, you’re the only thing he looks at. The only thing he needs to see. 

But when there are others. 

You’re still just the kid. 

He doesn’t kiss you in public. Lets you hang off his arm, but won’t hold your hand unless you’re afraid. He’ll smile in that lingering way he saves just for you, but nobody knows what that means. 

To any outsider, you don’t mean all that much to Dean at all. 

But then he does this. He kicks the door closed and tackles you. Rips your clothing off and tosses you onto the bed. Kisses his way lazily up your body, before sticking his tongue down your throat and running two big fingers between the lips of your pussy. Smearing your arousal and teasing, filthy words whispered against your lips. 

“All for me, sweetheart?” He’ll drawl. “Or are you spreading your legs behind my back?”

“Just- Just for you.“ You gasp, scratching at his back. “Only for you, Dean, always for you-“

“That’s damn right.” He slaps your pussy once, and your hips buck off the bed. 

“God, fuck-“

“You’re my girl, aren’t you? Such a fuckin’ slut, baby, but only for me.”

You nod stupidly, your legs stretching wide. Dean smirks, and kisses your open mouth. 

“Words.” He murmurs against your lips, and you whine.

“You, Dean.” You roll your hips against his hand, eyes already stinging with desperate tears. “Only you.”

He hums in low approval, and kisses you again. Drags you over the edge so fast, with tight, firm circles of his thumb around your clit. Flips you over, before guiding you down on his cock. 

Holds you there, just filled up and dripping over his thighs. A wreck in his arms, and the prettiest sight he’s ever damn seen. 

When he’s had enough of your begging—which always takes a while—he starts to fuck you slow. Lazy. Grabbing your waist and rolling your body over his, getting you into an agonizing pace that’s, at the very least, easy to maintain once he leaves you on your own. 

Leaving you here. Grinding down onto his cock with your mouth hanging open, tits bouncing and legs aching while Dean’s hands uselessly roam your body. Setting fires that build you higher and higher, but not offering you anything to snap that painfully, needy coil in your gut. 

His cock bumps deep inside of you, his attention making you dizzy and deep voice stopping you from collapsing in an exhausted, ruined mess. 

But it’s still not enough.

“There she is.” He drawls, one hand wandering up to play your breast. Pinch a nipple, then roll it between his fingers to soothe the hurt. “That’s my good girl. Riding this cock, takin’ me so well. Feels good, doesn’t it sweetheart.”

“So- So good.” You moan, a little drool running from your lips. 

Dean reaches up and wipes it away. It’s unfair, how composed and amazing he looks, when you’re sure you’re a hot mess. 

“Dirty, baby.” He coos, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “Fuckin’ you so good you can’t even think, can you. So cockdrunk my smart girl is gettin’ stupid.”

You whine, trying to pick up the pace, but your legs are sore. Tears of need stream down your thighs, every sinful wet sound just reminding you how easy it would be for him to fix this. To help you let go. 

You babble a plea. Lean down with your lashes fluttering and hips still grinding hopelessly, and whimper his name. 

“Dean,” you dig your nails into his chest, trying to bounce your ass a little faster. “Please.”

He makes a low, deep sound from his chest, and that’s always all it takes. 

Dean flips you over, pinning you beneath his massive frame, and starts to fuck you brutally. Hips drilling into your weeping cunt, pressing open kisses over your throat and face. You cum from just the first thrust, when he hits a spot you can never quite get on your own, but he always finds within seconds. Your body shakes and your pussy clenches around him, sobs of pleasure breaking from your throat. 

He isn’t far behind you. Pressing his brow against yours and rutting against your cervix. He cums inside you with a heavy kiss, and drags his cock in and out as you both float down. 

And he’s good to you. 

Dean’s a good man, no matter what he claims. And he’s so good to you. 

Maybe he’s a bit of a menace—pulling out slowly and dragging the head of his cock all over your pussy, smearing his cum with a satisfied, feral sound—but he cleans you up. Runs you a bath that you get carried like a princess into, sits at the edge of the tub and holds your hand until you talk him into joining. 

You rest your head on his chest, his arms wrapped around your body. Under the water, he traces meaningless shapes your hips. 

“You good?” He rasps, and you nod. You know he worries about hurting you. It took you months to convince him he was allowed to touch you like a person instead of a baby bird made of glass.

No matter what he does, as long as it’s Dean, he manages to make you feel good. Feel close to him, important. Wanted.

He says he needs you, and that’s big. 

But better is when he tells you that you’re wanted. 

And sometimes, when he won’t even hold your hand, you’re not sure if you really do matter. If you’re just the temptation he failed to resist.

If he doesn’t regret you, when the afterglow fades off, and you’re just another broken person he’s waiting to lose. 

“Dean?” Your voice is strained. You have to know. 

If you don’t, it’s going to boil over and burn you up from the inside. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“Do you… Like this?”

He’s silent for a moment. His fingers still on your skin. 

“What, the bath?” He says carefully, and you sigh. 

“No. This.” You prop your chin on his chest, blinking up at him in the dark. 

He looks truly confused. There are deep lines on his face, and a small pout on his lips. You almost don’t want to ask. 

You have to know. 

“Me.”

His jaw clenches. His arm wraps a little tighter around your back. Like he’s afraid you’re going to try and run away.

“Of course I like you.” He snaps. “Don’t be fuckin’- You think I do this with every person I fuck-“

Your face falls, that light in you flickering the tiniest bit, and Dean sees it. He cuts himself off with an almost panicked look. 

You try to look away. He grabs your chin and tips it back up. 

“Look at me,” he mutters your name. “Please.”

You do. Slowly, under your lashes. Trying to hide your tears.

“I- Fuck.” He drops his brow against yours, hand dragging up to cradle your cheek. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t. You’re not just- I just didn’t think you were gonna ask that.” His eyes scan desperately over yours, his face open. 

Vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry. Please don’t-“ He swallows. “‘m sorry.” 

Don’t leave. 

You won’t. You’re stronger than that. 

But you still can’t stop yourself from whispering, “Sometimes I- I-“ You swallow. “Dean, it’s like you don’t even want to be seen with me. Like I’m that… Nothing. To you.”

“You’re everything to me-“

“Really?” You give him a sad smile. “Because you don’t really act like it.”

His throat bobs. 

The silence stretches long. Too long. You drop your face back into his chest, and feel your heart move up your airway. Your eyes burn, your skin crawling with shame because you shouldn’t have said anything at all-

“Doesn’t it fuck with you?” His voice is raw. Weighted and pained. “That you’re never gonna get a full life with me?”

You look up, and he’s staring at you. Those handsome, tired lines even deeper on his face. 

“What?” You whisper, and he sighs. 

“I’m only gonna get older, sweetheart. Half my life’s never been mine anyway, and- Don’t get me wrong, it would- I’d want the rest of it.” He traces a hand lightly over your cheek. “With you.”

You swallow. “Dean-“

“But you got your own life. It’s ain’t halfway up like mine, and- If you met someone, who could give you more-“ His shakes his head. “I wouldn’t wanna be the thing that stops you from takin’ it.”

You stare at him. His eyes are fixed somewhere on your chest, his grip still tight but his expression filled with such defeat.

He really doesn’t understand at all.

That when you reach up and touch his face, it doesn’t feel like you’re touching some frail shadow of a man, already wasted away. 

He leans into your palm, and it’s like some great hero—weathered and run down by storm after storm, beaten so bloody they had to grow skin like stone and build walls that rooted into the earth—is coming alive, just for you. 

“I don’t want more.” You whisper. “I want you.”

Dean’s eyes art to yours, and for a second you can see it. 

The pain of him starting to hope. 

“You shouldn’t-“

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You stare him down. Caring so much, but still unyielding. 

His lips twitch.

“I’m gonna get gray.”

“You already are. I like it.”

His hands squeeze on your hips. “Might get all senile.”

“I’ll love you the same.”

Won’t be able to keep up with you.”

You smile. “I look forward to seeing you try.”

He laughs, just a small one, but it’s enough.

Dean scans over your face, and you know he’s looking for it. The he could stay that would prove him right, and make you leave. 

“If shit- Stays good. If nothin’ pops out and we get to slow down.” He swallows, running a hand slowly through your hair. “I’m gonna die first.”

You laugh. Soft and broken, because you know. You’ve thought about it. How much it’s going to hurt. 

Because you love him. And you only get to have the back end of his life. 

You’d rather have that—and make it good, make it something so so good—than never have him at all. 

And loving him, it doesn’t hurt at all. 

“I know.” You murmur, hovering your lips over his. “Still worth it.”

Dean blinks slowly. Nods, like he finally understands. 

But he doesn’t kiss you. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck like all those nights before, and just holds on. 

You hold him back. Hold him close. 

And you promised. 

You were never going to let go.

✦End note: I Swear to God. this was just supposed to be a horny drabble.✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦✦Buy me a coffee!☕️✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[very-merry-birthday]

Cherry Pie

Try all the flavors: Blueberry • Pecan • Cherry • Pumpkin • Rhubarb • Salted Maple • Strawberry • Lemon Meringue • Peach • Cranberry • Apple

🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧

Summary: After a tough hunt Dean needs a rough touch, though he's hiding more than he's letting on.

Warning: smut, unprotected sex, rougher sex

A/N: haha...hehe.... I want to do pain to this man

For The Filling: ½ to 1 cup granulated sugar 2 to 3 tablespoons instant tapioca ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon or cardamom 2 pounds sour or sweet cherries (about 6 cups), pitted 1 lemon (optional)

🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧

Dean doesn't want to be here right now. He's been sat on the curb for ten minutes, waiting for you to close up for the night. The air's still crisp despite the day's heat, and he's starting to feel a chill on the back of his neck.

He's got a busted lip and bruised nose- not to mention the purple-yellow blemishes still blooming across his ribs. He looks like shit. He feels like shit. He's going to make you feel like shit.

He always does, he doesn't mean to, but he knows he will. You might not say it, but he knows when you see him like this you'll start getting that look of pity, pretty sparkling eyes filled with worry.

He takes a deep breath- letting the air fill his lungs before he lets it back out slowly through his nose. He thinks about driving away, about allowing the bruising to go down some- maybe you wouldn't mind if he pushes this a few more days.

He knows he won't do that, though. Sure he doesn't want you seeing him like this, but god is he desperate to see you. He needs any softness you'll afford him, needs to see your face light up when you talk.

It's selfish, he knows that. But you're the only person who he feels safe enough to be selfish around.

He's nearly talked himself out of it by the time he hears the bell ring on the door, the sound that tells him you're ready for the night. He turns, only slightly, watching you lock up.

"Didn't need to wait out here-" you laugh, before turning, catching your first sight of him, "-oh."

He lets a slow breath go as he stands, blinking slow, pretending it doesn't matter to him how your gaze washes over him, getting caught on the cut by his lip.

You walk towards him slowly, a hard swallow, "Jesus- you look..." there's no poetic way to say it, "...shit."

He chuckles slightly, "Thanks."

"This the worst of it?"

"Yeah." He lies, pretending his ribs aren't digging to him when he speaks, that he's not struggling to pull in a full breath.

"How was the hunt?"

"Tough."

Tough - I need to fuck your brains out.

You give a silent nod, turning back to your apartment. He trails behind you, watching your body as you move up the stairs, trying not to think about how much he wants to just go to bed, curl between your arms and let you talk to him about your day. That's not why he's here, he's here to blow off steam, he's here to use you- to get used.

You open up the door, turning back to him with a small smile, "Go freshen up- I'll be in the bedroom."

He does what you say, your routine set by now as he watches you go. He heads towards the bathroom, he soaks his hands in your soap, he pretends it doesn't bother him. The water pours down the drain for a moment, time ticking on as Dean imagines a life he won't ever lead.

He peels up the bottom of his t-shirt, a slow hiss as he gets the first proper look at himself that he's had in hours. The bruising's worse, spread out across his torso in ugly blotches. Blues and yellows add to the oil slicked purple rainbow, he can see an outline of his ribs where he shouldn't. He knows you won't let him get away with this, you'll want to comfort him, want him to go slow. That's not what he needs right now. He needs to be mean, he needs to hurt.

He drops the fabric, hiding away his secrets as he turns the tap back off. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the way his side twangs with pain when he does, then makes his way back out to the bedroom.

You're sat with your legs criss crossed on the bed, wearing your top but no pants, thrown off to the other side of the room while you were waiting. You glance up when he enters, a smile that's softer than usual, more cautious. Dean looks at you, sat in your underwear, looking as pretty as you always do. He wants to ruin you.

"Take your clothes off."

You laugh, "Good evening to you, too."

He doesn't, "I'm not asking." He pulls at his belt, quick.

Your smile falls slightly, you give a small nod, his gaze sending pressure between your legs, that look like he's going to devour you. The last time he gave you that look you couldn't walk the next day and you had marks on your neck for a week.

You pull your top off over your head as Dean makes work of his own belt, watching you carefully. You reach for your bra, watching his expression- his eyes shift over you, jaw tighter as you unclasp it, letting it slide down your arms. His gaze stays locked as he drops his pants to the floor. You pull off your own underwear, not even trying to look good- just steady as you keep your eyes on him.

Dean reaches for his t-shirt, then thinks better of it, "Turn around, ass up."

You can't hide your smile, it's almost fun seeing him like this. You know this is what he must be like usually, so controlled, stern- but it plays like an act when he's here. An act you enjoy, even if it doesn't completely ring true. You're used to a softer side, a Dean who looks like summer.

You turn, sinking against the mattress, laying your cheek against the pillow as you slide your arms below it. You do what he asked, lifting your hips as you push you ass into the air.

He lets out a slow breath, teeth grinding slightly as he gets a good look at you- god he missed you.

You feel the mattress dip as he moves behind you, fingers trailing up the back of your thigh. You hold your breath as he moves higher, just his fingertips grazing against you carefully, almost hesitant. There's a small pause, he leans down, kissing the small of your back.

Then he moves again, pressing two fingers against your folds. You gasp, back arching as you lift into him, your body instantly tingling with the feeling.

"You're fuckin' soaked- this all for me?"

You nod against the pillow, already dazed by the feeling, the idea of speaking too much for you.

He chuckles slightly, fingers dipping down to circle your clit before he slides over your slit again. You feel him shifting behind you- he's finally confident that you'll keep your head down, too caught in pleasure to look at him, as he drags his shirt off his body. He looks like hell, he's just hoping you won't notice.

He pushes his boxers down, pulling out his cock, stroking himself as he keeps his gaze on you. He doesn't give you any warning as he replaces his fingers with it, the head pressed against your pussy as he lets your arousal soak over the tip.

He pushes in slowly- it doesn't matter how bad he wants this, he knows he still needs to take his time on the first steady thrust as you hum into the pillow, his size almost too much. One hand finds your hip, the other splays out on your back, keeping your body arched.

"You good?-" He mutters quietly, thumb rubbing against your hip as he drags his cock back just as slow.

You give another him another nod, murmuring out a sound of approval.

His grip tightens, firm, a sharp breath as he gets one more steady look at you stretched out below him. Then he thrusts hard, filling you in one quick move. You gasp, head burrowed into the pillow, fingers curling into the sheets. He doesn't relent, moving fast as he starts to build up a rhythm, his cock filling you on every harsh fuck.

He watches the way your back arches for him, the way you take him so well. He feels that unstoppable gut feeling start to fill him- that one that tells him this sex isn't like other sex- but he ignores it, trying to focus on the physical sensations instead. Your pussy feels so tight around his cock, soaking over him, your skin is so soft under his touch.

He tugs at your hips, pulling you into him in time with his movements, making sure to completely fill you. Your ass slams back against him, skin slapping skin, loud-

-The whole room is loud. Inescapably. Dean's grunting on everything thrust, deep sounds pushed from his lungs every time he shifts his hips forward. You're no quieter, soft whimpers every time he pulls back, gasping moans into the sheets when he pushes in. There's the sound of his cock pushing into you, of your slick arousal coating him. It sounds like a mess.

He's hitting that sweet spot that makes your brain dizzy, your hands balling into the sheets just to keep yourself sane. You feel your orgasm rising- it doesn't feel fair, you never give it to him this easily- he never gives it this easily. He usually loves a tease, a slow controlled rise- that's clearly not what tonight's about.

"Dean- fuck- I'm too close-" you manage to admit, your eyes still screwed shut.

"I want it-" his own confession, spilling out tight. He fucks into you harder, greedy.

You cum with a loud moan, fingers tangling further into the sheets, a white hot pleasure pushed through you. It feels like you're breaking for a moment, your whole body burning up with the feeling.

He doesn't let up, not when you're gasping out against the pillow, not when your body relaxes against the mattress, not even when your eyes fade open gently, still in a fog of pleasure.

He leans forward, holding your nape as he pushes your face back against the pillow, your eyes screwing shut again. He pushes in harder- desperate to keep denying his state. His ribs feel like they might snap- he focuses on the feeling, letting it ground him to the moment.

Your hand moves out from under your head, sliding backwards on the mattress until you find Dean's leg. Your fingers trace against his body, like a silent beg. It feels too nice, it's not what he needs from you right now, it's exactly the thing he's trying to avoid.

He grabs your wrist, moving it behind your back, pinning it against your body. You arch out further, arm locked behind you, watering eyes spilling onto the pillow. Your jaw hangs open, a desperate moan pushed out every time he thrusts into you, becoming less and less lucid every second.

He slaps your ass, shocking you back into the moment. His handprint blooms against your skin instantly, a red mark against your flesh. He wants to mark you, wants to prove you're his- tonight at least. He slaps you again, harder, then again, at the top of your thigh.

"Jesus sweetheart- look at you-" he stares down at the way you're taking his length, tight around him, "-you're fucking incredible."

He moves back to gripping your hip, one hand still pressing your wrist against your back. His fingers curl against you, holding you secure as he continues to slam into you.

He feels own orgasm rising, desperately closer than he realized- his breath stutters as he grips you tighter, "Don't deserve this, don't deserve you-"

It's an honesty he regrets, but he knows he needs to say it, needs to tell you what you mean to him. He doesn't push it further, tonight isn't the night for this, but his body still floods with a warmth he pretends isn't there. You don't notice, too dazed to even hear the words.

He pushes your wrist down again, just to watch the way your body twists into him, head buried into the pillow, ass pushing back against him. He groans out, hair sticking to his forehead, "-gotta feel you break again, honey- god I've gotta feel it-"

"Dean- Dean please-" you mumble against the pillow- he doesn't know if you're agreeing or telling him you can't, but he keeps fucking into you anyway.

You snap for a second time, it shocks through you, your legs twitching, sobbing into the pillow, your body so exhausted you can't breathe. He pulls out with a whimpered groan, his cum spilling out over your ass and back. He feels his mind go white, copper spilling into his mouth from his split lip.

You fall against the mattress, fucked out. Your brain is tingling with the feeling's still flooding your body, Dean's words, his admiration. You feel him shift, slowly as he pulls himself together. It takes him a minute to swing his legs off the bed, a minute more to actually stand. He grabs tissues from the side of your room, moves back quickly to clean you up. He wipes them over your back, gentle.

Your eyes start to open, hazy as you feel his hands on you. He doesn't let them, sinking back on the bed next to you, pulling your body off the mattress onto your side. He wraps himself over you, spooning you with his arms around your body, his legs tangled into yours. He presses his lips to your shoulder, just feeling you for a moment.

"So good-" he murmurs against you, "-did so good f'me-"

"Dean-" you go to turn, he doesn't want you to. There's a chance you're too out of it to spot the bruising, but it's a chance he's not willing to take. Not when tonight's gone so well, when you're happy and dazed and don't have any worries- he can't add the weight of this.

He grips you tighter, keeping you still. He traces one hand up the side of your body, careful, fingertips dancing against your skin, "Steady, honey, keep yourself still for me-"

You let out a slow breath, relaxing into him, "Missed you."

He chuckles slightly, the idea that everything you just did could be condensed into those two words. He kisses you again, "Missed you too."

There's a tiny smudge of blood on your shoulder, from the cut in his lip. He watches it closely, that image- his blood, your body. A mess he's caused, ruining you just that little bit more.

His hand moves lower, over your thigh, carefully running along as he pulls himself back slightly to get a proper look at you- the marks on your ass are already going down, they'll be gone completely soon, you're okay.

He pulls at you, getting you to spread your thighs apart for him as your calf hooks over his leg. His fingers glide down between your folds- you let out a sudden gasp, sensitive to the touch.

"Shh honey, I've got you- gonna be okay- gonna make you feel good-"

Dean's going to fuck you to sleep. He's going to bury his fingers in you and make you cum until you're too exhausted to move. And when you wake up he'll already be dressed, and he won't have to care about seeing that look of worry on your face that makes him guilty for even coming in the first place.

He dips the tips of his fingers into you, just for a moment, feeling you soak over him. You squirm slightly under his touch, settling when he drags his fingers back over your pussy.

"Dean- honey- we've already-" your face turns, only slightly- Dean grabs your jaw, keeping your head from moving.

"Just one more- s'all I'm asking-"

His fingers trail up to your clit, circling it carefully. You let out a gentle moan, foggy pleasure filling you- it's not the harsh feeling you had only moments ago, it's softer, closer. Your pussy's still puffy from the fucking, and your body feels so far away, but Dean's hands on you aren't something you'd ever pass up. He moves down, pushing two fingers into you inch by slow inch. You grip the sheets, another small gasp.

"Oh sweetheart, still so sensitive-" he murmurs, kissing your shoulder again, his bloodstained mark.

He pulls out with a slick sound, moving back to focus on your clit. Your body sinks against his, your hips grinding against his hand. He tightens his grip on your jaw, keeping you still as he trails his lips down to your neck, light across your skin.

He speeds up his movements, fingers working over you quickly as that familiar buzz of another orgasm starts to fill you. You feel it rising, tight, desperate for what only he can give you.

He bites down on your neck, teeth grazing across your skin, a sharp reminder to keep you focused on his movements. You let go of the sheets, reaching back to his head, fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him closer. You feel him smile against you as you tug at him, needy.

"Good girl- that's it-"

His movements grow firmer, faster, pushing you to the edge.

"Sweet thing- you're so fucking good- this desperate little pussy- all mine huh?"

You nod, dazed.

He chuckles, kissing your neck again, "Knew it- knew this cunt belongs to me- you belong to me-"

You're so close, body slick with sweat, sticking to Dean behind you.

"Give it to me- god honey let me feel it-"

You do- you give him everything. Your body falls apart with another orgasm, slower this time, a foggy exhaustion keeping you steady. It fills you in a gentle glow of pleasure, soaking like honey through your veins. You let out a quiet moan, still tugging at him, your body arching out on the bed, finished.

Dean keeps his lips on your neck for a moment, his fingers still gentle as they slowly pull away. He drags them up your body, careful to keep you steady. His other hand moves to wrap around you again, pulling you close.

He stares at the blood on your shoulder as his fingers trail over you. He draws patterns across your body, small lines, dappled fingerprints- it's supposed to be soothing you but it's doing more for him, knowing you're so close.

He always finds it easier when he's with you. He's not sure what it is, maybe it's the way you make him feel safe, feel warm, feel real. Everything's easier when he's here- thinking's easier. He normally avoids it, but with your breath slowing next to him, he allows himself to think. He thinks of breakfast, of waking you up with eggs, he thinks of the bakery, of your pie fresh out the oven. He thinks of kissing you every day for the rest of his life.

His movements slow as his own lids fall heavy, his body more exhausted than he realized. He thinks maybe it's okay, maybe now you're asleep he can stop worrying about everything that could go wrong.

But it's not okay- you shift, slowly- slow enough he doesn't even realize at first, he imagines it's his fingers just falling against your skin as he drifts off, but then you move more, your body pulling away, the mattress wavering.

You sit up slowly, dragging your hand over your face, a small nag that tells you you don't want to sleep, not when Dean's here and you can spend just a little longer staring at his pretty face. But it's not his face that catches your eye, it's his body, his rot colored torso.

"Jesus-" you gasp, shifting back slightly to look at him properly.

His eyes open in a haze, the sight of you staring down at him. He swallows hard, immediately defensive, "It's not as bad as it looks-" it comes out breathier than he means, lungs forgetting how to work- it makes him look like a liar. He is a liar.

"Fuck-" you reach out instinctively, the pads of your fingers rippling against his skin, then pull back, cautious of your own touch.

He pulls your hand into his own, his other hand moving to the crook of your neck, "Honey- please-"

You shake your head, "This is bad Dean- actually bad- you need to- jesus why didn't you tell me- we need to go to the ER-" 

He chuckles at your worry, "I'm okay, I'm really okay-" 

"You don't look okay!" 

"I'm alright," he leans forward, kissing your forehead, "-Sam checked me over."

You let a short breath out your nose, not quite mustering a laugh, "And he's a medical expert, is he?" 

"More than you are-" he raises his eyebrow, a small smile. 

You swallow hard, glancing over him. You bite your lip, it looks like he's been obliterated, "And we just-" you drag your hand down your face, a guilt that you didn't notice anything, "-you should have told me before we fucked-" 

"You'd have stopped me-" he offers as explanation. 

"Yes!- You shouldn't be moving right now let alone- all that!" 

He chews his lip, thumb rubbing against your cheek.

You swallow, "We could've at least gone easier."

"I didn't want easy." He admits.

You finally break, a spark as you pretend to pout, "You don't like when I'm on top?" 

He grins, pulling you into a small kiss. He rests his forehead against you for a moment, breathing you in, "I should've told you."

"You should've."

He doesn't quite say I'm sorry, but you know that's what he means. You reach out again slowly, carefully, fingers trailing along, "What happened?"

"Hunt. Demon. Made a mistake."

You nod. You know you won't get any more from him- in all honesty you don't need it. You just need him with you now, and god he needs you. That feeling he's been so scared of, that he's been burying all night- it's here now and it's consuming him- and he adores it. That feeling that you're here, that you're holding him and being so soft for him and that you'll give him everything he needs.

He relaxes back against the mattress. You keep your fingers on him, then break away. He stares up at you, eyes pleading without knowing what he's even asking for. You lean down slowly,

"Oh pretty boy-" you press your lips gently against the bruise, "-why does life keep hurting you?"

🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧

Asked to tag: @lunarwisteria @isaspn @feminineintuitionsposts @teamackles96 @aylacavebear @megara0224 @mystic-mara @xxgarciaxx @angrydragon90 @bellathebookdevouer @bitchinwallaby @maximummischief-theangerwithin @wh01e10tta10ve @iloveneilperry @just--doing-my-best @herogasm70 @ticklish-leafy-plant @mrs-cactus69 @thesundontshineontheseeyebrows @ackleskisser-mp4 @butterfly-lover @winterstar67 @missyoudean @jensenpie8 @ty-31 @stars-in-h3aven @thamirie @lawboy-69

Just comment/message to let me know if you'd like a tag :)

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate One-Shot

A/N: This little one-shot is where the series Bloodlines & Fate was born from. I just never imagined that story would take on a life of its own the way it has. When I wrote this, I thought I was writing a chapter that would eventually slot into the middle of the story. I didn't realize how wrong I was. I still wanted to share this with all of you. I hope you enjoy it.

A/N: This will still be posted, but it was more of a one-shot than a series. The series is still in the works, and I'll be posting this one-shot for all of you when I can get it finished and once the series is a little further along.

Summary: You have a genetic disorder, Touched, the doctor called it, and with your lineage, you should be overjoyed. Your pack is, and there was a celebration when your parents found out when you were five. The older you got, though, the more you began hating it. You couldn’t scent anyone, not like they could. To you, it wasn’t fair. You couldn’t even shift during the full moon to run with your pack, spending those nights staring at the moon with tears in your eyes as you listened to your pack sing songs. Now that you were in your early twenties, you wondered if your soulmate would ever find you, especially after all the Alphas that had come to meet you since you’d presented Omega at fourteen, had turned their noses away from your scent.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 6575

Warnings: Pack dynamics, Typical A/B/O dynamics with a twist, full moon shifting, Set in modern times, lots of angst, longing.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet, as I am not actively writing it at the moment.

It was now eight months until your twenty-fifth birthday. You were sitting in the window seat of one of the cabins, looking out at the moon. Your pack had already shifted and was out running the vast wildness that belonged to them. You could feel your wolf, just beyond that barrier, just out of reach, letting out a quiet whine.

I need to run.

You pulled on your shoes and headed outside. Even if you couldn’t shift, you wanted to feel something that might bring you closer to your wolf. So, you ran. It was a nice night with a gentle breeze. Feeling the ground beneath your feet in this way wasn’t the same, but it still felt right. You’d never done this before, and something else had pulled you this night.

The moon’s light filtered through the canopy above you. You could still hear your pack, but they were in a different direction, as they typically stayed away from the neighboring property's border fence. A smile found its way to your lips as you ran, letting your mind wander and play out scenes of being in wolf form and doing this.

You weren’t sure what made you stop where you did, but when you looked around, you noticed a wolf and the border fence. You’d reached the area where the two connected. Peeking around the tree, just a little, you watched it, and it was watching you. From its size and scent, you could easily tell it was an Alpha. 

“You should go, wolf. My scent isn’t pleasant,” you told it, softly, but honestly.

It just shook its head, making you tilt yours a bit. Wolves had the ability to shift back to their human form at any given time, but for some reason, this one wasn’t. It had beautiful, dark brown highlights along its dirty brown coat and the most captivating emerald-green eyes you’d ever seen. Slowly, you stepped from behind the tree.

“My scent doesn’t bother you?” you asked, and again, he shook his head no.

You walked a little closer to the fence. It was chain-link, and this wolf didn’t seem threatening in any way. The wolf watched you curiously, tilting its head. You sat down on the ground, only a couple feet from the fence, crossing your legs. That made the wolf wag its tail, and it looked as though it was smiling.

“You can’t shift back, can you?” you asked the wolf, and it shook its head again.

It was something you had heard of, not being able to shift back to human form while the full moon was in the sky. Sometimes, it was so bad that the memories of the time, as the wolf, weren’t accessible after shifting back to human form when the sun rose.

“I’m sorry, wolf. I can’t shift either,” you told him sincerely.

He moved so that his body was against the fence, then rubbed his head on it a little, while also trying to look back at you. It made you giggle, but you moved closer and pet him through the fencing. His coat was soft, and you could feel his strong muscles beneath his fur.

“You’re part of the Winchester pack. Even if I don’t know who you are, it was nice to have met you, wolf,” you told him softly.

You sat there with him, telling him about your life, your genetic mutation, your pack, and everything you’d been through. He listened intently, whimpering sometimes, wagging his tail and smiling at others, even tilting his head in curiosity or confusion occasionally. You knew he was your soulmate, but there was no way of telling who he was, just the pack he was a part of. After many hours passed, you heard the songs of your pack in the distance, and knew you’d have to get back. With a heavy sigh, you turned back to the wolf.

“I have to go, wolf. I’ll come back tomorrow night, and every night of the full moon until I can find you in your human form,” you told him softly, making him wag his tail and smile happily.

You then leaned a little closer to the fence. “I promise, wolf, I will come back,” you whispered before placing a soft kiss on his nose, to which he licked your cheek quickly.

A giggle escaped your lips. “Good night, wolf.” He sang to the moon as you walked away, back to the cabin you needed to be in before sunrise, your thoughts on the wolf and his mesmerizing green eyes. His song was beautiful, and you already missed his company. You wanted to tell someone in your pack, but this had been very unorthodox, and you weren’t yet ready to tell them. 

You kept your promise, going back to the same place for the next two nights and again for the following months when the full moon came. He was there every time, and you shared what you had been up to. You would lean against the fence on your side, as he leaned against it on his side, as that was the closest the two of you could be. It was comforting for both of you, just in different ways.

“Dean, where the hell did you disappear to last night!?” Sam exclaimed, slamming the door of his brother's cabin and jolting him out of sleep on the couch.

“Huh?” Dean replied, sitting up and fairly groggy.

“You took off last night. None of the pack could find you. Your wolf knows it’s not safe to wander off since you can’t remember what happens,” Sam explained, both concerned and annoyed, as he sat in a chair adjacent to his brother.

Dean put his hands on either side of his head, almost feeling like he had a hangover, which had never happened before. ”Can you not yell?” Dean practically whined before getting up to make some coffee.

“Well, heads up, Mom and Dad are worried and are probably on their way here,” Sam sighed, watching his brother. Dean had always looked out for his younger brother, but when Dean presented Alpha and couldn’t shift back during the full moon, the entire pack rejoiced. It was their version of a Touched from the Winter pack, and it only happened with Alphas. After Sam had presented Alpha, he took it upon himself to watch out for his older brother during the nights of the full moon. His way of reciprocation for Dean always looking out for him.

“Man, I don’t want to deal with them,” Dean groaned from the kitchen as he made coffee.

“Dean, this isn’t something we can just ignore. The pack has to keep you safe when you shift,” Sam told him sympathetically. He had wished this burden had been put on him, not his older brother.

Just then, the cabin door was flung open. Mary and John looked around, almost frantically, for Dean, until they found him in the kitchen. “Son, you’re okay, thank god,” John sighed in relief.

Mary, on the other hand, had to go and look him over, checking his eyes and any exposed skin for any wounds or injuries.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Dean grumbled, but knew he couldn’t just shoo her away, so he let her give him a once-over while the coffee brewed.

“Sammy, go let the pack know that Dean’s okay,” John told his youngest son.

Without a word, Sam headed out to do just that while John and Mary sat down at the kitchen table. “Do you remember anything?” John asked him, and his tone was surprisingly kind.

“No. I just have a horrible migraine,” Dean replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee before joining them.

John and Mary shared a knowing look before looking back at their son. “Your wolf might have found your soulmate,” Mary told him with a soft smile.

Dean’s eyes instantly shot up. “How can you figure that? With all the omegas that have come here and not one of them being my soulmate… just, how? And why when I’m shifted? It’s not like I can remember what happened. How the hell is that even fair?” He was both frustrated and sad at this point, as it wasn’t fair. And at the moment, couldn’t even feel his wolf due to the migraine.

Mary got up and retrieved some medicine from the bathroom cabinet before returning. “Here, take these. It’ll help with the headache.”

“Son, the whole pack is going to keep an eye on you for the next two nights, and every full moon until we figure out who she is. We’re all here for you, and we’ll help,” John told him sympathetically.

Dean took the meds with his coffee, just wanting the pounding in his head to stop. “Sure, yeah,” he mumbled.

The two shared another look before they left him to his thoughts. He didn’t typically enjoy the comfort of others and had always felt like a bit of a loner because of how he was different. The pack may have been happy, and they all loved him, but he felt alone. Even during his ruts, the omegas that helped him through it weren’t even appealing to him. 

When the migraine did finally go away, he felt his wolf again, and the pull to go out. He just wasn’t sure where, and neither did his wolf. Dean was restless, mostly due to his wolf being restless. He cleaned, helped others with simple chores, and attempted to play with the pups when parents needed to get something done. Nothing seemed to help. 

His pack did try to watch him. They even attempted to follow him that night when they all shifted. However, Dean’s wolf was smart and gave them all the slip. The same thing happened the following night as well. It was frustrating not only for Dean but also his pack. They’d never had a Touched of their own that was as stubborn as Dean’s wolf. 

When this repeatedly happened for months on end, they approached Dean with a solution that they typically never would have considered. Since Sam was the one Dean was closest to, the pack let him be the one to suggest it.

“Dean, I know you’re not going to like this, but it’s the only solution anyone can come up with,” Sam sighed sympathetically, holding out the collar.

“Sam, I’m not wearing a damn tracking collar,” Dean growled.

“You’re getting more aggressive every full moon. You’re scaring the pups with just your scent,” he replied softly, trying to get his brother to calm down.

Dean knew he was right. It was getting bad. He could almost smell her scent on him when he would shift back in the mornings with the sunrise, and it was driving both him and his wolf insane. He ran a hand down his face while the other was on his hip.

“The full moon is only three days out. Mom and Dad are taking me to meet the Winter’s Touched. Her soulmate still hasn’t been found. They can’t take you because of how aggressive you’ve gotten, and they want to make a decent impression. Just… keep the collar and think about it,” Sam sighed, leaving the tracking collar on the coffee table before heading out.

The Winchester and Winter bloodlines had never crossed, not in the more than five hundred years they’d been tracking their lineage. Dean grumbled as he snatched up the collar from the coffee table, wanting to throw it across the room. His jaw clenched as his hand tightened around it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before putting the collar back on the table.

Your mother stood in your doorway, watching you as you looked at yourself in the mirror. It was a simple sundress, and your hair was up in a braid. When she had told you that the Winchesters were bringing one of their alphas to meet you, you nearly choked on your breakfast that morning. You still hadn’t told them that you’d been meeting with the green-eyed wolf on the nights of the full moon. All you knew about him was that he was an alpha, your soulmate, and that he was a Winchester.

“You look fine, honey,” your mother told you softly, wrapping you up in a hug.

“I know,” you sighed, setting your hand over hers as you attempted to get the butterflies in your stomach to calm down.

“Why do you seem so nervous?” she asked, picking it up in your scent.

“Our bloodlines have never crossed before. I’m allowed to be nervous,” you chuckled, attempting to play it off. You were secretly hoping that it was the green-eyed wolf you’d been meeting with.

“Everything will be fine. They’re as normal as we are,” she told you softly, rubbing your upper arms to attempt to soothe your nerves.

“I’ll be alright, Mom,” you replied with a small smile.

“Come on, they’ll be here soon,” she told you, so you followed her out of your room.

Your thoughts wandered as she led you to the living room. Not only was your father there, but so were a few of your uncles and at least four of your alpha cousins. It was normal, though. You sat on the couch, your family around the room, and your mother sat next to you. Moments later, the doorbell rang. Your father answered it as your heart raced, and he led the three into the living room.

With a deep breath, you finally looked up at them, doing your best not to frown when you looked into the young alpha’s eyes. They weren’t the emerald-green of the wolf you knew was your soulmate.

“Y/N, this is John, Mary, and their youngest son, Sam, of the Winchester pack,” your father introduced them before sitting on your other side.

You managed a small smile, “Nice to meet the three of you.” Something you had learned was how to read people, and your feline genes helped even more with hearing things that wolves couldn’t. The three of them sat down and were clearly uncomfortable with your scent, but were respectful nonetheless. “Nice to meet you as well,” John replied, returning a kind smile.

“You don’t have to pretend or stay longer than necessary. I can see that he is not my soulmate,” you told the three of them softly.

Sam looked slightly shocked at your words. “How can you tell that?”

“It’s in the way your heart is beating and how you’re breathing, even if you are keeping a straight face at my scent,” you replied, doing your best not to smirk at how stunned the young alpha was.

John did chuckle, though, which helped lighten the mood. “I wish Dean could have been here to meet you. He’d like you.”

You tilted your head a bit. “Dean?” 

“He’s my oldest and has a bit of a stubborn streak, but he’d love your bluntness,” he replied with another soft chuckle.

“Perhaps one day I will get to meet him,” you told him, making a mental note of the name, knowing the full moon was only three days away.

The Winchesters stood, shook the hands of your father, and he then showed them out. Your mother looked at you apologetically, but could tell something was going through your head. Luckily for you, she didn’t push asking you about it. You retired to your room and changed into something more comfortable before lying on your bed to stare at the ceiling.

“Dean…” you whispered, looking forward to the next full moon.

“You came back alone, so I’m guessing you’re not her soulmate, huh?” Dean surmised as he sat across from his brother.

“Yeah, no. Man, her scent is just… it’s gross. I didn’t want to say anything around her, but it’s truly horrible,” Sam replied, still trying to get her scent out of his nose. “She’s beautiful, though, and blunt. You’d like her.”

Dean sighed, “Kinda hard to like someone you can’t be around. Still wish I could have gone.”

“We’ll figure things out. That tracker is gonna help,” he told his brother sympathetically.

When the evening of the full moon did come, Dean prepared himself for it. He couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror as he put the tracking collar around his neck and clipped it into place. This was something he hadn’t wanted to do, but he knew it needed to be done. There were risks with running alone, even if his pack did own the property, and he needed to know what had been happening when he shifted.

With a deep breath, he joined the other alphas of his pack. They all gave him a reassuring look while his father reassured him with a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam told him again as night fell.

Dean shifted first, then the rest of the pack. He tried to shake the collar off, even scratching at it with his hind leg. Sam nudged him, then shook his head. Dean’s wolf was not happy and took off running, so the pack followed. Again, Dean’s wolf ditched them, or so he thought. Sam was following, but at a greater distance, following the sound of the beep the collar would give off in increments. 

You had begun running to the place where you met him every full moon, a mixture of excitement and anticipation pushing you to run faster. It was only just after dark when you reached that place at the fence, resting your hands on the chain link, watching the darkness on the other side. You looked up at the sky, listening carefully for any sounds in the night. As the moon began showing itself, you heard the familiar sound of his paws on the forest floor.

“Wolf,” you said happily, seeing him come slowly into view, but something about him felt wrong. You crouched down before kneeling on the ground as he approached. He looked almost sad. “What’s wrong, wolf?” you asked, trying not to worry.

He whimpered and shook his head before moving just enough for you to see it: the tracking collar. You reached out to touch it, but he pulled away, shaking his head again.

You looked at him, puzzled. “You don’t want me to take it off?” And he shook his head again. So, with a sigh, you sat down and leaned against the fence. “Okay, I won’t take it off. Your pack is worried, aren’t they?”

The wolf nodded this time, then leaned against the fence against you, almost purring. “I missed you, too, wolf,” you told him, petting him through the fencing. You purred softly against him, but yours was the purr of a cat. “Wolf, I want to know something,” you told him softly after a few minutes of silence. He looked over at you, tilting his head with curiosity, which you found so cute that you giggled quietly. “Is your name Dean?” you asked, feeling anxious at the possibility.

He not only began wagging his tail vigorously, but he also licked your face through the fence, making you laugh. You didn’t see the other wolf in the distance, who was just watching the two of you.

“So, Dean, I met your brother today, and your parents,” you told him, still giggling a little as he rubbed his side against yours through the fence, making all sorts of happy sounds. Your words made him look at you again with that same curiosity as before.

“They’re nice, and your brother is sweet for trying to keep a straight face after he smelled my scent in the room,” you chuckled, comforting Dean by petting him through the fence. “I know you’re my soulmate, my Alpha. And now that I know your name, I can find you,” you told him softly. That wasn’t how it had ever gone before: a Touched seeking out their soulmate due to not being able to smell unique scents like others could.

Dean seemed to be utterly happy, nearly hopping around almost playfully. You both wished the fence wasn’t between you, as you wanted so badly to wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you. Neither of you noticed Sam take off, back to the pack. 

He knew he had nothing to worry about, and that his brother was in good hands. He was happier than he could even express. What were the odds that two Touched would find each other in the way it had happened? All Sam could think was that fate definitely had a hand in it.

You spent the night telling Dean about the events of the last month, loving how you now knew his name. You bid him farewell as you did every night of the full moon, a soft kiss on his nose, and he a lick to your cheek. You were both smiling when you parted ways that night, well, early morning, only hours before the sun was due to rise.

When you returned to the cabin, though, your father was already there, as was your mother, and they didn’t look happy. Before you could even apologize, they both wrapped you in a hug, which confused the hell out of you.

“You found him, didn’t you, your soulmate?” your mother asked, doing her best not to cry.

At first, you froze as your heart began pounding, but you managed a deep breath just as they pulled away. “Yeah, about six months ago,” you answered quietly but honestly.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” your father asked, sad that you hadn’t trusted them with the information.

“I wasn’t sure who he was, and I didn’t want to scare him if I went to our spot with anyone from my pack.” You were honest, but felt bad.

“Oh, sweetie. We could have helped bring the two of you together sooner. We could have scented him, learned who he was,” your mother sighed sympathetically.

A small smile began tugging at the corner of your lips. “I know who he is now. It’s Dean Winchester, but he won’t remember me or our meetings. He can’t shift at will during the full moon,” you explained, your smile only growing as you spoke about him.

Your parents looked at each other, sharing a private conversation without saying a word before they turned back to you. “This is gonna be a little unorthodox, but we’ll go to the Winchesters. No reason to delay things any longer.” Your father told you, and you felt goosebumps dance their way down your body. You were going to finally meet him, in human form, and he was going to see you for the first time.

Dean woke up almost after sunrise, and threw the collar across his living room, causing it to hit the wall right next to the door. Sam slowly opened the front door and peeked inside. “What, Sam?” Dean growled from the other side of the living room, his head pounding again, and her scent was all over him. Some elusive omega that had all his nerves on edge.

“I actually have some good news, if you’re in the mood,” Sam told him, doing his best not to be repulsed by her scent, which he could smell even with Dean across the room.

Dean grumbled and headed to the bathroom for meds for his pounding head, wanting it just to go away. “Did that damned collar at least work?” he asked through a clenched jaw, heading to the kitchen for water.

“Yup,” Sam replied, popping the ‘p.’ “You found your soulmate, and now we know who she is. Hell, I can still smell her on you.”

Dean froze in place as his heart pounded in his chest, the throbbing in his head seemed to keep beat with it. He jumped when Sam set his hand on his shoulder, finally managing a deep breath as he grabbed some water.

“Who is she?” he asked quietly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“It’s Y/N Winter, and her parents are bringing her here in an hour,” Sam told him with a happy smile.

Dean couldn’t think straight all of a sudden, forgetting his throbbing head, the cup of water in his hand, and the meds in the other. You- he was going to meet you. His soulmate. All he could do was stare at his brother with a completely blank yet surprised expression as time seemed to stop.

Sam chuckled, “Take your meds and go shower. I’ll come get you when they get here. They’ve agreed to meet at the edge of the property, for the pack's sake.” And with that, Sam patted his brother on the shoulder before leaving him alone.

You hadn’t been able to sleep for the few hours before sunrise. Instead, you spent the time attempting to find something nice yet comfortable to wear. Nothing felt right. It either felt like too much or not enough. With a grumbled sigh, you plopped down on the edge of your bed.

“Wear something comfortable,” your mother suggested gently from the doorway, pulling your gaze. She gave you a sympathetic smile when she saw your frown.

Without a word, she glanced at the clothes spread around your room, draped over different pieces of furniture, and then went to your closet. In the back, she found one of your older dresses, one you hadn’t worn in a long time. It was a simple dress. Not quite a sundress, but not quite elegant enough to be an evening dress.

She pulled it out and held it up for you. “What about this one?”

Still frowning, you looked up at the dress, a smile tugging at your lips.  It was the sky blue of the dress with the dark blue of the roses that adorned the skirt, and it was perfect. You quickly changed as your mother chuckled to herself and left your room. Then, you put your hair up in a braid.

Your heart was pounding during the forty-minute drive from the cabin on the land to the front of the Winchester property. Your hands kept finding anything they could to fidget with to keep yourself distracted, but nothing was working. All you could think about were his green eyes, and you knew exactly what you were going to say to him when you saw him.

The cabin came into view through the windshield, and for a moment, you held your breath as everything else began fading away. A couple of vehicles were parked to the left of it, but your eyes were on the cabin itself. Two alphas were on the porch, chatting with each other, but neither of them were yours.

As your father parked, you felt like you wanted to run inside the cabin, but at the same time, you felt like you couldn’t move. “Come on, honey,” your mother encouraged you gently, and you finally managed a shaky breath and opened the car door.

When the three of you got out of the car, the two alphas watched you, noting how you held yourself. They knew who you were, had seen the newspaper articles about you, but had never met you.

“We’re here to meet with the head of the Winchester pack,” your father told them, his tone respectful.

One of the alphas nodded, then went inside, but movement at one of the windows caught your attention, pulling your gaze. You tilted your head in curiosity, swearing that you had seen something, someone, but there was nothing there.

He hadn’t been able to concentrate when he showered or when he got dressed. Dean even tried giving himself and his wolf a pep talk in the mirror, but that hadn’t worked either. His wolf was excited, practically playful in his head.

“Well, at least someone’s in a good mood,” he had mumbled before he had pulled himself away from the mirror.

Now, though, he was pacing the living room of the main cabin at the front of the land, unable to sit down. His wolf was restless, so he was restless. Sam tried to talk to him, but not even that was working. All Mary and John could do was watch him while they waited for you to show up with your parents.

Dean had gone to the window, his wolf wanting to see if you were there yet, so he obliged, but the driveway was void of foreign vehicles. Benny and Cas were waiting on the porch with Bobby inside, wanting to be there for Dean. It had been hard on all of them, seeing what Dean had been going through, but right now, all of them were excited.

He heard it before he could see it: the car your father was driving. Glancing out the side of the window, mostly hidden by the curtains, he watched the long driveway that led out to the main road, wanting to catch a glimpse of you. Dean practically held his breath when you got out of the car, and everything seemed to fade out of his field of vision except for you.

The sky-blue dress fell gently over your curves. It made you look both elegant and relaxed at the same time. Then there was how the sun danced through the canopy of trees, sprinkling your face with light. His lips parted as his wolf howled happily within him, and he couldn’t move. Well, he couldn’t move until he saw you look toward the window while the front door of the cabin opened.

“The Winters are here,” Cas announced, unable to hide his joy as he held the door open and took a step back.

Dean had to shove his hands in his pockets, his wolf whimpering, trying to get him to go to you. He was trying to be patient, but it wasn’t his strongest quality, especially not after how the last six months had gone.

With a shaky breath, you followed your parents inside. Six alphas, one omega, you mentally counted. Then your parents moved to the sides, and you looked ahead of you. You didn’t see the tears that slipped from your mother’s eyes or Mary’s. All you saw was the man standing five feet away from you—the alpha with green eyes. “Hi, wolf,” you said softly, but he was too stunned to move.

Your scent washed over him as a light breeze came in through the open door. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as every muscle in his body relaxed, and a smile found his lips. Home. His wolf howled inside him, feeling the same way. When he didn’t move or say anything, you tilted your head slightly, wondering what was going through his mind. The others stayed quiet, just watching.

“Dean?” you asked, a little unsure now. Having never been able to smell more than presentation on anyone before, you didn’t fully understand how scents affected others. You’d seen it, read about it, but since you hadn’t experienced it, there was still a lack of understanding.

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his name. Your voice made it sound like a song, calling to him like a siren. A stupid, boyish grin found his lips, but he still didn’t know what to say, being at a complete loss for words.

Sam chuckled from the couch, watching his usually suave, charming brother go completely speechless in front of an omega, even if you were his soulmate. John cleared his throat, but Dean didn’t notice, too mesmerized by you.

“Sorry, he’s not usually this… quiet,” John apologized with a quiet chuckle.

You looked over at John, smiling a little shyly. “Would it be okay if we had a few minutes, just the two of us?” you asked, trying to be respectful but also hoping you could find a way to get Dean to say something.

“Let’s go,” Bobby piped in with an amused chuckle as he pushed off the wall to the side of the couch.

You watched them all leave, your parents included, but Dean’s eyes never left you. With a deep breath, you turned back to Dean after the cabin door was closed. For a moment, you thought about how to proceed. You’d never met an alpha that didn’t have something to say. Finding a new level of determination, you walked over to him, your eyes never leaving his.

The closer you got, the less he felt like he could breathe, but at the same time, he felt more at ease than he ever had before. The boyish smile on his lips grew more into a goofy grin when you stopped in front of him. “Will you sit with me?” you asked him, and his lids drooped a little. To you, he almost looked stoned, but he was adorable, and it made you giggle.

When he didn’t move, you chuckled a little, then gently tugged him by his forearm over to the couch. You had to gently push him to sit down, forcing him to remove his hands from his pockets before you sat next to him. He was awestruck, but his wolf was happy now that you were close, sitting beside him: your giggle, your voice, your touch. Everything had captivated him in a way no omega ever had before. He felt like he was on cloud nine, and he never wanted to come down. When his wolf yipped loudly in his mind, it snapped him out of his haze that was all you, and a deep blush of embarrassment flooded his cheeks. Even the tips of his ears turned red.

“Sorry,” he told you, fairly embarrassed as he finally looked away from you, trying to get his heart to stop racing and his breathing to even out. Dean focused on the circular carpet on the floor in front of the couch, trying to get his brain to work. “I’m not usually like this.”

Hearing his voice captivated you, almost as much as his eyes had. It was deep, a little gruff, with that hint of nervousness. For a moment, you stayed quiet and watched him, wondering what he was thinking about. 

Dean felt your eyes on him as he attempted to center himself. At least his wolf had finally quieted down. “I thought I was going crazy when I’d shift in the morning, and your scent was on me. Can you tell me what happened at night?” his voice was quiet, worried, and nervous. 

You smiled softly at him, even if he couldn’t look at you right now. “We would meet at the fence in a small clearing. Then, we’d sit with each other. You’d be pressed against the fence, and I would lean against you. Then, I’d talk to you and tell you about my life and the things that happened since I had seen you last,” you explained, trying to gauge his expression of how he’d react.

“So, my wolf knows all about you.”  his words were whispered, his gaze on the floor, but he was lost in his thoughts. He wanted to know those things. He wanted to know you.

“Will you ever get those memories?” you asked, a little quietly but more curious, leaning a little so you could look at him better. To you, he looked lost, and you gingerly reached out, setting your hand on his forearm.

Dean’s head snapped up, meeting your gaze as electricity shot through his body at your touch. He was practically holding his breath, but his wolf was purring. He coughed to clear his throat, but mostly so he could find words and breathe. “My, uh… my true mate has to claim me first,” he told you a little sheepishly.

A silence fell over the two of you, both of you wondering almost the same thing, but neither of you wanted to ask. What happens now? He glanced down at your hand on his arm, a smile tugging at his lips again while you watched him, unsure what to say. Dean knew your story, he’d read the articles when they had been published. 

In the photo of you, you had looked happy, even hopeful, but he had seen something else in your eyes. It was almost like a fear that you wouldn’t find your true mate. He understood that feeling, having gone through it since he had presented alpha at sixteen. You were beautiful, though, and even then, his wolf seemed to know, getting restless the moment Dean had looked at your picture.

He didn’t see how you bit your bottom lip, lost in thought. Or how your eyes were searching his expression. He was remembering back to that day that seemed so long ago. It was your voice that pulled his attention back to your eyes. “Would you let me claim you, Dean?” you asked so quietly that he thought he made up the question slipping from your lips.

