Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Genre: Slow Burn, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Summary: You and Dean are sent to 1984 after encountering a cursed object, and you must pose as a married couple to survive the time-trapped haunting. What starts as a mission becomes something more as fake feelings start to feel real, and time runs out.
Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, psychological tension, light blood, and mild supernatural horror.
Word Count: 2,031
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
In 1984, Susan Miller was supposed to get married. A lavish, over-the-top wedding that was intricately detailed. But the night before the wedding, her fiance, Henry, died in a car accident on the way home from his bachelor party.
Susan was grief-stricken over the loss of her beloved fiancé. She refused to leave the house. She laid in bed, surrounded by rotting cake samples, wedding decor, and love songs that played on repeat. Her family, friends, and neighbors tried to visit, but she never answered the door.
However, many of those who tried to visit would see her through the windows, dancing alone. It wasn’t long after Henry that she passed, after which, the town left the house abandoned and refused to acknowledge what had happened.
But something didn’t die with Susan.
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
It started when you received a call from a hunter you had worked with many years ago. A string of unexplained deaths in a small Michigan town, all connected by the same old, abandoned house, also known to locals as "The Miller House.”
Two teenagers had gone missing after sneaking in on a dare. Their bodies were found three days later, dressed in vintage wedding attire, and their mouths were sewn shut.
A couple from out of town had broken in to film a video on YouTube, and ended up being found strangled in bed, bound together by a veil.
Every victim had two things in common: 1.) They were all in pairs, and 2.) They were found with symbols of marriage, none of which they brought with them.
Sam's theory is that Susan didn't just mourn her fiancé, but she bound her soul to the moment he died, sealing the house as a temporal loop. Anyone who enters as a "pair", whether they're lovers, friends, or family, gets pulled into her grief and forced to "complete" the wedding Susan and Henry never got to have.
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
That's why you and Dean go in together.
The attic was coated in dust. The air was heavy, charged. Your skin prickled.
Then you saw it. A perfectly untouched porcelain figurine of a dancing couple sat upon a pedestal. The man in a tux and the woman in a wedding dress.
You pointed to it and Dean picked it up. “You think this is the anchor?”
“Possibly,” you murmured. “I mean, compared to the rest of the house, it’s in perfect condition. That has to mean something.”
He turned it over in his hands before he leaned it towards you. “There’s something etched into the bottom. Have you seen this before?”
You reached out, fingertips brushing his as your hands met around the figurine in your attempt to take it from him.
That’s when everything exploded.
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
You were in a bed. The air smelled like linen and lemon polish. The ceiling above you was painted cream. Sunlight grazing inside through floral curtains. There was wood paneling, gold-framed photos, and fresh flowers on the side table. Not dusty, and definitely not abandoned.
You slowly sat up as you took in your surroundings of the perfectly decorated and pristine room.
You hadn’t even noticed the figure beside you until you heard a groan.
“What the hell,” Dean mumbled as he sat up, rubbing his head.
You stared at him. The clothes he had worn into the house were gone, replaced with skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather jacket.
You bolted to the mirror connected to a vanity table.
Your reflection stared back in full 1980s attire. Pastel blouse, permed hair... and a gold ring on your left hand.
“Oh no,” you whispered. “No, no, no.”
Dean came up to stand beside you, eyes wide. “Why do you look like you fell out of a JC Penny catalog?”
Before you could respond, a knock echoed from a door in the distance.
“Mr. and Mrs. Winchester? You two settle in okay?”
You both froze, continuing to stare wide-eyed at each other.
Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Did she just say–?”
You hurried out of the room and found the front door of the house. You cracked it open to reveal a sweet older woman with a casserole and a smile.
“Hello, dear. I wanted to stop by and tell you that we’re just so happy to have another young couple on Walsh Street,” she greeted warmly. “You two are just adorable.”
Dean was standing right behind you and cleared his throat. “Uh… thanks. We’re, uh, settling in fine.”
You forced a smile. “We really appreciate the welcome, ma’am.”
She continued to smile at the two of you before winking, “You two are just darling.”
After she left, you turned to Dean.
“We’re not just stuck in a time loop,” you said.
Dean huffed as he dragged a hand down his face. “We’re stuck playing house.”
You and Dean were time-lapsed into 1984.
You and Dean were "married" in the town's eyes. Susan had rewritten history.
It was a perfect little bubble. One that Susan had curated, and you had to survive inside long enough to find the cursed anchor and break it.
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
You never expected how good it would feel.
Dean walking in with greasy takeout and a smirk, "Didn't want you slaving over a stove, sweetheart."
Dean fixing the leaky faucet and yelling, "Where the hell does this town hide its hardware stores?!"
Dean lying beside you, warm and close, whispering, "You really okay with all this?"
You were. That was the problem.
One night, after a fake date at the local drive-in, you shared popcorn in the back of an old car.
Dean glanced sideways. "You know, if you were into the whole domestic thing..."
You smirked. "I'd pick someone who didn't track mud into the house every damn day."
