Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x f!reader
Description: Dean’s away game was supposed to be the worst part of your night. A creepy guy and several drinks later, you’re calling the one person who would drop everything to come get you, and suddenly, whatever you two are doing doesn’t feel so casual anymore.
Note: This can be part 4 for 'Special Girl' or a standalone. The divas yearn for Dean, so hopefully this is a bountiful harvest for those who requested! I got carried away... sorry in advance. Feedback is appreciated! Enjoy!
Tags/Warnings: Mentions of parties, alcohol, swearing. HURT/COMFORT ANGST SOUND THE ALARM!!!
The game lasted way too long.
Every whistle felt unnecessary. Every timeout dragged. By the third period, Dean had checked the clock above the scoreboard so many times that Coach finally barked his name from the bench.
"Eyes on the ice, Di Laurentis!"
Dean muttered an apology and forced his attention back to the game.
It wasn't like he had somewhere to be. Not technically. The team was still hours away from campus, and even if the game ended right that second, he wouldn't make it home before midnight.
Still, he couldn't stop thinking about the disappointed little crease that had appeared between your brows earlier that afternoon when he reminded you about the away game.
You'd tried to hide it quickly.
"Oh... Right. I forgot that was tonight."
And because he was whipped, the knowledge that you'd wanted to see him had left him feeling embarrassingly pleased with himself for the rest of the day.
That feeling had disappeared as soon as you mentioned your plans.
Hannah and Allie were taking you to a party at some off-campus house. A friend of a friend's place, apparently. Dean hadn't recognized the name, but he didn't get any relief when you mentioned some football players were attending. He immediately disliked everyone who might be there.
He knew how ridiculous that was.
You'd only been hanging out for a couple weeks since the fall festival. One night at Malone's. A few increasingly long conversations after class. Several text exchanges that had somehow gone from teasing to telling each other things neither of you usually shared with people you barely knew.
And of course, he couldn't forget the handful of hot make-out sessions in between.
He had no right to care who spoke to you at a party.
You weren't his girlfriend.
Unfortunately, that didn't stop him from caring.
The final buzzer sounded with Briar up by two, and Dean was off the ice before the crowd had even finished reacting. He showered in record time, dragged on some sweats, and practically herded his teammates toward the bus.
"Move," he ordered when one of the freshmen stopped in the aisle to rummage through his bag.
The kid glanced up nervously. "I can't find my headphones."
Garrett snorted behind him. "You got a hot date waiting at home?"
Dean dropped to his seat and stretched his legs onto the aisle. "No."
"Then why are you acting like the bus is about to leave without us?"
"Because some of us don't enjoy standing around a freezing parking lot while Stevens conducts a full inventory of his backpack."
"I found them!" sounded from a few rows ahead, Stevens holding up his AirPod case like the frozen four trophy itself.
A chorus of tired laughter moved through the bus.
Dean shoved his own AirPods in, although he didn't turn anything on. The moment Garrett looked away, he pulled out his phone and opened your text thread.
The last message you'd sent had come six hours ago.
He'd hearted it before immediately second-guessing himself. The reaction had felt too eager, so naturally he'd followed it with something even more eager.
Text me when you get home?
That wasn't weird. You were at a party. You were probably dancing with Hannah and Allie, drinking something bright blue and laughing at whatever dumb story one of them was telling.
Dean locked his phone and rested his head against the window.
Less than a minute later, he checked it again.
Garrett reached across the aisle and landed a hand on his shoulder.
His knee had begun bouncing without him even realizing.
"You're shaking the entire bus."
Dean glanced down. "Huh."
"You've checked your phone twelve times since we pulled out of the parking lot."
Dean scoffed, pulling one AirPod out. "I'm not anxious."
Garret studied him for a moment before his mouth curved into a slow grin.
"You've already disappeared with her every day this week."
"I haven't been disappearing."
"You skipped lunch with us yesterday."
Dean's expression tightened. "Do you have surveillance on me?"
"No. I'm dating Hannah. Y/n tells her everything."
Garrett leaned back in his seat, entirely too pleased with himself. "So she's at a party and you're freaking out."
"I'm not freaking out. She asked me to tell her how the game went."