Dean blinked blankly for a moment, trying again not to get lost in your eyes. Think, damnit! He barely managed a deep breath as his entire body buzzed with a new sort of anticipation, that goofy, giddy smile finding his lips again and going all the way to his eyes. That was when he realized he would never be able to tell you no and mean it. You had him wrapped around your finger, but he also knew that you’d never abuse his affections or his love.

“Can I claim you?” he asked, his voice a whisper, and he was trying to remember to take deep breaths.

A blush found your cheeks as you ducked your head a little, letting your gaze fall to your hand on his arm. “I’ll go into my first heat within a week after it happens. If you’re okay with that…” your voice was quiet, almost a whisper like his had been, leaving the unfinished question hanging between the two of you.

The way the blush colored your cheeks had Dean’s heart fluttering. Then, your words finally sank into his logical brain—your first heat. You were untouched in that way, and it sent a thrill through his body as his wolf howled happily. He couldn’t even stop himself from licking his lips as he tried desperately not to think about it in detail.

“I’m okay with that,” he practically purred, making the blush in your cheeks go a few shades deeper. Dean shook his head, trying to pull his mind and body from the spell you seemed to have put him under. “I’m sorry. Did that sound too eager?” he asked, realizing how you could have taken his words.

You giggled, and his smile instantly came back. “You’re adorable,” you giggled again. “It did sound eager, but that’s okay. I trust you, and your wolf.” This time, your voice was soft, like a gentle melody that instantly soothed Dean’s nerves from a moment ago. Dean swallowed hard as his eyes darted to your neck, completely exposed thanks to your braid, then licked his lips. 

Whatever the future held, neither of you let it worry you. You’d already gotten over the biggest hurdle of your lives, finding each other. The details of how things would change could be worried about later. But neither of you would face it alone. You had each other now. And that? That was more precious than any worry that might try to get between the two of you.

A/B/O Master List Main Master List Bloodlines & Fate Master List

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

Forever Tag List:

@roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny @muhahaha303 @barewithme02

@nancymcl @thewinchesterwench @krazykelly @biancalinkas @abbacadabara

@sepho @princessjas1-11 @mightypocketcow @spideyfan1800

Tag List:

@nancymcl @lovelydisc @luahmeeks @alternativeprincess94 @kailalaland

@ladykitana90 @muhahaha303 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @suckitands33 @stoneyggirl2

@smut02 @deans-baby-momma

[aylacavebear]

Well, here it is guys. The one-shot that started it all. :) I'm currently working on chapter 88 for the series I thought wouldn't be more than 5 chapters long. I hope you enjoy this.

Permanent Tag List:

@roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny @muhahaha303 @barewithme02

@nancymcl @thewinchesterwench @krazykelly @biancalinkas @abbacadabara

@sepho @princessjas1-11 @mightypocketcow @spideyfan1800

Tag List:

@lovelydisc @luahmeeks @alternativeprincess94 @kailalaland

@ladykitana90 @muhahaha303 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @suckitands33 @stoneyggirl2

@smut02 @deans-baby-momma

[bettystonewell]

When 5 turns into 80+ 😂❤️❤️❤️

I’m still behind, and I need to catch up, but you, my lovely, are one hell of a writer! Thank you for sharing this with us!

I think Bloodlines is the first fic I’ve seen with 88 chapters, and every single one of them is pure alpha!Dean x Reader delight!

Here’s to more! 😘

[aylacavebear]

Awe, thank you. You're so sweet. I hope you enjoyed getting to see where Bloodlines & Fate originated from. It floored me to find out I've been working on this story for 2 years next month.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Can This Feeling Haunt You Too?

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, humor, witch curses, smut (oral f!receiving, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, in v sex), light angst, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: When you and Dean are hit with a love spell that doesn't work, you have to confront some feelings.

Author's Note: This fic has been in the drafts since December 2024. Finished and revised it. Honestly maybe one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Word Count: 9.7k

This house is bigger than you’d thought it would be. This whole case is bigger than you’d thought it would be. Sam called it a salt and burn. Sam convinced you and Dean to do this because there would be rich, fancy food that you’d get to devour after you got the ghost, and you’d be out of town before the week was over. 

Sam was a fucking idiot.

You’ve been here for two weeks. Two, long, exhausting weeks of the most mind-boggling hunt of your life. For one, it was not a salt and burn. Dean had figured that out on day two, stomping into the motel room with a scowl and pointing an accusing finger at Sam.

“You wanna know what the hell I just learned?” He’d half-shouted, not waiting for Sam’s response before he continued. “That house is brand new. Not built on any cemeteries or murder sites, or filled with any cursed furniture or paintings, it’s just a freakin’ house. Hell, the whole thing is younger than a freshly popped baby!”

You’d snorted, giving him an amused look. “A freshly popped baby?”

“Shut up,” he’d grumbled your name, still scowling at Sam. “This isn’t a salt and burn, Sammy, it’s something else. Something that we,” he’d gestured around the room with a dramatic wave on his hand. “Don’t got the fuckin’ time to figure out.”

Sam had sighed. “Calm down, Dean. Maybe it’s an antique they don’t know they have, or a dead family member-“

“No,” you’d cut him off with a shake of your head. “I talked to the daughter, she said these were the firsts deaths in her family during her lifetime.”

“Well, they’re rich, right? All rich people have enemies. Skeltons in their closets.” Sam had run a hand through his hair, giving you an almost pleading look to side with him and curb Dean’s wrath.

Sam should’ve known better by now.

“They were clean,” you’d shrugged. “I even called Jody to see if they had any records, and best she could find was a speeding ticket for the son.”

“The son is the one who-“

“Died second.” You’d nodded, Sam had paled slightly. “And it was just a ticket. No casualties, no one else in the car, everything published in all the local papers. No skeletons.”

“Shit.” Sam had muttered, and he’d been right. 

This was shit. 

There was a huge, rich family dropping like flies, and you’d had evidence of a ghost, but there were none to be found. 

And you’d spent a whole week trying to figure out what the hell this thing was. No type of ghost, but also no type of monster. All the organs stayed in the body, all the victims stayed dead, and everyone was passing the silver and holy water test. Every death was the same, as well—sudden, self-inflicted, no note—and Dean had suggested just some psycho human, but there were no signs of a break-in, and Sam got his hands on security footage that proved it was just the victims, doing this to themselves. It wasn’t a crossroads demon come to collect, because the family’s rise to power had been slow and unremarkable, and everyone was dying without rhyme or reason. 

It was infuriating. 

“Maybe it’s angels?” You’d looked up at Dean—across the coffee table and on his fifth bottle of beer—rubbing your eyes in a desperate attempt to stay awake. 

“Why would it be angels.” He’d grunted, and you’d shrugged.

“I dunno, I’m trying to create solutions, not problems.”

He’d snorted. “All you’re creating is a distraction. Read your stupid book.”

“You sound like Sam,” you’d mumbled, and he’d scoffed.

“Sam would tell you to leave if you’re not going to work. I’m happy keepin’ you here, as long as we can pretend,” Dean had slapped the back of his hand against his own book, and you’d flushed. “To do our homework.” 

He was happy keeping you here. He was grinning at you, and looked a little golden in the low light of the hotel lamp, and the table was small enough that your knee was pressed against his. And you were a distraction, and you need to know why. It was probably just because you were talking, but maybe it was something more-

It wasn’t anything more. You needed to get a grip, because it was nothing more.

“I am doing my homework,” you’d glared at him, refusing to get lost in how handsome he was, how easy it would be to tackle him over the table and cause a real distraction. “I finished, Dean. Nothing.”

“Fuck,” he’d muttered, running a hand over his face. “That’s not good, cause I don’t got jack shit either.”

“Well, Sam’s finishing up with the wife again, so maybe-”

“The wife?”

“Yeah,” you’d frowned at Dean, who was staring at you like you were speaking a foreign language. “The wife. Tall blonde lady, long nails, young enough to be her husband’s granddaughter-“ You’d frowned into the air. “Maybe that’s why something’s after them. Cradle robbing.”

“That’s not his wife,” Dean had said your name slowly, shaking his head. “She’s the fiancé.”

“No, you said they were married-“

“I said they were gettin’ married.”

You gaped at him for a second, your brain turning and processing this new information, and Dean had jumped slightly when you’d shot up from your seat.

“Uh, are you-“

“Dean.” You’d started to pace, rubbing your temples as you spoke. “They’re not married?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said-“

“Is she rich?”

There had been silence, and when you’d whipped around Dean was staring at you with an open, dumb expression on his stupidly handsome face.

“Oh.” He’d mumbled. “Fuck.”

The answer had been a very obvious no. The fiancé was not rich. And, if what Sam found was right, she wouldn’t be first in line to the inheritance when her future husband kicked it. Another three days, and you knew exactly what you were looking at. A witch who manipulated emotions, sending each family into a sudden depression that ended in tragedy, and cleared her path to the money.

So now you and Sam were wandering through this pointlessly large mansion, trying to find an alter or evil lair or—even better—the witch herself.

“Anything from Dean?” You whisper, poking another door open with your gun, and Sam shakes his head.

“Nothing yet. You know, I would’ve been fine being the one to go alone. If you, uh, wanted to go with Dean-“

“Sam.” You spin on your heels, giving him a flat glare. “Not now.

Sam drops it, and you’re thankful for that. This isn’t the time for another Sam lecture about feelings. It’s never the time, but right now is particularly raw and pointless.

You love Dean. He doesn’t love you. And that’s fine, because you’re not going to pine over him like an idiot. Sam can try to play cupid all he wants, but it won’t change anything, and you’re fine being alone. Staying alone. Dying alone, because you’d made the huge mistake of falling irrevocably in love with an emotionally unavailable, inhumanely attractive, completely oblivious dumbass. A man who cared about you like no one had ever bothered to, and put up with all your bullshit because you put up with his. Who was really impossibly easy to love. 

Dean seemed to think he was difficult to care about, and that made something in you whine. It was the only time you ever even considered sharing your feelings with him. When he look a little faraway, glassy-eyed look of lonely pain you knew all too well, or made a joke at his own expense. An edged snipe about how he was worthless, or a man slut or you’d all be fine without him. You only ever heard the underlying edge, that really made it not a joke at all.

If Dean died today, you and Sam would be better off. 

But you wouldn’t be. You’d feel something empty in your chest for the rest of your life, something where you were supposed to keep Dean and had failed to. 

And Sam knew that. It was why he always volunteered to do the solo parts of hunts, and left you and Dean alone at every opportunity. You don’t know why he does it, because Dean’s never shown any interest in you outside of a close friend. He’s only ever grinned and winked and teased at you with the charm he shows everyone, and never tried to offer you his bed. 

And that’s fine. It’s really fine. You wake up in the middle of the night craving his touch and the deep sound of his voice, but it’s fine. 

It’s fine.

But now you’re distracted. 

You’re thinking about Dean, and worrying about why he’s not checking in with you and Sam, and wondering if he needs your help. And Sam would be fine on his own. He’d manage. Hell, he’d thrive. He could cover twice the distance if he didn’t have to accommodate for your shorter legs, and the way you keep stopping to look at your phone, just in case Dean texted and you didn’t see it. 

He didn’t.

But you’re also in the middle of the woods. Reception isn’t good, and your phones are cheap blocks of shit. Dean could have dropped it. Or had it knocked out of his hand. Or-

“You want to go find him, don’t you.”

You shoot Sam a glare. “Shut up.”

“It’s okay if you do,” he shrugs. “I told you, I’d be fine.”

“I-“ you glance at the doorway, hoping the witch just appears so you can deal with this and leave. “I don’t want to leave you-“

“What if I told you to leave me?” Sam raises his brows, keeping his gun raised as his gaze flicks between you and the room. “Would that help?”

There’s a smugness to his voice. Like he’s solved a puzzle no one asked him to. A little, tense part of you—wound up from the long week—wants to make his stick with you just to prove a point.

But Dean. 

“Yes.” You sigh. “It would.”

“Cool. Go.”

It really will make things easier. And you’re not going to find Dean because you’re feeling a little sick to the stomach that he might be alone with a hot witch who has huge tits, you’re going because Sam told you to. You’re walking downstairs because Sam said go, and it has absolutely nothing to do with how you really just want to see him. That there’s a part of your brain that had been scanning the empty hall to make sure he was there. How you’ve been apart from him for barely forty minutes, and you miss him like hell. Miss his dumb jokes and cocky grin and rugged walk and pretty face, how he says your name and laughs with you and shoots you secret looks that make you giggle-

You’re pathetic. You’re calling Dean because you’re pathetic, and miss him, and don’t really want to wander around this place alone. 

He doesn’t pick up. Two rings, and he declines your call.

Dean doesn’t decline calls from you and Sam. Not on a case. Not when it could be something important, or dangerous, or worse.

You start running. Screaming his name down the halls, not caring if you wake up any of the remaining residents, silently praying Sam hears you and realizes something is wrong. Dean might be in danger. Dean might be in danger. You can’t stop running or shouting, because you need to find Dean, he might be in danger-

You skid to a stop as you hear your own name, echoing down the halls in a faint ghost of a deep voice you’d recognize in the vacuum of space.

“Dean!” You scream again, spinning around as you try to figure out where the hell his shout came from. “Dean!”

He shouts your name back, and he’s not far away. You take off again, ignoring the ache in your muscles as you sprint, the way your voice is starting to grow hoarse.

“Dean!” You kick down the door that had been muffling his last shout, your gun already raised, ready to fire at any second-

“Hey!” Dean’s hands are raised, palms up, and he’s looking at you like you’re crazy. “Just me! What the hell’s going on-“

“You’re,” you pause, scanning over him with a frown. “You’re not hurt.”

“I’m fine, you were the one who was screaming-“

“You screamed back!” You don’t lower your gun, still not trusting whatever’s happening. “And you didn’t pick up your phone-“

“I lost it.” He says, a little sheepishly, and you gape at him in disbelief, before shoving his chest. “Hey-“

“I knew you lost it, you fucking- You can’t just lose your phone, Dean, I was- Goddamnit-“

“Aw.” He catches your wrist when you try to shove him again, tugging you a little further forward. “You were worried about me.”“No, I wasn’t-“

“Yeah, you were, you thought I was dead and you were freakin’ out-“

“Dean.” You snap, yanking your arm away. He’s holding you too close. He smells like spices and leather. You’re going to do something stupid like try and shove your face into his chest. “Do you want to be a dead man?”

He shrugs, still half-smirking as he looks to his gun. “Only if you’re shooting the bullet, sweetheart.”

You scowl, and shove his arm again. “That’s not funny-“

“It’s kinda funny-“

“No, it’s not.” 

“C’mon-“

“I don’t like jokes about you dying, Dean.” You snap, and his attention flicks up with wide eyes. “They’re- It’s- I really don’t think it’s funny.”

He stares at you for a moment, and you can’t read his expression. He wouldn’t be angry. He’s never angry when a joke doesn’t land, because most of them don’t. But you’re walking dangerous ground.”

Feelings. Caring about him. Something that’s always bene best reserved to getting him a beer before he asks, or ordering him the right food while he’s in the bathroom. Picking out the music he wants before he’s even in the car. Never arguing when he makes you take the bed further from the door, because you know he won’t sleep if he thinks you’re in danger. 

But it’s never spoken aloud. He knows you’re his friends, if not the other thing that made you learn his habits and preferences like you were studying for a the most important test of your life. Impressing him. Making sure he’s never really mad at you—the way his furrowed brows and open mouth seem to show he is—and making him smiles as much as you can, because any pretty girl in a town can fall into his bed, but you make him smile.

He’s not smiling now. 

He’s rubbing the back of his neck and clearing his throat. In the dim light of the hall, you can see that his ears are red. He’s not looking at you, either, his gaze firmly fixed right over your head. 

“I- I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He mutters, frowning at the air. “I didn’t, uh- It’s just- Never thought about. No more death jokes. Yes, ma’am.”

You sigh, taking a small step forward. “Dean-“

“You wanna hear how I dropped my phone?” He raises his voice slightly, and you frown.

“I-“

“Dropped it down a laundry chute. What kinda fuckin’ rich pricks have laundry chutes, right?”

You bite on your lower lip, and let out a slow breath.

He’s not going to talk about it. 

Dangerous ground.

“I don’t know, Dean. We can head to the basement. Get it after we take care of the witch.”

“Smart,” Dean nods, starting down the hall. “You think it’s gonna be in a bunch of dead people clothing?”

You hum, scanning around as you follow. “Probably. But they weren’t wearing it when they died.”

“Son of a bitch, I hope not. We should burn that shit after, make sure we don’t have to come back and deal with a real salt and burn-“

“If we kill the witch, no one will be vengeful.”

“Yeah, but maybe they got other issues.” Dean’s fallen a pace back, keeping you in front of him. “I mean, you got this much money, you’re gonna stir something up-“

There’s a creak, from down another dark hallway—why the hell do they all have to be dark—and a soft, musical laugh echoes through the hall. Dean catches the crook of your elbow, and pulls you a little further back, planting himself to block you and raising his gun. You roll your eyes, and poke his shoulder. 

“Move-“

He shushes you, not looking away from the hall. “You got the witch bullets?”

“I don’t know, Dean, you loaded my gun-“

“Hunters.” The same, chilling, sing-song voice floats through the air, and Dean tenses. “Meddling little fools, big and strong and, oh-“ She giggles. “Pretty.”

You grab Dean’s bicep, leaning around to see her, and swallow. There’s no difference from when you’d spoke to Her in the interviews. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect nails, twirling her hair as she smiles at you. 

“So pretty. Hi!” She waves at you. “You!”

“Hey.” You raise your brows, stepping a little around Dean, and pretend you can’t see his glare. “Me?”

“You.” her voice is hushed and gleeful, like she’s telling you a horrible secret. “You sound like this one.”

She nods to Dean, and you blink at her. You do not sound like Dean. You can’t even get your voice that low. Dean looks just as confused as you are, looking between you and the witch with raised brows.

“I hate to break it to you lady, but you might need to get your ears checked-“

“Not my ears.” The witch snaps. “You screamed the same way. You longed the same way.” She smirks, and it makes your skin crawl. “You sound the same. And this,” she holds up Dean’s phone. “Calls for you.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is dry, your words flat. “That’s kind of how phones work in general.” 

“No, no.” The witch shakes her head, taking a step forward, and Dean tugs you back. “The things of him call for the things of you. His clothing is stained in his hunger, pretty hunter. Even his gun wants to be in your hands.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire, and when you risk a glance back at Dean, he looks like he’s going to explode. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, every word pushed through his teeth.

“Listen, you crazy bitch, I’d stop talking when you’re two to one-“

“Am I?” The witch hums, looking between you with a curious, delighted expression. “Oh, it doesn’t really seem that way.”

Dean’s scowl deepens. “Well, open your freakin’ eyes-“

“My eyes are wide open.” The witch takes another step forward, and you squeak as Dean yanks you back behind him.

“Dean-“

“Listen to how she sings your name,” the witch’s smile widens. “Dean. You’ve been so blind, you’ve spent so long trying not to look, trying not to bite, keeping your hands in your pants like a good boy. Don’t you want to eat, Dean.” Her voice returns to the mocking version of yours, but it’s too similar. Uncanny, how she almost seems to be echoing your own voice back to you. 

Almost perfect, in the way it bounces around the halls. 

Just like Dean had called you. 

Shit.

“Dean,” you tug his arm, and he grunts. “Dean, it’s a trap-“

“Oh, give the little trophy a hand!” The witch crows, and Dean steps to block you from her gaze. “She calls for you too, hunter. She looks at you like you’re the cure to all her sad little problems, almost glows when you just look at her. Don’t you want that little shove? Don’t you want to give her what she wants, hold her like the prize she is?”

Your mouth is so dry it makes the air hotter. Your fingers are curled on Dean’s muscle, which is so tensed you’d think you were tugging at stone. His breathing is heavy through his nose, his chest rising and falling, and his voice. 

It’s so deep you can almost feel it vibrate under your palm. 

He’s got the low drawl, that tells you he’s pissed. And you don’t blame him. 

But there’s still a dull ache, at the idea that being with you would really be that bad.

“Shit trap, you evil bitch.” He growls, and you hear the click of his gun. “I’m gonna waste you worse than you wasted all those poor kids.”

“Hm.” The witch giggles again. “I don’t think you will. I think you’ll be too busy buried between your little trophy’s legs to do anything at all.”

Too many things happen at once. Dean fires the gun, but the witch vanishes.  

Reappears behind you. 

Places one hand on your brow with a burning touch, and the other on Dean’s neck. You try to raise your own gun, but it feels like you’re being paralyzed and lit on fire.

She chants something in Latin, and through the haze of the pain, you can only catch two words.

Amor.

Libido.

Fuck.

“Don’t make a mess.” She winks at you as she remains frozen, then vanishes back into the darkness. 

You can’t remember how to move, for a second. Your head is spinning, the air a little too light, and the heat has settled, but mostly into a warm, buzzing feeling under your skin. It’s impossible to ignore the heat from Dean’s body behind you, when he takes a deep, heavy breath. 

You feel his hand on your shoulder, and he slowly turns you around. His mouth hangs open, breathing ragged and eyes dark as he scans over your face, and he smells so good.

But it’s the same good as normal. The spell he’s always cast on you, by being this close. It’s nothing new. Nothing special. 

The curse didn’t work. 

At least not on you. 

But Dean’s leaning down, running his tongue over his lips, and you’re falling into his gravity. He reaches up to cup your face, his staring at you, he’s going to kiss you-

Your first kiss with him can’t be because he’s under a spell. 

His nose bumps yours, and it’s like a tiny electrical current, pushing you into action. 

You lean back, and do the only thing you can think of. 

Punch Dean, square in the face. 

“Son of a-“ Dean staggers backward, holding a hand over his nose. “What the hell was that for?”

You stare at him for a second, and he’s groaning, glaring at you over his hand. 

Not under a spell. 

But-

“You were going to try and kiss me!” You hiss, picking your gun up from the floor. “You thought I was fucking cursed, Dean, that’s-“

“You were going to kiss me!” He protests. “And you thought I was cursed-“

You flush, even as you roll your eyes. “I would’ve stopped you.”

“And what, I wouldn’t’ve stopped you-“

“No, because you’re supposed to be cursed-“ You cut yourself off with a frown. “Why aren’t you cursed? Why aren’t we cursed?”

“I dunno, maybe the bitch fucked up the spell?” Dean shrugs, touching his nose with light fingers, and flinching at the contact. “Shit, I think you broke my nose-“

“You’ll live.” You mutter, but you still rip off a part of your dress, offering him the fabric to stop the bleeding. “Sorry, though.”

“No, you’re not.” He says, but his tone is teasing, and he’s grinning when he reaches out to take the material, so he’s already forgiven you. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be the one who has to set it when we’re done.”

Little sparks of electricity rush through your blood when Dean’s fingers brush yours, turning to lighting when his touch lingers like a phantom on your skin, and you feel a little dizzy when you mumble, “Can’t you make Sam do that-“

“Could.” He winks at you, voice a little nasally as he holds the fabric to his face. “Won’t, though. You made this mess, baby, now you gotta clean it up.”

He can’t call you Baby right now. It always makes you flush and squeeze your thighs together, because he says it so naturally and affectionately, with a smirk and drawl that haunts your dreams and makes your heart flutter in your chest. It’s not productive, or helpful, or useful, and your heart isn’t supposed to flutter. You’re not a schoolgirl with a crush, you’re a woman with a job that’s she was damn good at before this asshole came along and screwed everything up. Made you into a giggling, flushing, bubbly mess with a heart that fucking flutters-

Dean clears his throat, his brow drawn as he says your name. “Are you good-“

“Yeah.” You wave him off, and you’re not convinced by your soft, uneven tone and too quick words. “We should, um, we should go find Sam.”

Dean hums an agreement, but doesn’t stop frowning at you as he walks at your side. He doesn’t stop looking at you for the rest of the night. Not when you track down Sam, or gank the witch—who seems shocked you and Dean aren’t fucking in the bathroom—or make your way past the many, many police officers, back to the Impala. Even on the drive back to the motel he’s still glancing at you in the rearview mirror, a wrinkle in his brow that only appears when he’s in deep thought. If the flash of the road lights you can see his grip on the wheel is white-knuckled, and he doesn’t seem to be paying attention a single word Sam is saying. 

To be fair, you aren’t either. It’s all musings about the witch’s magic, and how it functions, and how fascinating it is because none of you have ever seen anything like it, and Bobby says that emotion spells require a lot of power to pull off, but are impossible to get wrong-

“What?” You blurt, tearing your gaze away from Dean’s hands—big and strong on the wheel, broad fingers you’d like inside you drumming alone to whatever song he’s playing—and leaning forward to frown at Sam. “It can’t be impossible to get a spell wrong, you’ve just got to, like, say the wrong word-“

“Nope.” Sam shrugs, angling his phone screen for you to see. “Bobby says- Oh, okay, yeah, just take it I guess-“

You flip him off, Sam’s phone now in your hand as you scan over Bobby’s message. 

Found something about it, seems like these witches are using an old magic that eats at their soul. Spells ain’t hard, but most covens forbid them. Seems like they drive the users batshit crazy, which ain’t good for us, because there doesn’t seem to be a way to counter them. Even saw some things say that they’re impossible to fuck up. 

You read it once, twice, and frown up at Sam. “That doesn’t explain anything, Sam, he just said it’s impossible-“

Sam sighs. “Scroll down, dude.”

They could start singing in Russian and as long as they’re using their soul, the spells works. Like a real annoying override. 

“Oh,” you mumble. “Okay.”

You pass the phone back to Sam, and you can’t look at Dean. Not as Sam reads him the texts, not as he only grunts in response, not as you pull into the lot and push open the door before the engine’s even off. Because you know Dean’s thinking the same thing you are. 

The spell can’t fail.

It didn’t work on you and Dean. 

And you have no idea what the hell that means. 

You don’t look back, as you almost run across the sidewalk to your room. Sam might be calling after you, but you don’t look back. It needs to be quiet. It’s getting too loud in your own head, so you can’t deal with Sam’s let’s talk about the mission, guys right now. The door slams behind you, and you toss your bag on the bed before heading straight to the bathroom. Your clothing is peeled off and tossed to the side, as you run a cold, cold shower. You need it off. The whole house, the feeling of where Dean had been touching your arms in the hall, the imprinted vision behind your eyes, where you’re really about to kiss him. 

You’d punched him in the face. You didn’t get a chance to set his nose. And Sam can take care of it, easy, but you want to be the one who takes care of it. Who traces their hands over the panes of Dean’s face after and smiles at him, then he smiles back. In the fantasy, he leans up and presses a soft kiss over your lips. Then everything snaps, and you climb on top of him as he grabs your waist. Kisses your neck and breasts, lets you tug at his hair and grind onto his thigh. Takes his hand and shoves it into your pants, makes you shake and whine before tossing you back on the bed, and- 

Give her what she wants. 

Hold her like the prize she is.

You’re not a prize. Not Dean’s prize. You’re pretty or whatever, but if Dean wanted to win you, he’d only have to take your hand. And he never has. You’ve spent enough nights, using glossy, pouted lips and batted lashes to get someone’s attention and dance, all to test if Dean will be watching. 

He never is. He leaves the bar with some other girl, and you either go home alone or decide you’re just drunk enough to pretend the hands holding you in the dark are rough and gentle all at once. 

He’d cupped your face. 

His thumb has traced over your cheekbone.

Don’t you want to eat.

Dean always eats. He racks up bills at diners and tabs at bars, then goes home with the same beautiful women that make you want to scream. 

Because you’re fine. It’s fine, that Dean’s never once tried to sleep with you. That he smiles at you but doesn’t even kiss the top of your head. That all those women can get exactly you want, when he doesn’t know them at all, but he knows you. And maybe it’s the fact that he knows you that ruins it. That they’re just something in the way you speak or say his name that he doesn’t want to hear it calling him. 

Dean. Listen to how she sings your name

The cold shower isn’t helping. Isn’t clearing your head. 

So you turn it up until there’s steam in the room, and you let out a heavy breath, trying to think about anything else. 

When you close your eyes, all you can see is Dean again. About to kiss you. Licking his lips, the phantom feeling of his hand on your face. When you think, every thought is about the spell. The sex spell, that has to work, but didn’t on you and Dean. He can’t find you that repulsive. There’s nothing else libido and amor could mean.

You give up on a shower all together. Shut off the water, and dry off before shuffling out and flopping down on the bed. 

Dean won’t want to talk about it. Dangerous territory. 

Talking about it with Sam will just end in with him trying to make you confess. 

You have to talk about it with someone, or you’ll lose your mind. 

A quick glance at the time on your phone, and he should still be up. You dress quickly, drop on the couch, and call Bobby’s number. 

“Thought you’d be callin’.” He says, before you can even speak, and you frown.

“You did? Why?”

“Got a fuckin’ tingle in my balls or whatever-“

“Gross, Bobby-“

“It’s late, kid. You can be grossed out, or just ask the damn question.”

You swallow, tipping your head back to frown at the ceiling. “You- Um, you know the magic shit, that Sam was asking you about earlier?”

“Yep.” Bobby grunts, and you sigh.

“Is there any way that a spell wouldn’t succeed? Like, say this witch definitely did a spell on you, but it didn’t work. Is that like- A user error? Or is the spell always a kind of fifty-fifty shot?”

Bobby hums. “What kinda spell?”

“Um-“ Shit. “I don’t-“

“Cause I’m bettin’ that it’s the same stupid hunger spell Dean just called me freakin’ out about.”

You freeze, your voice cracking slightly. “Dean called you?”

“Yep.” Bobby drawls. “Started shoutin’ about a spell where two people just enchanted to eat each other. That boy never has been good at bein’ subtle.” 

“I-“

“Listen,” Bobby mutters your name, his voice firm. “I got a guess what kinda hunger Dean was talkin’ about. I don’t need to say it, ‘cause the thought of- You and him- That’s something I rather never think, or hear, or fuckin’ speak about. You got it?”

You look down to your hands, cheeks heated. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” He grunts. “Now that we got that, I’m gonna tell you exactly what I told that idjit. Magic like that, it pulls on other’s souls and emotions. If the emotions are already kicked up, high gear, it ain’t gonna do shit. If someone’s real sad, a spell won’t make ‘em sadder. Two people hate each other’s guts, wanna rip ‘em apart, spell can’t make them kill each other. Two people hungry…”

Bobby trails off, and there’s a high ringing in your ears. 

“You got it?” He grunts, and you nod, before remembering he can’t see you.

“Yeah.” You whisper. “I got it.”

“Good.” Bobby lets out a long, labored sighed. “Go deal with it, and let an old man sleep.”

The line goes dead, and you just keep staring at nothing. If two people are hungry. 

Two people. 

Not just you.

Dean.

And almost as if you’d summoned him, there’s a knock on your door.

Standing to answer it is like gliding through a mist. It’s all a little blurry, everything feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, and there’s a strange chill up your spine. You don’t want to answer it. You don’t want him to look you in the eyes and tells you there’s been a mistake, and that he doesn’t want you like that.

But the spell can’t get anything wrong.

So he has to want you like that. 

And when you open the door and see him—rubbing his jaw and giving you an almost nervous smile, his nose still crooked and a hair mussed in the wind of the night—the chill runs through your whole body, and turns into heat. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and his smile widens slightly. 

“Hey.” 

“Is- Your nose-“

“It’s fine. I, uh-“ He clears his throat. “I think we gotta talk about something.”

You press your lips together, and nod. “Yeah. We do.”

He glances past you, into the room. “Can I-“

“Oh, yeah-“ You step to the side. “Sorry-“

“It’s fine, sweetheart.” He reaches out to touch your shoulder as he passes you, but then yanks it back at the last second. “I- Uh- I’ll sit down?”

You nod, and trail after him, letting him decide where he wants this to happen. 

Dangerous ground.

He choses the bed. Sits right on the edge and watches you, until you drop at his side. 

Dangerous fucking ground. 

Even if you both know, you can’t just say it. Not with Dean. You’re going to have to find a way to tell him without telling him, some word that means I love you without actually saying it, or he’ll try to change the conversation laundry again- 

“I thought you could live without me.”

You blink at his, and everything comes into focus so fast. Dean’s on your bed. You have to talk about the spell. His voice is hoarse and low, and he’s not turning this into a joke. 

But his words bounce around your head. And you can’t really understand them at all. 

“What?”

“Son of a- This is hard.” He mutters, shaking his head and staring at his hands. “You’re gonna be so freakin’ pissed at me.”

“Dean-“

“I kinda knew. About- The thing. This.” He coughs, gesturing between you. “Us.”

Your heart moves to your throat, your voice raising a little too high. “What?”

“I see you stare, baby.” He runs a hand over his face, giving you a weak grin. “And the guys at the bars, begging me to knock their smug faces right off, while they- They fuckin’ touch you, and you let ‘em-“

“I-“

“I let the other girls touch me. Guess I can’t be too pissed.” He chuckles humorlessly. “But then I call your name the whole time. That’s gotten me kicked out on my ass, a lot. Always think about goin’ to you. Telling you. Taking- Advantage.”

Your mouth falls slightly open. “Advantage? Of me?”

He nods, and your fists curl at your sides. 

“Dean, you fucking- If you knew-“

“Thought it was just a crush or something.” He mutters, staring at the floor, and you snort. 

“So you wouldn’t let me have sex with you? Are you- What the fuck-“

“It’s not just a crush for me.” He snaps your name, and your words die in your throat,

When Dean looks back up at you, he looks almost broken. Tired and desperate and—between every crack in that bored, amused mask he wears—hopeful. A light in his eyes that’s barely daring to shine through, but it’s there. 

This is still dangerous ground. 

He’s trying to get both of you out it, and to the other side. 

“I didn’t think you’d want more, baby. I- I really thought you’d live just fine without me.”

You sigh, folding one knee under to other so you can face him. 

His hand shoots out, onto your thigh, and you lean forward. Until you’re just as close as before. Until one shift would be all it takes to feel him. 

“I can.” You whisper, and his face falls slightly, but you ghost your lips over his, and he doesn’t pull away. 

Dean breathes out your name, but you shake your head.

“But I really, really don’t want to.” You press your brow against his, taking his hand and guiding it to your face. “Ever.”

His throat bobs, and he’s going to try and talk you out of it. When you finally know. When you’re high on nothing at all, because you can have him. 

He’s really lucky you love him. Otherwise, you’d punch him in the face.

“I’m a piece of work, baby-“

“I know.” You give him a small smile. “I love it.”

Dean stares at you, the light starting to shine brighter in his eyes, and his thumb traces slowly over your lower lip. “Tell me not to kiss you.”

“No.” 

“Sweetheart, the things I’ve wanted to do-“ His jaw ticks. “If that spell had worked- We’d still be in that creepy house.”

“Good.” You hold his gaze, crawling at little forward into his lap. He’s warm.

He catches you around your waist, when your hands plant on his knees, and your noses bump again. And there it was. All that blown out fucking hunger.

You need it. Now. 

“Show me.”

Dean grins, the split second before he’s pulling you forward and falling backwards, starting to kiss you like he’ll drown if he doesn’t. One hand in your hair and the other squeezing your ass, your legs straddled over his torso and your fingers digging into his chest. 

You’re a moaning, desperate mess within a second. The need between your legs builds sudden and fast, coming on with a comfortable heat over your skin and a deep pleasure that’s starting to build in your lower stomach. Dean touches you like he’s been practicing, as if he’s been watching every single way you move to map you out before you were ever in his arms. His hands grab at every bit of skin he can find, rubbing and squeezing and tracing, as his mouth keeps an even time. Pulling your tongue between his teeth and groaning when it makes you roll your hips, lightly hitting your ass then chuckling when you squeak into his mouth.

“There you go, baby.” He mutters, angling his mouth to get the kiss a little deeper, smirking against your lips. “Feel good?”

You nod, already a little lost to anything but the fact that Dean is kissing you. That it’s sloppy and desperate and hot, spit and tongue and teeth, his hands feeling possessive on your body and your breasts pressed against the muscles of his chest. You’re above him, but still caged against him. You’re grinding down onto him, but his grip on you is tight enough that it’s only as he allows. And when you start to kiss down his neck, he groans, and the sound vibrates in his chest. Down through your body and into your cunt, making you pick up the pace and start to grind over the bulge in his pants- 

“Alright.” Dean grunts, and you yelp as he flips you over, the sound quickly swallowed into another hungry, dirty kiss. “Not gonna last if you do that, sweetheart, you’re- Fuck-“

Dean moans when you return your attention to his neck, and there’s a softer spot that makes him tense over you, his grip on your waist becoming tight and his hips dropping down over yours. You can feel where his erection is. Feel it pressing against your leg, and it feels big, and the fabric of you shorts isn’t offering enough friction anymore- 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grunts, grabbing your jaw and angling your face back into another kiss. You go limp below him, opening your mouth as wide as you can to maybe try and swallow him. He seems to be doing the same to you. Kissing you with such a fervor it’s like he’s trying to fuse your atoms together. Press you close enough to keep you there forever. 

He already has you as long as he wants you. However he wants you. And you think he knows it, because when you feel his lips ghost over your ear, you gasp, and he shoves his knee right between your legs. Like a reward.

Dean doesn’t stop you, as you start to hump against him. He keeps his grip on your jaw tight and rises back up, watch you try to fuck his leg with that same awe from before. 

You gape up at him, your breath already becoming shallow, your hands flying to grab his wrist in an attempt to stay grounded. He’s not helping. Just watching you like you’re made of stars, pushing his knee further so it’s pressed right over your clit, and giving you an approving hum when you start to whine his name. 

“Dean.” You arch off the bed slightly, and there’s the heat about to snap in your core, but it’s not enough. “I- I need more-“

“I know.” He mutters your name, his thumb tracing back over your lips. “I’m gonna give you everything you want, baby, but I wanna- I gotta try somethin’, first.” He gives you a small grin, something heated glinting in his eyes. “Can I try something?”

You don’t know what the something is. You’re a little desperate to find out. 

So you nod, trying to grab at his shirt to yank his mouth back over yours, and he obliges. Leans down to give you an almost mockingly chaste kiss, before leaving a trial of love bites and licks over your jaw to whisper in your ear. 

“I told you, sweetheart.” He drawls, and just the deep roll of his voice through your body makes you move faster against him. “I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a damn long time. Look even prettier below me than I imagined, and I thought you’d look like freakin’ paradise. Wanna hear what I would’ve done to you, if that spell worked.”

“Yes.” You manage to whisper, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Dean, I- I need you-“

“You got me.” He grunts, lightly hitting your clit over your pants. “I thought about takin’ you everywhere, baby. In my car, back at the bunker, in a closet, in a goddamn alleyway, but goin’ against a wall was always my favorite. Kissing these pretty tits,” his hand slips under your shirt as he speaks, and you moan when he palms at your breast. “Then down to your pretty pussy, finding out just how good I can make you cum on my tongue. You wanna cum on my tongue, sweetheart?”

You nod weakly, your head already spinning from the pleasure. He can’t just talk like that, when all his weight is pressed over you and you can feel him everywhere. It’s going to make you fly right out of your body. 

“I- I- More.” You tug at his short hair, and he makes out with a spot behind your ear, letting your hips keep moving over his knee. “Dean, a little more-“

“I think I would’ve made you cum ‘till you couldn’t stand.” He growls against you, and you’re so close. “Then I would’ve picked you up and fucked you against the wall under you couldn’t walk, until I needed to carry you back to the car, maybe lay you out on the backseats all pretty for me and have you cum on my cock again-“

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as your orgasm shakes through your body, and Dean groans, crashing up to shove his tongue down your throat and kiss you heavily through the feeling. 

You’re still floating down, when you realize that he’s kissing you a little softer. His hand is still under your shirt, softly rolling one nipple around with his thumb—sending tiny, pleasant shivers through your body—but when he leans up, his voice is a little gentler, a little more cautious. 

“Keep going?” He asks, and you know if you say that was enough, he’ll roll over and not push it. 

But you can still feel his boner against you. And you need to know what it’s like inside of you. How it feels for him to really do what he’s wanted. 

You lean up, and press a light, sweet kiss over his lips. “Keep going.”

He grunts, chasing your kiss a little before he pulls away, and speaking against your lips. “Wanna fuck you, baby. Properly. But I don’t got- I didn’t think we’d be-“

“Are you clean?” 

He nods, and you kiss the side of his mouth. 

“I’m on the pill. And I-“ You swallow, leaning back and cupping his face with a hand. “I want to feel you. Give you- Whatever you want, Dean. I trust you.”

His throat bobs, and for a second you think he’s going to argue with you about it. But he doesn’t. He just kisses you again—more and more gentle every time—and leans back, pulling your hand with him to kiss your knuckles. 

“Get naked, baby.” He gives you a small grin. “I’ve got you.”

You return his smile, and start to wiggle out of your clothing as fast as you can. It’s a short job, and more than worth it when you settle back into the pillows, and Dean’s staring at you with a blown out, starved expression, halfway between an animal and someone seeing a work of art. His hand is gently rubbing your calf as he takes you in, and you spread your legs with a shy smile, letting your fingers dip between your folds. You hold his gaze, as you slowly start to rub your own pussy, and his nostrils flare. 

“Hey.” You press your palm flat against his chest, when he lurches forward. “Your turn, Winchester.”

He gives a short nod, clambering off the bed to make quick work of his own layers. Tossing his shirt and pants away, socks and underwear with them, giving you an adorably proud grin when your eyes dart between his legs. 

“Liking what you see, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out, a little too needy to joke right now. “So much.”

Dean turns a little red, glancing down to where you’ve started to rub your clit a little faster. He mutters your name, climbing back onto the bed, and you reach for him with a whine.

“Dean, I- I want you- Wanna feel you-“

“You’re gonna, sweetheart.” He mutters, picking up your leg and slowly kissing up your calves, over your knees and thighs, then nipping at the soft skin right next to your pussy. “Need to get you ready.”

“I- I am ready-“

“Maybe.” He shrugs, slowly guiding the hand between your legs into his mouth, cleaning your fingers slowly with his tongue. 

You moan, grabbing at his hair and humping the air, and Dean grins, moving to leave a quick, gentle kiss over your clit. 

“Taste so good, baby.” He mutters, running two fingers through the mess of your cunt, and you keen below him. “Already so wet, don’t think I gotta do much.”

“So- So just- Fuck me, Dean-“

“I will.” He shrugs, flicking your clit then laughing at your squeak. “I also just really wanna fuckin’ do this.” 

Without anymore warning, Dean yanks you forward, pulling your ass off the bed and hooking your legs over his shoulder, leaving your pussy on full display. He watches you with a light dancing behind his eyes, spitting on your clit and smirking when you try to wiggle out of his grip. You expect more teasing, more something.

Instead, all he does is dive between your legs, and eat you out the same way he kissed you. Like he’s been training for it.

His whole face is buried in your cunt, and it’s the most lewd, hot thing you’ve ever seen. There isn’t a place you can’t feel him. One of his hands as shot out to grope at your breasts, the other is holding a firm grip on your ass, and his tongue is plunging in and out of you. Twisting and licking before his lips and teeth find your clit, and it’s sucked on and teased into a frenzy. You grab the hand on your tit, squeezing it as you watch him, and it makes him groan against your pussy. Your whole body shakes with overwhelming pleasure, your arousal drips down your ass, and it feels like you’re being lit on fire.

“Dean-“ You whisper, your voice high and breathless. “Dean- Dean, I’m gonna cum, Dean-“

He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he just unhinges his jaw and starts to make out with your pussy fully, pinching your nipple as his hand on your ass rubs the flesh slowly. 

You cum with a high noise, and this time, you don’t come down. You’re still floating and limp with pleasure as it rolls through you, and the feeling of Dean kissing your clit one last time, pulling away, and flipping you over onto your stomach all just makes it drag longer. 

Then Dean kisses slowly up your spine, and you can only arch into the feeling of his lips. Suddenly so gentle, when your pussy is still sensitive and tingling from his work. He keeps your ass in the air, as he kiss back down your spine, and you spread your legs a little wider, because you’re throbbing for him.

“Shit,” he mutters, his palm rubbing over your cunt, and you whimper. “Are you sure you still wanna-“

“Yes.” You gasp, trying to turn and look at him. “I need it Dean, please, I-“ 

You moan as he pressed his fingers—the ones coated in your release—between your lips. You suck on them, your eyes rolling back in your head as he keeps rubbing your ass, and he groans. 

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart.” He draws back his fingers, wiping your chin of a little drool. “Deep breath. Gonna take start it slow.”

You’re about to protest—you want to feel him—but the words fall into nothing as he starts to push into you. It’s a burn. An impossibly good, aching burn igniting between your legs as Dean slowly presses his dick into your pussy, and he hisses as you flutter around him.  

“Relax, baby.” His thumb finds your clit, starting to rub small, firm circles. “C’mon, you can take it.”

You can hear the strain in his voice, but you try. Somehow—probably with Dean’s low, sweet praise of how good you’re taking his cock, and how pretty you look, combined with that goddamn thumb—you manage to let him slip deeper and deeper, until he bottoms out with a grunt. 

He folds himself fully over your body, his breathing heavy in your ear as he kisses your neck and throat. 

“Dean.” You mumble, turning your head against the mattress to try and look at him. “Move.”

He hums, but doesn’t immediately listen. Instead he kisses you again, just a little deeper, and chuckles at your little whine. 

“You’re so tight,” he mutters your name, the grunts when you squeeze around him. “Shit, you really fuckin’ like that, huh.”

“Like-“ You gasp, eyes fluttering when he drags his cock slowly out, then slams back in. “Like what-“

“Me tellin’ you how perfect you feel. How damn hot you look, getting wrecked by my cock.” He snaps his hips again, slamming against the needy spot, deep inside of you, and you gasp. 

“Dean-“

“Fuck, yeah, you like that.” He repeats the motion, and you claw at the sheet, desperate for a little more. “Keep sayin’ it, baby, keep saying my name-“

“Dean.” You moan, and his speed starts to pick up, his skin slapping against yours. “God, Dean, feels so fucking- Oh-“

His hand wraps around your stomach, his fingers finding your clit again, and you squeak, clenching around him. 

“Jesus.” He grunts, driving harder into your cunt. “Knew you’d feel like this- Jesus-“ He moans your name as you wiggle your ass against him, his head dropping into your shoulder. “Don’t fuckin’- Can’t do that, shit-“

You do it again, and get rewarded with another rutting slam of his cock into you, and a slap of your ass. Your mouth falls open in a loud, incoherent moan, and Dean chuckles. 

“Told you not to do it, baby.” He mutters, sucking a dark spot on the base of your throat. “You gonna listen? Let me fuck this pretty pussy how it deserves?”

You nod stupidly, curling a little further into the mattress, and Dean presses his lips right against your ear. 

“Good girl.” He mutters, and he must know what that does to you. How it makes your toes curl and your body feel molten. 

He must know. 

Because he says it again.

“Such a good, pretty girl.” He’s starting to properly fuck you, as he tugs at your ear with his teeth. Your already abused pussy is fluttering around him, and he moans against your neck, his own voice sounding fucking wrecked. “Love you so much, gonna- God-“

That’s what does it. Sends your third orgasm rushing through you, explodes fireworks over your ribs and makes you see stars. Dean’s drilling into you, his balls slapping over your clit and his hand moved up to play with your tits. His lips are attached to that sensitive spot on your throat, and his body is flexing and sweating over yours, but it’s his voice that sends you over the edge. Deep and earnest and real. Saying that he loves you. 

And you cum with a heat flooding between your legs, over your thighs and Dean’s cock, making you shake and whine in his arms as he just keeps fucking you. Pulls out only for a split second, to flip you back over and slam back into you. It’s impossible to do anything but stare at him with a cockdrunk expression, as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm. He’s beautiful. His brow furrowed but lips parted, chest heaving and eyes hooded with need. You’re still spasming and squirt on his cock, your mouth hanging open and barely able to return his kiss with he falls back over you, fucking into you like an animal. 

He moans your name against your lips, and you only whine, scratching at his chest as it starts to get overwhelming. Dean leans back up on his knees, pulling out to stand over you, and grips your thigh as he fucks his cock into his hand, scanning over the wreck of you below him. 

His release paints over your abdomen and stomach, coating your thighs and making an almost beautiful painting on your skin. Dean lowers himself back over you, when he’s done, and kisses the space between your eyes, the very tip of your nose, then your lips. 

“Did so good, sweetheart.” He mutters, and you hum at the praise, pressing your palms against his chest. “Look real damn pretty, covered in me, but I gotta clean you up. C’mon.” 

You whimper, as he tries to pull you up, so Dean settles on just carrying your into the bathroom. He sits you on the toilet while he runs the water, and only when it’s deemed acceptably warm does he guide you into the warm steam. You just stand there for a while. Clinging to him, while he makes a half-assed attempt to wash your hair, but mostly just sways you back and forth. Eventually he gives up, and just holds you back. Runs his finger through your hair and takes your chin, tipping it up to give you a full, deep, easy kiss. 

“I was thinking.” He mutters, leaning back to meet your eyes. “About, uh- Doing something together that’s not just a hunt and fuck. I mean, I loved the fuck, baby, but- Uh-“

“You wanna go on a date with me, Dean Winchester?” You giggle, propping your chin against his chest. “You like me?”

He rolls his eyes and pretends to bite your nose, but there’s still a gentle amusement in his voice when he responds. “Yeah, I do. But you love me.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah.” He scans over your face carefully. “So are we gonna go on a date?”

You can’t fight your smile, and you give him a tiny, eager nod. “Yes, please.”

“Awesome.” 

He grins at you, and it’s only for you. 

Dean smiles, and it really is just for you. 

But you’re only for him. 

So it all seems to even out, in the end. 

End Note: How many times do I have to write about this before it's my turn. What will it take.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate One-Shot

A/N: This little one-shot is where the series Bloodlines & Fate was born from. I just never imagined that story would take on a life of its own the way it has. When I wrote this, I thought I was writing a chapter that would eventually slot into the middle of the story. I didn't realize how wrong I was. I still wanted to share this with all of you. I hope you enjoy it.

A/N: This will still be posted, but it was more of a one-shot than a series. The series is still in the works, and I'll be posting this one-shot for all of you when I can get it finished and once the series is a little further along.

Summary: You have a genetic disorder, Touched, the doctor called it, and with your lineage, you should be overjoyed. Your pack is, and there was a celebration when your parents found out when you were five. The older you got, though, the more you began hating it. You couldn’t scent anyone, not like they could. To you, it wasn’t fair. You couldn’t even shift during the full moon to run with your pack, spending those nights staring at the moon with tears in your eyes as you listened to your pack sing songs. Now that you were in your early twenties, you wondered if your soulmate would ever find you, especially after all the Alphas that had come to meet you since you’d presented Omega at fourteen, had turned their noses away from your scent.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 6575

Warnings: Pack dynamics, Typical A/B/O dynamics with a twist, full moon shifting, Set in modern times, lots of angst, longing.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet, as I am not actively writing it at the moment.

It was now eight months until your twenty-fifth birthday. You were sitting in the window seat of one of the cabins, looking out at the moon. Your pack had already shifted and was out running the vast wildness that belonged to them. You could feel your wolf, just beyond that barrier, just out of reach, letting out a quiet whine.

I need to run.

You pulled on your shoes and headed outside. Even if you couldn’t shift, you wanted to feel something that might bring you closer to your wolf. So, you ran. It was a nice night with a gentle breeze. Feeling the ground beneath your feet in this way wasn’t the same, but it still felt right. You’d never done this before, and something else had pulled you this night.

The moon’s light filtered through the canopy above you. You could still hear your pack, but they were in a different direction, as they typically stayed away from the neighboring property's border fence. A smile found its way to your lips as you ran, letting your mind wander and play out scenes of being in wolf form and doing this.

You weren’t sure what made you stop where you did, but when you looked around, you noticed a wolf and the border fence. You’d reached the area where the two connected. Peeking around the tree, just a little, you watched it, and it was watching you. From its size and scent, you could easily tell it was an Alpha. 

“You should go, wolf. My scent isn’t pleasant,” you told it, softly, but honestly.

It just shook its head, making you tilt yours a bit. Wolves had the ability to shift back to their human form at any given time, but for some reason, this one wasn’t. It had beautiful, dark brown highlights along its dirty brown coat and the most captivating emerald-green eyes you’d ever seen. Slowly, you stepped from behind the tree.

“My scent doesn’t bother you?” you asked, and again, he shook his head no.

You walked a little closer to the fence. It was chain-link, and this wolf didn’t seem threatening in any way. The wolf watched you curiously, tilting its head. You sat down on the ground, only a couple feet from the fence, crossing your legs. That made the wolf wag its tail, and it looked as though it was smiling.

“You can’t shift back, can you?” you asked the wolf, and it shook its head again.

It was something you had heard of, not being able to shift back to human form while the full moon was in the sky. Sometimes, it was so bad that the memories of the time, as the wolf, weren’t accessible after shifting back to human form when the sun rose.

“I’m sorry, wolf. I can’t shift either,” you told him sincerely.

He moved so that his body was against the fence, then rubbed his head on it a little, while also trying to look back at you. It made you giggle, but you moved closer and pet him through the fencing. His coat was soft, and you could feel his strong muscles beneath his fur.

“You’re part of the Winchester pack. Even if I don’t know who you are, it was nice to have met you, wolf,” you told him softly.

You sat there with him, telling him about your life, your genetic mutation, your pack, and everything you’d been through. He listened intently, whimpering sometimes, wagging his tail and smiling at others, even tilting his head in curiosity or confusion occasionally. You knew he was your soulmate, but there was no way of telling who he was, just the pack he was a part of. After many hours passed, you heard the songs of your pack in the distance, and knew you’d have to get back. With a heavy sigh, you turned back to the wolf.

“I have to go, wolf. I’ll come back tomorrow night, and every night of the full moon until I can find you in your human form,” you told him softly, making him wag his tail and smile happily.

You then leaned a little closer to the fence. “I promise, wolf, I will come back,” you whispered before placing a soft kiss on his nose, to which he licked your cheek quickly.