The lines blurred a little more every day until it felt as if you had stopped playing.
Dean brought you coffee just the way you liked it,
You adjusted his collar before a block party.
He brushed your hair behind your ear without thinking.
Late one night, you both stood on the porch, looking up at the starry night sky.
Dean’s soft voice broke the silence, “If this were real… would it be so bad?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you admitted, “No. It wouldn't."
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
You began waking up drenched in sweat, hearing wedding music in your head. You saw Susan in the mirror. Her veil was always stained red.
Dean woke up choking. His ring finger was burning, bleeding.
You tried to remove the rings to no avail.
You sighed, “She’s trying to finish what she started.”
“Finish what?” Dean asked.
“Her wedding. Her vow. She doesn’t want pretend. She wants real.”
You both sat in silence after that.
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
After what felt like months, you and Dean finally tracked down the figurine that randomly appeared on a centerpiece in the Beck House's ballroom, pristine and glowing.
“It seems like she’s pulling this place together like a ceremony, like the wedding she never got.” You said.
Dean turned to you, his voice low. “Then we end it. Together.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a small squeeze.
You nodded to each other before going your separate ways to get ready. Dean in a black tux. You, in a dusty white dress from Susan's closet.
Dean took your hands as you reunited in front of the centerpiece.
“I don’t want to fake this,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
You could barely breathe.
Dean stepped closer. “I meant it. All of it. Every smile. Every touch. I didn’t want to let go of you, and I still don’t.”
He cupped your cheek. “Then let’s finish this–for real.”
You said the vow she never got to say, in your own words.
"I vow to stand beside you, even when it's hard."
"I vow to love you, even if I lose you."
"And I swear to find you again, no matter the life, no matter the time."
“I promise to always find you. I swear I’ll never stop.”
Then, light exploded through the ballroom.
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
You gasped awake on the cold attic floor.
Back in your clothes. Back in your time.
Dean was beside you, blinking in shock. He sat up, clutching his chest.
"We're back," he breathed. “You okay?”
You looked around and nodded. “We made it.”
Sam's voice echoed from below: "Guys? You good?! You've been in here for like thirty minutes."
But in your heart, it had been weeks.
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
Back at the bunker, things were quiet. You and Dean pretended to get back to normal. You made jokes. Ate pie. Avoided the word "married" like it was cursed.
But you both knew everything had changed.
One night, you found a cassette tape in Dean's duffel bag. Labeled: 1984: For Her.
It started with "Time After Time."
You slipped it into the Impala's stereo during a late-night drive. Dean didn't say a word. Just reached over and took your hand.
✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩
No one said anything after that. You stared out of the window as Time After Time faded into Against All Odds, and it felt like a knife was slowly twisting in your aching chest.
Dean’s hand was still resting in yours, warm and steady between you.
“You gonna say something?” You asked, finally breaking the silence.
Dean’s jaw tightened. “Wasn’t sure if I should.”
You scoff lightly. “You made a mixtape. Labeled it ‘For Her.’ Feels like we are way past subtle.”
Dean exhaled a quiet, self-deprecating laugh.
You turned in the passenger seat to face him fully. “Dean… back there–1984–it felt real. More real than anything I’ve had in years. And I don’t know if that’s just because we were forced into it, or because I wanted it to be. If you don’t feel the same way, I would understand, just tell me now so I don’t continue to make a fool out of myself.”
Dean glanced over at you, eyes shadowed but soft.
“It was real for me too,” he said after another beat of silence. “Every second of it. Waking up next to you, making dinner together, the stupid fights about the thermostat…”
You smiled faintly. “I was always freezing.”
You both laugh quietly, the slightly uncomfortable tension cracking.
Dean went quiet for another moment before pulling the car to the side of the road. The sound of gravel crunching under the tires as he parked, cutting the engine. The tape kept quietly playing in the background.
He turned to you, fully now, green eyes intense.
“I was falling for you before we ever touched that cursed figurine,” he said. “I just didn’t know what to do with it. But pretending to be your husband? Waking up with your head on my shoulder, hearing you laugh when I burned the toast. Yeah… That ruined me.”
Your throat tightened. “Dean–”
“And then we came back, and it was like I wasn’t allowed to feel it anymore. Like maybe it didn’t count. Like you’d wake up and want to forget the whole thing.”
“I didn’t,” you said. “God, I didn’t.”
You reached for him and he reached for you.
Your lips met in the middle, soft and aching and overdue. There was no rush. No pretense. Just you and him and the quiet promise that this time, it was real.
When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“No more pretending?” You whispered.
He smiled against your skin as he confirmed, “No more pretending. I'm never letting you go again. Doesn't matter what year it is."
You kissed him again, this time deeper–hands fisting in his jacket, his fingers tracing the back of your neck like he couldn’t believe he was finally allowed to touch you like this.
At this moment, nothing else mattered.
Because this wasn’t a time slip.
This was your life. And now, finally, Dean was in it–really in it–with you.