Dean shoved the AirPod back into his ear. "Go to sleep."
Dean ignored him, although the words stuck with him as the bus carried them onto the dark highway.
Concerned in a normal, causal way.
The party had been fun at first.
That was the frustrating part.
You'd spent most of the afternoon pretending you weren't disappointed about Dean's away game, only for Hannah and Allie to see through you immediately.
"You're pouting," Hannah had announced from the foot of your bed.
Allie had glanced at you through the mirror as she applied mascara. "She's definitely pouting."
"You made that exact face when he told you he was leaving," Hannah said. "Like someone told you documentaries were getting taken off of Netflix."
You threw a shirt at her. "I've hung out with him like twice."
Allie's lip twitched. "Nobody said you did."
You'd hated how warm your face became.
By the time the three of you arrived at the party, they had mostly stopped teasing you.
The house belonged to a guy Hannah knew from one of her classes. It sat just far enough from campus that the neighborhood had bigger yards and fewer people walking around, but close enough that every room was packed with students.
Music rattled the windows. People crowded around a beer pong table in the dining room, and the kitchen counters were covered with liquor bottles, half empty cups, and open boxes of pizza.
A red cup appeared in your hand before you had made it ten feet through the door.
"Exactly. You're behind."
You rolled your eyes but took a generous sip.
The first hour passed quickly. You played flip cup with Hannah, danced badly with Allie, and laughed until your stomach hurt when a guy attempted to jump over the back of the couch and his toes caught onto the top of the cushions instead.
Someone refilled your cup.
At some point, you stopped noticing when it happened.
By midnight, the warmth from the alcohol had spread through your entire body, softening the sharp edges of the crowded room. Your face hurt from smiling, and every song seemed like the best one you had ever heard.
You pulled out your phone when it vibrated in your pocket, expecting a message from Dean.
It was an email from the campus bookstore.
Disappointment sank through you before you could stop it.
"You are so bad at being casual," Hannah observed.
You looked up to find her watching you over the rim of her cup.
"I was checking the time."
"You were smiling before you looked at the screen."
Allie leaned against your shoulder. "Text him."
"The game ended twenty minutes ago," Hannah said.
You narrowed your eyes. "Why do you know that?"
"Because unlike you, I'm capable of checking a score without staring longingly at someone's contact."
"I wasn't staring longingly."
Allie reached for your phone. "Give it to me. I'll do it."
You jerked it out of reach, laughing. "Absolutely not."
For several minutes, the three of you argued over what would constitute a normal message. Eventually, you gave up and locked your phone without sending anything.
You didn't want to seem clingy.
Whatever existed between you and Dean was still too new to poke at. You liked him more than you'd expected to, which made every text feel strangely important. You didn't want to be the person waiting around for him after only a couple of weeks.
"All right," Hannah said, pointing towards the kitchen. "I need water."
"You need water?" Allie repeated skeptically.
"I'm thirsty! You took a shot off of someone's stomach fifteen minutes ago and I still feel gross about it.”
You followed them toward the kitchen, but a group of people surged between you near the doorway. Someone grabbed your hand and pulled you into a conversation about a professor you didn't even know. By the time you politely escaped, Hannah and Allie were gone.
You weren't worried. They did this all the time, vanishing into different corners of a party before eventually reappearing with stories you could barely follow.
You checked the kitchen, found neither of them, and poured yourself some water.
"Switching to the hard stuff?"
A guy stood beside you, smiling as though you were already halfway through a conversation. You vaguely remembered him from earlier. He had introduced himself during flip cup, but his name immediately disappeared beneath the alcohol.
"Trying to be responsible," you muttered.
His gaze lingered on you long enough to make you aware of the short hem of your skirt. You tugged at it without thinking.
The smile remained on his face, but something had shifted.
"You here with somebody?"
You lifted the cup of water to your lips. "No."
The answer was too immediate.
You laughed lightly, more out of habit than amusement. "Why?"
"Because I've been trying to talk to you all night."
He leaned closer to be heard over the music. His breath smelled sharply of beer.
You stepped to the side and looked toward the doorway. "I should find my friends."
His hand brushed your elbow.
The touch was light enough that you could have pretended it was accidental. You moved away anyway.