A giggle escaped your lips. “Good night, wolf.” He sang to the moon as you walked away, back to the cabin you needed to be in before sunrise, your thoughts on the wolf and his mesmerizing green eyes. His song was beautiful, and you already missed his company. You wanted to tell someone in your pack, but this had been very unorthodox, and you weren’t yet ready to tell them. 

You kept your promise, going back to the same place for the next two nights and again for the following months when the full moon came. He was there every time, and you shared what you had been up to. You would lean against the fence on your side, as he leaned against it on his side, as that was the closest the two of you could be. It was comforting for both of you, just in different ways.

“Dean, where the hell did you disappear to last night!?” Sam exclaimed, slamming the door of his brother's cabin and jolting him out of sleep on the couch.

“Huh?” Dean replied, sitting up and fairly groggy.

“You took off last night. None of the pack could find you. Your wolf knows it’s not safe to wander off since you can’t remember what happens,” Sam explained, both concerned and annoyed, as he sat in a chair adjacent to his brother.

Dean put his hands on either side of his head, almost feeling like he had a hangover, which had never happened before. ”Can you not yell?” Dean practically whined before getting up to make some coffee.

“Well, heads up, Mom and Dad are worried and are probably on their way here,” Sam sighed, watching his brother. Dean had always looked out for his younger brother, but when Dean presented Alpha and couldn’t shift back during the full moon, the entire pack rejoiced. It was their version of a Touched from the Winter pack, and it only happened with Alphas. After Sam had presented Alpha, he took it upon himself to watch out for his older brother during the nights of the full moon. His way of reciprocation for Dean always looking out for him.

“Man, I don’t want to deal with them,” Dean groaned from the kitchen as he made coffee.

“Dean, this isn’t something we can just ignore. The pack has to keep you safe when you shift,” Sam told him sympathetically. He had wished this burden had been put on him, not his older brother.

Just then, the cabin door was flung open. Mary and John looked around, almost frantically, for Dean, until they found him in the kitchen. “Son, you’re okay, thank god,” John sighed in relief.

Mary, on the other hand, had to go and look him over, checking his eyes and any exposed skin for any wounds or injuries.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Dean grumbled, but knew he couldn’t just shoo her away, so he let her give him a once-over while the coffee brewed.

“Sammy, go let the pack know that Dean’s okay,” John told his youngest son.

Without a word, Sam headed out to do just that while John and Mary sat down at the kitchen table. “Do you remember anything?” John asked him, and his tone was surprisingly kind.

“No. I just have a horrible migraine,” Dean replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee before joining them.

John and Mary shared a knowing look before looking back at their son. “Your wolf might have found your soulmate,” Mary told him with a soft smile.

Dean’s eyes instantly shot up. “How can you figure that? With all the omegas that have come here and not one of them being my soulmate… just, how? And why when I’m shifted? It’s not like I can remember what happened. How the hell is that even fair?” He was both frustrated and sad at this point, as it wasn’t fair. And at the moment, couldn’t even feel his wolf due to the migraine.

Mary got up and retrieved some medicine from the bathroom cabinet before returning. “Here, take these. It’ll help with the headache.”

“Son, the whole pack is going to keep an eye on you for the next two nights, and every full moon until we figure out who she is. We’re all here for you, and we’ll help,” John told him sympathetically.

Dean took the meds with his coffee, just wanting the pounding in his head to stop. “Sure, yeah,” he mumbled.

The two shared another look before they left him to his thoughts. He didn’t typically enjoy the comfort of others and had always felt like a bit of a loner because of how he was different. The pack may have been happy, and they all loved him, but he felt alone. Even during his ruts, the omegas that helped him through it weren’t even appealing to him. 

When the migraine did finally go away, he felt his wolf again, and the pull to go out. He just wasn’t sure where, and neither did his wolf. Dean was restless, mostly due to his wolf being restless. He cleaned, helped others with simple chores, and attempted to play with the pups when parents needed to get something done. Nothing seemed to help. 

His pack did try to watch him. They even attempted to follow him that night when they all shifted. However, Dean’s wolf was smart and gave them all the slip. The same thing happened the following night as well. It was frustrating not only for Dean but also his pack. They’d never had a Touched of their own that was as stubborn as Dean’s wolf. 

When this repeatedly happened for months on end, they approached Dean with a solution that they typically never would have considered. Since Sam was the one Dean was closest to, the pack let him be the one to suggest it.

“Dean, I know you’re not going to like this, but it’s the only solution anyone can come up with,” Sam sighed sympathetically, holding out the collar.

“Sam, I’m not wearing a damn tracking collar,” Dean growled.

“You’re getting more aggressive every full moon. You’re scaring the pups with just your scent,” he replied softly, trying to get his brother to calm down.

Dean knew he was right. It was getting bad. He could almost smell her scent on him when he would shift back in the mornings with the sunrise, and it was driving both him and his wolf insane. He ran a hand down his face while the other was on his hip.

“The full moon is only three days out. Mom and Dad are taking me to meet the Winter’s Touched. Her soulmate still hasn’t been found. They can’t take you because of how aggressive you’ve gotten, and they want to make a decent impression. Just… keep the collar and think about it,” Sam sighed, leaving the tracking collar on the coffee table before heading out.

The Winchester and Winter bloodlines had never crossed, not in the more than five hundred years they’d been tracking their lineage. Dean grumbled as he snatched up the collar from the coffee table, wanting to throw it across the room. His jaw clenched as his hand tightened around it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before putting the collar back on the table.

Your mother stood in your doorway, watching you as you looked at yourself in the mirror. It was a simple sundress, and your hair was up in a braid. When she had told you that the Winchesters were bringing one of their alphas to meet you, you nearly choked on your breakfast that morning. You still hadn’t told them that you’d been meeting with the green-eyed wolf on the nights of the full moon. All you knew about him was that he was an alpha, your soulmate, and that he was a Winchester.

“You look fine, honey,” your mother told you softly, wrapping you up in a hug.

“I know,” you sighed, setting your hand over hers as you attempted to get the butterflies in your stomach to calm down.

“Why do you seem so nervous?” she asked, picking it up in your scent.

“Our bloodlines have never crossed before. I’m allowed to be nervous,” you chuckled, attempting to play it off. You were secretly hoping that it was the green-eyed wolf you’d been meeting with.

“Everything will be fine. They’re as normal as we are,” she told you softly, rubbing your upper arms to attempt to soothe your nerves.

“I’ll be alright, Mom,” you replied with a small smile.

“Come on, they’ll be here soon,” she told you, so you followed her out of your room.

Your thoughts wandered as she led you to the living room. Not only was your father there, but so were a few of your uncles and at least four of your alpha cousins. It was normal, though. You sat on the couch, your family around the room, and your mother sat next to you. Moments later, the doorbell rang. Your father answered it as your heart raced, and he led the three into the living room.

With a deep breath, you finally looked up at them, doing your best not to frown when you looked into the young alpha’s eyes. They weren’t the emerald-green of the wolf you knew was your soulmate.

“Y/N, this is John, Mary, and their youngest son, Sam, of the Winchester pack,” your father introduced them before sitting on your other side.

You managed a small smile, “Nice to meet the three of you.” Something you had learned was how to read people, and your feline genes helped even more with hearing things that wolves couldn’t. The three of them sat down and were clearly uncomfortable with your scent, but were respectful nonetheless. “Nice to meet you as well,” John replied, returning a kind smile.

“You don’t have to pretend or stay longer than necessary. I can see that he is not my soulmate,” you told the three of them softly.

Sam looked slightly shocked at your words. “How can you tell that?”

“It’s in the way your heart is beating and how you’re breathing, even if you are keeping a straight face at my scent,” you replied, doing your best not to smirk at how stunned the young alpha was.

John did chuckle, though, which helped lighten the mood. “I wish Dean could have been here to meet you. He’d like you.”

You tilted your head a bit. “Dean?” 

“He’s my oldest and has a bit of a stubborn streak, but he’d love your bluntness,” he replied with another soft chuckle.

“Perhaps one day I will get to meet him,” you told him, making a mental note of the name, knowing the full moon was only three days away.

The Winchesters stood, shook the hands of your father, and he then showed them out. Your mother looked at you apologetically, but could tell something was going through your head. Luckily for you, she didn’t push asking you about it. You retired to your room and changed into something more comfortable before lying on your bed to stare at the ceiling.

“Dean…” you whispered, looking forward to the next full moon.

“You came back alone, so I’m guessing you’re not her soulmate, huh?” Dean surmised as he sat across from his brother.

“Yeah, no. Man, her scent is just… it’s gross. I didn’t want to say anything around her, but it’s truly horrible,” Sam replied, still trying to get her scent out of his nose. “She’s beautiful, though, and blunt. You’d like her.”

Dean sighed, “Kinda hard to like someone you can’t be around. Still wish I could have gone.”

“We’ll figure things out. That tracker is gonna help,” he told his brother sympathetically.

When the evening of the full moon did come, Dean prepared himself for it. He couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror as he put the tracking collar around his neck and clipped it into place. This was something he hadn’t wanted to do, but he knew it needed to be done. There were risks with running alone, even if his pack did own the property, and he needed to know what had been happening when he shifted.

With a deep breath, he joined the other alphas of his pack. They all gave him a reassuring look while his father reassured him with a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam told him again as night fell.

Dean shifted first, then the rest of the pack. He tried to shake the collar off, even scratching at it with his hind leg. Sam nudged him, then shook his head. Dean’s wolf was not happy and took off running, so the pack followed. Again, Dean’s wolf ditched them, or so he thought. Sam was following, but at a greater distance, following the sound of the beep the collar would give off in increments. 

You had begun running to the place where you met him every full moon, a mixture of excitement and anticipation pushing you to run faster. It was only just after dark when you reached that place at the fence, resting your hands on the chain link, watching the darkness on the other side. You looked up at the sky, listening carefully for any sounds in the night. As the moon began showing itself, you heard the familiar sound of his paws on the forest floor.

“Wolf,” you said happily, seeing him come slowly into view, but something about him felt wrong. You crouched down before kneeling on the ground as he approached. He looked almost sad. “What’s wrong, wolf?” you asked, trying not to worry.

He whimpered and shook his head before moving just enough for you to see it: the tracking collar. You reached out to touch it, but he pulled away, shaking his head again.

You looked at him, puzzled. “You don’t want me to take it off?” And he shook his head again. So, with a sigh, you sat down and leaned against the fence. “Okay, I won’t take it off. Your pack is worried, aren’t they?”

The wolf nodded this time, then leaned against the fence against you, almost purring. “I missed you, too, wolf,” you told him, petting him through the fencing. You purred softly against him, but yours was the purr of a cat. “Wolf, I want to know something,” you told him softly after a few minutes of silence. He looked over at you, tilting his head with curiosity, which you found so cute that you giggled quietly. “Is your name Dean?” you asked, feeling anxious at the possibility.

He not only began wagging his tail vigorously, but he also licked your face through the fence, making you laugh. You didn’t see the other wolf in the distance, who was just watching the two of you.

“So, Dean, I met your brother today, and your parents,” you told him, still giggling a little as he rubbed his side against yours through the fence, making all sorts of happy sounds. Your words made him look at you again with that same curiosity as before.

“They’re nice, and your brother is sweet for trying to keep a straight face after he smelled my scent in the room,” you chuckled, comforting Dean by petting him through the fence. “I know you’re my soulmate, my Alpha. And now that I know your name, I can find you,” you told him softly. That wasn’t how it had ever gone before: a Touched seeking out their soulmate due to not being able to smell unique scents like others could.

Dean seemed to be utterly happy, nearly hopping around almost playfully. You both wished the fence wasn’t between you, as you wanted so badly to wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you. Neither of you noticed Sam take off, back to the pack. 

He knew he had nothing to worry about, and that his brother was in good hands. He was happier than he could even express. What were the odds that two Touched would find each other in the way it had happened? All Sam could think was that fate definitely had a hand in it.

You spent the night telling Dean about the events of the last month, loving how you now knew his name. You bid him farewell as you did every night of the full moon, a soft kiss on his nose, and he a lick to your cheek. You were both smiling when you parted ways that night, well, early morning, only hours before the sun was due to rise.

When you returned to the cabin, though, your father was already there, as was your mother, and they didn’t look happy. Before you could even apologize, they both wrapped you in a hug, which confused the hell out of you.

“You found him, didn’t you, your soulmate?” your mother asked, doing her best not to cry.

At first, you froze as your heart began pounding, but you managed a deep breath just as they pulled away. “Yeah, about six months ago,” you answered quietly but honestly.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” your father asked, sad that you hadn’t trusted them with the information.

“I wasn’t sure who he was, and I didn’t want to scare him if I went to our spot with anyone from my pack.” You were honest, but felt bad.

“Oh, sweetie. We could have helped bring the two of you together sooner. We could have scented him, learned who he was,” your mother sighed sympathetically.

A small smile began tugging at the corner of your lips. “I know who he is now. It’s Dean Winchester, but he won’t remember me or our meetings. He can’t shift at will during the full moon,” you explained, your smile only growing as you spoke about him.

Your parents looked at each other, sharing a private conversation without saying a word before they turned back to you. “This is gonna be a little unorthodox, but we’ll go to the Winchesters. No reason to delay things any longer.” Your father told you, and you felt goosebumps dance their way down your body. You were going to finally meet him, in human form, and he was going to see you for the first time.

Dean woke up almost after sunrise, and threw the collar across his living room, causing it to hit the wall right next to the door. Sam slowly opened the front door and peeked inside. “What, Sam?” Dean growled from the other side of the living room, his head pounding again, and her scent was all over him. Some elusive omega that had all his nerves on edge.

“I actually have some good news, if you’re in the mood,” Sam told him, doing his best not to be repulsed by her scent, which he could smell even with Dean across the room.

Dean grumbled and headed to the bathroom for meds for his pounding head, wanting it just to go away. “Did that damned collar at least work?” he asked through a clenched jaw, heading to the kitchen for water.

“Yup,” Sam replied, popping the ‘p.’ “You found your soulmate, and now we know who she is. Hell, I can still smell her on you.”

Dean froze in place as his heart pounded in his chest, the throbbing in his head seemed to keep beat with it. He jumped when Sam set his hand on his shoulder, finally managing a deep breath as he grabbed some water.

“Who is she?” he asked quietly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“It’s Y/N Winter, and her parents are bringing her here in an hour,” Sam told him with a happy smile.

Dean couldn’t think straight all of a sudden, forgetting his throbbing head, the cup of water in his hand, and the meds in the other. You- he was going to meet you. His soulmate. All he could do was stare at his brother with a completely blank yet surprised expression as time seemed to stop.

Sam chuckled, “Take your meds and go shower. I’ll come get you when they get here. They’ve agreed to meet at the edge of the property, for the pack's sake.” And with that, Sam patted his brother on the shoulder before leaving him alone.

You hadn’t been able to sleep for the few hours before sunrise. Instead, you spent the time attempting to find something nice yet comfortable to wear. Nothing felt right. It either felt like too much or not enough. With a grumbled sigh, you plopped down on the edge of your bed.

“Wear something comfortable,” your mother suggested gently from the doorway, pulling your gaze. She gave you a sympathetic smile when she saw your frown.

Without a word, she glanced at the clothes spread around your room, draped over different pieces of furniture, and then went to your closet. In the back, she found one of your older dresses, one you hadn’t worn in a long time. It was a simple dress. Not quite a sundress, but not quite elegant enough to be an evening dress.

She pulled it out and held it up for you. “What about this one?”

Still frowning, you looked up at the dress, a smile tugging at your lips.  It was the sky blue of the dress with the dark blue of the roses that adorned the skirt, and it was perfect. You quickly changed as your mother chuckled to herself and left your room. Then, you put your hair up in a braid.

Your heart was pounding during the forty-minute drive from the cabin on the land to the front of the Winchester property. Your hands kept finding anything they could to fidget with to keep yourself distracted, but nothing was working. All you could think about were his green eyes, and you knew exactly what you were going to say to him when you saw him.

The cabin came into view through the windshield, and for a moment, you held your breath as everything else began fading away. A couple of vehicles were parked to the left of it, but your eyes were on the cabin itself. Two alphas were on the porch, chatting with each other, but neither of them were yours.

As your father parked, you felt like you wanted to run inside the cabin, but at the same time, you felt like you couldn’t move. “Come on, honey,” your mother encouraged you gently, and you finally managed a shaky breath and opened the car door.

When the three of you got out of the car, the two alphas watched you, noting how you held yourself. They knew who you were, had seen the newspaper articles about you, but had never met you.

“We’re here to meet with the head of the Winchester pack,” your father told them, his tone respectful.

One of the alphas nodded, then went inside, but movement at one of the windows caught your attention, pulling your gaze. You tilted your head in curiosity, swearing that you had seen something, someone, but there was nothing there.

He hadn’t been able to concentrate when he showered or when he got dressed. Dean even tried giving himself and his wolf a pep talk in the mirror, but that hadn’t worked either. His wolf was excited, practically playful in his head.

“Well, at least someone’s in a good mood,” he had mumbled before he had pulled himself away from the mirror.

Now, though, he was pacing the living room of the main cabin at the front of the land, unable to sit down. His wolf was restless, so he was restless. Sam tried to talk to him, but not even that was working. All Mary and John could do was watch him while they waited for you to show up with your parents.

Dean had gone to the window, his wolf wanting to see if you were there yet, so he obliged, but the driveway was void of foreign vehicles. Benny and Cas were waiting on the porch with Bobby inside, wanting to be there for Dean. It had been hard on all of them, seeing what Dean had been going through, but right now, all of them were excited.

He heard it before he could see it: the car your father was driving. Glancing out the side of the window, mostly hidden by the curtains, he watched the long driveway that led out to the main road, wanting to catch a glimpse of you. Dean practically held his breath when you got out of the car, and everything seemed to fade out of his field of vision except for you.

The sky-blue dress fell gently over your curves. It made you look both elegant and relaxed at the same time. Then there was how the sun danced through the canopy of trees, sprinkling your face with light. His lips parted as his wolf howled happily within him, and he couldn’t move. Well, he couldn’t move until he saw you look toward the window while the front door of the cabin opened.

“The Winters are here,” Cas announced, unable to hide his joy as he held the door open and took a step back.

Dean had to shove his hands in his pockets, his wolf whimpering, trying to get him to go to you. He was trying to be patient, but it wasn’t his strongest quality, especially not after how the last six months had gone.

With a shaky breath, you followed your parents inside. Six alphas, one omega, you mentally counted. Then your parents moved to the sides, and you looked ahead of you. You didn’t see the tears that slipped from your mother’s eyes or Mary’s. All you saw was the man standing five feet away from you—the alpha with green eyes. “Hi, wolf,” you said softly, but he was too stunned to move.

Your scent washed over him as a light breeze came in through the open door. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as every muscle in his body relaxed, and a smile found his lips. Home. His wolf howled inside him, feeling the same way. When he didn’t move or say anything, you tilted your head slightly, wondering what was going through his mind. The others stayed quiet, just watching.

“Dean?” you asked, a little unsure now. Having never been able to smell more than presentation on anyone before, you didn’t fully understand how scents affected others. You’d seen it, read about it, but since you hadn’t experienced it, there was still a lack of understanding.

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his name. Your voice made it sound like a song, calling to him like a siren. A stupid, boyish grin found his lips, but he still didn’t know what to say, being at a complete loss for words.

Sam chuckled from the couch, watching his usually suave, charming brother go completely speechless in front of an omega, even if you were his soulmate. John cleared his throat, but Dean didn’t notice, too mesmerized by you.

“Sorry, he’s not usually this… quiet,” John apologized with a quiet chuckle.

You looked over at John, smiling a little shyly. “Would it be okay if we had a few minutes, just the two of us?” you asked, trying to be respectful but also hoping you could find a way to get Dean to say something.

“Let’s go,” Bobby piped in with an amused chuckle as he pushed off the wall to the side of the couch.

You watched them all leave, your parents included, but Dean’s eyes never left you. With a deep breath, you turned back to Dean after the cabin door was closed. For a moment, you thought about how to proceed. You’d never met an alpha that didn’t have something to say. Finding a new level of determination, you walked over to him, your eyes never leaving his.

The closer you got, the less he felt like he could breathe, but at the same time, he felt more at ease than he ever had before. The boyish smile on his lips grew more into a goofy grin when you stopped in front of him. “Will you sit with me?” you asked him, and his lids drooped a little. To you, he almost looked stoned, but he was adorable, and it made you giggle.

When he didn’t move, you chuckled a little, then gently tugged him by his forearm over to the couch. You had to gently push him to sit down, forcing him to remove his hands from his pockets before you sat next to him. He was awestruck, but his wolf was happy now that you were close, sitting beside him: your giggle, your voice, your touch. Everything had captivated him in a way no omega ever had before. He felt like he was on cloud nine, and he never wanted to come down. When his wolf yipped loudly in his mind, it snapped him out of his haze that was all you, and a deep blush of embarrassment flooded his cheeks. Even the tips of his ears turned red.

“Sorry,” he told you, fairly embarrassed as he finally looked away from you, trying to get his heart to stop racing and his breathing to even out. Dean focused on the circular carpet on the floor in front of the couch, trying to get his brain to work. “I’m not usually like this.”

Hearing his voice captivated you, almost as much as his eyes had. It was deep, a little gruff, with that hint of nervousness. For a moment, you stayed quiet and watched him, wondering what he was thinking about. 

Dean felt your eyes on him as he attempted to center himself. At least his wolf had finally quieted down. “I thought I was going crazy when I’d shift in the morning, and your scent was on me. Can you tell me what happened at night?” his voice was quiet, worried, and nervous. 

You smiled softly at him, even if he couldn’t look at you right now. “We would meet at the fence in a small clearing. Then, we’d sit with each other. You’d be pressed against the fence, and I would lean against you. Then, I’d talk to you and tell you about my life and the things that happened since I had seen you last,” you explained, trying to gauge his expression of how he’d react.

“So, my wolf knows all about you.”  his words were whispered, his gaze on the floor, but he was lost in his thoughts. He wanted to know those things. He wanted to know you.

“Will you ever get those memories?” you asked, a little quietly but more curious, leaning a little so you could look at him better. To you, he looked lost, and you gingerly reached out, setting your hand on his forearm.

Dean’s head snapped up, meeting your gaze as electricity shot through his body at your touch. He was practically holding his breath, but his wolf was purring. He coughed to clear his throat, but mostly so he could find words and breathe. “My, uh… my true mate has to claim me first,” he told you a little sheepishly.

A silence fell over the two of you, both of you wondering almost the same thing, but neither of you wanted to ask. What happens now? He glanced down at your hand on his arm, a smile tugging at his lips again while you watched him, unsure what to say. Dean knew your story, he’d read the articles when they had been published. 

In the photo of you, you had looked happy, even hopeful, but he had seen something else in your eyes. It was almost like a fear that you wouldn’t find your true mate. He understood that feeling, having gone through it since he had presented alpha at sixteen. You were beautiful, though, and even then, his wolf seemed to know, getting restless the moment Dean had looked at your picture.

He didn’t see how you bit your bottom lip, lost in thought. Or how your eyes were searching his expression. He was remembering back to that day that seemed so long ago. It was your voice that pulled his attention back to your eyes. “Would you let me claim you, Dean?” you asked so quietly that he thought he made up the question slipping from your lips.

Dean blinked blankly for a moment, trying again not to get lost in your eyes. Think, damnit! He barely managed a deep breath as his entire body buzzed with a new sort of anticipation, that goofy, giddy smile finding his lips again and going all the way to his eyes. That was when he realized he would never be able to tell you no and mean it. You had him wrapped around your finger, but he also knew that you’d never abuse his affections or his love.

“Can I claim you?” he asked, his voice a whisper, and he was trying to remember to take deep breaths.

A blush found your cheeks as you ducked your head a little, letting your gaze fall to your hand on his arm. “I’ll go into my first heat within a week after it happens. If you’re okay with that…” your voice was quiet, almost a whisper like his had been, leaving the unfinished question hanging between the two of you.

The way the blush colored your cheeks had Dean’s heart fluttering. Then, your words finally sank into his logical brain—your first heat. You were untouched in that way, and it sent a thrill through his body as his wolf howled happily. He couldn’t even stop himself from licking his lips as he tried desperately not to think about it in detail.

“I’m okay with that,” he practically purred, making the blush in your cheeks go a few shades deeper. Dean shook his head, trying to pull his mind and body from the spell you seemed to have put him under. “I’m sorry. Did that sound too eager?” he asked, realizing how you could have taken his words.

You giggled, and his smile instantly came back. “You’re adorable,” you giggled again. “It did sound eager, but that’s okay. I trust you, and your wolf.” This time, your voice was soft, like a gentle melody that instantly soothed Dean’s nerves from a moment ago. Dean swallowed hard as his eyes darted to your neck, completely exposed thanks to your braid, then licked his lips. 

Whatever the future held, neither of you let it worry you. You’d already gotten over the biggest hurdle of your lives, finding each other. The details of how things would change could be worried about later. But neither of you would face it alone. You had each other now. And that? That was more precious than any worry that might try to get between the two of you.

A/B/O Master List Main Master List Bloodlines & Fate Master List

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

Forever Tag List:

@roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny @muhahaha303 @barewithme02

@nancymcl @thewinchesterwench @krazykelly @biancalinkas @abbacadabara

@sepho @princessjas1-11 @mightypocketcow @spideyfan1800

Tag List:

@nancymcl @lovelydisc @luahmeeks @alternativeprincess94 @kailalaland

@ladykitana90 @muhahaha303 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @suckitands33 @stoneyggirl2

@smut02 @deans-baby-momma

[aylacavebear]

Well, here it is guys. The one-shot that started it all. :) I'm currently working on chapter 88 for the series I thought wouldn't be more than 5 chapters long. I hope you enjoy this.

Permanent Tag List:

@roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny @muhahaha303 @barewithme02

@nancymcl @thewinchesterwench @krazykelly @biancalinkas @abbacadabara

@sepho @princessjas1-11 @mightypocketcow @spideyfan1800

Tag List:

@lovelydisc @luahmeeks @alternativeprincess94 @kailalaland

@ladykitana90 @muhahaha303 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @suckitands33 @stoneyggirl2

@smut02 @deans-baby-momma

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 72 - Ain't Nothing In This World For Free

✦Read on aO3! - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Chapter 71✦

✦summary: you go in for the kill✦

✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action, smut, no use of y/n✦

✦author's note: dean's about to make big money moves✦

Jan 5th – 2012

Princess,

It’s really freaking cold.

And I know what you’re gonna say. It’s winter, De, course it’s cold. Cold happens in the winter. We’re further away from the sun right now, so all the heat is gone, but you can go make a fire and we can cuddle and that’ll be warm, cause I’m warm and you’re warm and body heat is real good for combating cold. I love you. Go feed the monsters.

I don’t think you’d say that. I mean, you might. Parts of it. I’m not a great actor, sweetheart, but I do know you. And I know you’d get all nerdy on me, but I’d  probably have to tell you the cuddling part. That could be a pretty good move, actually. If I use that on you later, you have to pretend I didn’t tell you it was coming. That’ll ruin my charm. My seduction. Sammy used to call me a manwhore sometimes, and he mighta been right, but I was just honing my skills. Charming you is my white whale, baby. You don’t land a hot wife by fucking around, and trust me. I’m gonna land you. We can get married wherever you want (not a church) and go on the most awesome honeymoon the world has ever fucking seen.

After we take care of this, of course. I promised, and my word ain’t worth much, but everything that comes outta my mouth when I’m looking at you is the truth. I talk in oaths when I see you, princess. Used to scare me, but it grows on you. Kinda gave up on trying to pretend I was a goner a while ago. Not worth trying to push you out when I’m gonna die at your feet. Just means I gotta crawl a little further, and I’d rather use that energy to keep looking at you, right until the sun goes out.

You’re in the other room right now. Working on the plan with Cas and Jo. I don’t love it, but you know that. Told you, I don’t lie. I’ve said this is stupid to your face, I’m gonna say it here too, and I won’t even say I told you so when this goes sideways. My money is on Crowley stabbing us in the back again, but I’m keeping an eye on him. I’ll be ready. You and Jo can do your shit, Cas and I will take care of Dick, and God, if he’s got any damn spine, will offer us some kinda grace or gold for saving his ass.

I really wish you were a little meaner sometimes, baby girl. Not cause I don’t think you’re perfect, but

Jesus, we could just let them go at it. We could open up that gate and toss God to Jaws. They’d mash him up for us, and we’d gank them right after, and everything would be in the clear. Yeah the angels would still be dicks, and Crowley would still be a pain in the ass, but they’re like swatting flies compared to freaking God. You’d be free.  we could be free, if you’d just. You know. Do the wrong thing.

I know you won’t. Like I said. I know you, and I know you’re gonna wanna do the right thing, even if you don’t always know what the hell that is. I don’t really know either. Who the hell does, you know? Everyone’s got their own screwed up ideas of what’s up and down and left and right, and you turn around and it changes, and all we can do it try and keep track of where the hell we are. Don’t even know where we’re going. Don’t know how we’re gonna get there. Maybe this is gonna work, maybe it won’t. Long as I got you and Sammy, I think I’m good wherever we go.

Was thinking about Heaven last night. Hoping that, if you got a normal one, I’d be in there, same way you’re in me in mine.

I hope I make you happy, sweetheart. That’s what I’m getting at. I hope that when all this is said and done, no matter where the hell we land, I’m still making you happy.

I’ve gotta go, before one of you barge in and start asking me to vote on things again. It’s nice that you’re trying to include me, even if I know this ain’t a real democracy. Jo vetoed my last three votes cause she says I’m just always gonna side with you, but that’s not true. Her plans were bad, and I sided with Cas that one time, and

Don’t know why I’m telling you this, actually. You were there. Next to me. don’t ever leave

I’m gonna go. See you out there, baby. Love you.

Yours,

DAW

The knife was long. A bone that Dean had spent hours carving into a proper blade. It had been grueling. He had callouses on his hands in places he didn’t think were possible, and his neck was aching from bending over for hours. At one point, about halfway through—when his fingers started to cramp and his leg was bouncing restlessly—he’d joked to Sammy that maybe he’d just leave it as was and bludgeon Dick over the head. Sam had sighed and told him it had to be a flesh wound, or the blood wouldn’t stick.

“I got that, Sammy, I was just-“ Dean had cut himself off, running a hand over his jaw. “Never mind.”

No one seemed in the mood for jokes right now. Dean wasn’t a big fan of them either, but he didn’t exactly know how to fucking stop. Sometimes he got a sweet giggle out of Her, or a snort out of Charlie. When he really hit it on the nose, Sam made that tight face that meant he was wound too tight to show joy, but still capable of feeling it. Even Cas gave him a few twitches or long stares, which—for Cas—was basically a standing ovation and knee slap.  

It was really good to have his Cas back. Felt like when they’d finally pulled that barrier off of Sammy’s soul, and Dean had been able to look the kid in the eyes and know that—in the way things ever were and ever could be—they were gonna be alright. Scrambled up and fried Cas had been fun when Dean didn’t need him, but then Dean had needed him. Then they’d be stranded in the storm, captain overboard and their mast torn up, and Dean had been pretty much be praying to an octopus that wouldn’t stop playing snake on a phone. He’d wondered if they’d ever get out, or if he was gonna be stuck trying to speak octopus for the rest of his freaking life.

But Cas was back. Dean looked his friend in the eyes, and didn’t wonder if the angel was seeing him, or just a bunch of waving spaghetti light.

Cas had been avoiding him, though. They’d been planning the move against Dick and Eve, and Cas had stood across the table, avoiding Dean’s gaze. Dean would try and say something to him, and he’d just be met with one of those weary stares and nods, before someone called them away. It didn’t make him miss crazy Cas. It just made him feel sort of hollow. Maybe Cas was still pissed at him about the whole Purgatory thing. They did have to explain the past six months to him, from the moment he’d taken on the Purgatory souls to when Dean fed him magic ice cream.

“The last thing I remember,” Cas had said slowly, frowning around the kitchen. “I was here. You were here,” he’d nodded to Dean. “And-“ He’d said Her name softly. “She was in danger. Gabriel… He said she was dying. And I- I had made a promise, I had pledged all my grace, so I-“ Cas had gone silent for a moment, his mouth in a tight line and his gaze cast down. “I must have-“

“You took on the souls, Cas,” Sam had finished gently. “Rowena moved them into your body, and you vanished. Jo found you, then-“ Sam had said Her name. “She and Rowena found Jo-“

“And me,” Meg had added. “I also found Jo.”

“You didn’t find anything,” Jo had muttered, and Meg had shrugged.

“Whine all you want, blondie. I was part of the team on that one.” She shot Cas a grin. “And you were cuckoo bananas, Cassie. Just all… Sunshine and rainbows.”

Cas had frowned. “I have never been sunshine. Or rainbows. Angels are made of grace.”

Dean had snorted. That was Cas alright.

“Good to have you back, buddy,” he’d said, and Cas had just given him a strange, taut look. Dean had swallowed, and tried for a smile. Cas hadn’t returned it. A lump had formed in his throat.

“Do you really not remember anything?” She’d said, that little brow wrinkle even tighter than normal.

Cas had given her an apologetic shake of his head, and She’d let out a slow breath.

“That’s okay,” She’d murmured, scanning over Cas’ sad little face. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

And She’d always had a way of saying that. A way that made Dean believe it, even when he didn’t know how the hell She could figure out fixing angel brain damage. They’d already fed him the magic blood. They weren’t gonna get a new shot until the phoenix chick grew, and who the hell knew how long that was gonna take.

Dean needed to put stronger limits on what kinda animals he was letting into his house. Limits he’d been able to enforce, because he’d said no cats and suddenly She’d soul bonded with a dragon. Then he’d said just the dragon was fine, and she dragged in magic kitten. Dean had let her have that one—even though that kitten was gonna be a lion one day, and Dean was a real big fan of not getting his face eaten off—and said no more, and now they had a freaking phoenix.

He was never gonna tell her the unicorn. She’d ask if they could track it down, and She’d use her pretty little pout and bounce on her feet and Dean would forget the word no.

“This is it, Princess,” he muttered that night, staring at the phoenix chick on the dresser. “We’re running outta room.”

“I know,” She said, and Dean wasn’t sure she did.

“I’m serious-“

“Mhm.”

Dean said Her name, and she leaned out of the bathroom, brow raised. Her hair hung, wet and tangled—framing her cheeks and making her look like a freaking mermaid—and Dean had sighed.

“C’mere,” he extended a hand, and She flushed.

“I- Um- I’m not-“ She looked down, voice dropping to a mumble. “I just got out of the shower, De-“

“Yeah, I worked that out.” Dean beckoned, smiling affectionately. “C’mere.”

She looked at him under fluttering lashes, lips parted and fingers gripping the doorframe like she was afraid of falling. Dean pushed down a laugh. She wouldn’t as a reaction to her borderline absurd cuteness. He beckoned again, spreading his legs wide and leaning a little forward, keeping his voice low and soft.

“Nothing I ain’t seen, baby,” he said, and Her lip quivered. “Just gonna brush that out for you.”

“You don’t know how-“

“You think I’ve been watchin’ you for eleven years and haven’t picked up how to do your hair?”

She blinked at him, then looked back to the bathroom. Dean sighed.

“Princess, just- leave the towel.”

She pressed those pretty lips in a thin line, and Dean patted his knee. He wouldn’t even make this a sex thing. Not right now. He just wanted Her to be as comfortable in her skin as he was. Looking at Her skin, not being in it. Sammy might call him obsessed sometimes, but he wasn’t hitting Bates level. If anything, he was the perfectly healthy level of obsessed with Her.

Who wouldn’t be? What kinda sick bastard would look at Her and not fall to his knees?

She slipped out of the bathroom with Her head still down and her back curved. Dean knew trying to hide when he saw it, but he was patient. Her walking around naked was a big step, and he wasn’t about to push it. The Lady hopped off the bed and rubbed against Her ankle, and that pulled a small smile to Her face. She bent down to rub her between the ears, and Dean waited. He let himself stare just a little at Her cleavage. He’d put his face there and never move, if She let him. Best pair of boobs in the freaking world.

“She’s getting on well with the bird,” Dean said, watching Her pet the kitten. “Thought for sure we were gonna have a Tom and Jerry thing going, but- Guess having a Disney Princess for a mom makes them all peaceful.”

She laughed softly, looking at Dean under dark, wet lashes. “I think you just want everything to be a cartoon, Deano,” She said, and Dean swallowed.

“Not everything, baby,” he muttered. “I kinda like you in 3D.”

That got a tiny flush, and She looked back to the kitten. Dean knew that face, though. Trying to hide a smile, to pretend She didn’t hear Dean’s compliments. She could take Her sweet time absorbing them and see if he cared, but Dean wasn’t ever gonna let Her get away with ignoring how much he loved Her.

“Get over here,” he murmured, and She looked back up with those shining, nervous eyes. Dean flashed Her his best, charming smile. “Promise I don’t bite.”

 Unless you ask, baby. I’ll bite you all over, if you give me the green light.

Dean punched himself, internally. Yeah, She had a perfect body and very bitable, soft skin. Yeah She smelled better than Heaven and made sweeter noises than any Zepplin song, but this wasn’t about that. She crawled over to him with her pretty ass in the air, and Dean fisted his hand. He wasn’t gonna bend Her over and see what kind of colors he could make her turn. He let Her settle between his knees and watch him with a shallow breaths, keeping himself perfectly still. She leaned up until their noses bumped, and Dean took Her face between his hands.

“Hey, Princess,” he murmured, and She dug her nails straight into his damn thigh. Dean grunted, and She tried to pull back.

“I’m so- Oh-“

Dean didn’t give Her a chance to apologize. He pressed his lips over Her’s, kissing slowly. Lazily. They might not have all the time in the world, but the damn thing could stop spinning for just a few hours while he took care of Her. It owed him that much.

She folded over Dean like a ragdoll, when he hauled Her into his lap. Her fingers curled on his collar, one hand wrapping around his neck and combing through the short hairs at his nape. He shivered slightly, groaning into Her mouth, and she made a pretty little noise that made his cock twitch in his pants. Her knee bumped against his crotch, and he bit Her lower lip to stop his moan.

“So soft, baby,” he muttered, pressing lighter kisses over her cheeks and nose. “Almost askin’ for it, aren’t you.”

She cooed in response, chasing Dean’s mouth and almost climbing over his chest. Son of a bitch, Her boobs were pressed right under his damn face, and when Dean grabbed Her waist, she arched right into his touch. It took the willpower of a damn hero, for Dean to pry Her away and flip her over. She squeaked, trying to turn back around, but Dean locked Her to his chest with an arm.

“Takin’ care of your hair,” he kissed under Her jaw. “Then we gotta get some sleep.”

She sighed and dropped Her head against his shoulder, glaring at him under hooded, glossy eyes. Dean chuckled and slid his hand around Her throat, tipping her a little further back. He kissed Her with every, infinite drop of love in his body. It was a storm that started to the right of his heart and never ended. A storm that belonged to Her. She got wiggly, when Dean pushed his tongue down Her throat, and he had to pull away. If She kept squirming against his dick, he wasn’t gonna be able to keep this PG.

Maybe PG-13. She was naked, and his hand had glided down on insistent, a magnet being dragged to the greatest treasure it would ever find. His thumb grazed Her clit, and she grabbed his wrist with a tiny, breathy moan. Dean sighed, kissed the corner of Her mouth, nipped her jaw, and pulled away.

“Sorry, Princess,” he murmured, and She just made a disgruntled sound, wrapping Her arms back around her stomach.

Dean sighed, positioning Her carefully between his legs, and She drew her knees to her chest, folding into a pretty little ball as Dean set to work on her hair. It was harder than She’d ever made it look, and Dean was sorta worried about hurting her.

“Uh- If this is- I kinda gotta yank real hard-“

“It’s okay,” she mumbled, and Dean swallowed.

It didn’t sound okay. He didn’t think it had much to do with the hair.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the words that would make Her understand. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to fuck her. He thought about those promises—the ones he’d made to her, about helping Her figure out what she liked—almost every night. She’d press up against him in the dark, drooling and loose and soft, and Dean wanted to wind Her up and watch her burst in a million different colors. He could smell how wet She was, and he wanted to drown in it. Press Her into the mattress and lie under her hips, kissing and eating out her pussy until she screamed. He dreamed about putting her over his knee and just letting her drip all over his hands.

But She was the only woman he’d ever had where it was about more than sex. The only relationship he ever had that actually, really, unendingly mattered. Dean’s selfish, perverted thoughts could wait until She was on steady feet. They were the best kind to sweep out from under Her. When he fucked Her until she cried, he really wanted to make sure those were some happy tears. Hell, his balls were heavy and blue in his sweats, but She wasn’t getting her mouth on them until Dean was sure she wasn’t just trying to prove something.

He cleared his throat, so close to finding the words, but She cut him off with a small voice, and he swallowed them all down.

“Do you think the plan will work?”

Dean’s hands faltered. He didn’t want to lie to Her. But when things were so small and thin and fragile—when every step felt like a tightrope and Dean couldn’t really see the bottom—he wasn’t sure what the hell to do.

“I think we’re gonna be alright,” he tried, and Her shoulders sagged. 

“Dean…”

“I know,” he sighed, pressing his face into Her neck. “I know, Princess, but- I don’t fuckin’ know.”

She leaned against him with a slow, shaky breath, and Dean wrapped his arms around Her stomach. She’d been eating better. It made Her warmer. Easier to hold onto, to dig his blunt fingernails into Her hips and leave tiny bruises like a claim he was allowed to make. She grabbed his forearm, and Dean hiked his legs over Her’s. He was trying to tie them further into a knot. A proper one, that nothing would be able to undo.

“We get through it, right?” He said against Her skin, letting his lips brush that sensitive spot that always made her melt. “We always get through it, and sometimes we come out in some pieces, but we put each other back and we keep goin’. Right until the road runs out, and then-“

“All the way down,” She whispered and Dean nodded tight.

“That’s right. We’re gonna be alright,” Dean sucked a tiny mark under Her jaw, then kissed the tip of Her nose. “All the way down.”

She passed out in Dean’s arms, only a handful of minutes after. He’d barely finished Her hair when he felt the drool on his arm. He smiled to himself, and settled into the bed. It took a while for his eyes to close, but he counted every second awake like a kid counting presents. He had what he’d been looking for since he was an idiot kid. He had more than he’d let himself dream about, right at the tips of his fingers. It was so close, he could almost taste the apple pie. He just had to hold on, a little fucking longer.

Always a little longer. Just a few more steps—less than he dared to count—and they’d be out of the woods.

Dean had learned the past few nights, that the little phoenix chick glowed in the damn dark. Made it a little harder to sleep, but he could find ways to appreciate it. Free nightlight, if their kids were afraid of the dark.

“We could start a business,” he joked to Charlie in the morning. “You make one of those websites, I breed the birds, we’d make a killing.”

“That’s animal traffickin’, genius,” Jo grumbled from across the table, and Dean flipped her off.

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m real jealous I didn’t think of your bird breedin’ crime.”

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Alright, what the hell crawled up your ass?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Jo said flatly. “I’m a ray of sunshine.”

Dean frowned at her, but everyone clambered into the kitchen all at once, and this didn’t feel like a good place to try and get Jo to open up. There wasn’t really a good place to get Jo to open up in general. There were places that would get him shot, and places that wouldn’t. Dean was gonna gun for the latter.

“I think we have the plan,” She announced, dropping at Jo’s side. “Crowley says he knows where Eve and Dick will be this weekend.”

“I was supposed to rendezvous with them after my little Heaven vacation,” Crowley said, standing stiffly on the edge of the kitchen. “I can get the boys past the door, but after that-“

“We’re on out own,” Dean muttered. “Like usual.”

“I will be with you, Dean,” Cas said. “And I have been told that I can handle Leviathans myself.”

“Oh, are you like, extra magic?” Charlie said eagerly, and Cas frowned.

“I am not magic.”

“But- You’re an angel,” Charlie titled her head. “Isn’t that like- Obviously magic?”

“Angels are magic the same way humans are, actually,” Kevin told Charlie. Dean thought of Bobby, and the kid of tantrum the old man would throw at the amount of people in his sacred kitchen. “There are a lot of complex classifications and stuff. I- I don’t really understand most of them.”

“We are all creations of God,” Cas said, shrugging like it wasn’t that interesting. Like She and Sammy and Kevin weren’t gonna start drooling over the information. “Angels have always been taught that he started with us, and worked his way out. But, for a while,” Cas sighed. “I have been wondering how much of that is true.”

“Not a lot, if Azrael was telling Dean and I the truth about Eve,” She muttered. “But- It doesn’t matter right now. Eve and Dick-“

“That’s what we go for,” Sam finished, rubbing his legs with a pinched face. “That’s what we have to finish.”

She nodded, and everyone else followed suit. Dean caught Her eye over the table, and gave her a small smile. We’ll be okay, he tried to tell Her with just his eyes. It’s all gonna be okay.

For a second, Dean thought She could hear him. Something about the way She let out a sharp breath, the way her mouth twitched, he really wondered. She offered him a small smile in return, and looked over to Jo. Still sulking about something. Dean would figure out what later.

The plan was, on paper, pretty clean cut. Cas, Sam, and Dean would go with Crowley to pass the apple to Dick. Dean would go stab stab, the Leviathan Queen would fall, and the rest of them would go out like the weird little hive mind they were. On the other side, She would take Meg and Jo, find Eve, and take care of the bitch with Her Blade. That was the part Dean didn’t love. He made that real clear, when they were round tabling.

“She’s tried to kill you, sweetheart, of course I’m not good with you running into her open murder arms-“

“I didn’t work,” She said, crossing Her arms. “I’m still like, super alive.”

Dean gave Her a flat look, and She shrugged in challenge. “I’m just- I’m thinking,” Dean took a deep breath, leaning forward. “If any part of this is gonna be a trap-“

“She can’t trap her majesty,” Meg drawled. “Ain’t you heard the gospel, Dean?”

“You stay outta this,” Dean snapped. “Don’t call her that, and don’t- She can very easily get trapped.”

“She is very kidnappable,” Crowley murmured, earning him a weird look from Sam and a scowl from Jo and Dean. Crowley rolled his eyes. “Please, it’s not like I’ve kidnapped her. I am just- You must have noticed the little pattern-“

“I’m not getting kidnapped!” She shouted over him, chin tipped up. “I can take care of Eve, she won’t kill me, and that’s it. Okay?”

She glared around the table, all of them quietly staring back. She slammed Her hand on the table, and a little more than the ground shook. Dean almost felt it in his ribcage, like a bass drum loud enough to make the earth quake.

“Okay?!”

They all mumbled agreements, and she smiled wide.

“Okay!” 

And that was it. They had a plan. Team Get Dick—Jo came up with the name, and Sam and Dean didn’t have the votes to get it rejected—and Team Eve’s a Bitch would do their jobs, meet back up, get out, and-

“Keep going,” Dean said, the words low and rough in his throat. “We just- We keep going until it’s behind us.”

They all nodded, and Dean knew they heard what he wanted to say.

We keep going, and then we move on.

Charlie was the only one who wouldn’t be sticking around for the finale. She protested about it, but She didn’t have the field training, and they didn’t know what kind of mess they’d be walking away from. Dean wanted her safe. He was already worried about Claire trying to hitch another ride, and he couldn’t have another kid he was worried about misplacing. He couldn’t have another person who bled out in his arms.

“This is stupid,” Charlie grumbled when Dean walked her to the car. She’d get Bobby’s old pickup, all the money they could offer, and a free gun. One of Dean’s good ones, too.

Maybe he was trying to apologize for kicking her out. He was still gonna stand by it. Better pissed and alone than dead. “Yeah, I know, but- If anything goes wrong-“

“You don’t want me stuck here,” she sighed. “Yeah, I know. I was just hoping, I don’t know. Team Get Dick isn’t exactly for me, but I could still be helpful- What if you need someone to hack you through a door-“

“Cas can fry anything,” Dean said, a little apologetically, and Charlie slumped.

“Yeah. I know.”

Dean sighed. “Look, we’ll find you again after, alright? But you’re smart, you probably got a better life out there-“

“Oh, I definitely have a better life out there,” Charlie said. “But I like this. I like you guys.”

Dean couldn’t fight his smile. He didn’t get it. He’d run to the hills the moment he knew She and Sam would follow. But he’d take it.

“We like you too, kid,” he said, and Charlie beamed, spreading her arms wide. Dean pulled her into a hug, and prayed he actually would get to find her. And that when he did, she’d have a life she didn’t want to leave behind to rejoin their shit one.

“I still think it’s dumb that Kevin gets to stay,” Charlie grumbled. “I’m like- way better at fighting.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well. I trust Kevin to stay in the car.”

Kevin, if anything, had begged to go into hiding with Charlie. Or get sent to Jody’s, or join Rowena’s boytoy club. When they’d been prepping Charlie to hit the road, Dean had been pretty sure he’d open up the trunk and find Kevin hiding amongst the bags. But Charlie was—in the way of being human—not very important. Kevin was the prophet, and Dean didn’t want him stuck in an angel barricade or something.

“Kevin is still resistant to the plan,” Cas said quietly as Dean watched Charlie drive away, the tires kicking up dirt in their wake. “I understand your worries, Dean, but there is no safer place in the world than Bobby Singer’s house.”

Dean grunted, crossing his arms. “What about when we don’t come back, buddy? Things go sideways, Crowley does a double back or Eve slips out, the angels pop down or something?”

“Kevin would be under the strongest wards in the world-“

“He’d be alone,” Dean snapped. “I ain’t leaving him alone-“

“Dean,” Cas said, quiet and steady. Dean could feel his damn gaze, burning into his head. “I understand your fears-“

“I’m not fuckin’ afraid.”

Cas sighed. “Your hesitations, then. We have not always been good at staying together, but bringing Kevin right into Eve’s nests- It’s foolish. And you know it.”

Dean said Her name. “She didn’t have a problem with it.”

“She is occupied with other, more important things.” Cas took a step forward, until he was right in Dean’s periphery. “She trusts you to care for the others. I can support sending the human girl off, but the prophet-“

“If you call me stupid, man, I’m gonna freakin’ sock you.”

Cas sighed. “I would never call you stupid, Dean. But- I also believe you know I’m right.”

Dean swallowed, his hand curling into a fist. He did like that, and he didn’t fucking like knowing that. Charlie getting out was a chance to free her from the life. Kevin was tied to it, but Dean should be trying to keep him away from the blood, not dragging him alone in the car. That’s what Dad would’ve done for him. And look at Dean, he’d turned out just fine. Stable and happy and-

He shook himself off, fighting a bitter laugh. He finally looked at Cas and tried not to let it sting at how he leaned a little away. The permanent bags under Cas’ eyes were back, and his hair looked messier, his tie looser, and Dean hadn’t seen him this put together since damn March last year.

“I doubt the angels are going to be a threat,” Cas said. “I have been getting radio silence since I returned, but-“ He frowned at the air. “That may just be their fury with me.”

“You should get that checked out by a doctor, buddy.”

“There are no angel doctors. I do not contract illnesses, or infections-“

“Yeah, but you’re what, a thousand?” Dean grinned. “It’s alright. Perfect normal age to start getting performance issues, I hear.”

Cas frowned, giving Dean that confused, purely Cas look that always made Dean laugh. “I am… Not a performer, Dean.”

“Oh, I ain’t either. But I still don’t get issues.” Dean winked, and Cas’ frown deepened. “You can ask my boss, she’s been giving me five stars, ‘cross the board. I’m her star employee.”

Cas blinked, and said Her name slowly. Dean nodded, and Cas sighed. “You are not her star employee.”

“What-“

“That would be Joanna Harvelle. They seemed to have a profound bond, similar to ours. In fact,” Cas tilted his head. “Sam may have a bond with her as well-“

“I have a freakin’ bond with her,” Dean grunted. I’m her soulmate, so everyone can shut the hell up. “And you’re talking friendship, Cas. I’m talking sex. Romantic sex.”

“Oh.” Cas was silent for a moment. “That was… Not clear.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, and dropped down to sit on a tire. “Yeah, I got that, buddy.”

Cas didn’t respond, staring down at Dean with that strange expression passing back over his face. Clouds moving in, threating to block Dean back out, when they’d just started talking like normal again. Dean cleared his throat, clasping his hands between his knees. Cas gave him a curious look, but didn’t move.

“You’re talking to me again,” Dean muttered, and Cas tensed. “Wasn’t sure it was gonna happen.” He was trying to say it like a joke. It wasn’t coming out like one.

“Dean…”

“Look, I know the last time you were you, I was kinda-“ Dean waved a hand. “Pissed or whatever-“

“You wanted to kill me,” Cas said flatly, and Dean gave him a flat look.

“Well, you stabbed me in the back and stole my girl, then brought her back half dead. I was a little freakin’ annoyed.”

Cas’ mouth worked slightly. He took a step back, and Dean sighed.

“Cas- Wait-“

“I regret my actions, Dean,” Cas raised his voice, holding Dean’s gaze. “But I do not regret taking her.” Cas said Her name, and Dean’s hand fisted again. “She was in danger. I kept her safe.”

“You almost got her killed-“

“And you would’ve protected her-“

“Yes!” Dean shouted, and Cas blinked. “I woulda worked somethin’ out, I woulda called all hands on deck for both of you. You never would’ve fucked off to the woods, she never woulda gone chasing after you, I would’ve stopped that shit, if you both got your heads outta your damn asses and-“

Dean cut himself off with a sharp breath, trying to wipe the heat of anger off his face. He’d thought he was over this. He hadn’t even really thought about it since Jo and Sam locked them in the panic room. Sammy said bottling things up made them burst. It was really annoying when Sammy was right.

“I am sorry, Dean-“

“Don’t,” Dean grunted, glaring at Cas’ shoes. “It ain’t your fault.”

Cas paused. “It sounds like it is… Almost exclusively my fault.”

Dean, in a very small but loud part of his brain, agreed. It was Cas’ fault She’d ever left him. It was Her fault she hadn’t trusted Dean or told him how to help. It wasn’t Dean’s fault. He was coming out, clean hands and chin up.

