Chasing Clouds - chapter five Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Ash Miles, Rufus Turner, Bobby Singer, Donna Hanscum, Jody Mills, Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, Benny Lafitte, Cas Novek (endverse), and many more. Timeline: 2011 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ± 5350 words Summary series: Stormchasing is in Dean’s blood. His father raised him and his younger brother Sam on the road, taking every opportunity to hunt down tornadoes and warn people in its path. When a storm hits a camping ground, they run into a young traveler with nowhere else to go. Y/N joins the Winchesters on their stormchase journey, growing closer to the brothers, especially to Dean. Will the two allow their love for each other to grow, despite their dangerous lives and the losses they have suffered? It will all come to the test during the deadliest tornado season in American history. Summary chapter five: Y/N is confronted with the aftermath of the tornado, but thankfully Dean is by her side. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Detailed description of injury, disaster zones and mass-casualty events. Hospital scenes, car crashes, building collapse/claustrophobic situations. Character death, grief. Crying, nightmares, trauma. Mentions of overdose, suicide. Swearing, alcohol intoxication, smoking. Author’s note: Thank you @winchest09 for helping me take this story to a higher level.
‘Chasing Clouds’ Masterlist
The silence would be deafening, if not for the CCR song that’s filling the car with a comforting melody. The gentle guitar tune sounding from the speakers of the Silverado blends with the noises of surrounding traffic and the low purr of the large big block engine.
Dean has his left hand on the wheel, his thumb softly tapping against the leather, in tune with the music. He has his visor down, shielding his eyes from the sun that is still low in the sky at this hour. It’s almost ironic how lovely and bright the weather is compared to yesterday.
The driver steals a glance aside, observing the woman by his side for a second before he returns his eyes on the road. After breakfast, he offered to give her a ride to the RV park. She’s been quiet ever since. Absently, she takes in the scenery along Texas State Highway, her head resting against the back of her seat, the roadside view nothing but a blur.
“You okay?” he asks.
His gentle voice with a hint of concern is able to halt Y/N’s chaotic thoughts that were racing through her mind. Reflecting on herself, she looks over, needing a second to form a sentence.
Am I okay?
She’s feeling all kinds of things that she thought to have left behind a while ago. Regret of her decisions, fear for the uncertainty. Frustration, for not being able to control her way of thinking right now. Where is the girl who believes that every decision is made for a reason and that there are no mistakes in life? Where’s the girl who embraced not knowing what tomorrow will bring? Somehow, the tornado seemed to have blown those ideals away.
“Honestly?” Y/N huffs, shaking her head. “No, not really.”
Dean thought so, but her admitting to it openly still surprises him somewhat. Working in a male dominant field with his brother as his co-pilot, conversations about feelings aren’t exactly custom. When it comes to the things that keep him up at night, talking about it is something that he avoids at all cost. He prefers to deal with it on his own terms; back-to-back stormchasing when the weather is wild, working on his car and hitting the bar when it’s quiet. He has to admit that on the bad nights, he usually finds himself at a random motel with a woman in his bed or an empty bottle of whiskey on the night stand.
Storms, his Silverado, sex and an occasional bottle of Jack Daniels - his go-to coping mechanisms.
He likes to think he’s a good listener, though, especially when he feels a deeper connection with someone, but Dean doesn’t want to push Y/N to open that can of worms. After all, he’s still a stranger who she’s tagging along with because she has no other options. They might have hit it off great, but there’s still so much he doesn’t know about the young woman in the passenger seat. Despite those reservations, he feels the need to take away those worries that plague her mind. Should he ask? At least offer her the opportunity to get it off her chest? “Wanna talk about it?” he continues carefully.
The traffic lights ahead turn red, causing cars in front to slow. Dean stops the Chevrolet, observing the woman now that he can afford to take his focus off the road.
When Y/N glances at the driver, she expects awkwardness, reluctance. She finds the opposite in the apple green of Dean’s eyes, however. The man - who has gone to great lengths to save her, patched her up and made her feel comfortable and safe when her world came crashing down - willingly waits for an answer.
Is it a good idea to trauma-dump on a guy she met yesterday? It would make her feel better, it always does. And he did ask for it.
“I’m nervous. Scared even,” she admits, letting out a deep breath she’s been holding. “Of what I’m gonna find. Of what I’m not gonna find. Which is stupid, really. I’m not materialistic in any way. But I feel like last night just… threw me off. Completely.”