"I really do need to find them."
He raised both hands with a laugh. "Relax. I'm not stopping you."
The word relax bothered you more than it should have.
You smiled politely and slipped into the hallway.
The air felt thicker away from the kitchen, and the alcohol that had seemed pleasantly warm twenty minutes earlier was beginning to weigh down your limbs. You pulled out your phone and opened the group chat.
The message delivered instantly.
You called Hannah. The music on your end was so loud that you couldn't tell whether the call had even connected before it went to voicemail.
Allie didn't answer either.
You reminded yourself that they were somewhere in the same house. They hadn't abandoned you. One of them was probably in the bathroom while the other was trapped in a conversation.
There was no reason to panic.
You returned to the living room and stood on your toes, searching over the crowd. No familiar brunette hair. No flash of Allie's red top.
Someone bumped into you hard enough to spill part of your water down your wrist.
You wiped your hand on your skirt and continued toward the stairs.
The guy from the kitchen appeared beside you, carrying a fresh drink.
"I thought you ditched me."
"I told you I was finding my friends."
He held out the cup. "I made you something."
"You don't even know what it is."
His smile tightened briefly before returning. "You sure?"
He lowered the cup, although he didn't move out of your way. "You seem nervous."
"You keep looking around."
"I'm looking for my friends."
Because you were drunk, it took you a second to recognize the irritation in his voice.
Something cold slid beneath the warmth in your stomach.
You moved toward the stairs. "I'm going to check upstairs."
"It's crowded. I'll help."
He laughed as though you were flirting with him.
Normally, you would have been firmer. Sober, you would have told him to leave him alone without worrying whether you sounded rude.
But your thoughts were sluggish, and every response seemed to arrive a second too late. By the time you figured out what to say, he had already stepped closer.
"You know," he said, "you've been giving me mixed signals all night."
You stared at him. "I've barely talked to you."
His expression changed again. Not anger exactly, but something petulant and ugly enough to make your pulse jump.
His fingers closed around your forearm.
That almost made it worse.
It was casual, as though he had every right to stop you.
You looked down at his hand before meeting his eyes.
Then he released you with another laugh and raised his hands. "Jesus. I was just trying to keep you from falling."
"You're obviously wasted."
The room seemed to tilt around you, not because you were about to fall but because suddenly every instinct you had was screaming that something was wrong.
People moved around the two of you without noticing. Someone shouted from the beer pong table. A group near the couch erupted into laughter.
Nobody knew that you wanted to leave.
You backed away. "I need some air."
His smile disappeared completely.
"You don't have to act like I'm some creep."
You didn't answer. You pushed through the crowd and headed for the front door, resisting the urge to look behind you.
The cool night air hit your face as you stepped onto the porch. You gripped the railing and drew in a slow breath, trying to calm the sudden pounding in your chest.
Maybe you were overreacting.
He hadn't hurt you. He had held your arm for all of three seconds. He was probably drunk too and terrible at reading social cues.
But that explanation didn't make you feel better.
You unlocked your phone again.
You typed another message.
Where are you guys? I'm ready to leave.
Your thumb hovered over Dean's name afterward.
You pictured him on the bus, tired and sore after the game. Calling him would be dramatic. He was hours away and couldn't do anything except worry.
The screen door creaked open behind you.
Your entire body stiffened.
He stepped onto the porch and let the door swing shut, sealing off most of the noise from inside.
"I figured I'd keep you company."
"I'm waiting for my friends."
He settled against the railing beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
You moved several steps away.
"I think I'm going back inside," you said.
The answer came with a smile, but there was no warmth in it now.
He moved when you moved, matching your pace toward the door.
"You don't have to follow me."
"You've been everywhere I've gone for the last half hour."
"I'm trying to talk to you."
"And I've told you I'm looking for my friends."
He tilted his head. "Why are you being like this?"
The question caught you off guard.
Your fingers tightened around your phone.
His hand landed at the small of your back as though he meant to guide you.
You jerked away so quickly that your heel caught on the edge of the porch. The railing stopped you from falling, but the movement sent a painful jolt through your ankle.
The sound made your stomach turn.
"Okay. You're being dramatic."
You pushed through the screen door before he could move again.
The party swallowed you immediately.