But his hands had felt pretty fucking dirty the whole time, and it wasn’t like he’d ever really been able to put his chin over his neck. Dad had been good at it. Sammy still was. Dean bowed his head and followed like a dog. Maybe if he’d looked up he would’ve seen things going wrong sooner. Maybe if he’d seen he would’ve fought and gotten them to stop. He could’ve told Cas that they’d help with whatever he needed, and he didn’t need to worry about sneaking around or asking too much. He could’ve told Her that she didn’t need to worry about losing him, even if he didn’t think she’d listen to it. Cas wouldn’t either. She’d felt Dean die. Cas had pulled him, broken out of hell. Dean couldn’t imagine it. Just thinking about them in pain made his stomach cramp and twist.

And Dad would’ve said none of that mattered. Betrayal was betrayal, no matter how you cut or frame it. But Dean wasn’t trying to be Dad. He was trying to be Bobby. And Bobby would’ve told him Cas already felt bad enough. Bobby would’ve told Dean to grow the hell up.

“It wasn’t,” Dean met Cas’ gaze. “Your fault. We all did some stupid shit.”   

Cas didn’t answer. He blinked at Dean, silent and cautious, and Dean sighed.

“I’m not angry, man. I promise. I’m over it.”

Cas frowned. “Over it,” he echoed, and Dean shrugged.

“It’s been months, man. I’ve sorta been frying bigger fish.”

“Bobby?” Cas said softly, and Dean sighed, looking down to the dirt.

“Other shit too, but- Yeah.”

“I am sorry, Dean. Bobby was a good man-“

“I know,” Dean grunted. “Didn’t save him though, did it.”

Cas was silent again. When Dean looked back up, he was shifting on his feet awkwardly, glancing at the empty stretch of tire next to Dean. The corner of Dean’s mouth twitch, and he scooted over, patting the rubbed, and Cas shuffled forward like he didn’t know what to do with his feet. He sat with a tense noise, his posture rigid and legs pushed out, and Dean fought back a laugh.

“I am sorry,” Cas said suddenly, and Dean’s teasing died in his throat. “About… all of it.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

Cas nodded slowly, and they both fell silent. And as Dean watched Cas scoot around, trying and failing horribly to sit comfortably on the tire, he’d never wanted to tell someone more. That last secret, that he might be keeping too long. Bobby had known for a week before he died. Sammy had known and forgot. Death and Joshua knew, but that was like your teachers knowing about a high school crush. Wasn’t anything they were gonna do about it.

Cas wouldn’t do anything either, but at least Dean would have someone who knew. Someone to actually help him figure shit out. And Cas would get it. He, of all people, would understand why Dean hadn’t told Her yet.

But Cas had just gotten back. He’d just stopped keeping secrets, and Dean- He couldn’t ask him to keep another one. That wouldn’t be fair. So instead he just bumped Cas’ knee with his own, and gave him a small, easy grin.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, and it was the truth.

Cas didn’t smile back. Dean hadn’t expected him to. But he bowed his head, and his voice got rougher. “Thank you, Dean. I am… glad to be back.”

Dean nodded, and looked back to the house. He should go in and tell Kevin it was his lucky day. He’d be stuck home on pet sitting duty. Basically a vacation.

But something kept him sitting down. Something ugly and selfish, that started with a bad feeling in his gut and moved through an angry part of his heart, that got vigilant and hot when She was in danger. Dean’s drummed his hand on his knee, and took a slow breath. It wouldn’t matter if nothing happened. And if it did happen…

“Cas?”

Cas gave him a questioning look, and Dean let out a slow breath, holding his gaze.

“You gotta make me a promise.”

Cas sat impossibly taller. Made Dean feel short. Maybe Sam was right, and he slumped too much. “Of course, Dean,” Cas said. “What do you need.”

Dean swallowed. He shouldn’t. But he had a feeling Cas would offer Dean the moon for his forgiveness right now, and Dean didn’t give a shit about the moon. He only needed one thing. One small thing, that Cas was probably gonna do anyway, but he had to be sure.

“Next time,” Dean said slowly. “No matter what, no matter how it’s looking- You gotta promise me you’re gonna do the right thing.” He gave Cas a meaningful look. “Not what you think is the right thing. The right thing.”

Cas blinked. “Dean, I do not-“

“I’m saying not more for my own good bullshit, Cas,” Dean said. “You and I both got the memo, there’s only one person who’s good really freakin’ matters, and it ain’t me.”

“I am…” Cas glanced over to the house, frowning slightly. “Not sure I agree, Dean. And I don’t think she would either-“

“’Course she wouldn’t,” Dean dismissed. “That’s part of the damn problem. We’re both gonna follow her, and she’s gonna say save Dean, and you’re gonna dive ‘cause she’s the one that matters, right? That’s how this is always gonna go?”

Cas’ frowned deeply, but didn’t deny it. Dean sighed, his words staring to get sore like a bruise.

“I’m just askin’ you to promise me that won’t happen again,” he muttered. “You owe me that much.”

And he hated the words, the second they left his mouth. Cas didn’t owe him anything. No one owed Dean anything, and of their little team, he was the one who was gonna go out the easiest. Hell, he’d still be out, if it wasn’t for Cas.

But Cas nodded, and Dean didn’t have it in him to feel bad about that. “Okay,” Cas said. “I will… Do the right thing.”

Dean clapped Cas on the back, and Cas’ mouth pulled into one of those awkward smiles. Dean would let himself feel guilty about this when the job was done and the right thing just turned into Cas siding with him in a stupid argument about where they should build their farm. But he was never gonna feel bad about keeping her safe. That was his one damn job, and he’d sworn he was never gonna fail it again.

Cas went inside, and Dean followed. He needed to get some practice with the knife. It was balanced all wrong, and he’d never been a fan of close combat weapons. Anything shorter than his arm was too close for comfort.

“You’re holding it wrong.”

Dean chuckled, leaning back as She wrapped her arms over his shoulders. “Ain’t smart to sneak up on someone holding a knife, Princess.”

“I’d disarm you,” She mumbled, pressing her face into his hair. Dean grinned, leaning back so She had to meet his gaze.

He reached up with careful fingers, and held Her chin. She blinked at him and bent a little further down, her hair tickling Dean’s face. He pecked Her upper lip, and almost laughed when She pouted.

“Not enough, sweetheart.”

She wrinkled Her nose, pushing on his shoulders to get away, but Dean wasn’t letting Her go that easy. He caught Her hand and tugged her around the chair, setting down the knife and placing Her between his legs. She glanced back at the blade on the table, Her brow furrowed all tight and cute, and Dean rubbed her hip gently.

“Eyes on me,” he murmured, and Her head immediately turned.

Dean didn’t know how the hell he’d gotten so lucky. If Sam tried to pull that, She’d grab the knife and ask him if he wanted to try that again. Not her star employee, Dean scoffed. Wasn’t like anyone else got to have Her between their legs.

“I was holding it wrong?” He teases, and She sighed, running her fingers over the collar of his shirt.

“It was just- The grip. It looked too tight.”

“Too tight- I’m tryin’ to stab Dick, not do a circus performance-“

“And do you think he’s going to be standing in one place for you to stab?” She raised Her brows, and Dean shrugged, grinning smugly.

“Sammy and Cas are gonna tag team him for me.”

She gave him a doubtful look, and Dean chuckled.

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“No,” She murmured, resting her palm over Dean’s chest. “I think you’re going to cut a finger off, then do it.”

Dean grabbed Her, light and testing, around the wrist. She stilled, but didn’t freak out. Dean guided Her up to his mouth, kissing Her knuckles, then her palm, then her wrist. She watched him with unsteady breaths, but he’d  take it. Better than the full freak out.

“You’ll stitch me back together,” he murmured, and Her throat bobbed.

“I’ll stitch back your finger?”

“Cas’ll put it on ice for you-“

“Why can’t Cas stitch it together-“

“’Cause he’s got a terrible beside manner, baby,” Dean grinned, twining their fingers together. “And you’re a sexier nurse.”

She flushed and shuffled a step forward. Dean laughed softly as she pulled Her hand away and wrapped her arms around his head, all but shoving his face into Her boobs. If this was supposed to be Her being pissy, he was good with it. If anything, the only punishment was that he couldn’t mouth at Her breasts and sweet little nipples in the living room without getting smacked.

“I have bad bedside manner,” she mumbled, pushing Her face back into Dean’s hair. “I’d get really mad at you.”

“I know,” Dean hugged Her middle, splaying his hand on Her lower back. “It’s gonna be real hot.”

She laughed, breathy and small, and Dean smiled into Her chest. He had a feeling She didn’t love this plan that much either. He’d suggest pair up together, if that didn’t leave Sammy with Crowley and Meg, and Dean third-wheeling Her and Jo. It had to be a Man of God who stabbed Dick. She said Sammy got the title from being a Winchester, but the bylaws weren’t clear or something, if letting Lucifer possess you got that title stripped. Crowley had suggested calling the tiny little Winchesterling and my whore mother, but Dean didn’t want Adam around this. Hell, if he could get away with sidelining Sam, he would.

She’d floated that, in the early stages. Dean had given Her a pointed look, and She’d dropped it with a scowl. The rest of the plan—after that—had been almost all Her. Dean still didn’t think She was a big fan.

“I’m gonna be careful, Princess,” he murmured, dipping his hand under Her shirt. “Swear on my Baby.”

She made a doubtful sound, and Dean kissed Her chest, then Her collarbone. He pressed his hand over Her lower back and propped his chin on Her chest. She leaned down, pressing their brows together and staring at Dean with shining, glossy eyes.

“Pinky promise,” he said, even gentler than before. “Only way I’m gettin’ back to you is one piece.”

Her lip trembled. Her voice was hoarse. “How about you just get back to me,” She whispered, and Dean nodded.

“Deal.”

He pressed one, light kiss to Her parted lips. She hummed, eyes fluttering closed, and Dean barely managed to take a sharp breath before he was pushing back up. He traced his tongue over Her lower lip and cupped the back of Her head, moving to his feet. She opened for him with a soft whine, and Dean pushed Her back to the desk, keeping their bodies tight together and caging Her with his arms. She grabbed his face, kissing him back like she was drowning in thirst, and Dean groaned, pushing his hips down against Her core. The knife clattered to the floor, and Dean caught Her chin before she could get distracted.

“Pick it up after,” he grunted, playing with the waistband of Her pants, and she nodded airily, fisting Her hands in Dean’s shirt.

He smiled against Her mouth and settled between Her legs. His bugle grinded against Her core, and he slowly kissed Her down, until she was lying on the desk—Dean finally got why bosses in pornos went after their secretaries, this was hot, and he could really get down with that fantasy—and Her legs were spread wide in the best invitation Dean was ever gonna get. He ducked down, sucking a dark bruise ont that one, soft spot, pinning Her down with a hand on her tummy.

“De- Dean-“ She gasped, arching off the desk. “Deeeean-“

“Dean!” Sam’s voice cut through the air, tight and annoyed, and Dean groaned, dropping his face back into Her boobs before twisting around with a glare.

“Ain’t you able to see we’re busy?”

“Yeah, dude.” Sam glared back. “It’s kinda all I can see, it’s-“

Sammy made a—very dramatic—gagging sound, and She shoved at Dean’s chest.

“We- We didn’t think anyone was around,” She fixed her hair and adjusted Her shirt with trembling fingers, and Dean sighed, taking over in a second. She gave him a nervous smile, and he kissed the space between her eyes, smoothing out Her shirt and—just for fun, because Sam had ruined the rest of it—snapping Her shorts against her waist. She squeaked, and Sam groaned again.

“You’re in the library. Why would you- Never mind,” Sam sighed, and Dean smirked to himself, running his thumb over the thin line of bruises he’d left on Her hips. Damn right never mind.

He thought about licking the tiny marks he’d put on Her throat and collar. Sam could fuck off, Dean had a mission, and nothing else was gonna come first-

Sam said Her name, and She sat further up. Dean sighed. Never a damn moment of peace.

“Cas is looking for you,” Sam mumbled, a hell of a lot softer than he’d been speaking to Dean. “He and Meg want a clearer picture of the building, and, um- Crowley’s not exactly being cooperative- I think Jo’s stopping any murders, but she might just- You know- Kill Crowley herself-“

“I’m coming,” She pushed Dean fully off, and he slumped back with a groan, catching Her hand as she smoothed her shirt on more time.

“That’s not how you were supposed to be sayin’ that,” he grumbled, and laughed when he got smacked.

“Dean Winchester,” She hissed, and Dean winked, kissing the back of Her hand. 

“You free tonight, pretty girl?”

She flushed. “May- Maybe. Why, are you-“

“Askin’ you out?” Dean shrugged, reaching forward to redo the button he’d gotten on Her jeans. She went totally still, gripping Dean’s hand tight enough for his bones to hurt. He let his knuckles brush Her crotch, and she made a high, half confused sound. “Maybe. You gonna say yes, if I am.”

She nodded, leaning into Dean’s hand, and Sam coughed loudly.

“Crowley. Jo. Everyone about to fight,” he said Her name, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’ll grab you after dinner,” he told Her, smacking her ass lightly. “Good luck with the yardfight, Princess.”

She made a disgruntled sound, but still walked away with a glare out the door. Dean leaned back in his chair, smirking after Her. She’d been pent up enough the past month, to the point that Dean was worried denying Her again might end up with his dick getting in trouble. And that cut off hadn’t even been his fault. He was a little worried She was just gonna kill Crowley herself.

He sighed, and looked to the knife. She’d been right. He had been holding it wrong. He should’ve asked Her to show him right before she got pulled off to play mom.

“You guys seem happy,” Sam said softly, and Dean smiled to himself.

“We are. She’s a little pissed at me ‘cause-“ Dean cut himself off. Sammy didn’t need to know that. Dean didn’t really want him to know that. “Uh- Stuff.”

Sam’s nose wrinkled. He seemed to have put together what the stuff was on his own. “Yeah… Right.” He coughed. “Uh- How’s the knife thing going?”

Dean grunted. “I miss my sword, Sammy. Coulda avodided the whole damn scaveneger hunt if I still had it.

“We can try to look for it, after,” Sam offered. “I mean, I think we should, even if you didn’t want it. It’s a weapon of Heaven, it’s an artifact- Maybe we shouldn’t let it go back into combat, for preservation, or leverage against Naomi- She seemed kind of…”

Sam trailed off, and Dean snorted. “Bitchy?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, dropping in one of the spare chairs. “That.”

Dean nodded, frowning at the knife. He picked it up and spun it on the desk, watching the blade catch the light. “It’s my sword, Sam,” he muttered. “We get it back, I ain’t donating it to science or whatever.”

“But- We can just get you another sword, Dean-“

“Don’t want another sword,” Dean said flatly. “That one- It felt like mine.”

“How can a sword feel like yours?” Sam asked, and Dean just shrugged. He couldn’t explain it. That thing had just felt like a second limb, and he was always gonna be pissed at himself for leaving it in the Leviathan hive. He knew he’d lost it for a good reason—getting Her out, getting Her safe—but he still figured he got to be pissed about it. He didn’t ask for much for himself. All he freakin’ wanted was pie, his girl, and his magic freakin’ sword.

And a farm. And Sammy to be safe, and Cas to not go crazy again. For Jo to stay alive, while he was at it. Bobby back. Her and all Her animals to be safe. Kevin to stop freaking out. Maybe some good dinner—he was pretty hungry—and for all the cops in a America to piss off and go back to eating their donuts. For God to really fuck off. And everyone in the world to chill the hell out.

Dean asked for too much, maybe.

“Hey, Sammy?” He asked, still watching the knife spin. Sam hummed in acknowledgement, and Dean sighed. “This works, and- You know- That’s it-“

“I don’t know what happens next, Dean,” Sam said, before he’d even damn finished. “None of us do. That- That’s kind of the point.”

Dean shook his head, glaring at the knife. “Nah, it- There’s gotta be more than that- You’re the one who was always telling me we gotta have an end-“

“And you’re the one who told me you wanted out five years ago, Dean.”

The knife clattered onto the desk, and Dean tried to glare at Sam, but he was just met with those tired, damn puppy eyes.

“You remember that?” Sam asked, and Dean could’ve snorted.

“’Course I remember it.” They’d been working one of those cases that bled his will dry. Dad hadn’t been dead five months, She’d been in the wind—Dean had been sure She’d abandoned him—and Bobby hadn’t been cluing anyone into her location, making Dean feel like there was a phantom every time he visited that house. He’d only had Sam, and Sam had been keeping secrets. He’d been tired, not much left to fight for, even less to live for. He’d told Sam that. Sam had told him they had to keep going, just for now.

For now turned into Dean dying, then the end of the world, then two more just for nows. They were coming up on a third. Dean felt a little sick.

“How’s Eileen?” Dean asked, watching Sam closely. The kid went a little red

“Going underground, like I told her. Just- You know.”

“In case of the worst,” Dean muttered, and Sam nodded tightly. “We’ll get her after.”

“I know.” Sam paused, glancing back up at Dean, looking half his damn size. “If you’re still looking for land, she- Um- She actually found a pretty big stretch of it in Maine. Not even that expensive.”

Dean swallowed, wrapping his hand around the knife. “Guess she can show me when we get her then, huh.”

“Yeah,” Sam said softly. “Guess she can.”

And it was a silent promise that neither of them had ever been good at keeping. You go and I’ll move on. Dean wondered when they’d stop lying about that. He wondered when they’d never have to bother making that promise again.

She’d managed to break up the fight without anyone—even Crowley—getting killed. Jo was still fuming and red-faced, when Dean walked into the kitchen, but the biggest causality seemed to be a pie she’d smashed into Crowley’s face before things de-escalated.

“I wanted to eat that,” Meg mused, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “Doesn’t look as tasty on your face as in Blondie’s hands.”

Crowley scowled, Jo looked three seconds from murder, and Dean stood in the doorway with a miserable gape. He’d wanted to eat that. It had been his pie. He got the ingredients with Claire last week, and he’d promised to save her a slice, and now she was gonna accuse him of neglecting her again, and he wasn’t getting any pie-

“We can go to Mel’s in an hour, De,” She said as She passed Dean, pulling Jo behind her. “We’ll get you some more, okay?”

Dean relaxed a little, and nodded. Jo sulked after Her up the stairs, and Dean turned back to the kitchen with a sigh. Cas was frowning at the bit of pie that had made it to the floor, Crowley was wiping himself off with the good towels, and Meg was giving Dean the smirk that made him wish Jo had pied her instead.

“She taking you out for pie, De?” Meg drawled, and Dean ignored her, stomping over to Crowley.

“Go take a freakin’ shower,” he yanked the towel away, and Crowley scowled.

“I am a demon, I would not need a shower if you’d let me through your little power block-“

“Nope,” Dean snapped. “Guest bath is third floor, first door on the left.”

“Guest bath?” Crowley’s lip curled. “I will not be bathing in the guest bath like a- a common street rat-“

“Then Sammy can hose in you in the freakin’ yard,” Dean shrugged. “Don’t touch my towels.”

“He’s such a homemaker,” Meg cooed. “That’s how he earns his pie.”

Dean took a deep breath, and pointed a stern finger. “Hey. I can still shoot you.”

“But you won’t,” she purred. “You know, De? I really like pie too. If you ever think you’d wanna share, I’m sure the pie would enjoy it.”

Meg was lucky Dean found that amusing. The pie would not enjoy that. It had taken Dean six months to get the pie not to hide herself whenever she got stripped, and the success rate still wasn’t great. The pie got embarrassed when Dean touched her in front of people. The pie would start freaking out and crying, if Dean pitched two people eating her.

Dean was good with that. He didn’t like sharing his pie anyway.

“Good luck with that,” Dean snorted, and Meg raised her brows.

“Maybe the pie would like some other pies eating her, instead of…” She looked Dean up and down, obviously unimpressed. “You.”

Cas looked up with a frown. “Pie cannot eat pie, Meg. That would be cannibalism.”

“For hell’s sake-“ Crowley scoffed her name. “She’s the pie, you air-headed angel. And- If we’re taking numbers-“

“No one’s taking anything,” Dean snapped. “Go shove the hose up your ass, Crowley.”    

Dean left the kitchen before anyone could argue with him, waiting in the hallway for Her to come back down. It took a while—Crowley used the guest bathroom, just like Dean thought—but She appeared at the top of the stairs with a soft smile, and Dean felt his wrath dissipate into thin air.

“You look good, baby,” he offered a hand as She came downstairs, and she laughed softly.

“I look the same as I did five minutes ago.”

“Exactly,” Dean kissed the side of Her head. “Freakin’ good.”

She rolled Her eyes, but smiled against Dean’s shoulder. “Pie?” She mumbled, and Dean nodded.

Mel’s was on the edge of town, had the best damn pie in the area, and considered Dean a gold star customer. He barely got through the door before the nice old lady who waited tables waved and asked if he wanted the usual. The big, tatted up guy she’d been serving frowned, but Dean just grinned and nodded, and She leaned against his side, her head tipped into his shoulder and breathing soft. Dean herded to the register, kissed the back of Her head, and ordered a root beer float.

“I- I’m okay-“

“I’m not eating alone,” Dean cut her off with a challenge, She glared for a moment, then gave up with a sigh. Dean kissed the tip of Her nose, then grinned at the thin kid behind the register.

“Make that a root beer float and some fries, buddy.” He said, and the kid—staring at Her for a few seconds before he seemed to hear—nodded and punched in the order with shaking fingers.

Dean moved Her to a booth, slung his arm around Her shoulder, and slid the kids placemat in front of Her. She glanced at the crayons with a small pout, and Dean chuckled.

“C’mon, I know you wanna do the word puzzle thing.”

“Word search,” she muttered, and Dean gave Her a pointed look. She sighed, grabbed the crayons, and bent over with an overly focused expression.

Dean watched Her, fond and silent. He tucked some hair back from Her face and ducked to kiss her cheek. She looked back up with wide eyes, and Dean kissed Her other cheek.

“Ignore me,” he said, and She frowned, giving him a suspicious one-over before turned back to the puzzle. Dean leaned over Her shoulder, squinting at all the letters, almost floating off the freaking page. “How the hell are you seeing anything in there?” He muttered, and She shrugged.

“I don’t know, I’m just- Looking for linguistic patterns, I guess.”

“What, like- Uh- I before E?” 

“That one’s actually a myth,” She hummed. “But- Yeah.”

Dean nodded, resting his face against Her shoulder and squinting at the paper. “This shit really doesn’t make you dizzy, huh.”

Her yellow crayon faltered. She gave Dean a slow look, like he was crazy, and he frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just- This makes you dizzy?”

 “Uh- Duh. Look at it,” he gestured at the jumbled letters. “They’re all mushed together, and- Normal reading is hard enough, this is just asking me to get confused.”

She glanced at the paper, then back to Dean. “What do you mean, normal reading is hard?”

Dean sighed. “Look, I know I’m not a genius like you and Sammy, but-“

“Forget about me and Sam,” She cupped Dean’s cheek, and he swallowed. She was looking at him the same way She looked at crossword puzzles. He didn’t hate it. “Is it really hard for you to read?”

“I dunno,” Dean mumbled. “I mean, I wouldn’t say hard, just- Y’know. Makes my head hurt sometimes.”

The little wrinkle in Her brow deepened. Dean said Her name cautiously, and she just shook her head.

“Princess, it ain’t that big a deal-“

“Just- Shh.” She pressed a finger over Dean’s mouth, and he raised his brows.

She really was scanning over him. Putting him under the freaking microscope. She combed Her fingers through his hair, and smelled real good, and Dean decided he’d love to be a bug under her inspection. He could be one of those big, cool bugs, that grew into a big bug, and seduced Her with his bug magic or something. Charlie had showed him some books about that. They’d been kind confusing, but he’d figure it out.

“Dean, honey,” she said softly, and Dean blinked. She might as well have punched him in face, with how his head went all fuzzy and empty. “When did you drop out of school?”

Dean didn’t see how that was important. He didn’t really care. Honey. “Uhhh-“ He coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno, senior year? Dad said he needed me hunting, I didn’t like it anyways, so- Just stopped going, I guess. Not like anyone bothered to check where I’d gone.”

He laughed, but She didn’t look very amused. “And how many schools did you go to?”

“Dunno. Enough to run out of hands and toes.” Dean frowned. “Princess, what-“

“Shh.” She tapped his cheek, and Dean snorted.

“Bossy,” he kissed the inside of Her wrist. She barely even blinked.

“Did you go to elementary school?”

“Uh- Probably? I was a kid, sweetheart, I don’t freakin’ remember-“

“What about your teachers?” She asked—real demanding tonight, apparently—and Dean frowned.

“There were a lot of them. Only really remember one, Miss Hanson. She was cute. Had a big crush on her, and- She kinda looked like you, actually.” Dean gave Her a winning smile, but she seemed too into smartypants mode to catch Dean’s shameless flirting.

“Did she ever pull you aside for like… A test?”

“No? I was pretty shit at spelling, I don’t think she was giving me double time to make a champion or something, so-“ Dean paused, a faded, grayed out memory scratching at his head.

Miss Hanson had given him an extra test once. He’d read a pretty cool book about a Toad and Frog, and he’d been really proud of himself because he got through the whole thing in thirty minutes. That had been a record. Usually he gave up and just started fidgeting with his shoelaces or—when he was supposed to be reading to Sammy—made up a story himself. But pretty Miss Hanson had asked him to, so he had, and she’d been so proud of him she called a meeting with Dad to talk about it. Thiry whole minutes. Dean was basically a genius, and Dad should know it.

Dad, though, had not been proud. He’d shouted some words Dean couldn’t hear anymore at Miss Hanson and the principle, stormed out of the office with Dean in tow, and they’d skipped town the next day. Dean hadn’t been sure what happened, or what the yelling had been about. He’d just known his miracle thirty minutes wasn’t enough for Dad. He’d tried to break the record, but it just made his head hurt, so he’d given up for a while. He’d adjusted eventually, and sort of stopped thinking about it. Of course he was a slow reader, compared to the two little Einsteins he shared motel rooms with. They both expected him to be a little slower, too. No one was that surprised by any of it. But-

“Uh,” Dean gave Her a sheepish look. “What’s it mean, if I did have one of those tests?” He sighed at Her curious look, and gave her the story. She kept getting all puppy eyed and pouty as he kept going. Jesus, she was almost looking at him like he was some flea ridden stray.

“Dean…” She said softly, and Dean grunted.

“I mean, you know how Dad was-“

“No, De, it’s- Thirty minutes isn’t fast.”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, you could do better, but-“

“That’s not-“ She sighed, tracing Her fingers over the line of his jaw. “Can I tell you something, and you won’t get mad?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean shrugged. “Not sure what the hell you could say to piss me off, though-“

“I think you have dyslexia, honey.”

Dean blinked at Her. Honey again. Sort of softened the blow, so that was nice.

The waitress served the food and drinks. Dean kept staring at Her, his head sort of just filled with a lot of jumbled up thoughts he couldn’t pick apart. She watched him with a worried expression, holding his hand on the table, lips pressed in a thin line.

“Are you mad?” She whispered, and that jolted Dean back a little. He shook his head, glanced at their hands, then shook his head again.

“Nah, I’m just- Uh- Why- What?” He coughed. “I mean, why the hell- Not why the hell, but- I’m not- I can read, Princess-“

“I know you can read,” she said quickly, squeezing his hand. “You know I know that. But- I don’t know, you love stories and stuff, but you don’t like reading that much-“

“Yeah, ‘cause it takes forever-“

“Because you have dyslexia,” She countered. “That doesn’t mean you can’t read, De. It just means it’s a little harder.”

Dean blinked at Her, and he wished he could argue, but it had taken him almost a year to get through every Lord of the Rings book, and he’d only managed to do that because he loved them. Everything else hadn’t been worth it. Hell, he used to be so slow at reading the lore than Sammy—who’d demanded he do it for once—would kick him out and finish for him.

A lump was forming in Dean’s throat. He grabbed Her hand and pressed closer, staring at Her fingers. At the ring he’d given Her, that she wore all the time.

“And, uh- If that’s- If you’re right,” he swallowed, his voice aching in his throat. “You still- You’re not-“ He coughed. “You’d still- Shit-“

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” She said, and Dean pressed his mouth in a thin line. “I’d never think that.”

Dean nodded, and pushed his face into Her neck. He wasn’t gonna cry. Not over this. But he might hide in Her warmth until he was sure he wasn’t gonna cry, and then clear his throat and focus on his pie. She watched him for a moment, and he pushed Her root beer float forward with a crooked smile. She wrapped her hands around the glass, but still didn’t stop staring.

“Are you-“

“I’m good, sweetheart,” he said, and—surprising even himself—he meant it. “Drink up for me.”

She watched him for another moment, then did. Dean didn’t let himself linger on that revelation for too long. He had pie to eat and a girlfriend to seduce. It could go in his box of shit to address later, right next to them being soulmates. And that one he was planning to take care of, very soon.

She’d gotten ice cream on Her nose somehow. Dean wiped it off with his thumb, then fed it to Her. She sputtered and flushed, fumbling with Her glass, and Dean snorted.

“Shit, Princess-“

“You scared me!” She whined, wiping the root beer off Her cheek. “You- You can’t just-“

“Sit next to you?” Dean suggested. “Be charming?”

She glowered, and Dean leaned forward, kissing Her sticky lips.

“I’ll go get some napkins,” he murmured, and She nodded, holding onto his hand until he was standing, and she sorta had to let go.

Dean went to the bar and register, but the place was crowded for a weekday night, and he figured the bathroom would be better. He was right. Empty and stocked up with napkins.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror though, and paused. He should fix his hair, and redo the cuffs of his flannel. His jacket was fine—she liked this one— but he could change his shirt. It was too late for that, though, so he just hoped she didn’t look down too much. His jeans were fine, though, so She could look down, but only the exact right amount or everything would be ruined. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. He could do this. He’d been ready for it all day, he’d even gone out to the Impala while Charlie was packing, to make sure everything was right. Nothing was even gonna really change. It was only half of them. It was gonna be fucking fine .  

He gave himself a short, encouraging nod. At least he had a reason for being shit at spelling now. Good timing. He’d be given some pretty good grace about that.

Dean walked back into the diner with a fistful of napkins and his eyes on his watch. It was almost eight. Nice and dark outside. They could go soon, and it would be perfect.

Then he looked up, only a few feet from the booth, and froze. The guy the waitress had been serving—when they’d walked in, almost a damn hour ago—was bent over their table with his back to Dean. Blocking Her from view, taking up Her space in a way Dean barely got away with sometimes. The napkins crumpled, and Dean took a lurching step forward, ready to throw a fist at the son of a bitch’s face. The only thing that cut over the ringing in his ears, though, was Her voice. Siren like and sweet, controlled. Always, always, making him falter to hear.

“I actually have a boyfriend,” She said, and Dean almost tripped. “So- No.”

The guy scoffed. “Please, that pretty boy you walked in with?”

“Yeah. He actually carries a gun, so…”

She trailed off, and the man didn’t move. Dean reached for that gun. If he was getting permission, he’d be more than happy to shoot.

“I think you can do better than that, sweetheart,” the guy—stupidly—said. “Little man, won’t be able to protect you that long.”

“Really?” She titled Her head, and Dean could see her frown. “Because he’s been doing it eleven years, and- I think he’d have something to say about who’s protecting who.”

Dean dropped his hand from his gun, a much sharper image making itself clear. An image the guy clearly wasn’t seeing himself, but Dean couldn’t really blame him. It could be kinda hard to catch the crazed glint in Her eyes, when she was so damn enchanting. 

The guy laughed. “What the hell does that mean?”

Her lips curved in a smile. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

The guys grinned, and Dean sighed. He shook his hand out, put the napkins on the table, and tapped the guys shoulder.

“Hey, buddy,” he grinned as the guy turned, and socked him right in the jaw.

The guy dropped like a stone. A few people from the other booths looked over with wide eyes, but Dean ignored them. He helped Her out of the booth, kissed Her nose, and waved bye to the waitress. She smiled, and waved in return. She’d been watching Dean deal with men drooling over Her for years. He’d gotten a pie on the house, when he told the waitress he’d finally locked Her down. He wasn’t worried about the cops, and if someone called them, Jody would get it.

It was real nice, sometimes, to be on the wrong side of corruption.

“I was gonna stab him,” She grumbled as Dean guided Her outside.

He hummed, wrapping his jacket around Her shoulders. “I know.”

“You stopped me-“

“I got plans tonight, Princess,” he said, smiling at Her backwards glare. “Not lookin’ to do them in jail.”

She huffed and pulled his arm over Her body. Dean kissed the back of Her head and opened the door, helping her in before running over to the other side. He took a deep breath, when he sat behind Baby’s wheel. He turned the keys between his fingers, foot bouncing and restless, and looked over the seat.

She watched him in the low light of the parking lot, frowning slightly. Her hair fell over Her face and she didn’t seem to notice. She grabbed Dean’s shaking hand and squeezed it once, brow furrowed with worry. She looked like a damn angel. Dean smiled, and it washed through his body like morning sun. He smiled and took Her hand, squeezed three times, and put the key in the ignition.

“You get Claire’s pie?” He asked as he pulled out of the lot, and She nodded, holding up a little box.

“Almost forgot it, with how you dragged me out.”

Dean snorted. “I didn’t drag you-“

“You treated me like ragdoll,” She huffed, and Dean smiled at the road, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he drawled, kissing Her hand. “I thought you liked that.”

She sank down and pulled their woven hands over her chest. Dean grinned at Her, and she rolled her eyes, pinching his wrist.

“Ow-“

“You’ll live,” She muttered, but Dean caught her soothing the hurt with her thumb.

“Could kiss it,” he suggested. “Make it better.”

She ducked her head, but brushed Her lips over the hurt. Dean grinned, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

“Think my cheek hurts too, actually-“

“I’m not doing the Indiana Jones scene with you,” She snapped, and Dean played mock hurt.

“Aw, c’mon, I’m doing it for you, I don’t even- I’m sorry, Princess, but it’s not that hot a scene-“

“Yes, it is!”

“He passes out,” Dean said, flat but still smiling. “That ain’t sexy, baby. If I ever pass out on you, shoot me.”

She laughed, and Dean puffed out his chest like a damn bird. “What would you do if I passed out on you,” She asked softly, and Dean shrugged.

“Pick you up and put you in bed?”

She gaped. Dean gave her a disbelieving stare.

“How the hell is that the wrong answer?!”

“You wouldn’t wake me up?”

 “No, why the hell would I wake you up-“

“Because you want to have sex with me!”

“Of course I wanna have sex with you, sweetheart, I love you. But sometimes that means just wrappin’ you up like a pretty burrito and sucking it up!”

He hit the wheel for emphasis, and expected Her to counter the same way she usually did. But the car was dead silent, and when Dean looked over, She was just giving him the biggest Fuck Me Doe Eyes he’d ever seen.

“You alright?” He asked, glancing at their hands. Her nails were stinging against his skin. “Uh- Princess-“

“I’m good,” She whispered, dropping Her face against his shoulder. “I- I just…” She was silent for a moment. “I’d be okay with it. If you woke me up. Or just- Whatever.”

She hugged his arm, and Dean frowned out the windshield. That was something he was gonna have to get to the bottom of later. Way later. Right now they were too close, and if he turned back now, he was never gonna get the nerve again.

Dean let Her burrow and hide while he parked. He glanced around to make sure the strip was empty, then pet the back of Her head, keeping his words low.

“Can you come out of a second?”

She leaned up, blinking at Dean with blown-out eyes, and he offered Her a nervous smile.

“Uh, this is just- I used to come here with Bobby,” he swallowed, trying to look over to the road, but always just looking back to Her. “He’d let me do ninety in the truck. Learned a lotta stuff, and- Here.”

Dean grabbed Her chin, and turned it to the window. Her breath caught, something in his chest eased. She liked it. He knew She would.

A flat strip of highway with no mountains on the horizon, the only trees behind them in the city. In the winter the fields were coated in frost, and the sky looked like someone had spilled glitter glue in a lake. It had been Bobby’s spot, when he was a kid avoiding a shit dad. It became Dean’s, and they never spoke out it anywhere else. Dean asked Bobby once, if She knew, and he’d said he’d given it to Dean first, and Dean should have some things that got to be his.

So he’d kept it for a while, but he had other things now. And sharing with Her wasn’t giving away any more of him than he’d already fused to Her. Then She’d fused to him.

Dean didn’t think soulmates meant half. He figured it meant magnets. Those dual stars that orbited each other, and hurdled through space, never once pulling apart. Together, until everything collapsed.

“You like it?” He asked, just because he wanted to hear, and She nodded softly.

“It’s beautiful,” She breathed, and Dean grinned. He wasn’t gonna do that chick flick shit, where he agreed and stared at Her. He’d spent long enough staring. He wanted to collide. To get just a little closer, all the time.

He nosed Her cheek, and turned her face for a kiss. She obliged him with a tiny gasp, and Dean nipped on Her lower lip. It would he so easy, to haul Her into his lap, but he wasn’t done yet.

“I got something for you,” he murmured. “In the glove compartment.”

She pulled back with a tiny frown, glancing over Her shoulder, then back to Dean. He nodded to prompt Her on, and she leaned back. Dean watched with his stomach in his throat, trying not to break his fingers holding the wheel. He could do this. She’d written his name over Heaven and felt him die and stayed anyways. All Dean needed to do was grow a damn spine.

And She pulled out the first letter box, and Dean’s breathing turned shallow, the air growing thick and humid, the agitation pricking over his throat and lungs. She frowned at it. Dean’s palms were coated in a thin, slippery sweat, everything about to fall through his fingers-

“Your bullet box?”

Dean blinked. “My- What?”

“Your bullet box,” She repeated, turning it in Her hands. “You- You keep it in the bag-“

“You’ve seen it?!” Dean blurted, and She looked at him like he was crazy.

“Um- Yeah? We share the bag, De. I look in it.”

Dean could barely speak over his heart in his throat. “Have you… Opened it?”

“No? I don’t use a gun, why would I open it.”

Dean could’ve vomited with relief. He looked up at the roof and laughed, squeezing his eyes shut. She said his name—probably thinking he was losing his damn mind—and he shook his head. “It’s not a bullet box, sweetheart.”

“Oh- Okay.” She was still frowning between him and the box, when Dean opened his eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s for you,” he said, because it was that simple. “Just- Something I started doing while you were in the cage. Don’t-“ He grabbed Her hand, pinning it to the box before she could undo the latch. “Don’t open it in front of me.”

She nodded, but didn’t look less worried. “But- You made it, right?”

“Yeah, I just- I don’t wanna watch it,” he pled. “It’s not bad, I swear, but- I can’t. Tomorrow I’ll sit in another room, and you can- You know.”

He nodded to the box, and She shook her head. “We’re on the road tomorrow, but- I can do it in the motel-“

“No,” Dean rubbed his jaw. He’d rather jump off a damn bridge than sit in Sammy’s room while freaking Jo read over Her shoulder. “No. We- We’ll do it after. Just- Not now.” He squeezed Her hand. “Please?”

She still looked pretty confused, but She nodded. Dean laughed, shaky and a little broken, and leaned forward for a kiss. He pressed a small one to Her lips, then grabbed the back of her head and started kissing all over Her face.

“You’re gonna like it,” he murmured. “Promise.”

She hummed, twisting Her face to try and catch Dean’s lips again. He offered them freely, and She grabbed his flannel, pulling him closer. He grunted, turning in the seat to lean over Her, his knee and a hand on the bench so he could move Her down to her back. Dean took the box and set it on the dash, never letting the kiss break. She hugged him, dropping Her leg to offer him more space, and he chuckled, hooking his arm around Her waist.

“Hold on,” he whispered, and She tensed up.

“Dean- Dean-“

He tossed Her carefully onto the back bench and crawled after, shrugging off his flannel. She was shoving his chest before his feet even hit the ground, and he let Her with a grin. She needed to wind herself up, before She relaxed.

“You scared me,” She shouted, slapping his bicep. “And you- You didn’t even warn me-“

“I warned you.” Dean tossed his flannel to the side, and ducking down for a kiss. She squeaked and dropped flat against the bench, glaring up at him. Dean gave Her and incredulous look, and She scowled.

“If you kiss me, you’re going to make me forget I’m mad,” She grumbled, and Dean smirked.

“Yeah, Princess,” he grabbed Her ankle, rubbing up and down her calf. “That’s kinda the point.”

She narrowed Her eyes. “I could’ve hit my head-“

“I wasn’t gonna let that happen.” Dean pulled off one of her shoes, then the other. She watched him with shallow breaths. Dean was a little worried she was gonna hurt herself. “You want me to stop kissing you?” He asked, and She shook her head frantically, still not leaning up. Dean raised his brows. “But you wanna keep being a brat?”

She hesitated, but nodded. Dean gave Her a stern look, pulling the slightest bit back, and She tugged her leg back to her chest. Dean paused, scanning over Her for hesitation, and she—shyly, with Her arms around her stomach and shining, anxious eyes—spread Her legs wide. Dean’s grin slowly split his face, and She flushed, pretty and embarrassed and all his.

“Oh, baby girl,” he rubbed Her knee, slowly massaging his way up Her thigh. “You want it?” He hovered over Her, letting their lips just barely brush. “You want it real bad?”

She nodded, pulling on his shirt, and Dean hummed, watching Her with a soft smile.

“But you were all pissy, kickin’ and shoutin’ at me,” he cooed, dipping his hand under Her shirt. She shivered and arched into the touch, eyes fluttering slightly. Dean teased his fingers up Her sides, and she was already getting wiggly. He might’ve worked Her up too much. She looked like She was about to cum from just the light touch. “You sure you want it?” He squeezed under Her ribs. “Use your words.”

“Ye- Yes,” She breathed, holding Dean’s stern stare.

“You want what?” He prompted, and She sucked in a breath, voice small.

“You.”

 Dean smiled, leaning down just a little further. His thumb grazed Her breast, and his knee settled between Her thighs, not offering enough space for Her to move. He kissed up Her neck and over her jaw, one corner of her mouth, then the other. She grabbed his head but didn’t try to move him anywhere else, just seeming to hold on for Her life. 

“Dean,” She mumbled, and he hummed, sucking on Her upper lip. “Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“’M not teasing,” he said, and She made a noise like she was trying to scold him, but couldn’t really remember how. “I’m waiting for you to talk.”

“I did talk,” She protested. “I- I said what I want-“

“But you were kinda vague, sweetheart. Didn’t actually give me any directions, or ideas,” he cupped Her breast, brushing his thumb over a perked, soft nipple. “I mean, there’s just so many things that I could do with you. With your pretty fuckin’ body,” he attached his mouth to Her throat, sucking a dark mark before flicking his tongue over the hurt. He dragged his hand back down, between Her thighs, and cupped Her cunt. “With this pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he pressed his palm down hard, and kissed the sweet moan off her lips. “I just don’t know, Princess. You’re leavin’ me a little lost.”

“Dean,” She breathed, tears already starting to gather on Her lashes. “Please.”

Dean smiled, cupped Her cheek, and kissed her swollen, shaking lips. How the hell could he ever tell Her no?

It wasn’t hard, to make quick work of Her clothing. Even in the limited space Dean managed to move quickly, helping Her out of her clothing with soft words and softer kisses.

“Alright, arms up,” he coaxed, kissing over Her breasts as he peeled off Her shirt. “That’s it, baby, c’mon.”

He kissed down Her stomach, then over the waistband and line of Her panties before pulling them down. He paused at the sight of Her cunt, dripping wet and sweet. He licked his lips and dragged his thumb over her puffy little clit, laughing when Her hips bucked off the bench.

“Dean- Fuck-“ She grabbed Dean’s wrist, craning Her neck, then falling back with a whine. Dean had attached his lips to Her inner thigh, sucking softly and flicking his tongue, just inches from where he knew She needed him, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, but that just made his kiss open mouthed and wet.

He took mercy when She’d started just wiggling and whimpering below him, pressing a single, featherlight kiss to Her clit and—because he was only a mortal man—burying his face in Her pussy for one, long breath. She was slick and hot against him, and Dean considered just taking what he wanted right there. Only thing that stopped him was the fact that She was a live wire, and he wanted to watch her snap. Above him and over him, hugging him like he wasn’t the same thing driving Her out of her mind.

Dean moved Her, naked and shaking, into his lap. He’d tossed off his own shirt and pulled down his pants, cradling Her in his lap and letting his cock rub against her slick thigh. She was panting and flushed, clinging to his neck and slumped over his body. Dean kissed the slope of Her shoulder, then right under her ear, keeping his voice smooth and deep.

“There ain’t enough time in the world, for me to do everything I wanna do to you,” he murmured, dragging his hand down Her side. “I mean, Jesus, sweetheart. If you told me you wanted to be tossed around and played with, I would’ve pinned your hands up and given you something to really whine about.”

She made a pathetic, gorgeous sound, and Dean chuckled.

“You love that, huh? Love the idea of turning into a pretty little fuck doll for me?” Dean kneaded Her ass, letting his fingers brush just against where she needed him. “You know what we’d call that, sweetheart? When you wanna just get nice and dumb on some big dick?”

She shook Her head, and Dean smirked, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“Cockslut, Princess. We all it bein’ a good little cockslut.”

Jesus, he’d never seen Her this reactive. She was always sensitive, but She’d started to grind down onto his thigh and moan something close to his name, and Dean was barely even touching Her. He leaned back to watch Her, and she pressed her brow against his, as if She couldn’t bear to be apart for a single second. 

“You like listening to me, huh,” he murmured, and She mewled. “Yeah, that’s right. You like hearin’ how much I worship you. How much I wanna love every inch of you, ‘till you can’t even stand. If we had forever… Baby, you’d never leave the bed.”

She panted, riding Dean’s thigh with unfocused eyes and slack lips. Dean knew She wasn’t going to get there herself, but son of a bitch, if it wasn’t a sight to watch her try.

“Think I’d just tie you down for a few days,” he rasped, watching Her every reaction. “Take my time kissing your pussy, making you cum in my mouth until you can’t even scream. Got the sweetest one I’ve ever seen, Princess, I swear to god. Wanna sit you on my face, make you ride me, maybe fucking put your hands behind your back so you can’t do anything but feel it, feel me, eating your wet little pussy-“

She cried out and smashed Her lips over Dean’s, kissing him like she really didn’t know what to do with herself. Dean kissed Her back, massaging her sides, still talking against her lips.

“Should be put down, with how I’ve been dreamin’ about you,” he grabbed the back of Her neck, keeping their mouths pressed together. “Used to jerk off just thinking about your tits, about markin’ them up until you couldn’t touch ‘em without thinking of me, about sucking on them while I got you folded over, fucking you full, filling up your pussy until it was drooling, fucked up with the cum you deserve-“

Dean groaned, his own cock getting demanding. He kept brushing against Her heat, and it was enough to drive him out of his goddamn mind.

“You got no- No fuckin’ idea,” Dean grunted, kissing Her between every word. “You bend over and I pop a boner, Princess, just thinkin’ about taking you on my knee and- Shit-“ She rolled her hips just right, and arousal got smeared all over Dean’s shaft.

“De- Dean-“ She clawed at his back, so quiet and breathy he almost missed it. “Dean-“

“I know. I know what you need, baby,” he grunted, hooking his arm around Her back. “Easy now, just lemme take care of it.”

Dean pulled Her up, lined himself against her cunt, and lowered Her down as slowly as he could.

It wasn’t easy. She clenched at the damn tip, and Dean had to grit his teeth to not lose it right there. He eased Her through it, still talking, all while holding Her hips like she’d float off to space if he even loosened his grip.

“Just like that,” he muttered, watching Her swallow up his dick. “Breathe, sweet girl, just gotta keep breathin’. Let your greedy pussy take what she needs, c’mon-“

Dean bottomed out with a hiss, and She clenched around him so hard his vision went white. Dean moaned, trying to choke out a warning, but then she squeezed harder. Her body writhed against him, her mouth agape and those beautiful, hypnotizing sounds fell from Her lips.

She was cumming. Dean had just put it in, and she’d fallen apart. She was almost thrashing, sobbing his name and grinding her hips with shallow thrusts, and Dean caught Her chin with a hand, squeezing Her cheeks and forcing her gaze.

Her eyes rolled back in Her head, and she let out the most sinful, broken sound he’d ever heard. Dean could barely think, staring at Her. Twitching and writhing on his cock, trying to watch him through the tears streaming down Her cheeks, covered in sweat and almost burning under his touch. Dean pulled Her down in a bruising kiss, and She grabbed his neck with shaking fingers. Dean spread his fingers over Her lower back, pinned Her down on him, and rolled his hips.

It was slow. Deliberate and testing.

She made a sound like he was railing Her into the mattress, and Dean grinned against Her lips.

“That’s right,” he grunted, setting a slow, torturous rhythm, helping Her grind onto his cock and thrusting up until Her mouth was hanging uselessly. “That’s right, Princess, you take it. Take it so fuckin’ well for me, take it ‘cause you love it.” He moaned, digging his fingers into Her soft hips. “Fuckin’ love it, baby, such a good little pussy, such a good girl for me- Fuuck-“

Words were starting to fail him. Dean pulled Her impossibly closer and thrust a little faster, letting their moans fill up the car, mixed with Dean’s grunts and Her little cries, all musical with the sound of Dean’s thick cock, slapping in and out of Her drooling pussy. She’d barely stopped cumming for five minutes before she was milking him again, and Dean had to suck and nip on Her neck to stay focused. He felt like he was about to fucking explode, with all the friction between them, with Her calling his name, breathless and ruined in his ear.

A third orgasm rolled over Her, making Her boneless in over Dean’s chest. He fucked Her in shallow thrusts, angling her hips so her clit dragged against him and he was bullying into that spot he knew would carry her over, just one more time.

“C- Can’t-“ She babbled, holding Dean so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. “De- I- I can’t-“

“Yeah, you can,” he grunted, snaking his hand between their bodies. “Be good, baby, gimme one- Shit-“

Dean cut himself off with a moan, unable to hold himself back when the lightest touch of Her clit had her cumming with a scream. Dean could swear he saw Her light up like a star, and flowers bloomed in her damn hair as she sobbed and flooded his dick, spasming and almost sucking his soul out of his damn body. His orgasm ripped through him, and it was all he could do to keep fucking Her through it in small, jagged thrusts.

He came down first, breathing raggedly and kissing over Her face.

“Good work, baby girl,” he rasped, rubbing Her back. “’S okay, you did so good.”

She cooed and pressed her face into his neck, body still trembling and soft. Dean chuckled, and dropped his head back with a groan. She’d be out before he could get Her clothing back on. He’d get Her home and tucked in bed, and tomorrow would be tomorrow, and they’d be right where they always were.

“I’ve got you,” Dean said, an oath to Her, for only a car who’d seen the whole time and a box that already knew to hear. “All the way down.”

Jo’s been snoring in the passenger’s seat for three hours. Meg kept trying to wake her up, so you kicked her over to Dean’s car took Cas instead. Cas sat silently, nodding his head to the music and filling up the backseat with a distracting amount of grace. It’s changed a little, since you healed him. He’s still electric and blue, but… Brighter. More prone to flickers and restless wings. To flashes like lightning, through his blue. You might ask him to sit down, so you can draw and study him later.

Cas volunteered to help Dean get the snacks, and you—for the first time all day—got Jo alone.

“Jo,” you hiss, squeezing her arm. “Jo-“

“Wha- Wha’s-“ Jo rolls her neck, eyes only half open. “Are we there-“

“No, we’re like an hour out- Jo-“ You smack her lightly, and she tries to roll away with a groan. “I need to talk to you-“

“Talk to me later-“

“He said it again.”

Jo wakes right up. The seat creaks with the force of it, and you press your lips in a thin line. She stares at you, holding your forearm, and you grab her hand and keep it there. She gives you a tight, doubtful look, and you shake your head. It wasn’t just another dream. He said it. You heard him say it. Aloud. The one way it’s never supposed to be said.

“Did he say it like- I love you,” Jo drawls your name in a poor mimicry of Dean’s voice, and you shake your head.

“No- No- Well,” you swallow. “It was like- I love you, but there was context around it-“

“What kinda context?”

You open your mouth, then close it, your face heating. “I- I don’t want to tell you.”

“C’mon, you gotta tell me-“

“No, you’re gonna make fun of me-“

“Yeah, but, like- Later. After we work out what the hell is Dean’s fuckin’ problem.”

You frown. “He doesn’t- He doesn’t have a problem-“

“He’s an idiot,” Jo says flatly. “That’s what- Three times?”

“Four,” you mumble. “The first time was in the Sandman. But- Maybe he doesn’t mean it- Ow-“

Jo whacks the back of your head, fixing you with a stern glare. “The hell he don’t mean it,” she scolds with a pointed finger. “I’m always tellin’ people I love them on accident, four times, when I’m dating them and we’ve been obsessed with each other for years.”

You scowl. When she puts it like that, you sound really stupid. “I wouldn’t say obsessed,” you muttered, rubbing the spot she hit, and Jo rolls her eyes.

“You still sleep with that stuffed cat he gave you?”

“No,” you stick out your tongue. “Indy took it. It’s hers now.”

“Uh huh,” Jo gives you an unimpressed look. “And who looked after Indy, while you were runnin’ around, dyin’ in heaven?”

“Petsitting isn’t love, Joanna-“

“It is when I asked Dean to feed my Tamogachi’s once, and he killed ‘em. And we weren’t even fightin’, he just-“

“He doesn’t like tamogachi’s,” you say defensively. “He doesn’t like anything they made after the 80s- He says it’s mindless consumerism-“

“Fuck off, you taught him what that means.” Jo leans forward, beaming wide. A little dangerous. “C’mon, how’d he say it this time. Was he tellin’ someone else, or- Did you ask him for food, or-“

You cover her mouth with a hand, narrowing your eyes. She’s going to make fun of you for this. You already know you’re going to tell her anyway, and with the gleam in her eyes, she knows too.

“We were in the car last night,” you whisper, because God might hear through the car door and decided to take him away. “And I- I was just making fun of him for not wanting to have sex with me while I was asleep- It made sense,” you add quickly, when Jo gives you a disbelieving look. “That’s not the point. I made fun of him, and he said of course I want to sleep with you, I love you.”