“Which is understandable. I mean, you survived a direct hit by a fuckin’ tornado. That would change how you look at things,” Dean offers.
“I don’t want how I look at things to change. I kinda liked where I was finally at, to be honest. Living in the present, day by day. Believing that everything happens for a reason, embracing whatever life throws at me. Valuing experiences and connections, not objects or money. But now my mind is going over everything, regretting decisions and it’s driving me insane.” Y/N shakes her head, annoyed with herself.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Hey -” Dean leans forward in his seat, establishing eye-contact with a piercing stare in order for his words to be received. The girl who just poured her heart out carefully lifts her gaze from her lap to meet his. “You went through hell, alright? A life or death situation like that, it triggers your nervous system, rewires your brain. That fear, not knowing if you’re gonna make it, it’s bound to do something to you. There’s no shame in that.”
“I’m not ashamed of it. It just really aggravates me. I had a good thing going, you know?” she returns unapologetically. Dean chuckles at that, pressing the gas when the light turns green. “You’ll get there again,” he says, just knowing that she will. “There is a silver lining in your near-death experience, though.” “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” Y/N returns, not able to see it yet. “If you hadn’t gotten hit by that tornado, you wouldn’t have met me,” Dean claims, a hint of triumph in his voice.
Trying to keep a straight face, Y/N rolls her eyes at the ceiling of the car, but can’t keep it together and laughs. “Oh my God, seriously?” “Think about it. You chose this Godforsaken border-town to spend the night, picked that RV park from all the camping grounds surrounding these bayous. Parked your van right in the path of a storm we were chasing. Talkin’ about ‘everything happens for a reason’,” he elaborates, throwing her own words back at her with a sly smirk.
“Yeah, it must be fate,” Y/N says, cynically. Confidently, the driver rests his wrist on top of the steering wheel. “Has to be.”
Chuckling at the funny exchange, his passenger peers outside again, watching the scenery pass by, yet this time with a smile on her lips. She still dreads facing the aftermath of last night’s disaster, but feels a little lighter after blowing off some steam. Appreciating Dean’s ability to listen and make her feel less alone, she looks over at the handsome man.
“Thanks.” Her rescuer steals a glance, his vain grin dying down and shifting into a soft smile. “For what?” “For letting me vent,” she says.
The silence returns, but it’s a much more pleasant one. Dean continues their short journey down the highway as the first signs of the destructive weather comes into view. It starts with broken branches and leaves on the roadside, signs blown over, garbage bins on their sides. When they reach the overpass under the interstate, it’s partially flooded, waves rippling the surface when the large Silverado truck plows through the water. When they emerge on the other side, the damage is significantly greater. Much like the nerves that begin to build up inside Y/N’s stomach again.
“Holy shit…” she says in awe, the words coming out in a whisper.
Daylight reveals the extent of the aftermath. The pair watches the residents of the northern part of town, who have begun cleaning up the rubble that the tornado left in its wake. Quietly, Dean turns the car to the right, driving east parallel to the main road. Debris is scattered everywhere, powerpoles snapped in half, large Cypress trees forced to bow. They pass a ladder truck, where a fireman is clearing large branches from the roof of a house. The sound of a chainsaw bleeds into the Chevrolet, drowning out the music from the classic rock station.
“What a mess,” Y/N says breathlessly. “Believe me, it could be far worse,” the driver comments. “This is probably EF2 damage.” “What is EF2?” she wonders, interested. “Enhanced Fujita scale. It’s a rating for tornadoes, based on the inflicted damage,” Dean explains. She watches a bent and crooked street sign, then notices a wooden lawn commercial torn to splintered pieces. “What’s the highest?” “EF5,” the stormchaser answers. “But they are very rare. Beasts like that only happen less than one per year.” “Wait, so last night was only two out of five?”
“Yup. Like I said - it could’ve been far worse. Especially since it dropped down so fast. We had already spotted ground contact before the sirens were sounded. Had this thing been bigger and stronger, it would have killed a lot of people.”
“But there were still fatalities,” Y/N says softly, remembering Sam’s radio message from the evening before. “Yeah, mobile homes and recreational vehicles aren’t sturdy enough to withstand wind speeds of an EF2. It’s still up to 135 miles an hour,” Dean responds, steering around an overflowed sewer drain, slowing as he turns off the flooded road onto the driveway of what used to be the Cypress Hill RV Park.