You didn't run, but your steps were fast and clumsy as you searched for somewhere to go. The bathroom at the end of the hall was occupied. You knocked once, received no answer, and tried the handle anyway.
You crossed the kitchen, nearly colliding with someone carrying a tray of shots. The stairs were crowded. Every doorway seemed blocked.
Behind you, you heard his voice.
Panic sharpened your thoughts for the first time all night.
You slipped down a narrower hallway and found another bathroom tucked near the laundry room. The door opened.
You hurried inside, locked it, and leaned your back against the wood.
The sudden quiet was almost painful.
You breathing came too quickly. Your eyes burned, and when you looked down, your hands were shaking so badly that you nearly dropped your phone.
A knock sounded behind you.
You covered your mouth to keep from making a sound.
"Come on," he continued. "I said I was sorry."
The words made something inside you crack.
You opened your phone and pressed Dean's name before you could talk yourself out of it.
He answered before the first ring had finished.
You could hear his smirk over the phone.
The relief of hearing his voice was so intense that your eyes filled instantly.
Silence stretched for less than a second.
When he spoke again, every trace of warmth and teasing had vanished.
You tried to answer, but your throat closed around the words. All you managed to mutter was a jumbled mess of 'Is' and 'hes’.
"Hey." His voice softened without losing its urgency. "Take a breath for me. Are you hurt?"
"No." The word came out wet and uneven. "I don't think so."
"What do you mean, you don't think so?"
"I know, baby. That's okay. Where are you?"
The endearment nearly undid you.
You pressed a hand to your eyes. "I'm in a bathroom."
Dean swore under his breath. You heard movement on his end, then Garrett asking him something.
"Open your messages," Dean instructed. "Send me your location."
"I don't want to hang up."
"You don't have to. Put me on speaker."
You did as he said, fumbling through the screen until the location sent.
"Got it," he said immediately. "Stay where you are."
You nodded before remembering he couldn't see you. "Yes."
"He won't leave me alone. He grabbed me, and he followed me outside, and I told him to stop, but he keeps saying I'm being dramatic."
Dean's breathing changed.
The quiet anger in it frightened you almost as much as the guy outside.
"Did he put anything in your drink?"
"Okay. Listen to me." His voice remained steady, each word clipped and controlled. "You are not opening that door. I don't care what he says. Hannah and Allie are there, right?"
"Dean, please don't hang up."
"I'm not hanging up. Garrett's calling."
There was muffled conversation on the bus. Seats shifted. Someone cursed. Dean was clearly moving toward the front.
"You're still hours away," you whispered.
"We've been driving for over an hour. We're close enough."
The bus driver shouted something in the background.
Dean responded sharply, then returned to you. "I'm coming."
Guilt pierced through the fear. "You don't have to."
His voice wasn't harsh, but it left no room for argument.
"You called me because you're scared. I'm coming."
Another knock rattled the door.
"Are you seriously hiding from me?"
"Back away from the door."
You moved toward the bathtub.
"Good. Sit down if you're dizzy."
"You sound drunk enough to be friends with the floor, so sit."
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped you.
Dean exhaled. "There you are."
His answer came so quickly that it almost overlapped yours.
"Don't ever apologize for calling me."
You lowered yourself onto the edge of the bathtub and hugged one arm around your stomach, your breath coming out in shaky pants.
Dean barely remembered getting off the bus.
He knew Coach had yelled after him. Garrett had followed long enough to toss him his keys, while Logan remained on the phone with Hannah.
The bus had reached the outskirts of campus, but the party was still twenty minutes away.
He stayed connected to you the entire drive, forcing himself to keep his voice calm whenever you went quiet. The angrier he became, the gentler he spoke to you.
Hannah and Allie had finally answered Logan. They had been upstairs helping a friend who had gotten sick, both of their phones buried underneath a pile of purses. The moment they understood what had happened, they started searching for the bathroom.
Hannah reached you first.
Dean heard her pounding on the door and shouting your name.
"It's her," he told you. "You can open it."
The question made his grip tighten around the steering wheel.
There was the sound of a lock clicking, followed by Hannah's horrified voice.