Jo’s jaw unhinges under your hand, and you nod frantically.

“I know-“

“Why ain’t you sayin’ it back?” She demands, whacking your hand away, and you shrug weakly.

Outside, God flashes. It’s not that bright or loud. Just enough to remind you that he’s out there waiting. Always waiting.

“I mean,” Jo rambles. “He’s basically droolin’ at your feet, and I know you love that big fuckin’ loser back, don’t even try to lie to me-“

“He’s not a loser,” you mumble, and Jo gives you a blunt, unimpressed stare. You sigh and pull your knees to your chest. “It- It’s complicated-“

“It’s really fuckin’ not-“

“God, he- He might take him away,” you say, frantic and quiet, and Jo stills. “If I say it, if- If he even hears it, he’s going to take Dean, and I- I don’t-“

You can’t even say it. The thing you might turn into, if God takes Dean. It’s easy to try and be good, when you have him pulling you back down to earth. When everything mostly becomes flowers and  grounded, golden morning light. But without Dean all that power you’ve built, all the Silver you’ve integrated into your bloodstream and learned how to control like a breath, it turns into something bigger than the sickness. You turn into something you don’t want to name.

And Jo understands. She always has, better than anyone else. She takes your hand, and you lean your head on her shoulder, neither of you able to think of anything clever to say.

“He gave me a box,” you finally mumble, and Jo frowns.

“Like- A magic box?”

“No, just a box,” you sigh. “But I’m not allowed to open it until tonight.”

Jo’s grip tightens. “That’s- You don’t think he’s-“

“It’s too big for that,” you dismiss, because you’d been staring at the box all morning trying to work out what the hell he put in there, and if it’s an engagement ring, you need to talk to Dean about surprises, because you’ve already shaken it an awful lot. “It doesn’t make a lot of sound, and- It’s pretty light.”

“Huh.” Jo pauses. “What if I open it?”

“No, this is- He was really stressed about it. His voice cracked, when he was talking about it.” You smile fondly, and Jo rolls her eyes, but you catch the twitch of her mouth. You know she’s happy for you, even when she complains. Just like you know that, even though Sam’s always saying he wishes you and Dean would go back to pretending you don’t care about each other, he’d lock you in the panic room the moment that happened.

There’s a tap on your window, and Sam waves nervously, his face pinched up and worried. You glance at Jo in confusion and roll down the window, frowning slightly.

“What’s wrong, is there- Did something happen?”

“Yeah, um- Yes and no?” Sam rubs the back of his neck, glancing behind him. “I’m just- Dean’s handling it, but I’ve been sent to tell you not to freak out, and- Maybe remind you not to shoot the messenger-“

“Sam,” you say in warning, and he swallows. “What happened.”

“So, I was in the car, and Dean was inside with Cas, and I remember that I had some water in the trunk already, so I went to get it. And I open the trunk, and- I’ve been telling Dean to fix the locks for years, so this can kind of be his fault, if we’re thinking about it and someone needs to be guilty-“ Sam says your name, as you pull away from Jo and reach for the door. “It’s not great, but- Worse things have happened-“

Sam stumbles out of the way as you shove your way outside, shoving his hands in his pockets and shooting an apologetic expression across the parking lot. You make it three steps before you freeze.

The Impala is parked right in front of the station. Cas is standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, holding an armful of snacks and drinks. Crowley must still be in the car, but Meg is leaning out the widow with a smirk. Dean has his hands on his hips and that tense posture he uses on pretty much everyone that isn’t you or Sam during hunts.

Claire is sitting on the curb, looking a little sheepish as Dean chews her out.

Your fingers flex. Sam says your name nervously, and Jo swears behind you. You chew your lower lip, shifting on your feet, and catch Cas’ eye. He gives you a tired look, and something in your jaw snaps.

Claire’s eyes fix on you, when you stomp across the parking lot. Dean catches it and turns around, sighing a little at the fury almost pouring off your body.

“Sweetheart, it’s alright-“

“Shut up,” you snap, stopping right above Claire. “What did I say to you, last time you pulled this.”

Claire swallows, glancing over to Dean, as if he’s going to save her. “I- Um- I don’t remember-“

“Then think harder.”

She takes a shallow breath, curling a little further down, and you lean to the side, raising your brows.

“Claire Ann Novak, if you don’t answer me right now-“

“You said I wouldn’t see another gun until I was sixteen,” she mumbles, and you nod.

“Yeah. I did say that. Did you think I was joking?”

Claire shakes her head, and Dean murmurs your name, resting a hand on your lower back.

“We’re kinda in a situation,” he says. “Jody got called off by Rufus. Claire was supposed to be stayin’ with Kevin, but- I’m worried she’ll be a bad influence-“

“I am not a bad influence!” Claire protests, and Dean gives her a tired, bored look.

“You ain’t helping yourself, kid.” He looks back to you. “Cas can drop her up in North Dakota, but- She’s still gonna be on a hunt.”

You’re crossing your arms tight enough to knot them like that. Dean keeps rubbing your back, and you glower down at Claire, who at least has the decency to look ashamed of her self. You get what she’s trying to do, you really do, because it’s the same shit you did at her age. But you were stupid and magic. Claire could fucking die, and if she dies, you’re going to kill her.

Jody and Rufus are good hunters, but they don’t have strong wards. Dean’s right, that if you send Claire to Kevin, she’s just going to talk him into following you, or worse, going on a hunt with no adult supervision.

Fuck.

“She’ll ride with me,” you mutter, and Claire perks up.

“Seriously? I don’t have to go home-“

“No, you’re going home the fucking second we’re done,” you point firmly, and she curls back. “And you’re not leaving home until you understand that this,” you wave a hand around the lot. “Is not okay. Go get in the car. Now.”

Claire nods sheepishly, and moves to her feet. Dean catches her shoulder and gives her a stern look. She sighs and meets your eyes with a sad, shameful expression.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and a little bit of the wrath in your chest flickers. Not enough to relax your steel posture or tone, but enough for the smoke to clear.

“Just- Get in the car,” you mutter, and Claire shuffles off with her head bowed. You turn on Dean, brows raised and face taut, and he sighs.

“I’ll start checkin’ the trunk before we drive,” he mutters, rubbing your arm. “But it’s alright. She’ll stay in the car- Hell, we can even stuff her back in the trunk, if she loves it in there so freakin’ much.”

You roll your eyes and drop our face into his chest. Dean cradles the back of your head, swaying you back and forth, and you wrap your arms around his torso.

“Are we meetin’ back here?” He mutters, and you nod against him.

“You go North, I take South-“

“We handle it, text that we’re goin’ back, and ditch,” Dean finishes, slowly pulling your face back. “I remember, Princess.”

You nod, biting your cheek, trying to push down the itching worry over your skin. Dean drags his thumb down your nose, holding your gaze.

“We’ve got this,” he mutters, low enough for only you to hear. “We’ve been to heaven and hell, baby. This is just another shitty Wednesday.”

You laugh weakly, and Dean kisses you. Slowly and carefully, his tongue tracing your lower lip and his fingers tangled in your hair. You sigh softly into his mouth, and he hums, dragging his thumb over your cheek. No one dares to interrupt or mock you, so Dean just kisses you until you’re breathless and almost unable to stand. He drops his brow to yours, when he pulls away, and drags his hand over the curve of your collarbone, the leather cord of his amulet around your neck.

When he looks back to you, his eyes are glassy and heavy. You want to smile and reassure him, but neither of you seem to have the words. You kiss him one more time, and he returns it with the force of a man who’s been told war is over.

You can still feel him on your lips, when you get back in the car.

Meg had to go back with you, but you gave a daggered warning about giving Claire any ideas or pissing Jo off.

“You want to work with us,” you’d hissed outside the car. “You play nice.”

Meg had smirked and looked you up and down, her voice close to a purr. “But I am playing nice. I’m playing so nice.”

She’d taken a small step forward, and you’d given her a bored smile.

“Prove it.”

She’d sighed like you were asking her to figure out quantum theory, but did seem to be trying. You kept the music down to eavesdrop, and she wasn’t telling Claire anything overtly dangerous. She was even mostly ignoring Jo, which might be the biggest victory so far. You’ve been worried they were going to kill each other.

“Do we know the boy’s plans,” Jo asks as you start to pull onto backroads, and you nod.

“Crowley’s gets them in, Cas clears the way, Sam stays in the car for getaway-“

Meg snorts. “You got Sammy to sit sidelines?”

“Well, he doesn’t know it yet,” you mutter. “But someone has to, and- He’s live bait, it’s not safe.”

Jo frowns. “And we… Ain’t live bait.”

“No,” you shrug. “You have me.”

There were advantages, to being… whatever you were. Magdalene, Whore, Bride, it didn’t matter right now. Eve could talk all the big game she wanted about killing you, but if Dean hadn’t insisted you go in with back up, you would’ve been more than comfortable running in and dealing with Eve yourself.

“You’re staying in the car, Claire,” you glare at her in the rearview mirror, and she huffs dramatically.

“But- I could be- It’s not like you’re fighting the Leviathans-“

“It doesn’t matter what we’re fighting. You’re staying in the car. And if you argue with me-“ You say firmly. “I’m handcuffing you to the seat.”

Claire’s mouth falls open. “You- You can’t do that- That’s child abuse-“

“No, child abuse would be throwing you into the monster nest with the thousand year old madwoman obsessed with killing God,” you snap, and Claire swallows. “You want to sneak out on a hunt like an adult, you get restrained like an adult.”

Claire huffs, sinking into the backseat. “You wouldn’t handcuff an adult in the car,” she grumbles under her breath, and you snap your head around.

“Excuse me?! You want to tell me what I would and wouldn’t do right now-“

Jo says your name urgently, grabbing the wheel, and you turn back around with a scowl.

“We’ll finish this later,” you mutter, digging your fingers into the wheel. Claire doesn’t answer.

“You’re lucky she’s just handcuffin’ you,” Meg says to Claire, quite enough you know you’re not supposed to hear. “I’ve heard stories about her crushing souls in her hands and turning angels into sock puppets.”

You make a sound between a laugh and a scoff, and Jo smirks at the road. The good thing about hunters talking is that you get a lot of street cred. The bad thing is that you end up sounding like a boogeyman in eyeliner and skincare products.

“Really?” Claire whispers back, and Meg shrugs.

“First time she met me, she hatched the first dragon in a thousand years. First time she met blondie, she took out a whole witch coven with her bare hands.”

“It wasn’t bare hands,” you cut in, before pausing. “And- How’d you know that?”

“I’ve been in Sammy and Bobby’s heads,” Meg winks. “I’ve seen everything, about all of you.”

She smirks between you and Jo, and you roll your eyes. She’d been in Bobby’s head like, two years ago. A lot of things have happened since then, and you weren’t even around when she was in Sam’s head. Jo sinks deeper into her seat, fiddling with the label of the soda Dean got her. You give her a questioning look, and she waves you off.

The rest of the ride is filled with Meg telling half-true stories about you, Sam, and Dean, and Claire hanging onto every word like she’s preaching gospel. 

“And of course,” Meg drawls. “There are the books.”

“The books?” Claire says excitedly, and Meg nods.

“Little Sammy and Deanie, they’ve got their own bestseller series-“

Jo snorts. “That shit wasn’t bestseller, you get it online for free.”

“Hm,” Meg grins at her. “Why were you looking for them online? Something you wanted to see?”

Jo flips her off, and Claire looks between them hopefully.

“Are they like- Books about you guys? I thought our lives were supposed to be secret- Dean is always saying they’re supposed to be secret-“

“They are secret,” you sigh. “But- There was a prophet who didn’t know he was a prophet, and he’d been writing about them for years.”

Claire nods, then pauses. “Them?”

“I wasn’t in them,” you say, and Claire’s mouth falls open.

“Why? You’re like- So much cooler-“

“And hotter,” Meg smirks, and Claire makes a face.

“No- Ew-“

“Hey,” you frown, and she cringes.

“Sorry, just- It’s like- I don’t wanna think about that- That’s so gross-“

“Don’t think about being in Dean’s car, then,” Meg hums, twirling her hair and giving you a knowing look. “I could smell the sex on the seats, made me so jealous of your little pretty boy-“

You jerk the car to the side, just hard enough to knock her head against the window. You check back to make sure Claire’s okay, and give Meg a warning look. It’s more than the playful or stern one you give Jo and Claire. You line it was thorned, bubbling power, and it singes the air like a threat. Meg backs off with raised hands, and you turn your attention to Claire.

“I wasn’t in the books because Chuck- the prophet- Didn’t think I fit in Sam and Dean’s story. But if you want to read them, I think Sam still has copies.”

You know Sam still has copies. He hid them from Dean, who threatens to burn them every time he sees them, and always feels the need to remind you he didn’t really sleep with any of those women. He always does it with a worried, pleading expression and a soft voice, and you don’t even get sick with jealously, because the idea seems to make him want to vomit. You have a feeling Claire won’t make it very far into the books for the same reason. If she doesn’t like Meg calling you hot, she’s going to hate Dean shooting fake sex scenes.

If Crowley’s been telling the truth—and that’s always a big if, but you think he understand that if he’s not, you’re stomping his soul under your heel and spitting on the pavement—Eve and Dick have made a base for themselves in the real, very dead Dick Roman’s old mansion. It’s a sprawling mansion in Michigan, complete with hunting grounds, a guest lodge, and two pools. Dick and the Leviathans are in the main house. Eve is through the wooded grounds and in the guest lodge. You park the car on the outskirts of the property, and this is going to be the hard part.

“Don’t be stupid,” you tell Claire, and she nods. It seems to be setting in, on her paler face. The gravity of the situation. “I’ll be back soon. The car is warded, so as long as you don’t open the door for anyone but me, you’ll be fine.”

Claire nods nervously. You sigh, kiss the top of her head, and pull her into a tight hug. She’ll be okay. The Leviathans can’t get in. She’ll be okay.

“Are we ready?” You asked Jo and Meg, and they nod tightly. “Remember-“

“Cover your back,” Jo says, cocking her gun. “Don’t die.”

You let out a slow breath, and look to the woods. It’s broad daylight, but the trees seem dark. The shadows looming, the light falling over the ground in a way that feels almost wrong. Ashy and gray, like a poorly done painting, or a disjointed dream.

“Okay,” you mutter, spinning the Blade in your hand. “Let’s do this.”

You take a single step into the woods, and the rush kicks in.

Eve isn’t a fool. She’s filled the woods with everything from vamps to wolves to demons to beasts that you really wish you could just take a picture of and study, but the defense only seems strong enough to deter a normal band of hunters. They’re not prepared for you, bigger than the forest, focused only on carving your way to Eve, and felling monster after monster without breaking a sweat. Some of them run in the other direction, when they see you. The demons get brave and dive at you with curled lips and sneers, and the Silver shoots into them like an arrow, driving apart their smoke and reducing them to nothing but the lingering stench of rancid eggs.

The Yeerks are back as well. Eve’s personal guards, getting more and more dense as you approach the lodge. Meg and Jo hold their own, but it’s close. You look back and a dark haired woman has her hand inches from Jo’s head. You whip around—letting the Silver drive out of you like a drill, right into the earth that doesn’t want to carry thing so vile, that feels them like fleas—you stomp your foot.

The ground swallows the woman whole.

Jo falters, and stares at you. You stare back, the rush faltering for only a moment.

“Cool trick,” Jo says, and you nod, staring at the spot where the woman vanished. “You know you could-“

You shake your head, and Jo cuts herself off with a sigh. Another Yeerk dives from over head. Jo blasts it with her shotgun, knocking it off course, and Meg grabs it out of the air, slamming its head into the tree. You take a step forward, looking between them, and Jo waves you off.

“We’ll block the door once you’re in,” she calls. “Fuckin’ go.”

You nod, take a few steps back, looking up to the trees. The canopy of leaves, filtering that sunlight, and filtering it wrong. The Silver howls, uncomfortable with the off-axis pull, and you can feel gray light on the leaves crying in return. Whatever Eve’s done to this place, whatever the Leviathans have done, it’s wrong.

But you look back over your shoulder, and there seems to be a jungle in your wake. A path, marking every step you’d take, where the wood are overgrown and lush. The moss creeps up the dead, white bark of the trees, and the light that hits the blooming flowers and green leaves is soft. Shimmering and threaded like the spiderweb pattern of a beam of sunshine through the water. You take a deep breath, your hand flat on the door of the lodge.

It opens for you, without a single push.

You expect to force your way through legions, but the halls are empty, dark, and quiet. A thick smell of old wood almost suffocates you, and hundreds of tapesties and painting on the wall have turned to faded paper and moth eaten string. You pause in front of one. Nothing more than a tattered weaving of a beach, white waves painted to crash onto the shore and the sun shining from somewhere behind the viewer. You touch a stray thread of blue, and a rushing breeze flies past your face. The wood smell is covered in salt and brine and something finer. Something thin and delicate and sweet. Water drips down from your fingers and onto the floor, and you can feel it.

Whatever this place was, however far away or old, you’re the peace of the water and sand, always surrounded by more of itself, content into knowing it could be swept away or change with the tide. It will get to see more. Be more. And compared to a life a cold, lonely stone, that doesn’t sound so bad at all.

“A pretty trick,” Eve says from behind you. “I wish you’d learn to do more with it.”

You whip around, flipping your Blade to drive for her throat, and Eve only watches you with a  smile.

“I knew you’d come for me-“

“Yeah, you’re a real genius for that,” you cut her off dryly, and her whole face twitches. A faltering of a mask. A predator playing prey, unable to hide their teeth.

“Be careful how you speak to me,” she says your name, and you roll your eyes.

“Why would I do that?” You take a step forward, and Eve takes a step back. “Because you understand me? You can teach me? You can show me paradise?”

Eve’s lip curls. “I can help you be free, you stupid girl. If you weren’t so attached to your little men, you’d be free-“

“And then what?”

Eve blinks at you, recoiling again when you take another step back. “It doesn’t- That is not your concern-“

“It feels like my concern,” you spit. “You wanted to kill me, you wanted to take Dean-“

“I want nothing but is what’s best for you,” Eve sneers. “Dean. That man, he does nothing but hold you back-“

“From what. From replacing God?”

“Yes!” Eve screams, and you blink. “I did not give everything, I did not lose everything, just for you to make the stupid mistake of believing a man could ever defy God, that any of them could possibly be strong enough to resist the pull of a power they do not deserve. But I deserve it, you deserve it- We are makers. I am the maker, and you will not,” she takes a step forward, eyes gleaming with fury. “Defy me.”

And this is the part where you used to be afraid. Where you’d lose control and kill her with a scream. But Death told you to stand tall. And you don’t move.

“You need me to open Old Heaven,” you mutter, scanning over Eve’s furious face. “And you needed Dean…”

“Oh I never needed Dean,” Eve says dismissively. “But having him is having you. My greatest creation,” she looks you up and down, and sighs heavily. “Refusing to be a god, just for a man.”

Your grip on your Blade tightens. “I am not your creation,” you hiss. “And I am not a god.”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we,” Eve smiles. “When you finally lose Dean.”

Your vision doesn’t blur. The Silver doesn’t burst, and you don’t lose control. You just lunge and drive the Blade, right into Eve’s gut. She laughs, cold and high like a phantom, and you twist it. gritting your teeth. You are not a god. And that isn’t about Dean, or Eve, or any bigger plan. You aren’t a god because of you, and you’re getting really fucking tired of people telling you what that’s supposed to mean.

It’s not the wound or the Silver that kills Eve. It’s just… You. You reach into her vessel and smother her in light. It makes things grow over all the old fissure and cracks. The ones that used to be her soul, that used to be softer. And that softness spreads out like an algae, and Eve is old and hungry and lonely, so she folds like the less that she was never allowed to be. Her body goes limp in your arms, and you don’t turn her into nothing. You pull her out, and she’s nothing more than a glowing ball in your hand.

You let her go, and she floats into the air, uncollecting like steam, before she’s scattered through the world. Everything and nothing at all. A sharp breath leaves your chest, and your head hurts.

Your head really hurts.

Your ribs press into each other like something is caving in, and your spine goes tense like it’s begging to crack. And something’s wrong. The old lodge creaks like a scram and the wind picks up like a warning, and something is wrong.

The door flies open under your hand, and you sprint out of the lodge with panic welling up your chest. It’s collecting over your skin like sweat, lodging in your throat like a bitter rock you can’t swallow. Jo and Meg both call for you, but you sprint past them. The wind picks up behind you, carrying you forward a little faster. Your back burns like a geyser about to burst, and your head feels like a grindstone for an axe. You don’t know what’s happening. The Spiderweb is alight and strong, the world is spinning, but… Slowing.

The ground shakes, and it’s an omen. A world that’s honored to serve your feet, trying to hold you both upright. Almost frantic, like it’s trying to save itself.

You reach the Firebird, and stumble, catching the open door with shaking hands.

Claire.

Claire is gone.

“Shit,” Jo comes up behind you, panting, and you barely even hear her over the wind. “That’s-“ She says your name, and you raise your hand for silence.  

There’s a trail of electric, thrashing blue that goes through the woods. It’s not the trail of a fighting animal, though, and you’re not good at holding this kind of concentration for too long. If she’d been fighting them, maybe, but Claire went with them voluntarily. She even left her jacket.

Where Dean sowed the tracker.

It’s quick, get through the grounds, carving through what’s left of Eve’s monsters. Jo and Meg help with silence and worried looks, and you tuck your Blade back into your jacket when you reach the edge of the forest, rubbing your hands to combat the cold. You will find her. You’re not afraid of that. You just don’t want to freak her out, when you rip the Leviathans limb from limb. If you find her dead you fix her. And if God tries to take her, you open Old Heaven and let the Leviathans take him.

There’s a space on the property where it’s quiet. You can see, over the horizon, a smoking section of the wood. You can smell that foul, rancid Leviathan goo, choking up the air and forcing your breath to be shallow. You could’ve casted a tracking spell with Claire’s jacket, but that would’ve taken time you don’t have. You follow the path that Cas, Sam, and Dean left, stepping over bodies smoking with borax and pits of tar. Jo and Meg will keep the exit clear. You walk in the manor with your hands empty and an undying fire in your chest.

You are everything, and there’s a clarity to it you’re not willing to fight. Hesitation makes you falter, and Claire needs you not to break. So you are all of it, from the unease of the house, knowing they’ve been filled up with poison and told it was honey, to the water running deep underground, afraid to breach the surface and find out what it has to be. You are everything except the Leviathans, and you want them out. If they’re a parasite, you were the wrong beast for them to attach themselves to. The stupid ones try to fight you, and you crush them under mountains of life. The cowardly ones retreat and split them into a million fractures of light. The loyal ones scramble to block you from the doors—massive and walnut and eroding with black venom—and you grab them by the jaw and narrow your eyes.

They’re all white teeth and death, and maybe you would’ve been afraid of them, if the didn’t force you to grow a bigger maw in return. But they devour, and you hang open and cradle. You feel something tugging you past that door, just to the right of your heart, and you will not be kept from it.  Your fingers dig into their skin, and it cracks like sandstone. They scream, and you crumble them between your fingers.

You shove the door open, and run out into a ballroom. It’s all high ceilings and rich, velvet curtains. There’s a chandelier one seems to catch light coming from somewhere behind you, despite the low lamps down by the ground. You’re up on a balcony, clutching the railing and leaning over, vines and honeysuckle growing from your fingers and down to the ground. To the chaos below.

Dick Roman has Claire, trapped against his chest. A Leviathan with Dean’s marred face—Edgar, you recognize in the point of his broken teeth—lays on the ground, and your Dean is circling Dick, the knife on the floor between them and Cas at his side. Crowley’s pressed against the wall and Sam’s blocking the exit on the floor. The wall just past you, flat and lined with windows, doesn’t lead to the outside.

It leads to something gray. Something horrible, that you recognize all too well.

The dead world.  

Sam’s eyes lock with yours. He shouts your name, and everyone’s eyes shoot to you. Dick’s face carves itself into a violent smile, and the growth under your fingers falters. He’s more dead than the rest of them. It’s like looking into a pit with no bottom, no start, no… anything.

“There you are,” he calls your name. “Just in time for the big show! Very clever, to try and keep the apple from us, but I’m afraid were ready for it. We’ve done almost everything, except found the key, and you just-“ He laughs. “Turn yourself in! It’s my lucky day.”

You swallow. You could tell him Eve was dead, but you don’t think it’s going to be a positive different. “Let them go, Dick-“

“No,” Dean shouts at you, eyes narrowed. “You’re stayin’ up there, Princess, we’re not doing this again.”

“I wouldn’t tell her what to do, Dean,” Dick purrs. “Your life, Claire’s life,” he squeezes her throat, her eyes screw shut, and your vision goes a little red. “It all depends on if your princess is willing to be strong. To take what is ours, what should have always been ours, to kill that monster that wants to take her away from you, Dean. Don’t you want her to be free? Don’t you want her to be happy?”

Dean works his jaw. He looks up at you, and you lean a little further. And you’ve never been able to do that thing he and Sam do, where you talk without speaking. But this is your Dean. And  your hand glides to your Blade, and your eyes dart to Dick, and his throat bobs.

He understands.

Dean glances at Cas and jerks his head. You wrap your hand around the Blade—the weapon God made just for you, that you found so long ago, still trying to hide yourself from Dean—and you take a deep breath.   

Dean looks back to Dick. His mouth curves into a small, mocking grin.

“I ain’t to worried about it, buddy,” he drawls. “I know my girl, and that- That ain’t gonna make her happy. But I know what will.”

Dick frowns, and you throw the Blade, right into his eye.

He roar. It echoes off the walls and makes the windows shake. He loses his footing and lets go of Claire. Your scream, shrill and desperate, echoes over Dick’s. Dean dives for Claire and drags her back, shoving her into Cas’ arms and charging back forward to grab the knife.

And you feel it, the second his hand touches the bone.

God, shining outside. An old power that won’t be ignored, that’s all too familiar, that reminds you of infinite pain and visions you can’t understand.

And that sense returns. An instinct deeper than your body, right down to your soul, blaring like a siren and flashing like a lighthouse.

Something is wrong.

Dean pushes to his feet, and you scream. You scream words you can’t here, for him to stop, for everything to stop, that something is so, so fucking wrong. Dean looks at you, leaning over the edge of the balcony and ready to dive for him, and roars for Cas.

Cas looks at Dean, then you, and his jaw locks. Dean moves for Dick, and you climb up on the balcony, ready to jump and stop him. Cas vanishes, right as Sam looks at the fear painted on your face and dives for Dean.

An arm locks around your stomach, and drags you backwards. Dean swings the knife in his hand and raises his arm. Sam reaches him, right as he drive the bone into Dick’s chest.

The world goes white. Pure, blinding white, like someone scooped away a part of the room. Cas and Claire shout and block their faces, but you stare into the light and try to look for color. Cold blasts you in the face like arctic wind, and you scream so loud you think it might be rattling the edges of the universe. You reach out to try and find them, but your fingers are clumsy and tired, and you swipe at nothing. You grab that thing to the right of your heart and pull it, tears streaming down your face that flood whatever ground remains under your feet.

You can’t find him. Dean’s somewhere, he has to be, but you can’t find him. You can’t find him, you can’t find him, he’s not in pain but you can’t find him, why can’t you fucking find him-

The light fades, and they’re gone.

Dick’s body. Sam. Dean. All just… gone.

Crowley vanishes from his corner of the room. Cas mutters your name, placing a light hand on your shoulder, but you don’t even look at him.

Dean’s gone.

The scream that leaves you isn’t human. It’s older than whatever was in the bone, older than the Leviathans, older than this world itself. It’s shifts the world under your feet and you fall to your knees, still screaming. The world screams back, because it understands what’s happened. It understands that fear doesn’t mean anything you care about, because Dean is gone. You scream loud enough that God vanishes from the sky, and when you stop screaming, he doesn’t come back.

You scream loud enough that wherever he is, he must hear you, and you scream louder because you swear you can hear him shouting back.

✦chapter 73

✦End note: first season finale ending in princess pov since s4 ! happy end of season 7. sam and dean might be in purgatory but consider this. i'm sorry. please trust me. Chapter Title from Ain't No Rest For the Wicked by Cage the Elephant

✦If you like this story, please reblog, like, or leave a comment! <3

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!) - Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @incandxscents @lyarr24 @ferncloud0191 @bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @littlebitb @zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @heyimolive @itsdearapril @speedypersonawhispers @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed @youroldfashioned @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch @ilovedeanwinchester4 @wecangetlostinthepurplerain @sleepykittycx

@immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101 @chi-raz @lori19 @emiliesspace @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish @ghosth0ney @funkenniffler @jsudsgf @dclover27 @disappearintofanfiction @solsborg

[godmadeaterribleerror]

@spxideyver @slyregg @rejitheveggie @avontuurloes @lexx-exe @rach5ive @bejeweledinterludes @nadlx33333 @dyhsversion @jofinka @imminentpathforce @krabog @whimsicalcherry @maydayfigment @his-favoured-jester @emiliesspace @rurwu @pillowjj @sheneedsjesus @kr804573 @forzalando @whispers-of-starlight @kaz-2y5-spn @roseblue373 @magic-sprinkled-daydreams @fxckingjo

@angrydragon90 @biodegradable-glitter-fest @idontwannabehere78 @mystic-writings @miss-marmalade @bluesunrise02 @skitwantstaste @mgchaser @nocturnal-angele @starrylanex @jelly68-blog @gojoswaterbottle @t0x1cfaerie @cookiemonstermusic258 @ladykitana90 @pandareesstuff @juliperezsilveira @mysteriouslymaximummoon

[godmadeaterribleerror]

@amelya5567 @megara0224 @afterdesire @cupidzbunny @kayleezee @sunshineflowersandkisses @skitwantstaste @annoyingrebelsoul @lunaleah @strawberrykiwisdogog @iprobablyshipit91 @lori19 @kimxwinchester @wvffles @nuggets16 @mrsjenniferwinchester @laurakirsten0502 @lupinslibraries @jensenacklesfan69 @huang-the-geek @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @mayushkabar @stilestotherescue @shanimallina87 @alexxavicry @bonbonnie88 @carliebear23-blog @bearasara @xummer01 @gender-queery @divineslautr @rockymiles @htasemh @iloveyou2mia @allthingswickedpodcast @aylacavebear @theprettylittlebambi @mqyb3lif @xamapolax @pressedwater @zefetti @sbwifey @cupidluvzz @fuckingdamnitdean @indyredhead @themostchalant @soullessambs @podiumackles

[aylacavebear]

Hi! I loved wild hearted girl sm. When will the next update on it be?

Hello, and I love the question. I'm sure you're not the only one who's curious. I'm hoping it won't be too terribly long. Bloodlines & Fate is taking most of my time. I'm hoping that when I reach the ending, I'll be able to focus on Wildheart again. I miss writing that story.

I'm currently writing chapter 84 of B&F. I never thought it would ever be that long. I'm thinking it'll go till close to a hundred chapters with the way it's coming along. So, if all goes well, I should be able to get back to Wildheart in a few months, as long as the muse keeps things progressing without deciding to switch tracks too much.

I don't want to give a specific date and then disappoint everyone if I can't hit it with a chapter for Wildheart. I'm hoping, hoping, that I'll be able to start back with that one in October of this year. Just trying to think of all my life things and what B&F still has that needs to be written.

[zepskies]

RETURN TO ME || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Just outside the small town of Salida, Colorado, the Winchester Ranch spans from the forests and mountains of Antero to the frosty edges of Breckenridge. John Winchester isn’t about to concede his family legacy to anyone who comes to take it, but he’s sure trained his sons to protect it—with their own sets of skills.

When you return to Salida after 12 years, your reason brings you back to the ranch you couldn’t wait to leave, and to the boy you never wanted to see again. Well, Dean Winchester is a man now, and despite your best efforts, you aren’t immune to the pull of his charms, or the darker secrets of his world.

AN: Ready for some more Cowboy!Dean? 🤠❤️ Imagine Yellowstone meets Sweet Home Alabama, set in the Colorado mountains!

Supporting Cast: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Jessica Moore (Jess), Castiel (Cas), Benny Lafitte, Brady (Weiss), Jack Kline, Kevin Tran, Dick Roman, and more character cameos as well as new OCs along the way

Series Tags & Warnings: 18+ || Modern Cowboy!AU, romance, exes to lovers, smut, angst and messy drama (reader and Dean aren't perfect), jealousy, violence and death, family secrets, and more chapter-specific tags || background Sam x Jess and other pairings

🎬 Series Playlist Poster ⟢ coming soon

♬ YouTube Playlist | Spotify Playlist ⟢ coming soon

"How far will you go? You should know, you'll be on my mind..."

℧🌹 Chapters:

1: Sweet Home, Colorado ℧ Read now on Patreon! || Tumblr: August 2

2: Too Close to the Heat 🌹 Read on Patreon: July 24 || Tumblr: August 9

3: Nature, Nurture, Heaven & Home ℧ Read on Patreon: July 31 || Tumblr: August 16

4: My Diamond is Too Rough 🌹 Read on Patreon: August 7 || Tumblr: August 23

5: Time Bent Like an Hourglass

6: Word Gets Out When You Get Around

7: Every Moment's a Crime

8: What We Said and What We Meant

9: Hear Your Heart Beat Next to Mine

10: Wait for the River to Roll

11: Pay No Mind to the Battles You've Won

12: It'll Take a Lot More Than Words & Guns

13: It's a High Price, Paid in Blood

l4: The Roots Through Southern Ground

15: Brave the Forests, Brave the Stone

16: Sunshine on the Water

ᯓ✍🏽 Series coming soon in August!

Tag List Form ⟢ Sign up to get tagged!

Fic Library Blog ⟢ Follow + turn on notifications for all new stories.

Join My Patreon ⟢ Get early access to new chapters, stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can even send me requests!

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester AU Stories

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @waynes-multiverse @lamentationsofalonelypotato @chevroletdean @deans-spinster-witch

@jollyhunter @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @roseblue373 @rizlowwritessortof

@wvffles @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @pieandmonsters

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @jensensswthrt

@winchestergirl2 @spnbabe67 @stoneyggirl2 @my-stories-vault @this-is-me19

@tofics @artemys-ackles @mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @flawlesslyspellbound

@k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @midnightmadwoman @twinkleinadiamondsky @kmc1989

@siampie @masked-lost-girl @suckitands33 @cheynovak @spnaquakindgdom

@mimaria420 @megara0224 @globetrotter28 @illicithallways @castielscaplan

[aylacavebear]

O M G!!! YES!! I need this in my life so bad. I already love your knight Dean stories. Well, I love all your stories with Dean. But him as a knight are wonderful. I wish I knew enough to write him as a king that doesn't want to get married and the reader being a princess that isn't quite human and somehow the two meet, and then my mind wanders to all sorts of different ways the story could go in my head, lol.

Anyway, I'm SOOOOO looking forward to reading this story of yours. Cowboy Dean is OMG so damn HOT. I've never seen either of those shows you're mixing, but I've heard of them. This sounds amazing.

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 68

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 5715

Warning: Dean being Dean, Fluff, Pack dynamics, Pregnancy, Dean feeling things the only way he can in this moment - loudly.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

Chapter 67 ------- Chapter 69 - coming soon

A/B/O Master List Main Master List Series Master List

Chapter 68

The cabin settled around all four of you differently after that.

Not quieter.

Fuller.

Like the walls themselves had absorbed the shift in the air and were holding it close.

You stayed curled into the corner of the couch beneath Dean’s arm, your legs tucked beneath you while he held you close enough that there wasn’t space left between your bodies.

Dean’s hand splayed over your stomach, thumb almost constantly moving in slow circles, grounding and possessive in the gentlest way possible, fingers flexing every so often like he still needed to reassure himself that this was real.

Jess pulled on her shorts she’d tossed on the floor earlier that evening. Sam had tugged on sweatpants at some point, though his shirt remained abandoned somewhere. None of it mattered much. The night had long since slipped beyond normal things like being properly dressed.

Sam leaned back into the opposite end of the couch while Jess folded easily against him, sideways, her legs across his lap. His hand rested absently against her knee, thumb brushing there every now and then while his gaze kept drifting back toward you and Dean.

Toward your stomach.

Not invasive.

Not staring.

Just… awe.

No one quite knew what to do with themselves yet.

The joy was too large to settle neatly.

Dean looked downright wrecked by it.

Every few minutes, his smile would come back out of nowhere, helpless and bright all over again, like the realization kept hitting him in waves. His wolf pressed heavily through the bond now—not restless, not sharp.

Protective.

Proud.

You could feel him circling the same thought over and over beneath everything else.

Mine. Mate. Pup. Pack.

The intensity of it should’ve overwhelmed you.

Instead, it soothed something deep inside your chest.

Jess broke the silence first, her voice softer than usual but threaded with unmistakable amusement. “You know,” she murmured, glancing toward Dean, “I think this officially makes you worse than Sam.”

Sam looked offended immediately. “Excuse you?”

Jess snorted quietly. “You’re emotionally constipated. Dean’s emotionally loud.”

Dean didn’t even deny it. He was still staring at you with that same stunned happiness.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” he said again, like he physically could not keep the words inside himself for too long.

Sam barked out a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, man. We noticed.”

Dean pointed vaguely toward him without looking away from you. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

“I’m not ruining it,” Sam shot back. “I’m just saying you’ve repeated it like twelve times.”

“Twelve isn’t enough.”

Jess laughed softly under her breath while Sam groaned. “Jesus Christ. He’s already gone full dad.”

Dean finally looked toward his brother then, eyebrows lifting. “You’re damn right I have.”

And there it was again—that grin.

Big.

Unrestrained.

So full of joy it almost hurt to look at.

Your chest tightened around it.

Not painfully.

Just… full, and utterly content. And your wolf preened in the glow of it all. Her mate happy in a way that she could hold onto. So different from just being there for him. But no less important than what some might call mundane.

Dean’s attention shifted back to you almost immediately afterward, softening all over again. His fingers spread carefully across your stomach over your shirt, letting out a slow breath. 

Tentative.

Reverent.

Like he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed.

Your breath caught faintly at the touch.

Not because it was new.

Because it wasn’t.

How many times had his hand rested there over the past weeks? Half asleep. Protective. Thoughtless in the most instinctive way possible.

But now—

now everything meant something different.

Dean seemed to realize that too.

His expression changed slightly, emotion flickering across it so openly it made your throat ache.

“I touched you here this morning,” he murmured quietly, almost like he was speaking more to himself than anyone else. “And you were already…”

He didn’t finish.

Couldn’t.

His wolf surged warmly through the bond instead, wrapping around yours with so much tenderness it nearly undid you again.

Jess saw it happen immediately.

“Oh no,” she muttered knowingly.

Sam sighed. “What?”

“He’s gonna cry.”

“I am not gonna cry,” Dean argued instantly.

Then his voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

Jess burst into laughter.

Sam folded forward into his hands.

And you—

you laughed too.

Real laughter this time.

Wet at the edges from lingering tears, breathless from emotion, but genuine enough that it filled the entire cabin with warmth.

Dean looked betrayed for all of three seconds before he started laughing too, pulling you impossibly closer against his side while his forehead dropped against your temple.

The bond flooded with relief then.

Not just yours.

All four of you.

Because for the first time since those two lines appeared—

the shock had finally started giving way to happiness.

The happiness didn’t settle, though.

It built.

Slowly at first. Warm and steady beneath the surface while the four of you remained tangled together in the living room, wrapped in low light and lingering laughter.

But Dean—

Dean was unraveling under it. Not badly. Just… visibly.

You felt it every second through the bond. His wolf pacing beneath his skin in widening circles, joy and instinct and pride pressing harder each time he looked at you. At your stomach. At the impossible reality sitting right in front of him.

His fingers kept moving.

Against your hip.

Your thigh.

Your stomach.

Like touch was the only thing keeping him tethered to the fact that this wasn’t some dream he was going to wake up from.

At one point, Sam caught him grinning at absolutely nothing and immediately narrowed his eyes.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

Dean looked over. “What?”

“That look.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re about to do something stupid.”

Dean scoffed instantly. “I’m not doing anything stupid.”

Jess snorted so hard she nearly choked on her water.

You felt the exact moment Dean decided to stop pretending.

His wolf surged hard through the bond—not aggressive, not sharp. Wild. Exultant. The emotional equivalent of paws hitting open earth at full speed.

Dean sat forward abruptly, hands dragging down his face before landing on his knees.

“I gotta go outside.”

Sam stared at him. “Why?”

Dean looked personally offended by the question. “Because I gotta go outside.”

“That explained literally nothing.”

Dean stood before anyone could stop him, restless energy finally forcing movement into his limbs. He paced once across the living room, then back again, raking both hands through his hair.

“I can’t—” He laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. “Dude, I can’t just sit here.”

Your lips twitched upward despite yourself. “Dean…”

He turned toward you immediately, eyes bright enough to almost glow in the low light.

“We’re having a pup.”

The bond flooded again.

So much joy behind the words it almost stole your breath a second time.

“I know,” you whispered, unable to stop smiling.

“No, sweetheart, I don’t think you get it.” He pointed vaguely toward the ceiling like the moon itself might be listening. “We’re having a pup.”

Jess dissolved into quiet laughter against Sam’s shoulder while Sam groaned dramatically.

“Oh my God, he’s gonna go feral.”

“I am feral,” Dean shot back immediately.

“That’s not helping your case.”

Dean ignored him entirely. His attention stayed fixed on you, his wolf practically vibrating beneath the bond now.

Then—

suddenly—

his expression shifted.

Not softer.

More serious.

Reverent in a way that quieted the room all over again.

“I need to howl,” he admitted.

Silence.

Jess blinked once.

Sam closed his eyes immediately, like he’d been expecting this exact sentence for the last ten minutes.

You stared at Dean.

Dean stared right back without even the slightest embarrassment.

“It’s too big,” he said, voice rougher now. Honest. “I can’t keep it in.”

And God—

you understood exactly what he meant.

His wolf wasn’t made for containing joy like this. Neither was Dean, honestly. He loved loudly. Felt loudly. Existed loudly when something mattered enough to crack him open.

And this?

This had split him wide open.

Sam sighed the sigh of an older brother trapped inside a younger brother’s body. “Okay. Fine. I’m coming with you.”

Dean frowned. “Why?”

“To stop you from terrifying the entire forest.”

“I would not terrify the forest.”

“You absolutely would.”

Dean looked at you for backup.

You betrayed him instantly with a laugh.

His jaw dropped. “Sweetheart.”

Jess was outright cackling now, curled into Sam’s side while Sam rubbed at his forehead.

“You realize if we let you go alone,” Sam continued, “you’re one emotional breakdown away from challenging a tree to a dominance fight.”

Dean pointed at him. “First of all, rude.”

“Second of all?”

“…depends on the tree.”

That finally broke you completely.

Laughter spilled out before you could stop it, warm and helpless and needed after the emotional storm of the last hour. Dean’s entire expression softened instantly at the sound, his wolf settling just enough to breathe again.

For a moment, he only stood there looking at you.

Like he wanted to memorize this version of you too.

Happy.

Overwhelmed.

Carrying his pup.

The realization hit him again visibly.

You watched it happen.

His breath caught. His eyes dropped briefly toward your stomach before closing altogether as his head tipped back slightly.

“Oh, I really gotta go howl now.”

Sam stood immediately. “Yep. We’re leaving before he starts crying again.”

“I DIDN’T CRY.”

“Your voice cracked.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Jess waved them both toward the door. “Go run it out, boys.”

Dean moved back toward the couch instantly instead.

Straight toward you.

He crouched in front of you without hesitation, hands sliding carefully along your thighs before settling at your waist. His forehead rested briefly against yours, eyes closed.

The bond softened.

Warmed.

Protective devotion wrapping around your wolf so thickly it almost felt tangible.

“You okay if I go?” he asked quietly.

Not because he needed permission. Because you mattered more than his instincts ever would.

Your fingers slid into his hair automatically, holding him there for a moment. “Go,” you whispered, smiling softly. “Before you explode.”

Dean laughed under his breath.

Then he kissed you.

Slow.

Deep enough to say everything he still couldn’t fit into words.

Joy.

Relief.

Awe.

Family.

When he pulled back, he pressed one lingering kiss against your forehead before standing again.

Sam was already waiting by the door, looking deeply resigned about whatever the next hour of his life was about to become.

Dean looked entirely unrepentant.

And beneath it all—

his wolf practically danced.

The moment the front door opened, the night air hit differently.

Cooler than inside the cabin. Sharper. Alive in a way that made Dean’s wolf surge hard beneath his skin all over again.

He barely made it three steps off the porch before tugging his boxers off, barely keeping from tripping.

Sam snorted behind him as he kicked free of his sweatpants. “Real subtle.”

Dean didn’t even glance back. “Sam.”

“That bad, huh?”

Dean looked over then, eyes bright with something so openly ecstatic it bordered on unhinged.

“We’re having a pup.”

Sam barked out a laugh. “Yeah, okay, there it is again.”

The forest stretched dark and silver around them, moonlight pouring through the trees in pale ribbons while the cabin glowed warmly at their backs. Somewhere inside, through the bond, you and Jess remained steady and close. Safe. Wrapped in the lingering warmth of the pack.

Dean breathed that in for half a second.

Then the restlessness overtook him completely.

The shift came fast. Not controlled in the careful, deliberate way it sometimes was.

This one burst out of him.

One deep inhale.

One sharp exhale.

Then fur swept across skin in a rush as his body dropped forward seamlessly into motion. Bones reshaped. Muscles lengthened. Paws hit the earth hard enough to scatter dirt across the edge of the porch steps.

His wolf emerged already moving.

Already wild with joy.

Sam shifted only a heartbeat later, steadier but no less powerful, his larger form landing beside Dean’s with a low huff of amusement that carried clearly through the bond.

And then—

they ran.

The forest opened around them instantly.

Paws thundered against packed earth while moonlight flashed silver through the trees in fractured pieces. The scents of pine, dirt, summer grass, and distant pack flooded around them all at once, but underneath everything—

Dean carried you.

Your scent clung thickly to his fur, soaked so deeply into him after the last hour that it wrapped around both wolves like a living thing.

Mate. Pup.

The thought ricocheted through him uncontrollably.

His pace surged faster.

Sam kept up easily, though laughter rolled off him through the bond now, low and helpless at the sheer intensity pouring out of his brother.

Dean couldn’t contain it.

Couldn’t hold it inside his chest another second.

Halfway through the run, he launched upward onto a fallen tree still angled toward the heavens.

Then he threw his head back and howled.

It tore out of him raw.

Massive.

Not mournful.

Not territorial.

Joy.

Pure, overwhelming joy ripped into the night so powerfully it seemed to shake the trees around them. The sound rolled across Winchester land in great crashing waves, carrying instinct and emotion and belonging inside every note.

Pack. Mate. Pup.

Sam physically felt it hit the bond.

Felt Dean’s wolf throw the truth into the night sky without restraint.

And in the near distance—

everything changed instantly.

The gathering exploded.

Wolves snapped upright across the clearing. Heads lifted. Ears shot forward. Human conversations cut off mid-sentence as recognition spread like wildfire through the pack.

Then chaos.

Good chaos.

Joyful chaos.

Someone shouted loud enough to echo through the trees. Another wolf barked excitedly before taking off running in circles around the clearing.

Laughter erupted everywhere at once.

By the time Dean and Sam hit the edge of the gathering at full speed, they were swarmed.

Benny slammed into Dean first in full wolf form, nearly knocking him sideways with the force of the shoulder-check. Garth followed immediately after, yipping loud enough to wake half the damn forest while Charlie—still human—actually shrieked.

“I KNEW IT!”

Dean barely stayed upright beneath the sudden collision of bodies and fur and excitement.

His wolf loved every second of it.

Jo bounded directly into Sam next, nearly taking both of them into the dirt while Cas somehow remained perfectly composed despite the unmistakable warmth softening his expression beside Meg.

Even Mary laughed.

Full and bright and utterly unsurprised as John let out a booming bark that sounded suspiciously like pride.

Dean couldn’t stop moving.

Couldn’t stop the way his wolf bounced between packmates, tail high, chest expanded so fully with joy it almost hurt. Every congratulations hit him like another burst of adrenaline.

The scent of happiness saturated the clearing almost instantly.

Pack surrounded him from every direction now—hands clapping his shoulders when he shifted briefly back human long enough to breathe and laugh and nearly get tackled again.

“When were you gonna tell us?!” Charlie demanded.

“We just found out!” Dean shot back, grinning so hard his face hurt.

Benny barked loudly from behind him. Garth actually howled again in response. Sam just shook his head, but there was no hiding the pride welling within him.

Mary crossed the clearing then.

Not hurried.

Certain.

Her eyes found Dean immediately, warmth and something deeper softening her whole expression as she stopped in front of him.

For one rare moment, the chaos around them dimmed slightly.

Dean looked suddenly younger standing there beneath the moonlight. Open in a way he rarely let himself be.

Mary reached up and cupped his face gently. “Oh, honey,” she whispered.

And that—

that nearly broke him all over again.

His eyes squeezed shut briefly as her scent wrapped around him—mother, home, safety—and for just a second his grin turned shaky at the edges.

Mary just smiled wider.

Then she laughed softly through tears gathering in her own eyes and pressed a kiss against his forehead.

“My boy’s gonna be a father.”

The moment passed through the clearing in waves after that.

Not fading.

Settling deeper.

The congratulations didn’t stop, but they softened around the edges now—less explosive excitement and more warmth woven through the gathering itself. Smiles. Shoulder bumps. Wolves brushing past Dean with playful nudges and wagging tails every few minutes like none of them could quite help themselves.

And Dean—

Dean still couldn’t stay still.

Not for more than a few seconds at a time.

The emotional weight of it kept surging through him in bursts too large for his body to contain comfortably. Every time someone mentioned you, or the pup, or fatherhood, his wolf pushed harder beneath his skin, pacing with restless exhilaration.

Sam noticed it first.

Dean had just finished getting nearly tackled by Garth again when his entire posture shifted. Breath catching. Shoulders tightening—not with tension.

Instinct.

His wolf rose so suddenly beneath the surface it almost looked painful.

Sam snorted softly. There he goes again.

Dean barely managed half a laugh before the shift overtook him completely.

One breath.

Then fur swept over skin in a seamless rush as he dropped back onto all fours, large paws landing against the earth while his tail lashed once behind him with irrepressible energy.

The reaction from the pack was immediate.

Charlie laughed outright. “Oh, he’s gone gone.”

Benny barked loudly in agreement while Jo crouched low in an obvious invitation to play.

Dean accepted instantly.

His wolf launched sideways past the clearing with absolutely zero dignity left intact, colliding shoulder-first into Benny before twisting away at the last second as Jo snapped playfully toward his tail. Garth joined in immediately after, because of course he did, and within seconds, four full-grown wolves were tearing through the trees in roughhousing chaos while half the pack looked on with helpless amusement.

Sam stayed where he was, near the fire pit, still in wolf form, chest rumbling with quiet laughter as he watched his brother completely lose his mind.

Dean’s joy saturated everything.

It poured through the bond in bright, crashing waves, impossible to contain and even harder to ignore. Every movement of his wolf carried it—bounding too fast through the clearing, skidding through dirt, twisting away from Benny’s tackle attempt with all the reckless energy of an overgrown pup who’d just discovered the greatest thing in the world.

Because in Dean’s mind—

he had.

At one point, he actually spun in a full, excited circle before bolting toward the tree line, only to whip back moments later like he physically couldn’t decide where to put all the emotion flooding him.

Mary laughed so hard she had to wipe at her eyes again.

John watched from beside her with quiet pride written all over him, his massive wolf form stretched comfortably on the blanket near the fire pit, Mary tucked against his side. His tail thumped once against the dirt as Dean barreled past again at full speed.

“You remember when you found out about Dean?” Mary asked softly.

John huffed low in his throat.

Amused.

Mary smiled knowingly. “Yeah. About like that.”

Near the center of the clearing, Dean finally slowed long enough for Sam to approach him properly.

Sam nudged hard against his shoulder when Dean skidded to a stop beside him.

Easy, his body language said immediately.

Dean’s wolf huffed back, tail still wagging uncontrollably, tongue lolling out to one side, grinning like an idiot.

Sam held his gaze for a second longer before glancing subtly toward the direction of the cabin.

Mate.

The reminder landed instantly. Dean stilled just enough for it to sink in.

Not because he’d forgotten you.

Never that.

But because his instincts had split wide open tonight—mate and pup and pack all pulling at him simultaneously until he barely knew where to place himself.

His ears flicked once.

Then twice.

And suddenly his whole posture softened.

You.

Back at the cabin.

Carrying his pup.

The realization hit all over again, quieter this time but somehow deeper. Dean’s wolf exhaled hard through his nose before turning toward the forest.

Toward home.

Sam brushed once against his side before falling into step beside him automatically.

The pack noticed immediately.

Mary smiled softly.

Benny barked a farewell.

Charlie shouted, “Tell Y/N we love her!”

The forest welcomed them back differently than before.

Less frantic now.

The energy still thrummed beneath Dean’s skin, bright and overflowing, but it had changed shape. The wild explosion of joy had settled into something more instinctive.

Protective.

Devoted.

His wolf ran hard through the moonlit woods, but now every thought circled back toward you. Toward the cabin waiting ahead. Toward the bond pulling steadily tighter the closer he got.

Mate. Pup. Home.

And somewhere ahead through that bond—

he could feel you waiting too.

The cabin felt quieter after the brothers left.

Not empty.

Never that.

Their excitement still lingered in the air like warmth after sunlight, woven through the bond strongly enough that you could still feel Dean’s joy pulsing in distant waves as he and Sam ran through the forest.

But inside the cabin—

everything softened.

The front door had barely shut before Jess dissolved into laughter again, dropping back dramatically against the couch cushions while rubbing both hands over her face.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed. “He really had to go howl about it.”

Your own laughter escaped before you could stop it, quieter than hers but no less genuine. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jess corrected immediately, grinning up at you from where she’d sprawled sideways across the couch. “I’m just realizing we’re all doomed now.”