“Do you know if more people got hurt?” she asks, very well realizing she could have been amongst the victims of the storm. “One other casualty, Sam told me. A tree fell on a car and the driver didn’t make it. There were reports of at least a dozen people who needed medical attention,” he says, noticing the stunned and somewhat amazed look on her face. Before she can ask, he answers what she’s without a doubt wondering. “We have a police scanner. We listen to it during chases, sometimes after to see if we can be of any assistance.”
“Is that how you found me?” The way she asks that question has the corner of Dean’s mouth move upward, but he shakes his head. “No. Sam was tracking the rotating winds on radar and saw that this was the area that took the brunt of the storm. Whenever we do search and rescue, we try to go to the hardest hit part of town where people are most vulnerable. Trailer parks, camping grounds. That’s how we ended up here.”
The Silverado comes to a stop on the muddy access road. It’s as far as they can go, because the bayou has overflown during the night, the heavy rain too much for the rivers and creeks to handle. Water has risen to the steps to the porch of the front desk, the building left in ruins. Several trucks are parked on the gravel area, among them police, a van from the National Weather Service and a coroner. Y/N swallows apprehensively when she notices the black car.
Dean turns the Chevrolet into a spot, puts his pickup in park and turns off the engine. “Ready?” he checks with his passenger, when she doesn’t open the door.
The young woman in the seat next to him looks over, concern knitted between her eyebrows. She isn’t, but she doesn’t have a choice. In order to move on, she needs to grind through. And so she nods quietly, the silent answer earning a comforting smile.
They both get out, the sounds of nature just as melodious as when Y/N exited her Volkswagen one day ago, but playing a different tune. The variety of birds sing a sad song, the frogs less vocal at midday. The trees don’t whisper anymore, neither does the Spanish moss gently wave in the morning breeze. The trunks have been robbed from their leaves, only the strongest branches remaining, reaching up to the sky as if they are praying to be healed.
The storm chaser walks around his truck and opens the tailgate, gathering a few tools that might come in handy. He also grabs a foldable crate for Y/N’s personal belongings. He sure as hell hopes they will find what she’s looking for.
After locking his Chevy, he glances over at her, the girl who he saved on these very grounds. The wind plays with her hair as she observes her surroundings while she takes a deep breath of the heavy air. It must be difficult for her to be back here, the place where her life got flipped upside down. However, the way she chose her words earlier, Dean doesn’t believe this is the first time the rug was pulled out from under her.
Their boots are sucked into the soaking grounds as they make their way to the camping spot where the VW is situated. Rescue workers and volunteers are still securing the site, a few dismantling a trashed mobile home while others clear debris. The risen water level has turned the grassy area into a swamp. As the pair approaches Y/N’s beloved van, a policeman approaches.
“Sorry, this area is off limits,” he announces. “We’re still clearing the scene.” The first responder is only doing his job, but having dealt with these kinds of situations before, Dean cuts in, not taking no for an answer. “I’m Dean Winchester, this is Y/N. She owns the camper over there. We’re just here to collect a few things.” “Do you have proof that it’s your vehicle?” the man in full gear checks. “Uh - no, I don’t. Everything is in my van,” she stammers.
Panic begins to rush through her veins, the kind that comes from desperation. What if they don’t allow them to even try and find her belongings? She glances over at Dean, but his demeanor lets her know that he has everything under control.
He takes his phone out of his pocket and checks if it has a signal, then he hands it to the woman in his company. “Show him your Facebook. You have pictures on there of your camper, right?”
She nods, typing her page name into the search bar. Her profile pops up and she shows the officer a selfie where she poses in front of her baby blue VW, the number plate visible. Having confirmation that she is in fact the owner, the man nods, letting them through.
“The fire department cleared the roof. Still be careful, though,” he warns before he heads back to work. “Thank you,” Y/N says, relieved.
The two continue and she blows out a sigh. She’s glad Dean is here, because without him, she’s not sure if she would have been able to get close to her little house on wheels.
“Why are they keeping people away?” she wonders, not really understanding the fuss. “They have to make sure it’s safe before they allow anyone close. Structures might be unstable, there could be live wires, a gasleak,” Dean sums up. “Plus, there’s the problem with disaster tourism and looting.” “Looting? Seriously?” she responds, stunned. He nods. “Yeah, believe me. There are plenty of scumbags out there who take advantage of people during the worst moments of their lives. You’d be surprised how much it happens.”