Dean listened to Hannah reassure you until the headlights swept over the crowded driveway. He parked crookedly along the curb and was out of the car before the engine had fully stopped.
The front door opened as he approached.
Allie stood there, pale and furious. "She's in the bathroom."
"I don't know. Hannah told him to get lost, and he disappeared."
Every instinct urged him to search the house, find the guy, and make sure he never followed anyone into a hallway again.
Then he heard you crying.
He followed Allie through the house, pushing past clusters of confused partygoers until he reached the narrow hallway.
Hannah sat on the floor beside the bathroom door. You were curled against her, your face hidden in your hands.
He had spent the entire drive imagining you injured, unconscious, or trapped behind that door. Seeing you upright should have relieved him.
Instead, the sight of your shaking shoulders hollowed out his chest.
Hannah looked up. "He's here."
Your mascara had smudged beneath your eyes, and fear still clung to your expression. The moment you saw him, something in your face softened.
He crossed the remaining distance and crouched in front of you.
Your bottom lip trembled. "You came."
The words nearly broke him.
He wanted to touch you, but he didn't know what would make you feel safe. His hands hovered uselessly until you reached him first.
Your fingers closed around the front of his sweatshirt.
He slid one arm around your back and the other beneath your knees, lifting you from the floor as though you weighed nothing.
You curled against his chest, pressing your face into his neck.
"I can walk," you mumbled.
"Now you're insulting me."
A weak laugh warmed his skin.
Dean closed his eyes briefly, breathing through the rush of relief.
Hannah gathered your purse and followed outside with Allie.
"We're coming with you," Hannah said.
Dean glanced down at you. Your eyes were already drifting shut against his shoulder.
"Our apartment," Allie urged. "We'll meet you there."
Before Dean could respond, your weak voice sounded below him.
"I want to stay with Dean. If that's okay."
Dean tried to fight his smile as he waited for Hannah and Allie's approval, his mouth coming down to your ear to whisper a quick "Of course it's okay, baby." before shooting a pleased look Hannah's way.
"Fine. But make sure she's okay, Dean. I mean it."
Dean nodded his head vigorously as the girls came to crowd around you. Apologies and forgiveness flew back and forth between you and them, the others finally deciding you were good to leave when you promised to call them first thing tomorrow.
He lowered you carefully into the passenger seat of the car, then crouched beside the open door to inspect you.
You looked down at your forearm.
Dean found a faint red mark near your wrist.
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
"Does anything else hurt?"
"I tripped when he touched me."
Your eyes widened. "It's not bad."
He closed his eyes and pressed his thumb against his brow.
"I'm trying really hard not to commit a felony."
That earned him another tiny laugh.
He took off his jacket and draped it over your lap before fastening the seatbelt across you.
Your fingers caught his wrist before he could stand.
"I'm sorry you had to leave the bus."
Dean looked down at your hand around him.
"You really have to stop apologizing."
Despite himself, he smiled. "We did."
The trust in your voice was so uncomplicated that it hurt.
Dean turned his hand beneath yours and squeezed your fingers.
The drive to the hockey house was quiet except for the low hum of the heater.
You kept one hand wrapped around Dean's sleeve, as though you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. He didn't comment on it.
Every few minutes, he glanced over to make sure you were awake.
"I'm okay," you mumbled the third time you felt his gaze on you.
"You keep looking at me."
He immediately cleared his throat. "And drunk. Mostly drunk."
"I've taken a few pucks to the head. Nothing I say is legally binding."
You smiled and leaned your cheek against the seat.
For several turns, neither of you spoke.
Then you whispered, "I missed you."
Dean's hands tightened around the steering wheel.
The thrum in his chest drowned out the turn signal as he took another left.
He let his hand fall to your lap as he brought his gaze to yours.
He softened immediately. "Hey. No more crying."
"I can't help it. You're sweet to me."
Dean stared at you. "That's what's making you cry?"
"It's been a long night."
The light you had been stopped at turned green.
He rotated his wrist to hold his hand palm-up.
After a moment, you placed yours in it.
He drove the rest of the way one-handed.
The house was dark when he pulled into the driveway.
You stirred when the engine shut off, lifting your head.
"You remember agreeing to that, right?"