You snorted softly as you curled your legs beneath yourself again, Dean’s flannel still wrapped around your body. His scent clung thickly to it—smoke, pine, leather, warmth—and your wolf immediately settled deeper into it now that the whirlwind of emotions had eased enough to breathe through.

Jess watched you for a second.

Really watched you.

Not teasing now.

Soft.

Her smile changed slowly around the edges, affection overtaking the lingering amusement as her eyes drifted downward briefly toward your stomach before lifting back to your face.

“You’re gonna have a pup,” she whispered.

The words landed differently than Dean’s had.

Not bigger.

Just… quieter.

More intimate somehow.

Your throat tightened immediately.

You looked down instinctively, fingers curling lightly against the hem of the flannel gathered over your thighs. The reality still didn’t feel entirely solid beneath your ribs. Every time the thought settled, it almost seemed to drift again—as if your mind couldn’t fully hold something this life-changing all at once.

“I know,” you admitted softly. “I still feel like I’m gonna wake up.”

Jess’s expression melted completely at that. “Oh, honey.”

She moved before you could think too hard about it, crossing the small space between you until she was curled beside you on the couch instead, hip pressed warmly against yours. One of her hands slid automatically over yours, where it rested against your stomach.

Not possessive.

Not invasive.

Just there.

Grounding.

“You’re not waking up,” she murmured gently. “This is real.”

Emotion climbed up your chest so quickly, you had to look away toward the dark windows for a moment just to steady yourself.

Outside, the forest glowed silver beneath the full moon. Somewhere deeper within the trees, faint howls still echoed now and then through Winchester land—joyful and distant and belonging entirely to the pack gathered beyond the cabin.

Your pack.

Your family.

And now—

your pup.

Your wolf stirred hard beneath the thought, not anxious this time. Wondering. Curious in the strange instinctive way she’d become ever since those two pink lines appeared.

Jess squeezed your hand lightly.

“You know,” she said after a moment, voice turning teasing again around the edges, “I’ve been mentally preparing for this since, like… August.”

You blinked at her. “What?”

Jess gave you an exaggerated look. “Please. Dean’s entire personality during your first heat was basically just ‘mate mate mate mine mine mine.’”

A startled laugh burst out of you before you could stop it.

Jess pointed triumphantly. “See? You know I’m right.”

“He was not that bad.”

“He nearly growled at Sam for sitting too close to you.”

“He did not.”

“He absolutely did. Sammy looked at him like he’d lost his mind.”

Your laughter came easier now, warmer, loosening the last tight places still lingering in your chest. Jess beamed immediately at the sound, clearly pleased with herself for pulling you further out of your own spiraling thoughts.

“That man has wanted pups with you since, like, day three,” she continued.

Heat climbed instantly into your face. “Jess.”

“What? It’s true.” She nudged your shoulder affectionately. “Dean looks at you like you personally invented happiness.”

You groaned softly into your hands while Jess cackled beside you.

But even through the embarrassment—

your heart swelled, as did your wolf.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

And neither were you when you glanced down at your stomach again, still struggling to comprehend the reality sitting there.

“So…” Jess’s voice gentled after a minute, curiosity finally threading through it more openly now. “How are you feeling?”

You opened your mouth automatically.

Then stopped.

Because honestly?

You didn’t know.

Everything.

Too much.

Not enough.

“I feel…” You exhaled shakily, trying to untangle it into something understandable. “Happy. Terrified. Excited. Like I need to cry again. Like I already love them so much it hurts.”

Jess’s eyes softened instantly.

“Oh,” she whispered emotionally. “Yeah. Okay. There’s the hormones already.”

You barked out a laugh through sudden tears while she immediately wrapped both arms around you again.

“I’m kidding,” she promised quickly against your hair. “Mostly.”

Your shoulders shook with helpless laughter while she held you close.

Then, softer—

quieter—

“I’m really happy for you,” she murmured.

The sincerity in her voice cracked something open all over again.

You leaned into her without hesitation, forehead pressing briefly against her shoulder as emotion swelled thickly in your chest.

Jess held you tighter immediately.

And after a moment, her grin returned against the top of your head.

“You realize this means I’m gonna be the cool aunt, right?”

You snorted wetly. “You already decided that?”

“Obviously.” She sounded deeply offended you’d question it. “Sam’s gonna be the responsible one. I’m gonna teach your pup how to commit minor crimes.”

You laughed hard enough your stomach hurt.

And somewhere through the bond—

far out in the forest—

Dean’s joy answered yours instantly.

The cabin felt quieter after the brothers returned. Not empty. Full.

The kind of fullness that settled into the woodwork itself, humming softly beneath the creaks of the floorboards and the distant whisper of wind through the trees outside.

You were curled into the corner of the couch beside Jess when the front door finally opened again.

Cool night air slipped briefly into the warmth of the cabin first. Then Sam stepped through, Dean right behind him. Both barefoot. Both still carrying the lingering scent of forest and moonlight and exhilaration deep in their skin.

Dean barely got the door shut before his eyes found you.

It happened instantly.

The joy still radiating from him through the bond softened around the edges the second he felt the exhaustion sitting heavy beneath your ribs. His expression changed—not losing any of that happiness, but gentling under it. Like every instinct in him abruptly shifted direction.

Toward you.

“There she is,” he murmured softly.

You couldn’t help the tired smile that tugged at your mouth.

Dean crossed the room without hesitation, hands already reaching for you before he’d even fully stopped moving. One settled against the side of your neck, thumb brushing beneath your jaw, while the other slid carefully around your waist.

Not frantic this time.

Just checking.

Feeling.

Grounding himself in the reality that you were okay.

That you were here.

That beneath your skin—

His pup existed.

The thought pulsed through the bond so brightly it nearly made your chest ache.

You laughed quietly when he leaned closer, nose brushing your temple before he pressed a kiss there.

“You exhausted?” he asked, voice low.

“A little,” you admitted.

Dean frowned faintly like he personally intended to fight your exhaustion on your behalf.

Jess snorted softly from beside you. “Dean, she cried for like two hours.”

“I did not cry for two hours.”

Jess lifted a brow. “One hour and forty-five minutes, then.”

“I wasn’t timing it,” Sam said casually as he wandered toward the kitchen for water.

Jess pointed at him immediately. “See? That means you were.”

Sam hid his grin against the rim of the glass.

Dean, meanwhile, was still entirely focused on you.

His hand slid from your waist to your stomach without him even realizing he’d done it. The touch wasn’t hesitant anymore. Not uncertain.

Reverent.

Like he still couldn’t fully believe he was allowed to touch something so precious.

You watched the emotion move across his face in quiet waves. Awe. Joy. Disbelief trying and failing to keep up.

His wolf pressed warmly through the bond beneath it all, curled protectively around yours in a way that made your chest loosen the last of the tension clinging to you.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured again, softer this time, though you weren’t entirely sure if he meant you, your wolf… or both.

Jess’s expression melted a little watching him.

“Oh my God,” she muttered fondly. “You’re gonna be even worse pregnant.”

Dean looked genuinely offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Sam drawled from the kitchen, “you’re already acting like she’s made of glass.”

“She’s carrying my pup.”

The immediate seriousness of it made Jess burst into laughter. You did too, quiet and breathless against Dean’s chest.

And Dean—

Dean looked completely unashamed.

Like that sentence alone explained the entire universe.

His gaze dropped back to you again almost immediately, concern flickering faintly beneath the joy.

“You’re tired,” he said again, quieter now. Certain.

You opened your mouth to protest.

Dean didn’t even let you try.

One arm slid beneath your knees while the other wrapped securely around your back, and suddenly the room tilted as he lifted you clean off the couch.

A startled squeak escaped you before laughter followed right behind it. “Dean!”

“What?” he said innocently, already turning toward the stairs. “Doctor’s orders.”

“You haven’t talked to Dr. Voss.”

“Don’t need to. My instincts are impeccable.”

Jess rolled her eyes so hard it was audible. “God, he’s insufferable already.”

Sam just smiled into his water glass, something soft and deeply fond settling across his face as he watched his brother carry you like something precious enough to break the world open over.

Dean didn’t care about the teasing in the slightest.

You could feel it through the bond.

He was too happy.

Too full.

His joy had settled now—not explosive anymore, not wild—but deep. Steady. The kind that rooted itself into the bones.

Every few steps, his grip tightened just slightly around you, like his body still needed reassurance that this was real.

Your arms looped loosely around his neck as he carried you upstairs, your exhaustion finally beginning to pull properly at your limbs now that the adrenaline had faded.

Behind you, Jess’s voice softened. “We’ll stay up a while longer.”

You glanced down just enough to see Sam’s arm settle around her waist, pulling her close against his side.

Dean paused halfway up the stairs only long enough to look back at them.

There was too much in that glance for words.

Gratitude.

Pack.

Family.

Then he kept climbing.

The bedroom was dim when he pushed the door open with his shoulder.

Moonlight spilled pale and silver across the floor through the balcony doors, catching against the rumpled blankets and soft wood walls. The room still carried both your scents heavily—comforting and familiar and safe.

Dean crossed straight to the bed before lowering you carefully onto the mattress like he thought anything rougher might somehow disturb the universe itself.

You barely had time to settle before he was fussing again.

Pulling the blankets up around you. Brushing hair back from your face. Checking your expression every few seconds like he expected you to disappear if he looked away too long.

Your laughter came quieter this time. Sleepier. “You’re hovering.”

“I am not.”

“You are absolutely hovering.”

Dean pointed at you like that somehow proved his case. “You’re pregnant.”

“There it is,” you mumbled.

“There what is?”

“That look.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “What look?”

“The one where you’re acting like I personally invented pups.”

Dean stared at you for exactly half a second before his entire expression softened into something helplessly adoring.

“You kinda did.”

Your heart melted so fast it hurt. “Dean…”

He leaned down before you could say anything else, kissing you slowly and carefully, one hand cradling the side of your face while the other settled instinctively over your stomach again.

Always there now.

Always finding its way back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours for a lingering moment before he reached back to switch off the bedside lamp.

Darkness softened the room instantly.

The mattress dipped as he climbed into bed beside you a second later.

You rolled toward him automatically, body fitting against his like it had been made for it. Your head tucked beneath his chin. One of his arms slid beneath your pillow while the other wrapped securely around your waist.

Protective. Reverent. Home.

Downstairs, you could faintly hear the door open again. The quiet creak of the porch steps afterward.

Sam and Jess.

Probably heading back into the woods to run together beneath what remained of the moonlight.

But upstairs—

here—

everything finally stilled.

Dean’s nose brushed slowly through your hair as he breathed you in deeply, like your scent alone could sustain him forever now.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

You didn’t need to.

Through the bond, his joy still glowed warm and endless around your wolf, wrapped carefully around both of you like a promise.

And just before sleep finally pulled you under, his hand tightened ever so slightly over your waist while his voice rumbled softly against your hair.

“My girls.”

Chapter 67 ------- Chapter 69 - coming soon

A/B/O Master List Main Master List Series Master List

Images, Video, and Dividers made by Plant People Heal LLC You can also find me on Patreon

Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny @muhahaha303 @barewithme02

@nancymcl @thewinchesterwench @krazykelly @biancalinkas @abbacadabara

@sepho @princessjas1-11 @mightypocketcow @spideyfan1800

Tag List: @nancymcl @lovelydisc @luahmeeks @alternativeprincess94 @kailalaland

@ladykitana90 @muhahaha303 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @suckitands33 @stoneyggirl2

@smut02 @deans-baby-momma

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Don't Let This Pass

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, humor, forced proximity, fluff, smut (oral f and m receiving, p in v sex,), light angst, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: Dean is your best friend, and nothing more, no matter how much you want that to be different.

But he's trying to tell you something. And when you get trapped together for a week, he finally gets the chance.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! I lost my goddamn mind.

Word Count: 17.7k

“Are you smelling this, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, wrinkling your nose as another blob of something drifts past your feet. “We’re standing next to each other, Dean.”

Dean points his flashlight up, enough for you to see his grin in the dark. “You remember when Sammy farted last month, then pretended it was my Baby leaking something?”

You snort, kicking away something strangely hard that you don’t want to think about. “Yeah?”

“Least this still isn’t that bad.”

You look up to give him a flat, amused look, and freeze. 

“Dean-“

“C’mon, he’s not here-“

“No, Dean, fuck-“

You grab out your gun, aim it right over his shoulder, and shoot. 

The last swamp monster thuds into the water, and Dean stares at you with wide eyes.

“Uh, how close was I to bein’ a swap snack?”

You shrug, giving him a small smile. “Don’t undervalue yourself, dude. You would have been swamp dinner.”

Dean snorts, wading through the water to your side, and rests his hand on your back. There’s no real reason for him to do that. You’re standing up just fine. No serious injuries. No panic. 

He’s just touching you. Casually. The way he always has, without thought, because he trusts you enough not to turn around and try to cut off his hand. 

And it’s always driven you out of your mind. 

Dean’s casually put his hand on your body since you met him. Since the first hunt, where he and Sam saved the helpless little vampire victim, and you tried to shoot them because you didn’t know that the people carrying machetes were the good guys. Dean had put his hand on your upper arm and lower back, helped you to your feet, and been the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

You can still feel where he touched you, all those years ago. It’s branded a level right under your skin, the lightening and fire sensation of a broad, rough hand being so gentle on your skin. And every time he’s touched you since, you’ve still been able to feel it. Sinking deeper and deeper, spreading and growing with every accidental brush of his hand and shoulder bump and time you’ve been pressed right against him on a hunt. It’s going to burn forever. You don’t want it to go out, even if it drives you out of your mind. 

Days the bunker is empty, and you lock the door to your room with your legs spread. Whenever he makes you—and Sam, but that’s not important—breakfast. If you’re watching a movie, and he puts his arm over your shoulder because he’s comfortable. Every time he whispers a joke in your ear, grins so wide when you laugh. Every fucking night you have to spend in the same room with him, pretending you don’t feel like you’re burning alive with a light that won’t flicker out. 

Most motels don’t offer three beds. So there are times where the couch fits Dean—never Sam, and you’re not allowed to sleep on the couch because they’re dumbasses who think they’re gentlemen—and times where you just have to suck it up and share. 

Sharing with Sam is fine. You can’t grind into the sheets as the fire sweeps into your core—Dean likes to walk out of the shower without a shirt, and he might hate you—because fucking Sam is right on the other side of the bed. 

When you share with Dean, it’s… different. 

You can’t fuck yourself then, either. But it becomes unbearable. Your body seems to ache, just to touch him. Sometimes the light will be angled just right through the window, and you’ll be able to watch the passing headlights of the cars drift over his pretty face. 

Because Dean’s face is still so fucking beautiful. It’s one of those few things you know will never change. 

But you don’t want anything to change. Change is the thing that leaves you alone, dead in the water, trying to use the stars to guide yourself when the sky is pitch black. You’ve never been good at it. When you joined hunting, it took months for you to fully adjust just to living in the bunker. 

Dean had gotten you through that. Made you comfortable. Taught you how to hold a gun, and throw a punch, and made you waffles when you’d finally managed to knock him on his ass. 

“I know you went easy on me,” you’d told him, spraying the whip cream on your plate, and he’d chuckled. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” you’d shrugged. “Next time you can go all out, and I’ll still win.”

Dean had grinned at you, and you’d felt that heat rising to your cheeks. It wasn’t fair how he could do that. How you’d gotten so good at being around him and not acting like just one word in your direction made you feel high. At this point it had just been a crush, on the big handsome man who saved your life. 

Even then, it had still felt like a massive, consuming type of crush. The kind like a tree, that wouldn’t stop rooting into your heart and growing. The kind that you’d known would get you in trouble, if you weren’t careful. 

“Sure you will.” Dean had reached for the whipped cream can, and you’d whacked his hand with it. “Hey, c’mon-“

“I’m not done.” You’d finished the pile with a little swirl, and passed him the can with a smile. 

He’d stared at you, then the whipped cream mountain. “You trying to drown yourself?”

“Maybe.” 

Dean had reached forward, taken some on his finger—ruining the artwork, but it had been Dean, so you were never mad—and dabbed it on your nose. He’d laughed at your glare, and you’d tried to bite his finger. 

It had just made him laugh harder. 

“You look cute.” He’d said, lookin back to his own waffle, and it had been like being shot up with fire. 

He thought you were cute. Dean thought you were cute. And he’d touched you again. And maybe if you’d asked him to, he could have kissed you and you could run your hand through his hair and taste the salt of his sweat, and he could show you how to do a few other moves, right here at the table, and- 

“You good?” He’d asked you, and he’d sounded concerned. Not starved for you, just worried. Like a friend would be. 

And you didn’t want anything to change. This was already better than you could have dared to ask for. 

So you’d smiled at him, and nodded. 

And nothing ever had to be different.

Friends. 

You were so fucking lucky just to be his friend. The one-night stands came and went, and you were still here, with Dean. You could take that. 

Take it, and use it to kindle all that heat in your body. Burn it and burn it until it was ash. 

Keep pretending that your hunger and fever for Dean would ever go out, when you know that this is forever. 

You’ve known it was love since you were in a diner, almost a year ago, and he made the waitress get you the children’s coloring mat, because it had crossword puzzles and you didn’t want to ask. 

“Don’t bother her, Dean

“I’m not bothering her, sweetheart, it’s asking her to carry freakin’ paper-“

“No, it’s stupid, I’ll get a newspaper-“

“We’ll get you a newspaper after.” He shrugged, giving you a shockingly serious look. “But it’s not stupid. You’re not stupid. We’re getting that kids mat.”

You’d flushed, and nodded. And you loved him. 

Love him. 

Now, even in the swamp monster mess, his touch and attention do the exact same thing to you. It’s going to drive you out of your mind, one day. But you don’t want to try and stop it. 

That would mean moving yourself away from Dean, where he couldn’t touch you. And it might not even do anything, but make you miss him. Make things change. 

So you’ll lean slightly into his touch—just in case—and smile at him in the dark. 

When he smiles back, it’s like the whole world lights up. 

And you never want that to change either. 

“You think we need to clean this shit up?” He nods around you, making a face as a fresh wave of swamp-stench drifts through the air, and you shake your head. 

“Can I suggest an alternate plan?”

Dean nods. “You know I love a backup, sweetheart.”

You flush again, bowing your head to make sure he won’t see. “I vote we just blow it up.”

“That’s a plan.” He bumps your shoulder, and you can hear the joy in his voice. “I’m team blow it up.” He pauses. “Can I-“

“Yeah.” You smile at your feet. “You can do the work.”

“Awesome.” He starts to walk towards the exit, and all you can do is follow him. “Then we’ll get all this shit off us.”

You hum an agreement, and try not to pick apart his happiness too much. It’s always good when Dean is happy, but you’ve developed a bad habit of trying to pinpoint why. If he gets excited when you buy him pie because you bought him pie, or it’s pie. If he grins at you when he sees you because he’s happy to see you, or just to see a friend. 

If he just wants to use his grenade launcher, or if he’s happy you gave him a reason to. 

It never gets you anywhere, to think of that. And no matter what conclusion you draw, it’s never going to change anything.  

But it’s still a fun way to torture yourself. Watching him with a smile as he blasts the old cabin, and the whole thing goes crashing down. Returning his thumbs up with a smile, and giving him a high five when he walks back to the car. 

“Another monster, ganked.” He puts the launcher back in the truck, and you hum. 

“And it’s a swamp monster. Big day for you.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, guess it is. Didn’t really think about that.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, giving you an odd smile you don’t really understand. “Guess I was worrying about other shit.”

“Other-“

“C’mon.” He raises his voice over yours, grabbing your arms and starting to herd you towards the passenger’s seat. “We gotta get you back to the motel. You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“Me?” You frown at him. “You’ll get one too, Winchester-“

“Nah. I don’t catch colds.”

You snort as he closes the door behind you. You wait for him to get behind the wheel before you’re leaning forward, raising your brows. 

“Everyone gets colds, Dean.”

“Not me.” He winks at you, turning on the engine. “I run hot, baby.”

Jesus. 

That’s like being doused in gasoline and struck with a match. It is freezing outside—swamp monsters somehow ended up in Montana—and you are drenched in something worse than water, but all you can feel is the wired heat under your skin, as you play that over and over in your head. 

It’s just another moment, that means nothing to Dean and everything to you. 

But there are so many of them. They make up the tapestry of Dean, that lines your ribs. Remind you over and over that you love him, and every bit of his happiness—whether you’re the direct cause or not—is a rare, priceless gift he gives to so few people.

Dean does love you. 

As a best friend. 

You really can pretend that’s enough, just as long as it never has to change. 

Dean opens the door to the motel room for you, with a wide, smug grin. “You want first shower?”

“Sure, but-“ You flick a chuck of Swamp Monster off his shoulder with a pointed look. “I think you need it more.”

“I’ve been covered in worse.” He shrugs. “You go, I gotta call Sammy and give him the update.”

“Dean, he’s on vacation, don’t bother him-“

“He can pick up the damn phone at the beach.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Eileen won’t care. Go shower, sweetheart.”

You sigh, but give in. Once Dean decides something like that—you aren’t holding your pee for the rest of the drive, they will find a diner that serves Sam’s stupid rabbit food, this place does have a broken heater and Dean’s going to goddamn fix it—there’s no talking him out of it. 

And the shower is nice. Warm. The motel shampoo actually smells like something for once—flowers, nice, sweet flowers—and they water is loud enough that, if you lean against the wall and let your hand wander between your legs, Dean won’t be able to hear it. 

He never hears it. He doesn’t know that you’d get on your knees for him, if he ever asked. That you’d sleep in his bed and hold him through every nightmare, if he let you. 

Dean doesn’t know that you have to bite your tongue to swallow moans, as you think of his hands so easily on your body, and the deep sound of his voice as he said baby, and his eyes, shining on yours. You’ve pictured them above you too many times. Glinting and blown out, as he unravels you below him. Or under you, fluttering and squeezing tight as you ride him. And he’d buck his hips up into you, driving deeper and deeper, and when you moan his name he’d drag you down into a kiss, and all this heat would finally burst into a firework-

You shake, tossing your head back as your release hits. It’s a small one. You’re too tired to do anything properly, and even angling your clit under the water didn’t do as much as you wanted it to. You don’t manage to swallow the squeak of Dean, but the water is still running. You barely heard it. ‘

And as you walk out of the bathroom, Dean’s still on the phone. 

You’re in the clear. 

He scans over you with a tight frown, and you raise your brows. He just shakes his head, pointing to the phone, and you nod, shuffling over to the bed.

“Listen, uh- Sammy. Sam.” Dean shoots you another look. “I gotta go, man, shower is open- No, I’m not gonna- Sam.” His voice lowers to a hiss, and you smile to yourself. That’s the shut your face voice. Sam’s probably trying to convince him to do something. “No, I ain’t calling you after, bitch, I don’t- Fucking Christ. Yeah. I know.”

He hangs up, and you glance at him, having settled on your bed with a book.

“Not saying bye?”

“He doesn’t deserve it.” Dean grumbles, moving to his feet. 

“What did he do-“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well,” you wrinkle your nose, leaning forward. “Now I am worried.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “It’s not a big thing, sweetheart. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Or, you could tell me now.”

“I, uh- gotta shower.” He makes for the bathroom, and you raise your voice after him. 

“Dean-“

“Tomorrow!” He calls over his shoulder, and closes the door behind him. 

You sigh, looking back to your book. It’s probably nothing. Dean doesn’t keep big secrets, not from you. If it was something for you to be worried about, he’d probably have told you already, to try and convince you to lay low at the bunker while he and Sam handled it. Your bet is on another hunt, that Sam’s trying to send you on. 

Nothing big. 

Just more time you get to spend, only you and Dean. 

Dean mutters your name from the doorway, and when you look up, your breath hitches in your throat. 

There’s steam, billowing out of the bathroom and casting in a halo-like light. His hair is damp and spikey and soft looking, his bare chest looking almost golden—you don’t know how he tans, when you all live in a fucking basement—and water running over his muscles. And you’ve dreamed about pressing your face into his pecs, or scratching at his abs while he kisses you, or kissing over that V before he grabs your hair and pulls you back and stuffs your mouth with- 

You cough, and force your attention back to your book. You can’t look at him too long, or you’ll do something really stupid like beg him to fuck you stupid. 

“Yeah, Dean?” Your voice isn’t steady, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I, uh-“ Dean coughs, and you risk a glance up to see him scratching the back of his neck. “You know we ganked those gross assholes real fast. Thought we’d be here longer. And Sam says there’s a story coming, tomorrow, so we’re gonna have to hit the road in the morning.”

“Storm? What storm?” You frown at him, and he gives you an oddly sheepish grin.

“Snow-storm. Supposed to be bordering on a blizzard or something. ‘Less we wanna be stuck here for least a week, we should haul ass soon.”

“Oh.” A week stuck in a motel with Dean doesn’t sound that bad. It would be torture, but the kind of torture that you’d get a thrill out of. The kind that could fuel a lot of dreams for months to come. 

Or everything could get fucked up. He’d get sick of you. You’d moan his name in your sleep. Too many things could change, if you were stuck together. 

It’s best if you go in the morning. 

“I, um-“ You bite on your inner cheek, watching him carefully. “Is that was you were talking to Sam about?”

Dean blinks at you, then nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “That’s what we talking about, sweetheart. The storm.”

You narrow your eyes at him—he’s being weird, and you don’t believe him—but Dean only clears his throat and gives you another grin.

“And since we gotta go in the morning, I was ho- Uh, wondering. If you’d wanna get a drink.”

You frown at him again. “We have beers in the fridge, Dean.”

“Yeah. We do.” He mutters, throat bobbing, and you’ve never seen him like this. Looking at the floor a lot. Not walking around with a puffed-out chest and mastered, cowboy swagger. Like he knows how pretty he is, and he’s using it as a shield. Trying to flash bright enough that people won’t see anything but that smooth voice and boyish, charming grin.

You’ve been allowed to see beneath it. Because he’s your friend. Because he’s not trying to impress or trick you. Not trying to sell himself to you, even though you’re kind of already his. He doesn’t care if he gets your love or affection. Some part of you always wonders if he knows he already has it, and that’s why you get to know Dean, the perfect, sweet, broken but strong man, instead of Dean, the sex-god and hunter legend. 

And you don’t want to go out drinking with him. You love him. But if you have to watch him flirt with someone else the whole night, you’re going to go find another swamp monster and let it eat you.

You don’t get to open your mouth and tell him that, before he’s continuing on. 

“There’s kinda this bar I’ve been dying to check out, since we pulled into down.” His gaze feels like it’s buzzing over your skin. “And we should celebrate. So. Drinks.”

“Drinks.” You repeat, tilting your head at him. He gives you a crooked half-grin and nod, and you pull your lip between your teeth. 

He’s being so fucking weird.

“You can go yourself, Dean-“

“No.” He shakes his head, standing up a little taller. “You saved my life tonight. I’m getting you a drink.”

“You’ve saved my life more. And I never buy you a drink.”

“That’s different.” He dismisses you quickly, and you frown.

“How-“

“C’mon,” he drawls your name, his tone almost challenging. “One drink.”

Fuck. 

He’s got you. He must know he’s got you, otherwise he wouldn’t have pushed it. All he has to do is poke you, and you cave. Give a mumbled nod and agreement, and trying not to burn from within at his happy grin. 

And you don’t know if he’s happy because you said yes to getting drinks, or because he’s getting drinks. 

It doesn’t matter. 

He’s still happy. 

It’s a quick drive, from the motel to the bar. And it’s nice, but not the kind of place you think Dean would be dying to see. It’s just like all other bars you’ve seen, in every corner and county of America. Posters on the walls, dartboards and pool tables, and jukebox that really should be out of commission by now, and dirty, chipping wood tables. The drinks are strong, but no stronger than any other drinks. They’ve got pretty good maraschino cherries, and the bartender doesn’t seem to judge you when you ask for them—which is a plus—but there’s also a gaggle of girls in cowboy hats at the other end of the bar, and you know how this night is going to end. 

Or you thought you did.

But they’ve been giggling and shooting looks at Dean all night, and he hasn’t so much as turned around. 

“What else do you have on your list?” You ask him, playing with the stem of a cherry, and he frowns at you.

“My list.”

“Your bucket list.”

“I don’t have a bucket-“

“Don’t lie to me, Winchester.” You kick his shin lightly, with a small grin. “It’s not befitting of a lady.”

He snorts. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I’m not the one being questioned.” 

“Oh, I’m bein’ questioned?” He grins, leaning a little closer, and he smells like pine trees. You never should have gotten him that body wash, but you’d also found out he hadn’t been using body wash, and you couldn’t just let that slide. “What’re the charges, sweetheart?”

You shrug. “Lying about your bucket list.”

He opens his mouth, and you give him a flat look. 

“I saw it, Dean. You keep it at the bottom of your bag.”

“You-“ He shakes his head. “Why the hell were you looking in my bag?”

You flush, staring down at the cherry stem. The knot won’t stick. “You said I could use your shirt. When mine got vamp blood on it.”

“Right.” He gives you an odd look. “Y’know, I never got that shirt back.”

“Sorry. Forgot.”

You didn’t forget. You keep it in your drawer and sleep in it when you haven’t seen him in a few days. He doesn’t need to know that. 

Dean shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s whatever. I got other shirts.” He gives you a small grin. “You remember what else was on that list?”

“Um,” you wrinkle your nose at the air, biting on your lower lip. “Meet Burt Reynolds, save his life. Give Baby guns. Try an Oreo pizza.” You swallow, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on your hands. “Have the sex.” You can’t look at him. Not right now. “Dean, I’m pretty sure you’ve had sex before.”

“Yeah. But this is, uh-“ He coughs. “Special sex.”

That makes you look at him. He’s picking at the label of his beer, a deep frown on his face. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Not with you.

“Well,” you mumble, tugging on your cherry stem. “I think you’ve got three options, if you want to go for that one.”

He glances at you, brow drawn. “What?”

“The cowgirls behind you.” You’re going to rip the stem in half. “I think they’d be down to have the sex with you.”

It’s meant to come out as a joke, but you mostly sound bitter. It’s sour on your tongue, because you hate being jealous. It’s not Dean’s fault he doesn’t see you like that. And you can’t place any claim over him, or even blame the cowgirls for taking him away from you. If you saw Dean in a bar, you’d do the exact same thing. And maybe then he’d give you the lazy, hungry smirk he always gives everyone else. If you could just be a pretty face. 

There’s a hollow, vile sneer in the back of your head that reminds you he might not even think you’re pretty, and that’s why you never stood a chance. You’ll drink it away, when he leaves you at the bar.

But he doesn’t. Dean doesn’t even look at them. 

He just keeps watching you. 

“Nah.” He shrugs, and you blink at him. 

“Nah?”

“I got better things to do, sweetheart.” 

You stare at him. “Like?”

Dean just grins at you, and that’s not fair. It’s making you feel molten and important, and he doesn’t even mean it like that. 

“Alright.” You let out a soft laugh, and that sounds bitter too. “Who even are you?”

“I dunno, sweetheart.” He shrugs. “You tell me.”

“I- I’m-“ You take a sharp drink of your own, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “So you’re not going to flirt with them.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not going to flirt with the dudes watching you.”

You snort. “There are no dudes watching me-“

“Yeah.” His tone has changed. Gotten firmer. Deeper. “There always are.”

“Dean.” 

“It’s true. You just never freakin’ see it.”

“What, and you do?”

His jaw tics. “Yeah. I do. Beard and flannel, 2  o’clock.”

You look before you can stop yourself, and he’s right. Over your shoulder is a broad, bearded man, wearing a green flannel and looking right at you. He winks, when you meet his gaze, and you swallow. 

“I, um-“ You look back to Dean, who looks oddly annoyed for having pointed the guy out to you. “That’s different.”

Dean let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“It is. I don’t do… that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah-“

“So what do I do, sweetheart?”

He’s staring at you, something behind his voice that sounds like it’s important. It’s written all over his face, as well. He still hasn’t looked at the cowgirls. You’re not sure what the fuck is happening.

“I don’t know, Dean.” You murmur, wrapping the stem around your finger like a ring. “What do you do?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. And when you look back up at him, that strange expression has returned. You wait. You’d wait forever. 

And you don’t want to say the wrong thing and fuck this—whatever the hell this is, because he’s never looked at you like that before, but it feels like you’re being turned into starlight—up.

“We, uh-“ He cuts himself off with a frown. “You and me. We’ve known each other a while.”

You’ve felt like you’ve known him your whole fucking life. You felt like that almost the first time you saw him. Sort of like you’d looked at him, and known that this always ends with you falling in love. 

Another thing he doesn’t need to know. 

So you just nod. 

“Right.” He glares at the bottle, like it’s personally responsible for something bad happening to him. “And we’ve been through some shit together. I mean, mostly me. Causing you problems-“

“You don’t cause me problems.” You say before you can stop yourself, and he chuckles.

“I know. You always say that. But, uh- I got news for you, sweetheart. I cause you a lot of problems. And,” he raises his voice before you can protest again. “You never give up on me. Shit, I might of given up on me, but you didn’t. You’re always- No matter how shit this gets, it feels alright long as I got you.”

He’s looking at you like you’re supposed to know what that means. When you stare at him back, he just clears his throat. 

“You mean a lot to me.” He mutters. “You- Your trust means a lot. More than anyone.”

“Oh- okay.” You feel kind of dizzy. “Cool.”

He swallows. “Yeah. And I know I do go home with other chicks, uh, I- It’s not. It never means anything. They know that. And a lot of them have been in…” His ears go slightly red, his voice dropping lower. “Situations. And that ain’t for to them, or- Yeah. And I always go back in the morning.”

You’re lost. “What?”

He sighs. “I always head back to you, sweetheart.”

“I know, Dean, we live together-“

“No- I mean, yeah, but-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face. “You’re kinda the best friend I’ve ever had,” he grunts your name, and you sit a little taller. “I don’t tell you that enough. And I was- Uh, I’ve been thinking- A lot.”

You’re going to chew through your tongue. “About?”

He stares at you, mouth hanging slightly open, and you wait. 

Dean takes a deep breath, his gaze darting over your shoulder, and he shakes his head. 

“Nothing, sweetheart. Never mind.”

You frown. This doesn’t feel like a never mind. “Dean-“

“You want some help with that?” He nods to your cherry stem, giving you a bright grin. “I can do it with my tongue.”

His tongue. He can do things with his tongue. And it’s flicking out over his lips, and he’s grinning at you, and you’re the best friend he’s ever had. 

Friend.

Best friend.

“I’m okay.” You mumble, fiddling with the stem and dropping it in your glass. “Thank you, though.”

His jaw twitches again, and he opens his mouth, then closes it. The cowgirls seen to have wandered off to another corner of the bar. The music is playing quietly in the background, and it’s not a bad song, but it feels like nail scratching your ears. You just don’t want to hear anything right now, other than what Dean decided not to tell you. 

You know he wasn’t building up to the fucking cherry stem. But if you ask, that would be pushing it. And it might not be something you want to hear. 

So you let it go, and give Dean a small smile as you stand up.

He frowns. “Where’re you-“

“Bathroom.” You shrug. “Be right back.”

Dean’s hand flexes, like he’s going to try and reach for you. But he doesn’t. So you walk away. 

But you smile at him, because you’re pathetic. Smile and squeeze his bicep. 

You’d like to run your hand through his hair. 

That’s not a friend thing. 

The bathroom of the bar is just what you’d expect. Flickering lights, cheap looking stalls, a toilet seat that you’re careful to wipe down, because you really don’t want to round all of this off with an infection. 

It hasn’t been the most shit week. You got the monster. Hung out with Dean. Broke your own heart over it, almost every second, but that’s nothing you haven’t been doing for years. And maybe he’s not going to tell you whatever the hell he was building up to, but maybe it’s another thing that’s just not about you. Dean’s being weird because he and Sam are fighting about something stupid. Dean had sounded tense on the phone, earlier. 

So it’s not about you. Tomorrow, Sam will probably call you bitching about Dean, and ask you to talk some sense into him. Sam seems to be under the impression that you’re the only person in the world that Dean listens to without question, but you’ve been in multiple situations where that proved not to be true. The time he wouldn’t let you hunt alone, when you asked him to borrow the car to go into the city—which is something he lets Sam do all the time—the kitchen indecent, when he wouldn’t let you help him figure out how to bake a cake for your birthday, the other time he wouldn’t let you hunt alone- 

“You should totally go talk to him!” A girl’s voice cuts through the air, and you freeze. 

You’d sort of forgotten other people could, hypothetically, use the bathroom. 

“No, it’s okay. There are plenty of hot guys in the world, right?” Second voice. Different girl. 

“Not hot like that.” The first girl says again. “I mean. He looks like he fell right out of the fucking sky. That’s once in a lifetime hotness.”

Dean. They’re talking about Dean.

Fuck.

You should make your presence known. You should just cough, or say yeah, he’s hot, but he’s got a weird penis. Which would just be possessive—which you’re not doing, you’re not—and a straight up lie. You’ve heard the reviews, from girls in the morning. You’ve heard the sounds, when he used to get separate rooms just to rail women in. Sam would put in headphones with a sigh, and you’d try to pretend it wasn’t happening until you’d heard screams of Dean, and you’d decided to find whatever bar was closest and had the highest cut off.

These girls could be the ones screaming, tonight. 

Unless you embraced the jealousy thing, and told them he has a weird penis-

“Yeah, he’s hot, but the woman he was with,” the second girl sighs, and you freeze. Too late to make yourself known. “I think she’s like his girlfriend or something.”

You gape at nothing, and third girl pipes up. 

“No, actually, I agree with that. Don’t talk to him, he’s got a girlfriend.”

“Are you kidding me?” The first girl scoffs. “That was not his girlfriend.”

You scowl. She didn’t have to say it like that. She’s right, but she might not have been, and She didn’t have to be rude about it-

“Why not?” 

“Because if that’s your boyfriend, you don’t leave him alone in a bar.”

The other two girls make sounds of disagreement, and that shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does. 

“No,” the third one says. “Maybe he’s just like, a loyal guy. And she trusts him.”

“Please,” girl two laughs. “Men who look like that aren’t loyal.”

That almost makes you stand up. Dean’s loyal. Arguably, it’s his worst quality, because it’s nearly given both you and Sam multiple aneurysms. You manage only to curl your fists, though. And the second girl continues. 

“Like yes, she was really pretty too. And they looked to be having a serious conversation-“

“Which isn’t what people just hooking up do-“

“I know that. But like, he wasn’t touching her. Maybe they were sitting really closer together, and he ordered her those cherries before she asked-“

“That was really cute-“

“Yeah, but, maybe they’re just like friends!”

“Kaylee.” The third girl says, voice flat. “Did you see how he looked at her?”

“No. You’re the one who pretended to go the jukebox.”

“Well, it was like a puppy dog face. He love loves her.”

You feel like you’re being shot. The girls don’t stop talking. 

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah, just pretend to walk past them later. It’s super obvious.”

They leave a few minutes after that. And you have to remember how to move your legs, but a lot of things are crashing around in your brain. You’re pretty. You and Dean look cute together. 

Dean looks at you like he loves you. 

It feels like you’re floating, when you make your way back to the bar. Dean’s fidgeting with his sleeves, mostly staring at his bottle, and when you tap his shoulder, he looks up at you with a frown. 

It quickly turns into a grin. And he holds up your folded cherry stem with a proud grin, puffing out his chest. 

“Did it while you were gone. In one shot, by the way. You can, uh- Keep it? I dunno. Didn’t think past doin’ it, I guess.”

You give him a softer smile, and tuck the cherry stem into your pants. “I’ll keep it. Thank you.”

“Course.” He shrugs, glancing around the mostly empty bar. 

The cowgirls are watching you. 

Dean’s hand is resting on your wrist. You’re not sure if he knows he’s doing it, but it’s warm and electric over your whole body.  

And when you scan over his face, there’s nothing on it that screams he loves you. That’s just Dean’s face. Maybe the third girl just had too much to drink, or is rooting for him to be in love with you, which is very sweet but overall useless to you-

“You wanna head back?” Dean squeezes your wrist, giving you another easy, causal grin. “We should get our three hours, before we beat the storm.”

You sigh, giving him a tight smile. “It’s eight hours.”

“Yeah, if you’re a health nerd.”

“Dean-“

“It’ll be six hours, if we go now.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, and he just grins back. It really is the same grin he’s always given you. But you hear the cowgirls giggling, when you pass them. They’re probably reading into Dean’s hand, on your back, way too much. You know you have.

But reading too deep into things is what you’re best at. 

And now that they’ve mentioned how Dean looks at you, it’s impossible stop. 

You’re picking it apart, for the rest of the night. For the entirety of the drive, as you analyze every shift in his face, when he glances your way. How he smirks at you, when he opens your door with a dramatic, sweeping gesture. How he laughs when you roll your eyes, and the face he makes when you mumble that you’re getting changed. Then the face when you come back, and he looks up from the TV. 

“Dean.” You lean over the back of the couch, making your voice as firm as possible. “Six hours. You promised.”

He groans, but turns off the TV, and flicks your nose. “After all I do for you, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me sleep?”

“Yep.” He’s so close. You can see every handsome feature of his face. “Go to bed, Dean.”

He grunts and his gaze is trapped right on yours. His eyes are so fucking green, and they’re shining on yours. His breath is warm on your face, and in the cold of the night, it’s impossible to ignore. How all the heat is coming from Dean. You could move. Just an inch. Press your lips against his, and see what it does. Maybe he’d pull you over the couch and into his lap, kiss you until he’s all that you can feel. Until you’re burning alive, but he’s burning with you.

Or it could change everything. And you’d lose your best friend. 

You pull back. And don’t look at Dean again, as you go to bed. You need to stop torturing yourself. You’ll do it enough on the car ride tomorrow. 

Dean’s true to his word. He goes to the bathroom, takes another shower, then gets into bed right after you. Enough for six hours, even if he’s up first. 

He doesn’t wake you up, as he gets ready to go. Packing his bag, then yours, then the remaining supplies. You mostly just drift in and out, listening to him shuffle around the room, pause, then move again. At one point, after you hadn’t shifted around in a while, his hand rests on your brow. And because he thinks you’re just sleeping, you nuzzle into it. 

He lingers. 

Fingers trace over your face. Your cheeks and nose and eyebrows, then up into your hair. 

He sighs, and moves away, and there’s another thing to over think. He could be disappointed in you. Annoyed with you. Tired of you. Just tired overall, and that was a yawn. But Dean doesn’t really yawn.

He also doesn’t just touch people’s faces. 

But- 

“Son of a bitch?”

Your eyes shoot open, and you sit up in a second, reaching for your gun. No one seems to be in danger. Dean’s glaring out the window. 

You rub your eyes, pushing up to your knees. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Come look.” He mutters, and you shuffle to your feet, peering out the window.

“Oh.” You whisper, and he chuckles.

“Yep.”

You didn’t beat the storm. 

The storm beat you. The world is all gray and white, falling snow and sheets of white over the whole world. 

So you’re trapped in the motel. With Dean

———

“We did try to leave early.” Dean grunts into the phone and you sigh, holding your knees to your chest on the bed.

It took five hours for the storm to clear enough that Dean could call Sam. Another hour for Sam to pick up, because he is on vacation. 

And you’re not sure how you’re going to survive this. 

Not the storm. The storm will be easy. You’re what Dean’s called paranoid—but is proving itself to just be prepared—and there’s no possible way you’re going to run out of food. The water is still running, as it electricity. The heater did break again, but Dean’s spent the last two hours on his knees, trying to fix it.

Most of his tools are both for cars, and in the car. 

He’s improvised. 

And he’d given you this big, boyish and proud grin, when he’d realized he could use the wire hooks without being electrocuted. And that’s why you’re not going to survive this. 

You’re trapped with Dean. And his smiles and voice and body and general everything. It’s one room—two if you count the bathroom—and it’s just you and Dean. No buffer to stop you from saying something stupid, like how you love him. No distractions, because the electricity is working but this motel only has cable, and that’s down. Just you and Dean.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Dean mutters under his breath, shooting you an odd look.

You mouth what back at him. 

He rolls his eyes, and mouths back Sam, before speaking aloud. “Yeah, I know how waitin’ out storms works, Sam, I freakin’ taught you- We ain’t gonna run out of water, this isn’t a drought, we can drink the snow- I’m not drinking it right now.”

You giggle, and Dean gives you a flat look. You only shrug in return, and that eye roll is for you, but you don’t really care. At least it’s for you.

“No.” Dean turns back to the heater, his voice having dropped. “I ain’t doing that. No- Sam. Shut your face or I’m calling Eileen and telling her she’s got a funeral to attend. Not mine-“

Dean groans, running a hand over his face, and you climb out of the bed. The blankets have to stay wrapped around you—it’s fucking freezing—but you can still help. You kneel down at his side, holding out your hand and nodding to the hanger. Dean frowns at you and shakes his head, and you flex your fingers, giving him a pointed look. 

He pulls the phone away, covering the speaker—Sam’s voice muffled through his hand—and grunts, “I got it, sweetheart. Go back to bed.”

“Dean.” You sigh, just grabbing it out of his hand. He doesn’t fight you, just staring as you shift on your knees. “Finish your phone call.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then sighs, and nods. He squeezes your shoulder, as he moves to his feet, and you watch him walk to the other side of the room. 

You’ve been studying his face all morning. The cowgirl’s words haven’t stopped replaying. He looks at you like he loves you.

But you really don’t think he does. 

He’d given you tight smiles all morning, until you’d finished sorting the supplies and decided that you’d easily survive this without eating each other. 

“If we don’t have enough,” he’d said, hanging over your shoulder. “I want you to eat me.”

You’d sighed, and whacked his thigh. Better not think about how firm it had been. How if you turned your head, you would have been at perfect eye level with his bulge. And it had been freezing, but that was the kind of heat that was going to kill you just as much as it made you come alive. Now, trapped in a motel during a blizzard, was not the time to test the waters of how much Dean would want you. You’d rather turn to ice than have to spend a whole week, awkwardly pretending you hadn’t come onto Dean and gotten rejected.   

“I’m not going to eat you, Dean.” You’d muttered, and he’d shaken his head. 

“I’m telling you to eat me, sweetheart.” He’d dropped at your side, and you’d focused on your sorting. If you looked at Dean, you’d stare and try to figure out if he loved you. “It’s my last wish. You not gonna honor a dying man’s last wish.”

“No.”

“That’s pretty damn rude-“

“You’re not dying.” You’d looked at him, because you’re weak. No promise you ever made yourself about Dean lasted more than about twenty minutes, because most of them were don’t look at him or don’t talk to him, and actually committing to that would mean more change. 

He hadn’t been looking at you like he loved you. 

It had just been the same way he always looks at you. Open, handsome, with a small grin and light in his eyes. 

That’s just his stupid, pretty face. And it had been hard to keep pretending to be annoyed with him, when this was the first real smile he’d given you all morning. 

“We’ve got enough.” You mumbled, your eyes seemingly trapped on his. “I- I won’t need to eat you.”

“Awesome.” He’d grinned at you, and you’d swallowed, and nodded. 

That was just another expression he always made. It didn’t mean anything. 

He is scowling at the air, now that he’s focused on his phone call. He hasn’t looked at you like that, ever. But you also haven’t been saying anything to piss him off. 

It’s very rare, that you actually do piss Dean off. 

But you’re his best friend, so that can’t mean much. 

You have to drag your gaze back to the heater. You’re going to drive yourself out of your mind, before you even hit day five. 

Dean keeps talking, and it sounds like a serious conversation—serious enough that you’re not allowed to hear it, which you’re trying and failing not to read into, but it can just be another way to fucking torture yourself—when you hear the rattling buzz from the heater that means it’s working.

You turn to Dean with a wide grin, sitting up straight and making a ta da gesture to your work, and he grins at you again. Gives you a thumbs up, even his brows remain furrowed at whatever Sam is saying.

“Sam.” He grunts, walking towards you. “I’m going.”

There’s a sound of protest from the other end of the line, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing again. 

“I know how rationing works, Sam, I taught you that shit, too- No, we’re not fuckin’ talking about that- Bye.”

Dean hangs up, Sam’s voice dying mid-sentence, and you give him a curious look.

“Not talking about what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean mutters your name, crouching down at your side and scanning over the heater. “Nice work.”

That shouldn’t make you flush as much as it does. But Dean’s really close, and he’s praising you, and suddenly the room has spiked from freezing cold to almost insufferably hot. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, and Dean just shrugs, clapping you on the shoulder. The way he would a friend.

“No problem. So.” He scans around the room, and his brow pinches together the moment he’s not looking at you. 

He’s thinking. That’s all it means. 

“We got food, water, heat, shelter.” Dean says, mostly to himself. “Overall we’re not half fucked.”

“Only a quarter.” 

Dean snorts, and his brows un-pinch as he looks at you.

Which still probably means nothing. 

“What do you think that quarter fucked is, sweetheart?”

Him. Being trapped with him. Already starting to spiral about what everything he does and says means, if this is going to make things change, if he’s going to get sick of you, if he does look at you different. You really can’t tell anymore. You might have already gone mad, or the heat is just getting to your brain. 

Making you hallucinate how close he is. How his attention on you is undivided, how his thumb is rubbing small circles where it’s still resting on your shoulder. 

That’s your quarter fucked. 

But you also know what Dean’s is, so you say that instead. 

“No TV.” You give him a mock pout, and he lets out a dramatic groan. 

“It’s not funny, sweetheart-“

“Yeah, it is.” 

“You’re saying that now, but what are you gonna do when you get sick of talking to me?”

You frown at him. “I won’t get sick of talking to you.”

He scoffs. “Sure-“

“I’m serious, Dean.” You lean forward, which is a mistake. He steadies you with a hand on your knee. He’s still like a furnace. You’re going to catch his heat and melt into nothing. “I won’t get sick of you. Are-“ You swallow. You shouldn’t ask it. “Will you-“

“No.” He mutters, scanning over your face. “But I still miss TV.”

You give him a small smile, a weightlifting off your chest. “It’s been like, twelve hours.”

“Fifteen.”

You laugh at his grumpy face, and his lips twitch.

“We’ll find something to do, Dean.” You cup his face as you move to your feet. He might have leaned into your touch. Another thing to pretend not to think about. “I promise.”

———

“Checkmate.”

Dean groans, leaning over the board with a glare. “No, that’s- Son of a bitch.” He looks up at you with wide eyes. “I fuckin’ had it, sweetheart, what the hell.”

You shrug, starting to reset the pieces. “You never had it, Mr. Winchester. You’re a fool and your knowledge of the gentleman’s game is weak.”

He snorts. “I think you’re just cheating.”

“Maybe.” You grin at him. “But if I am, you haven’t caught me.”

“So you have been-“

“Do you have proof?”

Dean sighs, and grumbles, “No.”

You hum. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

“Or until you admit it.”

“I’ve never admitted anything. In my life.”

Dean raises his brows. “Half an hour ago, you told me you used to sing lyrics to classical music.”

You flush, and throw a pawn at his face. “That was a secret-“

“I haven’t told anyone! I’m just sayin’ back to you what you said to me-“

“Well, you used to name your toy cars after different cartoon characters-“

“Hey.” Dean wields the pawn at you like a knife, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t bring She-Ra the Pontiac into this.”

He glares at you, you glare right back, and there’s only a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing. 

This has been most of the last two days. You’d raided the entire room, to see exactly what type of amenities were provided, and found mostly paper, meaning that you and Dean spent most of last night playing drawing games. He drew genuinely the worst tiger you’ve ever seen, and you drew a snake so worm-like he spent twenty minutes laughing on the ground. This morning—before you got up—he went outside during a brief lull in the storm, grabbed your playing cards from the trunk of Baby, and raided the lobby for board games. 

He beat you at two-person poker, twice. You won gin rummy, and cribbage, so he insisted on a third poker round. You know he just wanted it to win again. But you love him—and his stupid, dopey grin whenever he does something well—so you let him have it. And he did win. But you kicked his ass in Candyland. 

Dean said this one was a kid’s game, so it didn’t count.

You’d pulled out the chess, after that.

This is your fifth win in a row. And you’re not cheating. 

But Dean is adorable when he’s grumpy. And just for now, you’re giving up on trying not to look at him too long. You won’t mess up, because this is already such a fragile situation. You’re on a high alert to not do anything too obviously in love with him. And already spent all of last night with the sheets tangled between your legs, looping over and over how Dean had made you dinner. Stared at you when you’d come out of the bathroom in a towel and coughed. Talked to you until two in the morning, because for once neither of you had anywhere to be in the morning.

In a very, very strange way, this feels like a vacation. A precarious one, where you’ve sealed over half the things you want to say to him—I love you, Dean, I want you, I spent that whole shower thinking about what it would feel like if you were with me, on your knees or behind me or anything, I’d take anything—and allowed yourself to look at him to keep it together. To keep him from noticing.

It would be suspicious, if you didn’t look at him. And it’s quelling that unending heat, in your body. 

You’re going to get through this. Walk out the other side, with only good memories, and nothing changed. 

You’re probably going to be trying to figure out how Dean looks at you forever, but that’s only hurting you, so it’s fine.

It’s all just fine.

“No more chess.” Dean grumbles, grabbing a rook out of your hands and bumping it on your nose. You blink at him kind of stupidly. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Let’s go back to cards.”

You take the rook back, poking it into his chest. “Why, so you can win poker?”

He shrugs with a grin, and you sigh. 

“How about war? No skill. Just luck.”

Dean frowns. “I got shit luck, sweetheart.”

“And I don’t?”

“Better than mine.” He mutters under his breath, and you frown. 

There’s something heavy to his tone that you don’t understand. But before you can try and find the words to ask him about it, he’s moving on. 

“One poker game, just to level out the field. C’mon. I’ll make you lunch?”

“And- Do I not get lunch if I say no?”

“No, but this doesn’t work if you keep bringin’ reason into it, sweetheart.”

“Sorry.” You pick at your nails, giving him a small smile, and he sighs. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart. But if we play war, I’m shuffling.”