Dean climbed out and walked around to your side. You had already opened the door by the time he reached you, but the moment your foot touched the pavement, your face pinched.
Dean noticed immediately.
"That was absolutely a pain face."
"I don't have a pain face."
Before you could protest, Dean slid an arm around your waist to steady you. You stiffened for half a second, and he felt it immediately.
His grip immediately loosened.
You looked up at him, and something in your expression softened.
He kept his arm around you as you crossed the driveway, letting you decide how much weight to put against him. Halfway to the door, your head tipped against his shoulder.
The house was empty, which Dean was privately grateful for. The last thing he needed was Garrett or Tucker wandering downstairs and making some comment that would send you into another spiral.
He guided you into the living room and eased you onto the couch.
Dean disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of water and a sleeve of crackers.
You frowned at the crackers. "Those are depressing."
"You throwing up on the rug."
You looked down. "Is it expensive?"
That made you laugh again.
Dean twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it to you. You took two tiny sips.
You drank again, then handed the bottle back with a dramatic sigh.
He sat on the coffee table across from you, and for the first time since leaving the party, the room went completely still.
Without the music or the crowd or the urgency of getting away, the night seemed to settle over you all at once. Your fingers tightened around the edge of Dean's jacket.
You opened your mouth to give the automatic answer, then stopped.
Dean's expression softened. "That's allowed."
You stared down at your hands. "I should've just been mean."
"To him." Your voice grew quieter. "I kept trying to be polite because I didn't want to look crazy."
"You should have known it then."
Dean leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "You never have to be nice to someone who makes you uncomfortable."
"No." His voice lowered. "I mean it. You don't owe anybody politeness if they're scaring you."
Dean saw it immediately and panicked.
You gave a watery laugh. "What?"
"I'm terrible with crying."
"I'm panicking internally."
That pulled another small smile from you.
Dean reached toward you, then stopped himself before touching you.
You looked at his hand for a second before nodding, and the hesitation on his face loosened as he let it settle lightly against your knee. The touch was careful, almost tentative, which felt strange coming from someone who normally carried himself with so much confidence. But tonight, he seemed determined to let you control every inch of space between you.
You tugged at his hand gently, his body instantly responding and sliding onto the couch next to you. You tucked yourself into his side, one had wrapping around your shoulders as the other remained on your knee. For a few minutes, neither of you said anything. The house was quiet around you, so different from the pounding music and crowded rooms you'd spent the last several hours trying to escape.
You stared down at his hand.
Dean's eyebrows pulled together slightly. "Yeah."
"I mean..." You swallowed, suddenly feeling stupid for bringing it up. "I don't know why I called you."
His hand shifted against your knee, and you caught the brief flicker of something on his face before he covered it with a crooked smile.
"Wow. This night just keeps getting better for me."
"No." A laugh slipped before you shook your head. "That's not what I meant."
"I just mean I didn't really think about it." You picked at the edge of your skirt, trying to figure out how to explain something you barely understood yourself. "I was sitting in the bathroom, and I was scared, and I kept trying Hannah and Allie, but then I saw your name and just... called."
Dean didn't immediately respond.
When you looked up at him, the teasing expression had disappeared. He was watching you with an intensity that made your already warm face feel hotter.
He gave you a quiet laugh and glanced away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "You're drunk."
"Which means I'm definitely not having this conversation with you right now."
You frowned. "What conversation?"
He looked back at you, and you could tell he was trying very hard to keep things light.
"You called me. I came. That's all."
You smiled faintly, but your chest tightened again.
That wiped the amusement from his face.
Dean stared at you for long enough that you started wondering if you'd said something wrong.
Your voice was quieter now.
Something changed in his expression then. It was subtle, but you saw it. His jaw shifted slightly, and his thumb moved once against your knee before going still.
"You can't say things like that when you're drunk," he finally said.
Your brows knitted together. "Why?"
"Because I'm trying very hard to be a decent person here."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Dean let out a disbelieving laugh and leaned back slightly. "You really are drunk."
"You keep saying that like I've forgotten."
"You asked me ten minutes ago if my rug was expensive."
"That was a valid question."
"You were worried about throwing up on it."
"I was being considerate."
He grinned despite himself. "You're adorable."
The word slipped out so naturally that neither of you seemed to process it immediately.
Your eyes widened slightly.
He cleared his throat. "Drunk. I meant you're an adorable drunk."
That pulled another laugh from you.
Dean smiled, clearly pleased with himself, before standing and holding out his hand.
You stared at it. "Where are we going?"
"My bed. You sleep in it. I sleep somewhere else." He shook his head. "Jesus. Get your mind out of the gutter."
"My mind isn't in the gutter."
You took his hand and let him pull you carefully to your feet. Dean caught you around the waist before you could stumble.
"You know, I think we should ban that phrase from your vocabulary."
"Great. You can tell me all about it while you're not walking on it."
Before you could ask what he meant, Dean bent and lifted you into his arms.
A startled noise escaped you as you grabbed onto his shoulders.
"I know. We've discussed this. I just want to help you up the stairs."
His laugh rumbled beneath your ear.
You should have felt embarrassed being carried through the house by a guy you'd only been seeing for a couple of weeks, especially after everything that had already happened.
Dean pushed open his bedroom door with his shoulder and lowered you carefully onto the edge of his bed.
You raised an eyebrow. "Am I a dog?"
"No, because dogs listen."
You rolled your eyes while Dean disappeared into his closet. He returned a moment later and with a folded T-shirt.
You raised your arms, heat dusting your cheeks as the slid it over your clothes.
That seemed like an observation you should keep entirely to yourself.
When you returned from the bathroom after cleaning yourself up and removing your party clothes, Dean was pulling an extra pillow from the bed.
The answer came so easily that something in your chest sank before you could stop it.
You immediately hated how much disappointment had slipped into that one stupid syllable.
You climbed beneath the covers and busied yourself adjusting the pillow.
"Banned phrase, remember?"
Finally, you looked at him.
The teasing disappeared from his expression.
You rushed to explain before he could misunderstand.
"I don't mean... I just don't really want to be alone yet."
Dean's face softened so quickly that you almost wished you hadn't looked at him.
He put the pillow back without another word.
He lay down beside you, careful to leave a respectable amount of space between your bodies. For someone who had spent the last couple of weeks flirting with you at every available opportunity, he was suddenly acting like crossing the invisible line down the middle of the mattress might kill him.
You turned onto your side.
Dean stared up at the ceiling.
"You're really far away."
His head turned toward you.
"I told you I was trying to be a decent person."
"You look like you're afraid of me."
Dean immediately shook his head. "That sounded significantly worse than I intended."
Then he shifted across the mattress until only a few inches remained between you.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The exhaustion you'd been fighting all night finally began pulling you under, but every time your eyes closed, you remembered the bathroom door.
The voice on the other side.
You nodded, then stopped yourself.
You stared at the space between you.
You trailed off, embarrassed by what you were about to ask.
Dean seemed to understand anyway.
He slowly opened one arm.
You moved before you could second-guess yourself, curling into him and resting your cheek against his chest.
Dean went completely still for half a second.
Then his arm settled around you.
His hand rested between your shoulder blades, warm and steady, and the tension that had been sitting inside you all night finally began to loosen.
"This okay?" he murmured.
You smiled against his shirt.
"Tonight seems like a good night for it."
You couldn't argue with that.
Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt.
His chest rose beneath your cheek as he took a slow breath.
You were quiet for a moment.
Dean's arm tightened around you just slightly.
Dean stayed awake long after you stopped moving.
He stared into the darkness with one arm wrapped around you and your hand curled loosely into his shirt, trying not to think too hard about how natural it felt to have you there.
Two weeks of burgers and texts and stupid jokes. Two weeks of pretending the rush he got whenever your name appeared on his phone was just because you were new and interesting.
Tonight had ruined that lie.
Because when he'd heard your voice crack through the phone, there hadn't been a single part of him that had considered doing anything other than getting to you.
And now you were asleep against his chest because you trusted him enough to close your eyes.
Dean looked down at you, his hand slowly moving over your back before he could stop himself.
He should have been terrified by how much that meant to him.
Maybe tomorrow, he would be.
Tonight, he only pulled you a little closer and closed his eyes.
For the first time since his phone had rung on that bus, Dean finally felt like he could breathe.