You nod, giving him a wider smile, and his jaw twitches. It’s been doing that a lot, today. You spent most of breakfast staring at it, trying to figure out what it meant. Probably just that he’s tense, from the stress of the situation. Even though it started last night. And overall, the situation hasn’t been all that stressful. 

Again. Trying not to think about it. 

“Deal.” You hold out your hand, and Dean shakes it. His hand fits perfectly, in yours. It always has. You’ve had a lot of fantasies about just Dean’s hands, alone.

And it’s impossible not to stare, as he shuffles. His fingers have always moved so deliberately, with such exact, measured movements, and they’re big and thick and rough, and when you passed him the cards, he’d touch your forearm and you felt like you were going to fly out of your skin- 

“Ready?” Dean nods to the pile of cards in front of you, and you blink. 

Right. 

The game.

“Ready.” You mutter, sounding breathier than you meant to, but you’d also worked yourself into a small frenzy, thinking about his hands. His smirk isn’t helping. 

You really don’t think he knows, exactly what he does to you. 

But if he does, this is downright cruel. 

“Alright,” he drawls your name, picking up his own deck with a dramatic roll of his shoulders. “Let’s skirmish.”

You laugh—it’s stupid, but you always laugh—and Dean’s grin widens.

It’s not clear if he’s smiling because you laughed, or just he got a laugh. 

You really have to stop picking yourself apart like this. 

The first few flips run by, and soon you’re not even counting down to flip anymore. You and Dean have gotten somehow merged your game brains, and you’re flipping in perfect sync. You’re winning most of them. Dean hasn’t seemed to notice yet. 

“Would you rather be attacked by a duck, or a hippo.”

You blink at him, flipping over another card. “What kind of question is that, obviously-“

“Wait.” He grins at you. “The duck has a gun, and the hippo is a baby.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head at the air. “Does the duck know how to use the gun?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, and is the hippos mom around?”

Dean frowns. “Why does that matter.”

“Mothers are incredibly aggressive when their babies are threatened, Dean. A grown mom hippo kill me.”

“Huh. Well, we don’t want that.” His brow furrows, and you try not to let that make you feel too gooey. “Let’s call it that the mom hippo is around, but far enough that she won’t know if you’re careful.”

“Careful? The hippo is attacking me-“

“So you gotta kill it.”

You gape at him. “I’m not killing a baby hippo, Dean.”

“Fair.” He nods, flipping over a nod. “So you’re going Gun Duck.”

“Do I get a gun?”

“If you can take his.”

“I can do that.” You watch him grab the cards he won. He’s rolled up his sleeves, so you can see his forearms. It’s distracting. “What would you choose?”

“Gun Duck.” Dean shrugs. “I think I could take that mama hippo, though.”

You snort. “No, you couldn’t.”

He gives you a mock look of offense. “Sweetheart, I’ve fought the Devil-“

“Hippos kill 500 people a year, Dean.”

He scoffs. “So?”

“So there are about 180 plane crashes a year.” You give him pointed a look and he gulps, going a little pale. 

“Good point. No hippos.”

You hum, pulling more of your own cards forward. “Would you rather live on the moon, or underwater?”

Dean pauses, thinking about it as you both flip. “The moon. Space would be pretty awesome. Can I guess your answer?”

You nod, a little desperate to know what he thinks you’re going to say, and he grins at you.

“Underwater.”

You keep your face perfectly neutral. “Why?”

“Because you think space is scary.”

“The bottom of the ocean is scarier.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t live at the bottom of the ocean.” He gives you a look like that’s obvious, and sighs when you just stare at him. “I think you’d be like, a lady of the lake or whatever.”

“A-“ You blink at him. “Like in King Arthur?”

“Yeah.” He grins at you, wide and toothy. “I’d be a pretty awesome King, right. I’d get to sit at the round table.”

“Sure,” you return his grin, setting out three cards. “What are your stances on tithes and feudalism?”

“Uh.” He makes his tight, adorable thinking expression—the one where he’s really trying, but doesn’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about—and you want to kiss him all over his stupid face. “Anti?”

You hum and nod, and he raises his brows.

“Was that right?”

“I don’t know, you’re the King.”

“Yeah, but you’re my- Lady advisor.”

You snort. “Lady Advisor?”

“The- Guinevere lady-“

“That was Arthur’s wife.” You say, and it’s really hard to sound causal about that. “And she cheated on him with his best friend.”

Dean recoils slightly, shaking his head. “Okay, so you ain’t that.”

You give him a cautious look. “Do I have to be something, in your fantasy land?”

“Course you do, sweetheart.” He says that like it’s obvious, too. “It ain’t a fantasy land if you’re not there.”

You flush, and Dean sits a little taller, clearing his throat. You don’t know if he meant it like that. He probably didn’t. But now he’s not looking you in the eyes, and he probably thinks he’s leading you on—even if he doesn’t know he doesn’t need to put you on a leash or offer you a reward, you’d follow him to the end of the earth no matter what—and things are going to change-

“I’m the Lady of the Lake.” You mumble, folding a card between your finger and giving him a small smile. “Of course I’m in your fantasy.”

He coughs, but grins at you, and he’s ears are red again.  

Don’t think too much into it. 

“Awesome.”

———

It’s only been three days.

You’re falling into a far too comfortable pattern. 

Dean makes you breakfast, you do lunch, he does dinner. You play card games and talk, Dean goes out to check that nobody’s stolen Baby—it doesn’t matter how many times you tell him that won’t happen, he has to do it anyway—and you make him hot chocolate for when he gets back. You spent most of today talking about superheroes, Dean hanging your paper stars on the ceiling because he’s perfect, and you don’t know how you were ever supposed to not fall in love with him.

“Can I have the purple?” You ask, and he passes the marker to you with a small grin.

“I still don’t understand why you these in the car, sweetheart.”

“For organizing. Duh.”

“Right. Duh.” He chuckles, nudging your side with his foot, and you squeak. 

“Dean-“

“Sorry.” He laughs above you, and he kind of looks like a God. Big and strong and handsome, so far above you, so untouchable, but offering you more with his joy than you can understand. 

Because you haven’t seen Dean this happy in years. He’s fully relaxed, he’s not scanning around every few seconds to check that everyone is safe, and he’s still sleeping with his gun under his pillow—that’s never going to change—but when you woke him up this morning, you didn’t end up with the barrel in your face.

It’s probably because there are no threats. 

It’s getting harder and harder to think it’s not about you.

“Can you pass me my book?”

“Sure.” He shuffles away, and your body seems to want to follow him, which isn’t fair. “What, you gonna use the pages to make more stars?”

“Don’t joke about that.” You mutter, frowning at the star in your hands. “I just want to use this one as a bookmark.”

Dean just hums, and the book is passed into your hands as he sits at your side. “You, uh- Liking it?”

You angle your head to see him, and he’d grabbed a beer while he was getting your book. He’s picking at the label again. His jaw is ticking. 

You really don’t know how to ask him what that’s about. 

“The book.” He adds—after you’re quiet for a beat too long—giving you a sheepish grin. “How are you liking the book.”

“Oh. It’s- Good. I’ve always wanted to read it, and I- yeah.” He’s sitting too close. It’s making you short circuit. 

Dean just nods, turning the bottle in his hands. “So it’s on your bucket list?”

He gives you a half-grin, and that makes you almost go limp. He’s smiling at you like it’s a secret. Like it’s something only you get to know about, even if it was because you accidentally snooped. 

You smile back. It always makes his grin wider, and his shoulders relax, and that could be about you-

No. 

You’re not doing that. 

“Maybe.” You shrug, and he raises his brows.

“You gonna tell me what else is on there?”

You sit up, holding his gaze. Your knees are bumping together. You could swear his eyes widen slightly. 

“The sex.” You whisper, and he groans, shaking his head and looking back to his bottle with a tight smile as you giggle. 

“Bet you’re proud of that one.”

“I am.” You poke his thigh, lying back down as his nostrils flare, and he gives you an odd look.

“You should write one.” He says suddenly. “We got a shit ton of paper. Sammy says they’re good for you to do. Reckon with your own mortality or something.”

You snort, fiddling with one of the stars. “Like you’ve ever reckoned with your mortality-“

“I’m serious,” he says, and when you look back up, he’s staring right into you. “It’s useful. Sammy’s usually out of his freakin’ mind, with that therapy bullshit, but-“ He sighs, tipping his head back to rest against the bed. “It’s not half bad.”

He glares at the ceiling, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying, and you take a risk. It won’t change anything. You’ve comforted him before, and he’s comforted you, so this won’t change anything.

“Dean.” You murmur, resting your hand on his thigh. “I believe you, I just- I don’t want that many things.”

“Everyone wants things.” He mutters, and you shake your head. 

“Not me.”

He finally looks at you, and that strange expression has returned. His eyes lock onto yours, and there seems to be a heaviness to him that you’ve never really seen before. You smile at him gently, and his lips only twitch. He’s looked at you like this before, as well. In the dead of night, when he woke up shouting and you were the only one who heard. 

But you’ve never seen it in the light before. 

And it’s the way he always looks at you, but more. His eyes are softer, but his jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried he’ll hurt himself. There are deep lines on his face that you want to trace with your fingers, and his lips are in a tight line you want to pry open with your tongue. 

“Nothin’ you want, huh.” his voice is deeper than only a moment before, almost a little hoarse.

You sigh, your eyes darting to your hand, still resting against him. “Nothing I can have.” 

He gives you a curious look. “What, going back to civilian life?”

“No. Never.” You bite on your inner cheek, playing with the fabric of his jeans. “You’re stuck with me, Winchester. Sorry.”

He lets out a low laugh, leaning back once more. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I think I’ll live.”

———

Dean taps on the top of your head, and you look up to find him grinning down at you, holding your book. 

“What-“

“I read it.” He stands a little taller, seeming to puff out his chest. “You were right, sweetheart, it’s pretty good.”

“It’s- The book?” You blink at him. “You read the book?”

“All of it. Except the acknowledgments.”

“Yeah, you don’t really have to read the acknowledgments-“ You shake your head, chewing on your tongue. “Why did you read the book.”

“I dunno. You,” he gently bops your head with the book. “Fell asleep early. And you didn’t stop reading it yesterday, so- I dunno. Wanted to see what the big deal was.”

You nod, watching him carefully. “And you liked it?”

“Sure.” He pauses. “Did you like it?”

“Yes.” You whisper, and you’re not sure why this is hitting you in the chest so hard. It’s just a book.

But he read it for you. 

And he’s been looking at you all week. Laughing with you. Not pushing you away or shutting you out when the conversations get too serious. Acting like you’re the only two people in the word, which is what it feels like. 

It’s just you and Dean. In this room, and—even though you know that it’s not true, that he’ll probably turn around and walk right into another bed when you’re free—in the whole fucking universe. 

It’s really impossible to think that none of this is about you, now. It probably isn’t, but playing pretend is getting easier and easier. You’re not getting sick of him. He’s not getting sick of you. 

And if you never had to leave, you might ask him. If he’s happy here with you, or just happy here. If he thinks he looks at you differently, if there was any truth to what the cowgirls said. 

If he really was never going to go home with them. 

What the hell he was going to tell you, at the bar.

If he can feel how humid it is, here. How outside, the storm is still raging, but in here your skin is hot and sweaty because Dean’s been pulling your legs over his lap when you’re on the couch. And the steam keeps following him out of the shower and into your dreams. 

Last night you had to take an emergency shower, because you’d had a fucking wet dream. It had been all hands and lips, everywhere over your body at once. Soft on sensitive skin and rough on your neck and tits and between your legs. You’ll woken up with your hair stuck to your brow, and your hips grinding into the mattress. Chasing release in nothing, until you’d scrambled into the bathroom, turned on the water, and finished where he wouldn’t hear you. 

Couldn’t hear you. 

Didn’t hear you. 

Dean couldn’t have heard you. If he had, he wouldn’t be looking at you right now. He’s been trying to let you down gently, instead of sitting right next to you. Waiting for your attention. Pressing his thigh into yours. 

Best friend. 

He’s comfortable with you because you’re his best friend. And you’re getting really, really bad at remembering that. 

But he’s really not making it easy. 

“You- Uh-“ He clears his throat. “You ever think about how Sammy’s doing?”

“Like- Emotionally?”

“No, like-“ Dean lets out a slow breath, watching you so carefully it feels like he’s pulling you apart. “With this life he’s got goin’ for himself. Less hunting, more time with the missus. Thinking about that white picket fence, payin’ taxes, apple pie shit. You ever think about that?” 

You swallow, and speak slowly. This sort of feels like a warzone. You don’t want to misstep. 

“Sometimes.” With you. “I- I mean, I have the dream.”

“The dream?”

You nod, and he frowns.

“I thought you didn’t want things.” 

“I don’t want things I can have.” You correct, and Dean raises his brows.

“It’s a dream, sweetheart. Doesn’t gotta be something you can have, think that’s the whole freakin’ point.” He pauses. “I’ve told you about my dreams.”

Fuck. 

“I- Don’t know.” Your gaze drops to your hands, but Dean’s gaze keeps searing over your skin. “It’s dumb.”

“Nah. You’re never dumb.”

Fuck. “Dean-“

“You don’t have to tell me.” He mutters, something oddly edged in his tone. “But I’m here. If you wanna-“

“I’d like it.” You cut him off softly, and he stills at your side. “What Sam’s doing. I mean- Not exactly that. But we- I would kind of want both, I think. Keep helping, even if it’s mostly research. Having something good, my way.” 

You give Dean a small, nervous smile, and his mouth is hanging open. He’s closer than he was, only a second ago. You could lean forward and bump your noses together, if you tried. 

And you want to. 

But Dean’s just staring at you, and your knees are starting to feel weak, despite sitting down. 

“Why isn’t that something you can have?” Dean’s voice is so low you can almost feel it in your chest, and he only seems to be getting closer. 

“Because there’s no one I can do that with.” You say, before you can think about it, and Dean’s jaw twitches. 

He’s so fucking close. You can really smell that pine tree wash. Your heartbeat is in your ears, along with a strange rattle that’s bouncing around your skull with every heated thought—his hand wandering up your leg and between your thighs, his body covering yourself, his lips wherever the hell he wants them, as long as it’s on your skin—and most of your brain is just a haze of Dean. 

But you can’t move first. Things can’t change, when this inevitably ends. 

The rattling sound is getting too loud to just be the hunger, bouncing around your ribs.

“The heater is making noise again.” You whisper, and Dean licks his lips, his voice still low and hoarse. 

“It’ll be fine,” he mutters. “You fixed it.”

That is not a good enough reason for it to be fine, no matter how confident and smooth Dean says it. Even if it ignites in your lower gut, and spreads humid between your thighs. “But-“

“You want dinner?”

You frown. “It’s my night-“

“It’s fine.” He moves to his feet suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh- Pasta. And those frozen meatballs, we haven’t used them yet.”

“At least let me help.” You try to stand up, but Dean just blocks you, shaking his head. “Dean-“

“I got it, baby. Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t argue with him after that. Not because he’s right—he’s not—but because you’ve forgotten how to walk. Or talk. Or do anything at all. 

Baby.

Dean called you baby. 

———

He doesn’t do it again. Not for the rest of the night, or in the morning. The next day is mostly spent making up a new card game, that’s mostly based on you and Dean yelling at each other, and trying to steal cards. At one point he tackles you, starting a mock wrestling match, and it’s like being tossed into a wildfire. You giggle too much. Give in too fast. 

Dean stands abruptly, and goes to the bathroom for twenty minutes after that. 

You don’t think that’s about you. Not when he immediately drags you to your feet and announces that he’s ready to learn how Zodiac signs work. If he was pissed at you—if something had changed—he wouldn’t be talking to you at all. But he doesn’t move from your side for the rest of the day.  

So the heat doesn’t die. 

Not until you crawl into bed, and the heater stops rattling.

Stops all together. 

And everything starts to freeze. 

For the first hour, you try to just bundle yourself as tight as you can, burrowing yourself in the blankets and curling up in a ball. But the temperature drops faster and faster, and these are motel sheets. Thinner than they should be, a little itchy, and not made to withstand the cold of a blizzard. Your fingertips start to go numb, and you can feel the cold almost in your bones, until you have to clench your jaw to stop your teeth from chattering. 

Dean’s snoring soundly, in his own bed. You don’t even think he’s realized how cold it’s gotten. 

But the man runs like a furnace. A warm, big furnace that could wrap around you, and make you warm, so fucking warm- 

You sit up, and stare at him in the dark. Just as handsome as always, with all the panes of his face cast in sharp long shadows that only make him more beautiful. You could easily lose yourself kissing along his jawline or running your finger through his hair. Sitting in his lap and pressing your face into his chest, just feeling him until the whole world is lighter.

And this isn’t about that. 

It can’t be. You roll out of bed—keeping the blankets wrapped around you—and this isn’t about how you’re in love with Dean. If it becomes that, you’ll spiral into what every single brush of his skin and breath means. You’ll stare at him all night instead of sleeping, and he’ll notice, and you’ll ruin everything. 

So it’s just about heat. 

You nudge his arm, and drop your voice to a loud whisper. “Dean.”

He grunts, and you sigh, poking him again. 

“Dean.” 

He rolls over, making a low sound like your name, and his hand rests over yours as his eyes flutter. He looks so comfortable. Peaceful. At complete ease, in a way you’ve almost never seen. 

It’s so fucking selfish to wake him up, just for you. 

But another chill runs through your body, and you don’t have another choice. 

“Dean.” You shove him gently, and he makes an adorable grumbling sound, slowly opening his eyes. 

“What- What’s’a matter.” He frowns around the dark, then up at you. His hand over yours tugs you a little closer.

It doesn’t mean anything. 

“I’m cold.” You whisper, he frowns, and this was stupid. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I just- I’ll go back to bed-“

“Wait, just-“ Dean pulls you back with a small yelp, and his hand rests over your brow. “Son of a bitch, sweetheart, you’re freezing.”

“I- I know.”

“Well, we gotta-“ He cuts himself off, scanning over you carefully as his nostrils flare. 

You just stare at him back, and whatever he can see on your face, it’s what he wants.

Dean gives you a tight nod, and throws open his blanket. “C’mere.”

“No- It’s okay- I’ll be fine-“

“You’re already not fine-“

“But you don’t have to-“Dean grunts your name, and it’s a good thing he can’t see the flush of your cheeks. “Get in the fuckin’ bed. Please.”

Please.

He did say please.

You crawl onto the mattress, and before you can build any sort of safety barrier between your bodies, Dean’s pulling you right into his chest. And that’s enough to make the heat spike and return, stronger than before. But then he bows his head so his lips brush over your hairline, and his hands dive just under your shirt to rub your skin, and his legs tangled with yours until all you can feel is Dean. 

Hot. 

So fucking hot, you’re worried you’re going to evaporate and turn into nothing but steam. 

“Relax.” He mutters, deep and right in your ear, and you almost go limp in his arms. “There you go. Warmer?”

You hum—speaking feels like a taller order right now—nodding against his shoulder, and Dean lets out a slow breath. 

“Good. Go to sleep, sweetheart, I’ll fix it for you in the morning.”

He’ll fix it. For you. Dean will fix it for you. 

That’s about you. 

And he’s fixing it now. But not in the way he probably thinks. 

You’re warm, but you can’t fall asleep. Also you can think about his Dean’s fingers, brushing over your spine and spending smaller, pleasurable shivers through your body. His knee is pressed far too close to the painful ache between your legs. His breath his fanning over your brow, and he’s wrapped an arm around you to pin you right against him. Every inch of your body feels alight, just in his presence. The heat between your legs is almost painful, and when you rub your thighs together, you can feel your arousal.

You’ve never been hotter in your life. You’re on fucking fire, trapped in Dean’s everything, and there’s no fucking way you’re going to do anything but memorize him. The way his body shifts, how it feels to be swimming in him, and the feel of his strength keeping you so tight. 

You can hear his heartbeat.

It’s faster than you thought it would be. 

And when you wiggle in his arms a little, trying to get more comfortable, his fingers curl on your back and he holds you tighter. 

“Don’t move.” He almost growls in your ear, and you swallow.

“Dean?” You whisper, and he grunts, the sound vibrating through your whole body. “My leg is falling asleep.”

He moves you without another word, but the friction just makes you hornier. And now his lips are pressed against your neck, making your core molten and forcing a soft, high sound from your throat. 

Dean tenses around you, immediately pulling away and readjusting you again, but you don’t get the chance to over think it. 

Because you feel it, first. 

His erect cock, pressed right over your pussy. 

You lean back to stare at him, your mouth hanging open, and Dean looks at you like he’s looking at the sun. His jaw is clenches, his features blown out with hunger, and his fingers on your spine have started a soft, slow dance that makes you arch into his touch. 

His eyes flick down to your lips, and then expression he gives you is almost pleading. His thumb traces over the shape of your lower lip as you try to remember how to speak, or move, or do anything. 

Then he mutters your name, dropping his brow against yours, and you grind fully into his knee. 

“God, fuckin’-“ Dean groans, his lips so close you can almost feel them. “Tell me I can, baby. Please. Let me- Fuck-“

You can’t remember how to speak. 

But Dean’s knee pressed right against your clit, and it jumpstarts your memory of how to move.

You grab his face, and slam your lips over his. He responds in a second, flipping you flat on your back and dropping his hips, keeping you pinned beneath him. He’s rough, hot and wet and desperate, with grabbing your jaw and angling it back, using his tongue and lips and teeth until you’re slack in his hands. 

He pulls back suddenly, examining you for a second before starting to kiss on your neck. Sucking small spots that feel like flares, sparking through your body and making you squirm with a desperation for more. 

“Dean-“ You gasp, tugging at his hair as you try to spread your legs. “I- I need- Dean-“

“I know.” He growls against you, his teeth grazing over a soft spot, and you arch off the bed with a high whine. His free hand finds its way between your legs, cupping your pussy over your clothing, and you gasp, wiggling until his palm is pressed against your clit. “Heard you callin’ for me last night, baby. Christ, you have no goddamn idea how much I- Fuck-“

You start to grind into him, and Dean rises over you, something like awe written all over his face. 

“That bad, huh.” He mutters, and you nod weakly. “You want me? Gonna let me warm you up?”

You don’t know why he’s doing this. Don’t know what it will bring in the morning. 

All you know right now is that Dean’s pulled your pants down, and is teasing your slit over your underwear with two broad fingers. That he’s above you, and looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

So you nod, letting your brain turn into only a fog of Dean and good, so fucking good.

And Dean grins. 

A sharp, almost predatory grin that makes your breath hitch in your throat, and your hips jolt as he flicks your clit. He gives you a deep, heavy kiss, pressing his tongue between your lips and down your throat, all while circling his thumb right around your clit, and you’re melted within seconds. 

“Can you say it?” He drawls, his lips still brushing right over yours, and you just blink at him through the daze. “Say it, baby. Tell me what you want.”

He rests his thumb right over your clit, his fingers playing with the wet spot on your panties, and you just manage to whine out what he wants to hear. 

“Touch me.” You gasp, and he chuckles, giving you a soft, rewarding kiss. 

“Good girl.” He hums, and you don’t even have time to register how that makes your moan before Dean’s moving. 

Your shirt gets pulled over your head, as he kisses down your neck and over your shoulders. Dean makes a small stop at your tits, taking one in his hand to palm and knead, the other being almost attacked by his mouth. Licking and sucking and kissing everywhere he can reach, before pulling your nipple between his teeth. He groans as you shiver and writhe below him, switching his attentions until you’re flushed and tugging at his hair, silently pleading for more.

He hums, kissing over the curve of your breast before continuing down. Under the covers where you can’t see him, making every single touch even more electric. Your eyes close as he gently works over your stomach abdomen, gasp when he nips at your inner thigh, and fist the sheets as you try to guess where he’s going to be next. 

Dean kisses your clit softly, over your panties, and he squeezes your ass as he slowly pulls your hips off the mattress. 

You hold your breath, when you feel the cool air hit your dripping cunt. 

And Dean doesn’t move right away. 

His breath is warm over your pussy, his stubble brushing sensitive skin as he kisses your thigh, but he’s not touching you. All you’re getting is his hands on your ass, the phantom feelings when he’d been before, and it’s starting to make you go cold again. He could not like what he sees. You might have pushed this—whatever the hell this is—too far, and he’s going to come up and tell you this was a mistake- 

Dean licks a rough stripe up your pussy, and you almost fly off the bed. His arm plants over your lower stomach, pinning you to the bed as he swirls his tongue around your clit, and pinches your ass gently. You flop back down with a deep breath, shooting a hand under the covers to tug at his hair—unsure if you’re trying to move him away or urge him on—and Dean moans against your pussy as he starts to eat you out like a man starved. Sucking your clit and rapidly flicking his tongue until you’re panting, before starting to lick your pussy as a feverish speed. 

You never know where he’s going to be next, and it’s driving you out of your mind. It doesn’t take long for you to feel that coil in your gut tightening, set to snap any second, and Dean seems to know that. His hand on your ass rolls and squeezes as he tongue fucks and licks you, his arms holding you firm against his mouth. Every yank of his hair only makes him groan, and the sound vibrates in your pussy, making your eyes roll back in your head. 

“Dean.” Your voice is high, almost whiny, and Dean hums. “Please, I- I’m going to-“

He presses his tongue flat over your clit, shoves two fingers into your pussy, starting to pump them at a brutal, rapid pace, and your mouth falls open as the heat flood through you. You see white, your thighs clenching around Dean’s head and toes curling as he eats you out through the orgasm. 

Dean gently pries your legs away, as you float back down, and presses an almost mockingly sweet kiss over your clit—making you shudder in his hands, and earning you a second one—before shuffling up your body. 

You stare at him, as he reappears from under the covers. His chin is shining with the wetness from your pussy, and you take a ragged breath as he wipes it with his thumb, and hold your gaze as he sucks it clean. 

“I-“ You take another breath, almost grabbing at the air to try and get him up, with you. “Dean, Dean-“

He crashes up, angling his lips over yours for a sloppy, open-mouth kiss, and you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair. You can taste yourself, on his tongue, and just like that you need more. 

You need to taste him. 

Dean pulls away first, resting his brow against yours with a wide grin. 

“Hi.” He mutters, and there’s something soft in his voice you didn’t expect. “Anyone ever told you how good you taste, sweetheart?”

You flush, fingers curling on the nape of his neck. “No.”

He hums, giving you another soft kiss on the nose. “Well, you do. Taste like fuckin’ heaven, make so many pretty sounds.” He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and grins when you squeak. “So sensitive, baby. Even better than I imagined.” 

You blink at him, your sex-addled brain not really able to understand what he meant by that, so you just say the only thing you can think of. 

“You’re really good at that.”

He gives you a look that’s awfully close to pride, and kisses up your neck, stopping to whisper in your ear. 

“Easy when I got such a pretty fuckin’ pussy to worship.”

You take a sharp breath, and Dean trades it with his own, almost pushing his tongue fully down your throat. He keeps kissing you like he’s trying to mark you, or maybe just fuse you together. 

You really wouldn’t mind that. 

But you have something else to do first. 

“Dean,” you whisper, and he pulls back with a tight expression. 

“What’s-“

“I wanna put it in my mouth.”

You say it fast, before you can lose confidence. Dean stares at you for a long beat after, his eyes dark and jaw clenched, and you suck on your lower lip, trying not to focus on how his cock is pressed against you. It feels thick. Big. You need it. 

“Please.” You add, and Dean’s eyes flash, his voice hoarse. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to-“

“I want to.” You manage to push up on your elbows, and Dean swallows. “Please, Dean, I- I want it so bad-“

He slams you back down into the bed with a kiss, and you grab his face between your hands. You want to feel him. Have this passion branded into you, until you can feel it forever. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing a softer kiss to the side of your mouth. “You wanna suck my cock, baby?”

You nod, and Dean hums, leaning back to give you an almost strict look, after. 

“I’m not comin’ in your mouth. If I finish, it’s in you.” He pauses, then adds. “Long as that’s- I don’t wanna make it something you gotta give me, just like- Head would be awesome-“

You rise up to meet him this time, hooking your arm fully around his neck and cutting him off with another kiss. 

“I’m on the pill.” You say, nipping at his lower lip. “And I- I’d like you to- Do that.”

Dean looks like he just won the lottery. You even get one last kiss, before he’s flipping you over and helping you settle between his legs. He is big. Mostly thick, but still big. And pretty.

You want to choke on him. 

Dean smirks at you as he lazily strokes himself. “Like what you’re looking at, sweetheart?”

Somehow, that gives you whatever little jump you needed to move. You roll your eyes, swat his hand away, and take him into your mouth in one, quick movement. Dean grabs your hair with a grunt, as his cock bumps against the back of your throat, and you take what you can’t fit in your free hand. It’s easy to set a pace, rubbing his cock as your tongue swirls and you suck him off like he’s candy. He’s heavy and perfect on your tongue, and even moan of your name only makes you speed up. You hum around him, grinding your hips into the sheets, and Dean makes the most animalistic sound you’ve ever heard. 

His hips jerk, making you gag, and he tries to pull back. 

You squeeze his leg, and go faster. Faster. He’s twitching in your mouth and saying your name like a prayer, and- 

Dean yanks you off with a grunt, and you giggle as he drags you up his chest, glaring at you with a lustful, dark expression. 

“You think this is funny, baby?” He mutters, and you smile at him, nodding. 

His lips twitch, and he reaches up to grab one of your breasts, smirking when your breath catches in your throat. 

“You want to fuck you?”

“Yes.” You whisper, and Dean hums. 

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

You nod, and Dean’s hand trails between your thighs, slowly circling your clit until you’re grinding on his abs, nails digging into his chest. 

“Felt how tight you were.” He says under his breath. “But you’re fucking soaked, sweetheart. Think you can take it?”

A whine leaves you, and Dean chuckles, the sound rolling through your cunt.

“Yeah. You can take it.”

He picks you up, and your mouth falls open as you’re driven slowly down onto his cock. The stretch burns, but it’s so good. Dean lets out a deep moan as he bottoms out, and he doesn’t waste any time. He guides you up and down, helping you bounce on his dick, and you try to roll to meet him but you’re alight, high on the feeling of him dragging every needy spot inside of you, gasping whenever he slams you down and you feel fuller than even in your life. Dean slams up to meet you, every time, and you arch in his hands, starting to set your own, desperate pace of grinding on his dick.

Dean groans, and he looks at you under hooded eyes, hands starting to roam and grope anywhere they can find. You roll your hips and he grabs your throat, hissing when you clench around him. Dean starts to jackhammer up into you, and you whimper as he hits impossibly deep, squeezing hard. He sits up, taking your breast back into his mouth, and you yank on his hair, trying to warn him that you’re close. You can’t remeber how to do anything but whimper his name, though, and he somehow understands. 

Dean sucks on your neck as he starts to tap on your clit, and you go slack in his arms, trying to fight it off. 

“Come on,” He growls, pressing down hard as he slams up. “Give it to me baby, fucking cum on my cock-“

You gasp, as your orgasm crashes into you. Stars dance behind your eyes as white-hot pleasure washes through your body, and Dean gives you one last, bruising kiss as he groans your name with his own release. It paints inside of you and sends you over the edge one last, shivering time, and you whine as he stills inside of you. 

And this doesn’t feel real. 

It’s the type of heat that feels like steam. Like a drug. As if, when Dean kisses your brow and pulls out, it could only be a dream. 

You’re too fucked out to think about it. You can only let Dean move you around—clean up, bathroom, back to bed—in a trace like state, before you’re tucked back into his chest. In his bed. 

Warm. 

You drift easily off into sleep with your body spent, and you’re so easily, happily, perfectly warm.

———

The world is slow, when you open your eyes. There’s a deep comfort you haven’t felt in a while, a comfortable warmth settled in your body—not wired, not goin to burn you, but just peaceful—and you take a deep breath, settling into the covers. 

Dean groans, and his lips brush over your ears. He shifts behind you, tugging a little tighter against his chest. 

You still. 

His chest. His arm, wrapped over your stomach. Because you slept with him. 

You fucking slept with him.

And he’s still here, in the morning. Still holding onto you. When you roll over, his features are relaxed, and his mouth is hanging open as he snores. His chest rumbles with each breath, and his fingers trail over your waist in his sleep, and you slept with him. 

You can’t stay here. In his arms. You don’t want to sit in it too long, let yourself get too high on the smell and feel of him around you, then have him wake up. Stare at you, then jump away. Tell you this was just a casual thing, you’d just been stuck together too long, and this doesn’t change that you’re just friends. You’ll have to pinch yourself, to stop from crying. And then the car ride back will suck, and Sam will come home and notice things are weird, and you’ll have to stop yourself from crying again.

It’s easier, if you just pretend nothing happened. Nothing will actually change. Your heart will remain in its fragile shape—made like glass, so fucking easy for Dean to shatter—and Dean won’t have to go to the trouble of rejecting you. 

So you, very slowly shift your way out of his arms. It takes longer than you thought it would. Dean keeps pulling you back, and grumbling in his sleep, and at one point his morning wood ends up pressed right against your bare ass, and you have to take about fifty deep breaths. 

But you manage. With a lot of help from the sheets, stuffed into his arms as you move away, you get out of the bed. 

Take a shower. Wrap yourself in blankets and layers, because the heater is still broken. Make coffee. 

Drift through the early morning, trying to think about anything but the thing. If you think about it, you’ll start crying all by yourself. 

And when you look out the door, it’s a small blessing. 

You won’t have to think about this at all. The storm has stopped. Someone cleared the roads, last night. 

You and Dean can leave. 

Dean groans your name, a few hours later, when he wakes up. Shoots upright with his gun, when he realizes you’re not in bed with him. 

“Over here.” You say, rubbing your hands against the quickly cooling coffee, and Dean grunts. 

His eyes still aren’t in total focus. He’s rubbing his face, his hair spiky and the sheets pooling around his lap. You have to stare at your coffee mug, because now all you can think about is how those abs had felt flexing under your fingers, how  his chest had looked above you, heaving as you sucked his cock- 

“What’re doin’ over there?” He mutters your name, and the heat isn’t need anymore. It’s prickling. Sore. You just want to leave this behind. To give him the out he’s probably looking for, and not think about how it’s not you. Dean doesn’t regret sex with you.

He just doesn’t want to do any sex that leads to expectations in the morning.

“It’s safe to drive.” You mutter, glaring at a carving of a flower Dean did on the table. It’s making you think about his hands. On your tits, holding your neck, inside of you. Focus. “Heater’s broken. We should probably go.”

Dean stares at you. You can feel it. And when you look up, there’s an expression you’ve never seen before. You don’t even know how to read it. His face is tight, but his brows are relaxed, and his mouth is open. It’s not even there long enough for you to analyze it. Dean just shakes his head, runs his hand through his hair, and stands up. 

You flush, biting your lip and looking back to the table. His cock is hanging between his legs, and you can still taste him, still feel him when you shift in the chair, and it’s going to maybe haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Right.” Dean mutters—not seeming to notice how you’re squirming in the chair—and you can see him pulling on his boxers in your periphery. “We should. I’ll start packing-“

“I already did everything.” You tilt your head to the couch, where you’d hauled the bags. “You just- Have the keys. And I need your help carrying them.”

He snorts, voice dry. “What, you gonna take off with the money?”

You frown at him. “We don’t have any money.”

“It’s- Never mind.” Dean shuffles to the bathroom. “Gonna take a leak. Get dressed. Then we’ll leave.”

You don’t know why he’s saying it like that. He wanted to leave. He wanted to beat the storm in the first place. And this has been perfect, this feeling of peace with him you haven’t known in years, but if you were still stuck here that would have to change. He wouldn’t have this clean, neat out. 

But it feels like he’s pissed at you. You’re not trying to talk to him, but he’s not trying to talk to you. Dean almost stomps out of the bathroom, grabs the bags, and hauls them outside without a glance in your direction. While you go to the front to turn in your key, he walks a pace behind you. When you grab a blanket from the trunk and slide into shotgun, he doesn’t tease you about being cold. 

Dean glances at you, his jaw ticks, and he starts the engine. It warms up quickly, but you can’t really feel it. Your fingers are still numb. Your heart feels like it’s going too fast and too slow, all at once. 

There’s only that hot, uncomfortable prickling sensation, and pure fucking cold.

Dean’s not moving at all. Not driving away, and leaving this all in the dust. He’s just drumming on the wheel, glaring out the windshield, and pressing his lips tight together.

He’s going to tell you no anyway. You did so much to avoid it, to get out before the change could sink and stick, but he’s just going to do it here-

“I just-“ He takes a long breath, and you swallow. “Before we go, you gotta tell me, sweetheart. Are we locking it?”

“Are we-“ You blink at him. “What.”

“Locking it.” He grunts, giving you firm, almost heavy look. “This. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Oh. 

You don’t want to lock it. You don’t want to trap it and push it down, because it’s just going to bubble up and you’re going to explode. 

But you don’t want things to change. 

“If that’s what you want.” You mumble, and Dean huffs a low, dry laugh. 

“Yeah. Alright.”

It doesn’t sound alright. He sounds pissed, and tired, and he’s still not looking at you, but he usually looks at you all the time. Maybe he’s never going to look at you again, maybe your friendship is going to melt away with the storm if you don’t-

“Is that what you want?”

You speak before you can think. But it gets Dean to look at you. 

Stare at you. 

With that same strange expression from before. Seeing it closer, for longer—his breathing heavier than it should be, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled—it looks almost broken. 

Almost as cold as you feel. 

And you shouldn’t speak again. You should just let it go. Speaking it will change everything, without any way to stop it. The water will run, and you’ll either be smoothed out and locked into the riverbed, or you’ll be swept away with the current. 

But everything has already changed. Dean’s never not looked at you for so long. You’ve never felt this hot discomfort around him. 

So you take the leap. 

“I- I don’t want it.” You whisper, and his jaw ticks. “I want it to be more. I want to go back to bed, and I want to wake up next to you, and I want you to pee with the door open and make up stupid games together and order me cherries- Everything else we’ve always done but you kiss me after. Like- I cut out paper stars and give them to you and you kiss me, and you take a shower, and I kiss you, and you keep making me breakfast but now it’s just me-“

“It’s always just you.” Dean grunts, and you blink. 

“What?”

“Breakfast.” He mutters, still staring at you. “I don’t really make Sam breakfast.”

Oh. “Oh.”

Your voice is barely a breath, and Dean chuckles. 

“Yeah, and, uh-“ He clears his throat, his ears going red again. “You’re the sex. The one I’ve kinda- Since I freakin’ met you, I- Yeah. So, guess I got two bucket lists this week.”

He gives you a small, crooked grin, and it’s like a spark in your chest. Warm. Bright. 

Maybe guiding you to something really, really good. 

“You know the bar we went to?” You say carefully, just because you have to be sure. “The girls who tried to flirt with you?”

“Not really.” Dean shrugs, and that just makes the spark start to catch fire. “What about them?”

“In the bathroom, I heard them talking, and-“ You give him a tight, nervous smile. “They thought you were my boyfriend. Because of how you look at me. Like you- As if you love me.”

You expect him to dismiss it. To say he has feelings you, but avoid the L word. To awkwardly tell you he just wants to keep having sex, and the cowgirls were just drunk. 

But he doesn’t. 

Dean just grins at you. 

The exact way he always has. 

“Y’know, Sammy says I do that.” He twists to fully face you, his fingers still drumming on the wheel. “Said it was obvious. So obvious I needed to man up and tell you out loud. But you never acted like you could see it, so I guessed he was just being a bitch. But I guess that’s kinda the only face I make, when I’m looking at you. Guess I can’t blame you for that one.”

He gives you a smaller grin, raising his brow, and you breathing heavy through your nose. 

Obvious. 

It’s been obvious. 

And he’s- He’s not say-

“Dean.” You whisper, leaning forward until your hand is braced on his knee. “Do you-“

“Yeah.” His voice is low, but not like it’s secret. Like he’s telling you something so critically important, it has to be said slow and deep, just to make sure you understand. “You?”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s jaw twitches, and his eyes flick down to your lips. “Can I kiss you, then? Whenever I want?”

You nod, and Dean crashes forward. It’s slow, this time. With music in your chest and a high feeling in your head, as Dean pulls you closer and hold your face like it’s something priceless. There’s no rush, to try and imprint yourself upon each other. You’re already molded into him, and he’s already branded all over you. 

And things have changed. 

But you’re never going to go back. 

End Note: Thank god for that snowstorm. I choose to believe Sam summoned it to trap them together.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[godmadeaterribleerror]

All The Time

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Endverse!Dean, love confessions, angst with a happy ending.

Summary/Warnings: Dean gets sent to the Endverse, and is forced to reckon with his feelings for you.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! We are not obeying the laws of time travel. It's okay. Normal Supernatural doesn't either.

Word Count: 9.3k

“Dean, go to bed.”

“I’m good.” Dean muttered, not looking up from the computer. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on your stitches.”

She sighed. “I’m fine-“

“You got shot.”

“I’m fine now.” He could hear the sweet smile in Her voice, the shifting of the sheets as She moved around on the bed. “I’m okay. I’m not on the brink of death, Dean, and you need rest as well- You literally just told Cas you had to sleep-“

“That was before I had to patch you up again.” He grunted, fingers curling on the keyboard. “I’ll be fine. Sleep, sweetheart.”

There was a long, heavy silence, and Dean could feel it in his chest. He wasn’t even really looking at anything on the computer screen. He just knew he couldn’t look at Her. 

If he did, he’d do whatever She wanted. She’d pout at him, say please, and Dean would jump off a goddamn cliff to make Her smile. 

And he didn’t make Her smile lately. And the end of the goddamn world would do that, but Dean felt like it was more than that. It was him, not deserving Her smile at all. She shouldn’t be here, with him, in some random vamp infested back road town. She should be safe at Bobby’s. Running around with Sam instead, because even if the kid had Lucifer hounding him to be a vessel, he wouldn’t be a dick to Her. And Dean would swear to Hell, up, and back again that he wasn’t trying to be a dick. None of this was Her fault. And She deserved pretty, soft things like ice cream and puppies and fancy clothing, blankets and pillows and late nights because She was lost in a sex-ridden haze, not because She’d gotten herself goddamn shot trying to cover Dean’s sorry ass. 

He wanted to be the one who gave those things to Her. He’d always wanted to be the guy who kicked off their shoes in a doorway—one of the nice ones normal people had, with a mat and a coat hanger and maybe a stupid fucking plant—and ran down the hall to grab Her, spin her around and kiss Her until she was dizzy.

But it couldn’t be. 

Dean wasn’t made for that kind of sweeter life. She was. She shouldn’t even be hunting at all, She was just goddamn stubborn and had a better knack for the lore than Sammy did.

He’d known, the very first moment they saved Her and she asked to come with them, that he should’ve put his foot down. He’d already been in love with Her, he’d been in stupid, pathetic, street dog love with Her since he stabbed the monster trying to take a bite out of Her, and She’d looked at him like he was some sort of hero. 

Dean wasn’t a hero. 

He wasn’t even a good man, who could bring himself to stay away from Her enough to avoid the gentle, song-like way She said his name or the lovestruck way she looked at him, like She really believed him in everything. If he was a good man, he’d figured out how to actually be an asshole to Her. Right now it was just keeping his distance so he didn’t grab Her and kiss Her until all he could taste was whatever that glossy stuff on Her lips was, instead of whiskey. 

Dean had tried being a full-on dick—She hadn’t been giving up on him fast enough, and the buffer of Sam was gone, so now he had to listen to Her shower every freakin’ day with no one there to stop him from getting a boner—but he just couldn’t. She was too good. Trying to insult Her was like shooting a baby fucking deer, and son of a bitch, he could barely think to raise the barrel of the gun. She’d do something that should annoy him, but it just made him love Her more. Nobody had ever cared how much Dean ate or slept before. He’d never cared what kind of shampoo he used, but his hair was softer now, and he liked the idea of Her smelling something and thinking of him too goddamn much. 

She’d if She could drive the Impala, and Dean had told her only if She beat him at pool. Then She’d goddamn hustled him, and he’d only felt like a teenager with a goddamn crush. 

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” he’d said Her name as they walked out of the bar, and She’d thrown him a smile that could probably make a demon fall in love. 

“That’s rude, Dean. Pool is just math, I can do math.”

He’d snorted. “You hate math.”

“I hate people making me do math. But I like winning. And I won.”

She’d beamed at him, and if he hadn’t been in love before, it had hit him like lighting there. If he’d spent the rest of his life getting hustled by Her, losing to Her at stupid game, and having to let Her drive Baby, he’d do it happily. At least, that night, he’d been able to keep his thigh pressed to Her’s as she drove. Been able to watch Her blush, every time he teased Her or ran his fingers a little higher up on Her thigh than they needed to be. 

He wasn’t a good man. He was taking things from Her he didn’t deserve, and he couldn’t ever off Her what she wanted in return. And Dean was stricter than he needed to be, but She never damn listened anyway. Whenever Dean used the stern voice on Her it just made her sit up a little taller, Her features blowing out with lust and eyes wide on his. 

There had been too many silent fantasies about just taking it. What She wanted to give him. Dragging Her up into a kiss, tossing her back on the bed, and making Her have all those blankets and pillows and dizzying feelings, in Dean’s arms. 

But it would never work. Dean didn’t even have a long term to think about. She did. And it didn’t matter how much he loved Her, no amount of adoration or devotion would ever make up for him robbing Her of a real, easy life. 

And She’d went and gotten Herself goddamn injured. Shot on a hunt, when Dean had told Her to stay in the car. 

Worst thing was, he would’ve been screwed if She had listened to him. He’d been too distracted thinking about Sammy and Michael and the Apocalypse, and he’d forgotten the fancy, dead man’s blood bullets Bobby had made them. He’d been cornered, She’d save his ass, and gotten stabbed right through the gut for it. 

Dean had carried Her back to the car, and stitched Her up. Kissed Her brow as She’d fallen asleep, and sat next to the bed until She’d woken up. 

He’d expected Her to go right back down, after. Dean had made Her drink water, take some pain meds, and then moved to the shitty laptop he’d been using for cases. 

But She’d just started reading. Then tried to get up to watch TV, and then gone to bathroom, and Dean wasn’t going to be able to relax until She went the hell to sleep. 

“Dean.” 

Her voice was so soft, and he felt sort of sick. If he could get it the hell together, She’d be peacefully asleep while Dean washed the blood off his hands and out of his hair. 

“What.” He sounded harsher than he wanted to be. “What’s wrong.” That sounded worse. 

“I can’t fall asleep.” She whispered, and Dean swallowed. 

He was looking at Her before he could stop himself.

And She was so goddamn beautiful. It wasn’t fair. Dean had seen hot chicks before, but it was always different, when it was Her. She looked like someone had taken the sun and the ocean and all the flowers in the universe, then turned them into a person. Like She’d been handcrafted, or grown from the earth. Maybe crashed down to earth like a comet, or walked out of sea foam. Dean had never understood stories about men going to war over beauty—in his experience, if men wanted to start a fight, they would—until he saw Her. 

Even in the long shadows and dim light of the motel room, She looked like a siren. Calling Dean to just give in, to give up on everything he’d been taught to do, and fall into something easy that he’d be doomed to break. 

She was pouting at him a little. Eyes hooded and glossy.

She was upset.

He felt fucking sick. 

“What do you need, sweetheart.”

That sounded better than before. Careful and kind, which wasn’t a gear Dean knew he had before Her. At least not one that had been able to breach the surface. 

Some part of him wondered if She even knew that. What She did to him. How Dean could feel sharp, jagged edged that he’d built up melt, just when She looked at him. 

She didn’t seem to. If She did, she’d just tell him to kiss Her, and he’d be more of a goner than he already was. 

“I-“ She shook Her head, eyes shining in the dark. “I don’t know, I just- The light.”

Dean frowned at Her. “The light?”

“From the computer.” She mumbled, looking down to Her hands. “It’s bright, Dean.”

He blinked at Her, then to the screen—it was pretty damn bright—and swore under his breath. “Fuckin’- I gotta keep reading-“

“You could read in the morning.” 

She had such an innocent expression, painted on Her features. Almost mockingly so. 

And She wasn’t an angel. She was too kind for that. But She didn’t seem to be above playing dirty fucking tricks that made Dean’s lips twitch, and his whole body feel sort of high. 

Dean drawled Her name, giving her a pointed look. “I’m not going to bed.”

She didn’t waver. “Please?”

“I-“

“Dean. Get in bed, or I’m not going to sleep.” She sat against the headboard, crossing Her arms over her chest with a glare. It pushed Her boobs up. Dean’s pants felt tight. “In solidarity.”

Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. This was the most frustrating part of the whole situation. She was all sweet smiles and teasing until they hit the end of the line, and She wasn’t pulling carefully at his strings. She was shoving him. No manipulation, nothing he had to decode or walk the line of. 

Just Her, telling Dean he needed to sleep.

And he did. He could feel the heaviness of his eyes, the soreness over his bones from exhaustion. But he knew how to push through it. That what Dad taught him to do, what he’d done so well, for so long. Sammy had never really questioned it, because that’s all he knew Dean to do. Sometimes he got a look from Bobby, or a passing comment about how Dean was gonna fall over, if he kept runnin’ without taking a breath, but it was never pushed. 

She pushed it. Pushed Dean. Right to his goddamn limits, and then a little past them.

And he couldn’t tell Her no. 

Dean closed the laptop with an annoyed glare, and She just smiled at him again. That fucking smile. 

He’d move the moon for it. Grab it out of the fuckin’ sky and put it wherever She decided it belonged. Christ, he fucking loved Her. It hit him square in the chest sometimes. 

How he could change in the bathroom, crawl into bed at Her side, and feel like he was floating when She rolled into his chest. They’d been sleeping like that, for a few months. She’d had a panic attack about Lucifer, Dean had comforted Her—and tried not to think about how perfectly their bodies fit together—and when She’d passed out, he hadn’t been able to make his hands let go. Then it had happened again. And again. And again. 

And now, they just slept like this. Every single time, it made Dean feel like he was shooting up with something stronger than a drug. That might just be the smell of Her, though. More powerful than an aphrodisiac, more intoxicating than a drink, more addictive than pills. 

It knocked the air out of him. 

He had to take a long, deep breath before he muttered Her name to the dark. 

She hummed in response, pressing Her face into his chest, and Dean ran his finger through Her hair. It was the least painful way to touch Her. The only one that made him feel close, without testing the boundaries of his self-control. 

“This better?” He meant to sound a little teasing. It just came out worried. 

“Mhm.”

It was all Dean got, before She was out. Settled in his arms, making soft sounds as She breathed, a hand splayed over Dean’s chest that felt like it was going to leave a brand. 

It kind of already had. 

And it was in the strange, peaceful feeling that only She seemed to know how to bring, that Dean fell asleep. 

——

Everything was cold, when he opened his eyes. The wind, biting at his skin when he could’ve sworn he’d closed the windows. The sheets, now feeling like thin tatters. 

The bed. 

There was nothing warm around him at all. 

She was gone. 

Dean sat up with a shout of Her name, and the room was destroyed. The paint was long peeled off the walls, the ceiling seeming to have caved in, all their bags overgrown with vines and covered in dirt. He roared Her name again—She was injured, she couldn’t have gotten that far—and was answered with only the howl of the wind. 

He reached for his gun, and found that gone as well. 

It didn’t really fucking matter. He’d make do without it. 

He kept calling for Her, as he found a rusted knife in the ruins of his bag. She needed to be okay. It didn’t that the world seemed to have suddenly ended, or that there were freakin’ zombies trying to kill him. She was the only good thing in the entire goddamn universe, and Dean had sworn that if he couldn’t bring himself to leave Her, he’d at least keep Her safe. 

Then he’d let Her get injured. Let his guard down. 

And fucking lost Her. 

Sam was never going to forgive him. Bobby was never going to forgive him. Goddamnit, Dean was going to drive into a fucking wall, because he’d never be able to look the fucking mirror again if She was just gone. He’d spend his whole life looking for Her random streets and in longer shadows, wondering if She’d just left or been taken. She had to have been taken. Dean didn’t have a clue how She’d been taken—he’d been holding Her—but She wouldn’t just leave him. 

Maybe She had, though. Maybe he’d pushed Her to that limit, and She’d realized Dean would never be able to be what she wanted. That being close to him was betting on a losing horse that would trample Her, even if he tried so hard not to. 

He still had to find Her. Just to know She was okay. She could curse his name, tell him She never wanted to speak to him again or call him any cruel name She could think of, but son of a bitch, Dean just needed to see Her.

And as he drove in a rusty, stolen piece of crap—away from the zombie hoards, because that felt like the best bet—there was something rotten, settling in the pit of his stomach and his heart. It was heavier than iron, hot like a toxin. 

What if he found Her, and it was just too goddamn late.

His grip on the wheel was painful. He couldn’t really try to work out what the fuck was going on, because all he could see was Her. Colorless. Limp in his arms, eyes glazed and milky, as She stared at nothing. Cold. She’d be so fucking cold-

“I thought you were a better driver than this, Dean.”

Dean’s head whipped to the side, and there he was. Balding, smug dick head. 

Fucking Zachariah. 

He yanked the car off to the side of the road, reaching into his jacket, and-

“No.” Zachariah waved his hand, and Dean’s knife vanished before he could drive it into the douchebag’s eyeball. “That’s not playing very nice. I’m just here to talk-“

“I got nothin’ to say to you.” Dean hissed, hands curling into fists. “Until you tell me where the hell my girl is.”

“Your-“ Zachariah frowned, tilting his head. “You don’t have a girl. Isn’t that part of the annoying, brooding thing you have going? You’re a lone wolf, no silly emotions for Dean Winchester, they only slow him down from Daddy’s revenge quest.”

Dean scowled, grunted Her name, and Zachariah had the nerve to goddamn laugh.

“Oh, of course. I don’t know, I guess I was under the impression humans had to have conversations about that kind of thing. Maybe actually sleep together, before they went around making claims-“

“Zachariah.” Dean scanned around the car, his eyes landing on a splintering wooden club in the back seat. That could work. “If you don’t tell me where the hell you took her, we’re gonna get ugly.”

Zachariah just sighed. “That’s really all you care about? Not the end of the world? After I spent so much time setting this up for- Dean.” 

The wooden club vanished as well, right as Dean reached for it.

“Stop doing that, it’s insufferable-“

“Stop being a cryptic fuckin’ bird-dick and tell me where the hell you took her.”

Dean held Zachariah’s glare, and Zachariah let out an exasperated breath, leaning back in his seat. 

“Just to make you focus, she’s fine. I took her out of the picture for now, because she’d slow you down with her injury. I’ll give her back once you focus, and see the state of the world if you continue to be a child, and deny your purpose.”

“My- You mean being Michael’s meat-suit?”

“Yes.” Zachariah paused. “If you agree now, I’ll give her back.”

Dean was going to break his own jaw. He couldn’t say yes. She wouldn’t want him to say yes. 

But fuck him, he thought about it. Really damn considered it. 

“Or, how about this.” Zachariah drawled, grinning like a snake. “I’ll give her back anyway, but the state she’s in is going to depend on how much you actually pay attention.”

“Attention-“

“To this world. Where you say no to Michael, and everyone dies. Take a day, Dean. With good behavior, she comes back. Keep it up, and I won’t touch your girl again. Get distracted, I take her and you- Well, you never see her again. Deal?”

That wasn’t a deal. Dean wanted Her back goddamn now, and if Zachariah laid one slimly finger on Her, angel or not, Dean was gonna figure out how to mobilize a zombie hoard against an angel. 

But he didn’t get to tell Zachariah that, or even just straight punch him, before the asshole vanished. 

Focus. 

To get Her back, Dean had to focus. 

He didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to do that, when She was missing. But he had to. For Her. 

Zachariah wanted him to see the future, he’d see it.

It looked like fucking shit. 

The day long drive to Bobby’s only made that rotten feeling spread. Dean passed gas stations with shattered glass, long zombies wandering the highways, and road so overgrown he had to back up and find a different route. If Zachariah had dropped Her in the middle of nowhere, She wouldn’t survive. Not with Her injury, not without Dean there to protect Her. She could hold Her own in a fight, but she wasn’t a hunter. She didn’t deserve this. Dean had put Her in this fucking situation, and now he couldn’t even do a fucking thing to save Her. 

He needed Her back. 

After he got Her, he was going to have to figure out how to live without Her. He couldn’t put Her in danger like this again. If Zachariah knew about his feelings, Lucifer probably did as well. 

And it was going to split him in half, to finally push Her fully away. It was going to make him taste bile, and this cold feeling over his skin was going to be more than sweat and dread. It might be permanent. 

But She’d be safe. She’d get over him—even if Dean never got over Her—and have the simple, happy life She deserved. And never one where She got stuck in a world like this.

Even Bobby’s place was wrecked. Overgrown, with a strange sign planted at the entrance, a photo of Dean and Cas—but no Her, no Sammy—next to it. Baby was scraped, in the yard. 

Someone dealt a heavy blow to Dean’s skull, and everything went dark. 

——

His head was goddamn pounding.

Dean groaned Her name before he could stop himself, but it was the only word he could think of over the pain. He didn’t know if it counted as being distracted, to get fucking jumped, but Zachariah didn’t like playing clean games. He might have just doomed Her. 

He yanked his hand, trying to move to his feet—he could salvage this, he could find Her—but was met with a scrape of metal against his skin. 

Handcuffs. He was fucking handcuffed. 

Dean blinked against the harsh light—not that bright, but enough to give him a pretty strong migraine—and squinted around the room. All old looking wood, worn blankets, and- 

Himself. 

Glaring at him, aiming a shotgun right at Dean’s chest. 

“Fuck.” Dean muttered, and other Dean—hair a little shorter than his own, a few scars Dean knew he didn’t have yet on his hands—narrowed his eyes. 

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, buddy.” The mirror image grunted, and Dean could hear the safety of the gun click off. “But you’re gonna tell me what kinda game you playing, or I’m gonna waste you into a shape neither of us will look pretty in.”

Dean swallowed, raising his hands in surrender. He didn’t have the upper hand here. 

And he needed to stay on track. 

The future. He was in the future. 

That was just future him. Dean could get himself to listen.

Not really. And not in personal experience. But he had to try, or Zachariah might call game over on the only thing that was keeping him going. 

“I’m you.” Dean said carefully, and Other Dean didn’t look all that impressed. “From the past.”

“Sure.” Other Dean gave him a mocking smile. “Me from the past, poking around my car, holding all my weapons, callin’ for my-“ He cut himself off, his face twisting into something like pain. “I’m not buying it. I’ve seen motel pornos with more convincing plots.”

“Really.” Dean raised his brows. “Cause we’ve seen all the same pornos, man, and I’ll telling you I’m- Hey-“

The gun was aimed right for his head now. If he got himself ganked, She definitely wouldn’t be safe. 

“Start talking.” Other Dean muttered. “Now.”

Dean took a slow breath. “I am talking. I’m you, from 2009, and I’m just trying to-“ He said Her name, leaning forward. There was no way he’d ever be able to forget about Her, even after She—inevitably—left him. “I need to get her, and then get the hell home. That’s all I’m after. Swear it on Baby.”

Other Dean was just staring at him. And there it was again. That strange pain.

“What-“

“The hell did you just say.” Other Dean’s voice was almost a growl as he said Her name. “What’d you mean get her, did you goddamn lose her-“

“No.” Dean scowled. He hadn’t lost Her. He’d damn near run through a zombie hoard, just trying to find her. “Zachariah grabbed her, when he zapped me here. I don’t get her back until I play his little game for a day, and- Shit, what time is it-“

“Don’t know. Watches all died ‘bout four years ago.” Other Dean leaned forward, the gun lowering slightly. “And you know what, I don’t think you’re me.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Y’know, I can only say it so many times before you gotta believe me-“

“I don’t gotta believe you.” Other Dean spat. “You’re running around here, wearing my face, coming up with stories about my-“ Something flashed over Other Dean’s face as he shook his head, cutting himself off with Her name. “I’m not messing around with this. Keep her fucking name out of your mouth and tell me the truth.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “That is the truth, you fuckin’ dick-“

“The hell it is-“

The door banged open, and Chuck—even more ragged than the last time Dean saw him—burst into the room.

“Chief, we-“ Chuck’s eyes landed on Dean, and widened. “Oh. What?”

“Don’t look at him.” Other Dean grunted, pushing to his feet. “What’s going on that so damn urgent that you’re breakin’ doors.”

“I- Uh-“ Chuck swallowed, glancing back to Dean. 

That was the nervous, twitchy face Chuck got when he had to tell someone something important. 

Something was wrong. 

“Chuck.” Other Dean grunted. “What-“

“Who’s he?” Chuck pointed to Dean, and Dean gave him a bored smirk, trying to hide the vile feeling rising up his throat. 

“I’m the original version of this asshole.” He nodded to Other Dean. “You’re still kicking in the apocalypse, Chuck?”

“Yeah, uh, sorta, I guess-“

“Chuck.”

“Sorry.” Chuck looked back to Other Dean, a frantic expression returning to his face. “I don’t if it’s because of this,” he nodded to Dean. “But- You need to see this, Dean. Now.”

“See what.”

“See-“

Other Dean glared at Dean as they spoke over each other, and he didn’t really care anymore. The cuff was starting to bite at his skin, but he’d yank it out or chop off his arm. He had a horrible feeling for what they had found, and he couldn’t just be fucking trapped here.

Chuck said Her name, looking between the Dean’s nervously, and Dean knew that expression on his own face. It was another one of those things only She had ever been able to pull from him, right to the surface. 

Pure fucking fear.

Other Dean grabbed his gun, and almost sprinted out the door. 

“Hey- Chuck, Chuck-“ Dean roared, and Chuck froze in the doorway. “C’mon, man, get me out of these things.”

Chuck shook his head, turning slowly. “No, you- Dean put you in them, I’m sure he has a reason-“

“He’s a paranoid dick.” Dean snapped. “I know me, and I’m not letting me out of these things until I’ve turned me inside out. And I don’t got the time to wait for that, Chuck, so let me out.”

“I- I don’t-“

Dean said Her name through his teeth. “You found her, right? Injured. She’s mine, from my time-“

“I know that.” Chuck muttered, and Dean’s blood turned cold. “She- can’t be ours.”

There was that same thing on Chuck’s face, that had been on Other Dean’s. A little lighter, but similar. 

It felt like there was a ton of iron, pressing down on Dean’s chest. It was hard to breathe. He knew what that look was. He’d seen it his whole life, but never quite as heavy as when it had been on Other Dean’s face. 

Grief. Cold, unyielding, endless grief.

“Chuck.” Dean muttered, pushing past the lump forming in his throat. She needed him. “You know how she sees things. She’s been trapped with Zachariah, she’ll realize that the Dean with her isn’t me, and she’ll freak out. I- I need to be there for her.” His voice cracked slightly, as he pulled at the handcuffs. “Fuck if you were ever my friend, if you ever cared about her. Let me out. Please.”

Chuck stared at him, his voice soft when he broke the silence. “You can’t tell- You. That I let you go.”

“I won’t. I swear to Christ, if you do this for me-“

“I’m not doing it for you.” Chuck muttered, shuffling across the room. “You never saw how scary she’d get, when we lost track of you.” The handcuff clicked. “Go.”

Dean didn’t wait to be told twice. He jumped to his feet, gave Chuck a tight nod, and sprinted out the door.

There was a second where he realized he didn’t know where the hell he was going. Dean stumbled slightly, spinning in a circle, and all the other people—all with faces Dean didn’t recognize, but were gaping at him—kept looking down one of the dirt roads. Seemed like a good place to start. 

He took off, not bothering to look when people shouted his name. They weren’t looking for Dean. They were looking for Other Dean.

Who Dean seemed to be faster than. Maybe it was apocalypse malnutrition. Maybe it was the fact that when someone tried to grab him, Dean punched them square in the face. It didn’t really matter. 

Dean had caught up to himself. And Other Dean was frozen in the middle of the street, gaze locked ahead. 

On Her. 

She didn’t look good. Hair tangled and eyes wide, calling out for Dean as she scanned over the small, gathered crowd. If this was Dean’s reward for good behavior, Zachariah should count himself one lucky son of a bitch that—save for the dark stain on Her shirt that didn’t seem to be spreading—She seemed physically fine, if not sorta freaked out. 

There were a few people helping Her walk, and most of them had their gazes trained on Other Dean. Nobody had seen Dean himself yet. 

Including Her. 

She looked at Other Dean, and started to cry, screaming for him in a way Dean had never heard. It was almost pleading, a guttural, desperate sound that made Dean’s heart feel like it was howling. Roaring with all the blood running to his ears, his body almost kickstarted to move for Her. 

It seemed to have that effect on Other Dean, as well. 

Whatever had him paralyzed vanished, and Other Dean bolted for Her so fast he became mostly a blur. The other people around Her drew back as Other Dean reached Her, scooping Her into his arms and almost lifting Her off the ground. 

Dean could see it. The almost shellshocked expression on Other Dean’s. It was the grief, combined with something awestruck. Other Dean’s fingers curled on Her back, and he turned his face to bury in Her neck, and Dean couldn’t count how many times he’d wanted to do that. He wouldn’t be able to, after he made Her leave. And that just made the pain strike him all over again. 

But Other Dean didn’t seem to care about getting Her as far away as possible, the only place she’d be safe. Other Dean was grabbing Her like she was a cloud that could vanish at any moment. 

Other Dean looked like he was going to lose it, as he drew back and took Her face between his hands. Dean couldn’t see Her face, but it still sounded like She was crying. Her legs were shaking too much. There had still been that dark stain—Her stitches had gotten fucked, they needed attention—and Dean needed to see Her, hold Her, touch Her for as often as he could, before he had to lose Her. 

Dean started to move for Her, right at the exact same second that Other Dean slammed his lips over Her’s. 

He was kissing Her. Other Dean was kissing Her, and holding Her, and Dean knew himself. He knew that he’d always wanted to place his hand on Her lower back, and cradle the back of Her neck. That he’d dreamed about kissing Her until she was leaning back slightly, and Dean could taste every sweet sound and gasp She made. 

Dean knew that he never deserved to kiss Her. He knew that Other Dean was kissing Her like he’d done all those fantasies a million times before. 

And he knew, as he stomped across the yard, that She was kissing Other Dean back. 

He was jealous of himself. Dean could recognize that. Her fingers were grabbing at Other Dean’s shirt, and when Other Dean grabbed Her leg to hike over his waist, She let him. And Dean goddamn hated that he got to hold Her like that, and that he seemed to have done it before, and that She was kissing him back when Dean was right goddamn over here.

His was marching before he could stop himself. His fist was curling, eyes narrowing, and god fucking damnit it, he was about to do something idiotic. But he didn’t have it in himself to care right now. 

She leaned back from Other Dean with a soft gasp, and Dean shouted Her name. She turned away from Other Dean with an adorably confused look that turned into an open mouth, pushed towards him, and passed right out in his arms. 

Other Dean scowled, as Dean pulled Her carefully up into his arms. 

“How the hell did you-“

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean grunted, looking down to Her, slumped peacefully in his arms. “You got a lot of fuckin’ explaining to do.”

Other Dean sighed, never looking away from. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

——————

Everything is sort of spinning. There’s a high ringing in your ears, as you squint against the lights, and you mouth is dry enough to make your breath feel sticky.

Something happened. This isn’t the motel room you’d passed out in. 

Dean isn’t next to you. 

Something’s wrong.

He’s always next to you, when you wake up. He plays with your hair and kisses the top of your head, until you make a small, warning sound and he pulls away. It’s the only time he really touches you. 

When he thinks you won’t know. 

But he’s always there. You always wake up, and it’s Dean turn to pretend to be asleep.

He’s bad at it. When he is sleeping he snores, and his hand wanders down to rest on your lower back, and he turns his face to press against your forehead. The mock sleep is stiff, his hand innocently between your shoulder blades, his head angled back as if he’s trying to get as far away as possible from your body. 

And now he’s not here.

It’s impossible to sit up. Your muscles feel like they’re jelly, and your bones made of titanium. Even as you try to think back to what happened—you’re not in the motel at all, the sheets are even thinner, and the mattress feels like it's the softest rock in the quarry—you’re met by a harsh stinging feeling behind your eyes.

You’d fallen asleep. You remember that. You’d bullied Dean into getting in bed, and passed out. 

Then you’d woken up. Before this. In a pretty, shining room, on a long couch with fancy, ugly patterns. And when you’d tried to move, you’d been kicked back down. 

Zachariah. 

You’d been with Zachariah, and he’d reopened your stitches—just enough to slow everyone down, gorgeous—and you’d passed out again. Woken up in the woods. Called for Dean, because that’s all you could ever think to do. 

And he’d found you. 

Kissed you. 

Dean had kissed you.

He’d kissed you, with all the fervor and hunger you’d always dreamed about. He’d pushed his tongue down your throat, almost pulled you off to ground to get you closer, and picked up your leg the exact way you’d fantasized about, on so many late nights and longer showers. He’d even made the low sound you’ve heard from his throat while he slept. 

The deep moan that had always sort of sounded like your name, but you’d never been brave enough to ask. 

Knowing that Dean felt something had always been enough. You didn’t really care if he never acted on it. You might die lonely, and spend the rest of your life wasted on thinking about a man who you could never have, but at least you’d be wasting it in his presence. Under the sunlight that Dean always just seemed to emit, even if it was wrathful, burning flame or the flickering of a dying star. Sometimes he’d shine it just on you, and you’d never be able to ask for anything more. 

You know Dean. You know that if he ever did just let you love him, it would take a long time to convince him that was allowed.  

But he’d just kissed you. In the middle of the street, surrounded by strange people who’d all seemed to know you. You’d always thought that if it did happen, it would be behind a door—something quiet and sacred—but this Dean hadn’t seemed to care about privacy.

This Dean. 

There had been another Dean. Right before you’d passed out, you’d seen a second Dean. First Dean.

The Dean that hadn’t kissed you had shorted hair, and a slightly softer face, and had been wearing the jacket he’d given you the night before everything, when you’d gotten cold. That had been your Dean. 

Which meant Second Dean had been the one to kiss you. 

And you really don’t know what the fuck is happening. 

“She stable, doc?” 

You force your breath not to hitch. That’s Dean’s voice. You’re not sure which one though. Not yet. 

“She is. I recommend a week of bed rest, though. And when you get back you, ah- Your time. Maybe make sure ours hold.”

There’s a low grunt, and a big, warm hand brushes over your brow. Tucking hair behind your ear before a thumb traces over your lower lip. It’s a light, careful touch. Probably First Dean. Your Dean. Second Dean had kissed you like he’d already studied it before, and knew he was an expert.

Your time.

Zachariah. He’d said something about 2014. Which means Second Dean is Future Dean. And he’d kisses you. Looked at you like he’d seen more than a ghost. Ghosts were normal, in your line of work. 

Future Dean had looked at you like he’d seen a unicorn. 

That couldn’t mean anything good.

“You gonna start talking, man?” One of the Dean’s—you think it’s yours—mutters, and there’s a sigh from the opposite side of your bed.

“The hell do you want to know. I already told you about Lucifer’s endgame, told you how we’ve been running shit since the end of the fuckin’ world-“

Your Dean snaps your name, his hand resting fully on your face. “You goddamn kissed her.”

There’s a pause, then a gruff, “Yeah, well, one of us has to.”

“Fuck does that mean-“

“Means I’ve kissed her a lot before. And she hasn’t kissed me like that since 2009. Like she thinks I’m fuckin’ with her. Which means the version of me Zach sent up is the one that’s still being a goddamn idiot.”

You can hear the scowl in Your Dean’s voice. “Watch it, buddy-“

“Watch what.” Future Dean scoffs. “You’re the one saying I’m you. And I’m telling you, I remember this part, and goddamnit if I could go back and get over myself sooner, I’d trade fucking anything to do it.”

“You-“

“Let me guess.” Future Dean raises his voice slightly, something dry and heavy in his tone. “You’re sharing a bed every night, you never let her out of your sight, and you’ve stopped sleeping around because just touching anther chick feels like you’re betraying her. You jerk off thinking of her in the shower and you only got one dream, now. It’s the one where you come home and kick off your shoes, and she runs at you, and you pick her up and spin her around like a movie. Sometimes you end up against a wall, sometimes you got a bed, but it’s always her. You never want it to be anyone but her.” Future Dean’s voice cracks. “It could never be anyone but her.”

There’s a long silence, and you should probably let them know that you’re awake. It feels like you’re invading Dean’s thoughts. 

But they’re talking again, before you can pretend to wake up. 

“Where is she?” Your Dean mutters. “You get her out, before everything hit the shit fan?”

Future Dean lets out a dry laugh. “Nah. Trust me, I tried, but she didn’t have it. Kept yelling about how I made a vow, and if she’s escaping, I’m going too. Then pointed out that there was nowhere safe, not with Lucifer calling the shots, and told me that the only place she felt safe was with me.”

It’s hard to keep playing asleep. You’ve had all those thoughts. You pretend you don’t notice it—when Dean’s trying to push you away—because if he thinks you’re safer without him he’s wrong. 

But-

“Vow?” Your Dean’s voice soft, and Future Dean chuckles. 

“Yeah. What, you’re in October? In one month you’re gonna get injured, be out of commission for about a week. You’re gonna be a dick about it, too. Don’t know how she ever forgave me for that, but she did. Never left, even when I downright begged her to. Told me that it was rude to her, to think she was stupid enough to fall for someone as hard as she fell for me, and not think that she knew what she was doing. You get your shit together, after that. Never get to do much of the normal dating, but she doesn’t really care about that. Tells you she’s just happy she gets to have you, and you’re never gonna get why, but that’s the deal.”

“Deal?”

“You make her happy.” Future Dean mutters. “Happier than anyone. And you get to have her. She realizes that the world is hitting endgame before you do. Makes you get married.”

Your Dean coughs. “Sorry- We-“

“Married. I still got the stupid paper. Don’t wear the ring when I’m out, though. Things get hairy, don’t want to lose it. But everyone in camp knows where it is. Cas knows that if I go out, they better put it back on me burn they burn me.” Future Dean’s voice drops as he mutters your name. “It’s what they did for her.”

There’s another silence, and Your Dean doesn’t need to specify what happened to Future You. He doesn’t have to. It’s written under every other word Future Dean says. 

“How-“

“Lucifer.” Future Dean mutters. “He knew about it all. Had been gunning after her from the start. I left for one fuckin’- Was only a night. Didn’t think he’d get bold enough to break right in, but it was only to get her. Got back, she was gone. Found her few weeks later. She- She’d been-“ 

Future Dean cuts himself off, and you’re grateful for it. You really don’t want to hear the detailed specifics, of how you’re doomed to die in the future. And from the way Your Dean’s palm has gone clammy on your brow, he doesn’t either. 

“Don’t let her go.” Future Dean grunts, and you can hear the frown in your Dean’s voice. 

“I-“

“You’re me from the past. And I don’t give a shit about time travel rules or whatever, never let her go. You think you love her now, when you’re keeping her arms distance, but son of a bitch, it gets bigger. Gets so much goddamn bigger, once you’re lovin’ her for real. Then it just leaves a fucking- A goddamn hole- Don’t.” Future Dean’s words are firm, almost desperate. “Let the world go to shit if you have to, but don’t. Don’t let her go.”

Your Dean’s fingers tangle gently in your hair and—even if he doesn’t know you’re awake—you lean into his touch.

“I won’t.” Your Dean grunts. “Sorry, man. About- Yours.”

Future Dean only grunts, and they both fall into a last, long silence. After what might be no time, or what might be forever, someone is calling for Future Dean, and there’s a scrape of the chair as he stands. 

“You coming with us?”

“Gotta.” Your Dean mutters. “Zachariah takes her back, if I don’t keep playing his stupid game. Just- Gimme a minute.” There’s a beat. “You can. I won’t deck you.”

Your Dean’s hand draws away, and it replaced by a new one. This one is someone rougher, with more callouses and tiny scars, but the touch is more delicate than Your Dean’s. Future Dean is touching you like he thinks you’re made of glass, and you’re going to shatter at the slightest wrong move. 

He kisses your brow the same way, lingering there until it builds to a buzzing hear, and feels like you’re branded. Something wet is falling onto your face, and when it slips between your lips it’s salty. 

Tears. 

Future Dean wipes them away, after he moves back. You want to reach for him. Comfort him. He’s not Your Dean, but he is a Dean, and that’s enough for it to rip into your hear that he’s hurting. But before you can he’s pulling his hand away so fast you’re certain he yanked it, and walking away without a word. 

Your Dean clears his throat, his hand returning to your cheek. 

“I know you’re up, sweetheart.”

Shit. 

You turn your head as you open your eyes, and Your Dean is giving you a small, amused smile. 

“No, I’m not.” You whisper, and he laughs. 

“I saw your hand, when future me started crying. You kinda looked like you were gonna grab him.” Dean sighs, watching you carefully. “How much did you hear?”

“All of it.” You mumble. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I just-“ He runs his hand over his face. “I gotta go, sweetheart. Zachariah says I need to play this out another day, or he takes you again. I’ll be back for you. Swear it.”

You nod weakly, catching his hand before he stands up, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“I- Future me- The things she said-“ You cough, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “You know I think the same things, right?”

Dean’s throat bobs, and he gives you a tiny nod. 

“What about-“ You try to lean up, but your body still doesn’t really remember how to move. “What future you said-“

“He’s right.” Dean cuts you off quickly, voice low. “I- Yeah. Nothin’ he said was a lie.”

“So are you going to stop trying to make me leave?”

Something flashes across his face. “I-“

“Dean. You heard him-“

“Yeah, I know. Just-“

“We’ll work it out when I get back, baby.” He grunts, pushing to his feet. You don’t have the strength to pull him back down.

“Dean, please- I-“ You’re starting to choke on your own tears. You don’t want him to go. You know him. You know that he’s probably blaming himself for all of this, and you need to know he really got what his future self was trying to tell him. “Don’t try to get me to go, it won’t-“

“Work.” He finishes for you, shaking his head. “I heard, Sweetheart. I just gotta go.”

He didn’t understand. “Don’t-“

Your words die peacefully, as Dean leans down and kisses you. 

It’s different than Future Dean’s kiss, but not by much. It’s a little more careful with his mouth—only tracing his tongue over your lips and bumping your nose slightly—but firmer with his hands. One cradles the back of your head as the other holds your hips, both of them strong grips, like he’s trying to fuse himself to your body. When you let out a soft gasp, he pushes his tongue a little further, his hands starting to rub slow circles. He doesn’t taste like anything you can place, but it doesn’t matter, because he tastes like Dean. Whatever sharp, earth and salty thing is on your tongue is Dean, and it’s easy to get intoxicated by it. 

When he draws away—moving back for one, softer kiss before drawing away entirely—you’re stuck in a soft daze, and all you can really do is grab his wrist and try to keep him with you. 

“I’ll see you soon, baby.” He mutters, a low grunt leaving him when you kiss the pad of his thumb, tracing over your lips. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You’re too tired to protest, as he walks away. And sleep is starting to catch you again. 

Keep you safe could mean too many things. 

Thankfully, your brain doesn’t get to spiral around them before the world goes dark, the taste of Dean still on your tongue. 

———

The light is softer this time. Filtering through the windows of the bedroom, wind howling outside the window. 

Bedroom.

Not a medical tent. You’re in a bedroom. On a bed. 

All it takes is sitting up to know that you’re back at Bobby’s. Back in your time, away from the dead apocalyptic world, away from Zachariah. You must have slept through the rest of the time.

But Dean isn’t here. 

Dean isn’t here.

You shoot to your feet, ignoring the stab of pain through your gut as the stitches strain. Dean. It doesn’t matter what type of pain you’re in, you need to find Dean. 

He’s supposed to be back. He’d said he’d see you soon, he said he’d come back, then he’d just walked away and maybe he’s stuck there. Maybe you’re back but he’s gone, and then you’ll need to find a way back because you’d been fine not being allowed to have him, but at least he’d fucking been here.

So he needs to come back.

Bobby shouts your name as you sprint down the stairs. “The hell did you come from-“

“I- Don’t know- Dean.” You lean against the wall, taking a long breath. No running with stitches. “Bobby, where’s Dean-“

“He was with you.” Bobby frowns at you, wheeling forward. “What happened to y’all that got you screamin’ and him missing-“

“I’ll explain, just phone. I need a phone-“

It takes Bobby ten minutes to convince you to sit down, and another fifty to get you to stop spamming Dean’s phone when he’s not picking up. You break down—you think, the whole after noon is a whole daze of crying and trying to explain what happened without sounding insane—and build up again, and again, and again, until you’ve tired yourself out. 

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Bobby mutters, awkwardly rubbing your back as you bury your face in your arms. “You know Dean, always gettin’ back up. ’Sides, the angels need him. The ain’t just stranding him in the future with no backup.”

You hum, squeeze your eyes shut, and the hour turns into heavy, exhausted silence. 

There’s no way to tell how long it lasts. 

You know it ends when Bobby shouts from the living room, and something hits the ground with a loud thud.

“Son of a bitch- The hell are you just throwing bricks for-“

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you, Dean, poppin’ up like that-“

“That is not Dean’s fault, I landed improperly. However, I was being rush-“

“It’s an emergency, Cas, you- I don’t got time for this-“ Dean says your name, and your body remembers how to move. To go to him.

He’s back. He’s back.

“Where is she?” He’s spinning around when you run into living area, shouting your name. “Fuck- Bobby start looking in the yard-“

Dean’s words are cut off with an oof as you slam into him, almost falling forward as you collapse into his arms. 

And he catches you. 

Just like he had—or will—in the future, his hand finds your lower back, and he holds you tight enough that it’s all you can feel. Dean’s warmth around you, his breath hot on your neck, his strength as he picks you slightly up off the ground, and the rumble in his chest as he says your name like a prayer. 

“You’re good.” He mutters, lips brushing over your throat. “You’re okay, baby, you’re shit-“

He leans back, grabbing your face for a second before his eyes fall to your stomach. Your stitches are intact, when he pulls up your shirt. You can’t stop the small shiver as his knuckles brush your skin. 

“Bobby, you let her run?”

“What am I supposed to do to stop her.” Bobby grumbles, starting to wheel out of the room. “C’mon, Cas. Let those two get all mushy on each other.”

Dean’s hand curls on your lower back, jaw clenching, and you keep your voice soft. 

“Are we?” You whisper. “Getting all mushy?”

Dean sighs, but doesn’t move away. That’s a good sign. “Don’t know. You sure you want to-“

“Yes.”

He frowns at you. “I didn’t finish.”

“Doesn’t matter. I-“ You can feel the heat in your face. You push through it. “I want to.”

Dean’s lips twitch. “I could be asking you to jump off a bridge, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” You shrug, daring to lean a little further forward. “You’d make sure I fell okay.”

Something strange flashes over his face, and he shakes his head. 

“Baby, I- I got a lot of shit.” Dean carefully cups your face, and you give him a soft smile.

“I know.”

“No, I’m not good for you.” His words are tight, and you’re not even sure he’s selling them to himself. “I drink, and I drive, and death follows me everywhere like I owe it money- Fuck, I’m an archangel glove, sweetheart, and if I’m not it’s gonna put a target on your back, and I know you don’t care but I’m not- If you get hurt-“

You kiss him. If he keeps going he’s going to talk himself out of this, so you kiss him. 

And there’s a second where he doesn’t react, but only a second. 

Dean kisses you a little stronger than before. It’s all the same pieces, but with a growing confidence. Hotter and sloppier, with his hands roaming more, dragging down your thigh to grab your knee and hook it up. He’s leaning over you until you’re drunk on him. The taste and feel of him, the way he’s drinking your soft sounds like they’re wine, the way he’s breathing you until you’re dizzy.

When you pull away, it’s like trying to fight a magnet. You don’t manage to the first time, getting a ragged breath before Dean is chasing your mouth again. It’s only when his own chest is heaving under your hands, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your thigh and neck, that you can tell him what he needs to hear.

“Are you going to hurt me, Dean?” You murmur against his lips, and his grip on your tightens slightly his voice hoarse.

“Never.” 

“That’s good.” You hum. “Do you love me?” 

“I-“

“Dean.”

He sighs, dropping his brow fully against yours. “Yeah. And I’m gonna.” He lets out a low, rough chuckle. “Seems like one of those things that’s gonna last forever.”

You open your eyes. 

Dean’s watching you, like he’d see you fall from the stars.

“Are you going to leave me?”

His throat bobs, but he shakes his head, and when you smile at him, something in him sees to light up. And you’d like to keep it like that, for the rest of your life. 

“Okay.” You say, and even though it’s the first time, it feels like you’ve said it a million times before. “I love you, too.”

End Note: I don't think I could "fix him" but I do think I could make him talk about his feelings.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[aylacavebear]

Doppelgangers - Chapter 6

Summary: Everyone has a doppelganger—someone out there living a life that mirrors your own. Y/N and Dean Winchester never met theirs, but they both loved them. Five years after losing their almost-spouses to monsters on the same day, they’ve each carved out a life in hunting fueled by grief and unfinished promises. When a case in a quiet September town pulls them into the same orbit, neither realizes they are walking toward the person who once loved a reflection of themselves. Familiarity lingers where it shouldn’t. Instinct pulls where logic resists. And some connections refuse to stay buried—even when they were never meant to exist in the first place.

Pairing: Dean x You/Reader, Dean x OCF, You/Reader x OCM

Word Count: 4306

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, Grief, Angst - LOTS, Everything's Coming to a Head, Doesn't follow the show timeline, Altering POV's.

A/N: Another one that just came to me that I've been working on for a while and finally finished. I wanted to have this one done before I even posted the first chapter. Super Angsty and full of Grief. Sorry guys. Does have a happyish ending.

Chapter 5 ----- Chapter 7 Doppelganger Master List Touched Master List Main Master List

Chapter 6

The dirt road stretched deeper into the woods than you expected.

Trees crowded closer the farther you drove, their branches knitting together overhead until the sky became little more than fractured slivers between black leaves. Gravel shifted softly beneath your tires as you kept your distance, eyes locked on the faint glow of the pastor’s taillights ahead.

No hesitation.

No uncertainty.

He drove this road like he knew every bend by memory.

Your fingers rested lightly against the steering wheel, steady despite the slow climb of adrenaline tightening beneath your ribs. The deeper into the forest you went, the less the world felt real. Town lights had vanished miles ago. There were no houses here. No distant highways humming somewhere beyond the trees.

Just woods.

Dense. Ancient. Watching.

The sounds of the forest wrapped around your car in layers at first. Crickets chirping in uneven rhythms. Leaves whispering against one another overhead. The occasional rustle somewhere unseen beyond the road.

Then gradually—

Silence.

Not natural silence.

The kind that arrives all at once.

The crickets stopped first.

Then the rustling.

Then everything.

Your pulse slowed instinctively instead of quickening. Predators recognized silence for what it was.

Warning.

Every instinct beneath your skin sharpened.

Ahead, the sedan slowed.

Through the trees, you finally caught sight of it: an old cabin tucked deep in the woods, half-hidden behind thick brush and towering pines. The structure looked forgotten by the world. Weathered wood. Sagging porch. Dark windows reflecting almost nothing back.

The pastor pulled beside it and parked.

His headlights cut across the trees one final time before the engine died.

Darkness swallowed everything immediately.

For one brief moment, the woods disappeared entirely.

Then your vision adjusted.

Two doors opened ahead.

Two figures stepped out.

You were still too far back to stop anything.

Your jaw tightened.

The sedan doors shut softly. Muffled. Controlled.

Then nothing.

No voices.

No movement.

You slowed the Charger carefully, easing it farther down the road before finally pulling beneath the heavy cover of overhanging branches. The engine clicked quietly as you killed it.

Still no sound from the cabin.

Your hand moved automatically to the silver knife at your hip, fingers brushing the worn handle in practiced reassurance. Then to the gun tucked against the small of your back beneath your flannel. Silver rounds.

Ready.

Always ready.

You glanced once toward the cabin through the trees before shifting your weight toward the open driver’s side window.

The door stayed shut.

No unnecessary noise.

You slipped silently through the window frame and landed lightly against damp earth, crouched low beside the Charger. Cool air brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of wet bark, old wood, and something deeper underneath.

Something animal.

Your movements stayed careful as you closed the distance through the trees. Silent footsteps against dirt and fallen leaves. No snapped twigs. No shifting gravel.

Your eyes tracked every movement automatically.

A branch swaying gently overhead.

Leaves drifting across the forest floor.

Shadows shifting between trees as the wind moved through them.

But no sign of the pastor.

No sign of the second man.

The closer you got, the more wrong the silence felt.

When you finally reached the sedan parked outside the cabin, you paused beside the rear bumper, body still and listening.

Nothing.

The metal ticked softly as the engine cooled.

No voices inside.

No footsteps.

No heartbeat close enough to track.

Your eyes swept the cabin windows again.

Dark.

Empty.

Then suddenly—

A light flicked on inside.

Warm yellow spilled briefly across the front room window.

And for the first time since entering the woods—

You froze. Heart hammering against your ribs.

You stayed motionless beside the sedan, every muscle held taut beneath your skin as your eyes locked onto the shifting silhouette inside. A figure moved across the small space slowly, casually. No frantic pacing. No signs of struggle. No violence.

Just movement.

Like someone settling in for the evening.

Your brow furrowed slightly.

That wasn’t right.

You hadn’t heard a door open. Hadn’t heard footsteps crossing the porch. And you knew with absolute certainty neither man had entered through the front.

The woods were too quiet for you to miss that.

A chill slid slowly down your spine.

Your gaze flicked once toward the trees surrounding the cabin before returning to the window. Instinct prickled hard beneath your skin now, not with the sharp warning of immediate danger, but something stranger. Unease layered with confusion.

The silhouette moved again.

Then the front door swung open.

Not violently.

Not suddenly.

Almost lazily.

Warm light spilled across the porch and into the darkness beyond, cutting long pale shapes between the trees.

You tensed automatically.

The pastor stood in the doorway, one hand resting lightly against the frame. His expression remained calm, softened by the amber light behind him. No claws. No blood. No sign of panic at being followed miles into the woods.

Just quiet awareness.

“I know you’re out there,” he said.

His voice carried easily through the stillness. Warm. Steady. The same voice that delivered sermons every Sunday from behind stained glass and scripture.

“If you want to know the truth,” he continued gently, “you’re welcome to come inside.”

A brief pause.

“I’m no threat to you.”

The words should’ve sounded ridiculous.

Every instinct you possessed screamed trap.

Your fingers twitched near the silver knife at your hip as your pulse slowed into something colder and sharper. Werewolves lied. Predators lured prey closer. Monsters wore friendly faces all the time.

You knew that.

You’d built the last five years of your life around that truth.

And yet—

Something about him wasn’t matching the picture in your head.

No tension sharpened his voice. No false bravado. No edge of concealed violence waiting beneath the surface.

Just calm.

That calm unsettled you more than anger would have.

The pastor stepped away from the doorway a moment later, disappearing back inside without another word, leaving the door standing open behind him.

An invitation.

Or bait.

You stayed where you were for several long seconds, eyes fixed on the glowing rectangle of light cutting through the darkness.

The forest remained silent around you.

No crickets.

No wind.

Nothing.

Then slowly, cautiously, you moved.

Your footsteps stayed soundless against damp earth as you emerged from behind his sedan. The porch came into clearer view with every step, weathered wood silvered faintly beneath the cabin light. The old boards creaked softly under your weight as you climbed the few steps, each sound seeming unnaturally loud against the stillness surrounding the woods.

You paused at the threshold.

The cabin interior unfolded in front of you in one slow sweep.

One room.

Small.

Worn.

A bed sat tucked against one wall beneath a narrow window, blankets neatly folded despite the age of the mattress beneath them. A small wooden table and mismatched chairs occupied the opposite side near an empty stone fireplace dusted faintly with ash. Along the far wall sat a cramped kitchen space—old counters, faded cabinets, a rusted sink.

And directly across from you—

The back door stood wide open.

Cool night air drifted through it softly, stirring the thin curtains hanging above the sink.

The pastor stood there with his back partially turned to you, gaze fixed out the dark window above the basin. His hands rested clasped loosely behind him, posture relaxed enough that it should have felt vulnerable.

Instead, it felt deliberate.

Like a man who already understood exactly how dangerous the room had become.

And still wasn’t afraid.

He didn’t need to turn to see you.

“I clocked you that first day when you came into my church.”

His voice carried through the cabin low and even, warm in a way that should have been comforting. Instead, it settled beneath your skin like something alive. Certain. Knowing. The kind of certainty that didn’t come from guesswork.

Your fingers flexed once near the silver knife at your hip.

The cabin smelled faintly of old wood, dust, and rain soaked into the walls over decades. Beneath it lingered another scent now that you were closer. Iron. Not fresh blood, but memory of it. Faint enough most people would never notice.

“What makes a monster a monster?” 

The question settled heavily into the room.

The pastor finally shifted slightly near the sink, not enough to face you fully, just enough for the light overhead to catch the silver threading through his beard. Outside the open back door, the woods remained deathly still. No insects. No movement. Like the entire forest was listening.

Your pulse beat slow and hard against your ribs. The question wasn’t just for him. It was for you. Every hunter you’d faced, every choice you’d made in the past, every life weighed against another—what drew the line between monster and man? And standing there, watching him, you felt the pull of that line.

“The first man,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the trees beyond the window, “he used his power over others to hurt those who trusted him.”

Your jaw tightened immediately as your pulse spiked, muscles tensing as your mind traced the implication without moving. Every word painted a pattern, a chain of intentions and consequences, but it was his tone—the measured, almost mournful cadence—that made you pause.

The floorboards creaked softly beneath your shifting weight as you remained near the doorway, muscles coiled tight beneath your skin. Ready. Waiting for the moment this calm mask finally cracked open into teeth and violence. 

It didn’t.

“The second man,” he continued, voice softening almost imperceptibly, “he did harm in a different way, twisting control into fear. Using trust and god’s word as a weapon.”

A faint breeze drifted through the open back door, stirring the thin curtains near the sink. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a branch groaned quietly before falling silent again. 

You didn’t move, though your breath hitched once, soft, careful, a sound lost to the night. Your mind ran faster than your body could, cataloging details, piecing together what he said with what you already knew. Missing pieces you hadn’t fully connected yet.

Your stomach twisted.

Because predators wore human skin more often than claws.

“This man,” he said, flicking a glance toward the open back door, “he was planning something cruel. He finally revealed it all in confessions.”

The words landed harder than they should have.

Confessions.

Church.

Trust handed over freely behind closed doors.

Your throat tightened slightly before you forced it back down. The silver ring on your right hand felt suddenly colder against your skin as your fingers curled reflexively.

Still he didn’t move toward you.

Still he wasn’t afraid.

“And the woman,” his voice came again, deliberate and unwavering, “she’s been plotting in her own way. Calculating. Obsessing over a married man. Thinking she can bend someone to her will.”

The cabin suddenly felt smaller.

Tighter.

“The man’s wife is pregnant,” he continued quietly. “None of them knows.”

Your breathing slowed instinctively. A shiver ran down your spine, but you didn’t flinch. You absorbed, cataloged, let the words settle in your chest like stones in a stream.

Your eyes tracked him carefully now, searching for deception in every subtle movement. Every twitch. Every shift in posture. But there was nothing frantic about him. Nothing unstable.

Only exhaustion buried beneath restraint.

Outside, the trees swayed faintly against the night sky. The scent of damp earth drifted through the open doorway.

His gaze remained fixed on the darkness beyond the open door, on patterns only he seemed to see. His final words hung in the air, almost a plea, almost a warning:

Then finally—

He looked at you.

Fully.

Brown eyes steady beneath the warm cabin light.

“All I ask, little cat,” he said softly, “is that you don’t let that unborn child die, if you choose to kill me tonight.”

Silence crashed into the room afterward. 

The words twisted inside you. Choices. Consequences. Monsters and men. And suddenly, the question he asked earlier wasn’t just his. It was yours. It had always been yours.

Your chest tightened, a low, uneasy rhythm echoing in your ears. The pastor’s words had settled over you like a weight, pressing questions you’d asked yourself into sharper focus. What makes a monster a monster? 

You’d asked it before, in mirrors, in quiet moments in the dark, when the reflection staring back wasn’t fully human. And now… standing in the cabin, you hesitated. The line between justice and vengeance, predator and protector, had blurred in the span of a single confession.

The silence stretched long enough for your pulse to finally begin slowing.

Not fully.

Not safely.

But enough that the knife at your hip no longer felt like the only answer in the room.

Your shoulders eased by degrees, tension bleeding out slowly instead of all at once. The instinct to fight still lingered beneath your skin, sharp and ready, but it no longer screamed. It watched. Waited. Measured.

The pastor remained where he stood near the sink, giving you space to think. To choose.

The cabin creaked softly around you as the night air drifted through the open back door, cool against your skin. Somewhere far off in the woods, an owl called once before silence swallowed the sound again.

You swallowed carefully.

Then finally—

“I’ll protect them.”

Your voice came quieter than you expected, roughened slightly by everything tightening in your chest. The pregnant wife. Her husband. A child that hadn’t even drawn its first breath yet.

The pastor’s eyes softened almost immediately.

You forced yourself to continue before doubt could creep in. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to them.”

The words settled heavily between you, carrying the weight of a promise. Not empty reassurance. Not pity.

A vow.

The silver ring against your finger caught faintly in the cabin light as your hand flexed once at your side.

A beat of silence passed.

Then another.

Your gaze drifted briefly toward the open back door, toward the endless dark beyond it, before returning to him.

“You need to leave town.”

The pastor didn’t react outwardly, but something weary flickered behind his eyes.

“Go somewhere nobody knows you,” you continued quietly. “Start over somewhere else.”

Your throat tightened slightly around the next words.

“I’ll make sure you aren’t followed.”

The cabin fell still again after that.

Not tense this time.

Something stranger.

Something mournful.

The pastor lowered his head slightly, almost like the beginning of a prayer before looking back at you fully. Relief moved across his features first, subtle enough most people would’ve missed it. Beneath that came something deeper.

Compassion.

Not fear of you.

Not judgment.

Compassion.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

The sincerity in his voice settled awkwardly against the sharp edges inside your chest. You weren’t used to gratitude from monsters.

Or maybe—

The thought stopped before you could finish it.

He studied you quietly for a moment longer, the warm cabin light catching in his brown eyes. Then slowly, a small smile touched his lips. Gentle. Kind in a way that felt almost painful after everything he’d confessed.

“You’re not the monster you think you are, little cat.”

The words struck harder than they should have.

Your breath caught faintly.

Because he said it like he knew.

Not guessed.

Knew.

Before you could find a response, the pastor turned toward the open back door. His footsteps remained calm and unhurried across the old wooden floorboards as he stepped into the darkness beyond the cabin.

“Andrea Johnson.” 

Then, the night swallowed him quickly.

One moment there.

The next—

Gone.

You stood frozen in the center of the small cabin long after the woods fell silent again.

The lamp above the sink buzzed softly overhead. The curtains near the window shifted faintly in the cold air drifting through the open doorway. Somewhere nearby, the sedan’s engine ticked quietly as it cooled.

But your mind remained trapped on the same question looping endlessly through your chest.

What makes a monster a monster?

You had come here tonight ready to kill him.

Certain.

Certain enough to bring silver.

Certain enough to follow him into the woods alone.

And now he was gone because you let him go.

Not because you couldn’t pull the trigger.

Because you chose not to.

The realization settled heavily into your bones as you stared into the darkness beyond the cabin door, trying to come to terms with the impossible weight of mercy.

The Impala crawled slowly down the dirt road, tires crunching softly over gravel and damp earth. Dean kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting low near the gun tucked beside his seat. The headlights cut narrow paths between the trees, branches twisting overhead thick enough to swallow most of the moonlight above.

Neither brother spoke much.

The deeper they drove into the woods, the heavier the air seemed to become.

Not silent.

That would’ve almost been easier.

Crickets chirped unevenly somewhere beyond the trees. An owl called once from high above before another answered farther off. Leaves shifted softly whenever the breeze moved through the forest. Life still existed out here.

But something felt wrong.

Dean couldn’t explain it.

The kind of wrong hunters learned to trust anyway.

His jaw tightened slightly as his eyes swept the narrow road ahead again. The cabin wasn’t far now. He remembered enough from the maps and half-forgotten case notes to know this road only ended one place.

Then Sam suddenly leaned forward slightly in his seat.

“Dean.”

Dean’s gaze sharpened immediately. “What?”

Sam pointed subtly toward the trees off the side of the road. “There.”

At first, Dean saw nothing but shadows.

Then the angle shifted as the Impala rolled forward another few feet.

Midnight blue paint caught faintly beneath the moonlight filtering through the branches.

The Charger sat tucked deep enough into the shadows that it nearly disappeared entirely unless you were close enough to know what to look for. No lights. Hidden deliberately.

Dean slowed the Impala even more.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered quietly.

The same car.

Again.

A strange knot tightened low in his stomach.

Sam’s voice stayed low. Careful. “Think she’s here?”

Dean didn’t answer immediately.

Because he already knew the answer.

The road curved one final time.

Then the cabin came into view through the trees.

Old.

Weathered.

Light spilled warmly from the open front door, stretching across the battered porch and bleeding pale gold onto the dirt below. Beside the cabin sat a dark sedan they knew belonged to the pastor.

Still warm enough that faint heat shimmered above the hood beneath the headlights.

Dean’s grip tightened instinctively against the wheel.

“Stay sharp,” he said quietly.

The forest pressed close around the clearing, branches swaying faintly overhead. Crickets still chirped somewhere nearby, but the sounds only made the place feel stranger. Like the woods themselves were holding their breath around something unseen.

The Impala rolled to a careful stop several yards from the porch.

Engine idling low. Headlights already switched off.

Neither brother moved immediately.

Dean stared at the open doorway, every instinct he had pulling taut beneath his skin. Something had already happened here.

He could feel it.

But whether they were too late to stop it—

Or too late to survive it—

He didn’t know yet.

The Impala’s engine idled low for another few seconds before Dean finally killed it.

The sudden quiet settled heavily around them.

Crickets filled the spaces between the trees in uneven waves, their sound carrying sharp in the cool night air. Somewhere deeper in the woods, leaves rustled softly beneath something small moving through the underbrush. An owl called once overhead before silence swallowed the sound again.

Dean’s eyes stayed fixed on the cabin.

The open front door.

The light still burning inside.

Nothing moved across the windows.

That bothered him more than if something had.

Beside him, Sam shifted slightly in his seat, gaze sweeping the clearing again. The sedan parked outside. The dark tree line surrounding the cabin. The narrow dirt road behind them that suddenly felt very far from town.

“Feels wrong,” Sam murmured quietly.

Dean nodded once.

Because it did.

Not immediate danger.

Not yet.

But the kind of tension hunters learned to feel before a fight started. The air itself seemed tighter somehow, stretched thin enough that one wrong movement might snap it.

Dean opened his door carefully.

The old hinges gave the faintest creak before his boots touched damp earth. Cool air brushed against his face immediately, carrying the scent of wet leaves, old wood, and something faint underneath it that made instinct tighten low in his gut.

Sam stepped out on the opposite side a second later, shutting the door slower than normal to avoid the sound carrying through the clearing.

The brothers moved automatically after that. Muscle memory built over years.

Dean reached back into the front seat, fingers curling around the grip of the handgun resting there before tucking it securely into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. Hidden beneath worn fabric. Easy reach if things went sideways.

Silver rounds loaded.

Just in case.

His other hand briefly checked the silver knife strapped at his hip. Backup weapon. Close quarters insurance.

Hunters who survived learned fast not to trust a single weapon.

Across from him, Sam mirrored the motions almost unconsciously. Gun concealed beneath layers of flannel and denim. Silver knife secure against his leg.

Prepared for claws.

Teeth.

A close fight in tight spaces.

Prepared for a werewolf.

Dean’s gaze drifted once more toward the hidden Charger farther back among the trees. A strange unease twisted through him again at the thought of the woman somehow being mixed up in all this.

Hunter?Victim?Something worse?

He still didn’t know.

And somehow that uncertainty bothered him more than the monster waiting somewhere nearby.

The porch creaked softly as the wind shifted through the clearing.

Dean’s attention snapped back immediately.

Nothing moved.

The cabin light still spilled warmly through the open doorway, standing in stark contrast against the cold darkness surrounding it.

Like an invitation.

Or a warning.

Dean exchanged one final glance with Sam.

No words needed.

Then slowly, carefully, the two of them started toward the cabin.

The cabin felt different after he left.

Too quiet.

Too still.

You stood near the small kitchen counter, both hands braced against the worn wood, fingers curled tighter than you realized against the rough edge. Your head remained slightly bowed, eyes unfocused on the sink beneath the window while your thoughts spiraled somewhere far deeper than the room around you.

What makes a monster a monster?

The question echoed endlessly now, threading through every memory you’d tried burying over the years. Every hunt. Every creature. Every human face twisted uglier than claws ever could be.

The pastor’s words clung stubbornly beneath your skin.

You’re not the monster you think you are, little cat.

Your throat tightened faintly.

The cabin smelled colder now without him there. Old dust. Damp wood. Faint traces of rain drifting through the open back door. The lamp above the sink buzzed softly overhead, casting warm yellow light across peeling counters and warped floorboards.

You didn’t hear the Impala outside. Didn’t hear the crunch of boots against dirt. Didn’t hear the soft creak of the porch steps beneath cautious weight.

Your thoughts had swallowed everything else whole.

Even when the brothers entered the cabin silently, guns already drawn toward a target that no longer existed, you remained motionless near the counter, unaware of the danger suddenly filling the room behind you.

Then—

“Where is it?”

The voice was firm. Low. Carrying authority without malice. And it cut through the fog of your thoughts like a blade.

Your breath caught violently in your chest.

No.

Your body reacted before your mind fully caught up.

You pivoted sharply on your heel, instinct taking over in one fluid motion, and suddenly the cabin shifted around you in a fraction of a second.

Two figures stood just inside the doorway.

Solid. Armed. Guns leveled. Eyes sharp.

The two men you’d seen around town.

But your focus locked onto the shorter one instantly.

And the world tilted beneath your feet.

Green eyes.

Freckles dusted across tan skin.

Broad shoulders beneath layered flannel.

Even the way he held himself—

Your stomach dropped so hard it bordered on pain.

Mark.

No—

Not Mark.

Your pulse slammed against your ribs as your mind tried desperately to separate memory from reality. Because Mark was dead. You’d watched him die. 

But the voice—

God, the voice sounded almost identical.

The air inside the cabin tightened into something suffocating.

The brothers’ breaths stayed steady. Controlled. Hunters trained for violence standing in a room that suddenly felt one wrong movement away from exploding into it.

You hadn’t heard them approach. The night had swallowed their footsteps whole. But now you felt the full weight of their attention fixed squarely on you.

Assessing.

Calculating.

Dangerous.

Your chest rose slowly beneath the pressure building there, breaths measured despite the violent confusion twisting through your thoughts. Your hands remained visible at your sides. You didn’t reach for the knife at your hip. Didn’t touch the gun hidden against your back.

You simply stood there.

Staring.

Your gaze flicked once toward the taller one beside him before returning helplessly to the man in front.

The similarities hit too hard. Too sharp.

Not exact.

But enough.

Enough to crack something open inside you that had never fully healed.

Everything seemed to pause inside that tiny cabin.

The rustle of leaves outside.

The sway of curtains near the open back door.

Even the old buzzing lamp overhead.

And as your gaze locked fully with his—

You understood with sudden, terrible certainty—

Nothing from this moment forward was ever going to be simple again.

Chapter 5 ----- Chapter 7 Doppelganger Master List Touched Master List Main Master List

Images, Video, and Dividers made by Plant People Heal LLC You can also find me on Patreon

Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @my-stories-vault

@maddie0101 @bettystonewell @whimsyfinny @muhahaha303 @barewithme02

@nancymcl @thewinchesterwench @krazykelly @biancalinkas @abbacadabara

@sepho @princessjas1-11 @mightypocketcow @spideyfan1800

Touched Tag List: @sir-thisisadndserver