Stunned by the lack of humanity some people have, Y/N falls silent, following Dean up the slick and muddy hill. Noticing the remnants of a trailer on the lower grounds, she is glad she didn’t push for a spot near the lake. At least she has a chance of finding her possessions, because an older man is struggling to get out of the mobile home with the water level being at knee height.
Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, the pit in her stomach grows larger like a black hole swallowing up her courage. The earth pulls at her boots, slowing her down and straining her already aching muscles.
What is she going to witness in a moment’s time? Will there be anything to salvage?
Dean reaches out and offers her his hand to help her conquer the last few yards up the slippery slope and she takes it gladly. Not only to balance herself, but also because it gives her the mental push she needs to lift her gaze from the grass up to the view in front of her.
The desolate scene has her stop in her tracks. Under the skeleton-looking Cypress tree, the broken off trunk that crushed the roof of the camper has been taken down by the fire department, sawed into pieces which lay by the Volkswagen’s side. It now leaves the damage on full display, the classic van dented like a soda can, contorting the steel in ways she didn’t know was possible. Glass, insolation, parts of the wooden interior and all sorts of provisions, clothes, toiletries, and other items are scattered around, exposed to the elements.
She feels like she’s looking at a coffin at a funeral, the sight a confirmation of the loss she has suffered. The end of an era, a crushed dream. Her beloved Volkswagen is beyond saving and has reached its final destination.
Silently, Dean waits right next to her, still holding her hand. After pulling his gaze away from the wreckage, he glances at her carefully. The shock on her face - her jaw slightly lowered and her eyes big and glazed over - causes his heart to sink. This has to be difficult for her, especially since this is all she has.
Softly, he squeezes her fingers, letting her know he’s there. The distraught woman next to him doesn’t respond initially, but then she blinks a few times, swallows thickly and takes a careful breath. “Where -” Her voice fails her and she clears her throat before she continues. “Where do we even begin?” “We’ll go through the rubble. Everything you wanna save, we’ll put in here,” he offers, lifting the folded crate in his right hand. “We’ll do it together, alright?”
She nods absently, unable to tear her gaze away from the carcass that used to be her home. “Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” Dean asks, hoping it will help her get her bearings back. “A - a pendant,” Y/N answers, the question snapping her out of her trance. “A golden pendent. It was hanging from my rearview mirror. It…”
The words she wants to say get caught by a sudden wave of emotion, but she bites down on her bottom lip, fights free from the suffocating grip of sorrow and pulls in enough air to finish her sentence.
“It contains my sister’s ashes.”
The expression on Dean’s face shifts. The way he was looking at her earlier was already filled with so much empathy, but now it’s different. She has seen it before. On the faces of loved ones, family and friends, neighbors, classmates, teachers. On the faces of everyone who learned about the tragic death of Jade. Pity, remorse - the look that says ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. She has witnessed it in the eyes of so many when she became the sister of the girl who died.
Dean doesn’t say anything - he knows he doesn’t have to. He had a feeling there was a history to the mysterious wanderer, something that brought her on this lonesome path. He just wished it wasn’t a loss as such. Losing family - it scars your soul and takes a chunk out of your heart that will never stop hurting. He knows that kind of pain way too well.
The man who is still holding her hand sets his jaw and nods, acknowledging the heavy message. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he promises.
After a soft squeeze, his grip slips from hers, her savior taking initiative to start with the impossible task at hand. He moves towards the wreck, glass scrunching under his boots. It takes a few seconds before Y/N follows, but when he glances over his shoulder, she’s close behind.
The spray painted ‘X’ on the sliding door indicates that rescue workers have checked the vehicle for survivors. With the dented barrier that gave him a hard time freeing Y/N last night now out of the way, Dean checks the living area in the back. As his observant gaze darts around in the completely trashed van, he notices the small pocket of life where he found the owner of the Volkswagen. Between the benches and under the table, which surprisingly managed to hold, she survived, only covered under a few pillows to protect herself. With the intense damage to the area and to the vehicle, it’s a miracle she survived. Had she chosen any other spot inside to take cover, her odds would have looked very different.
“Found your laptop. Although I doubt it still works,” he announces, reaching to pick up the computer, water dripping from it. “I found my wallet and my passport,” she counters.
Dean steps back out, careful not to cut himself on the shards that litter the floor. He places the device in the crate together with a leather-bound book, before checking on Y/N. The passenger-side door hangs open from its hinges, crooked and with the window blown out. It offers easy access to the front seat and the glove compartment. He finds her sitting on the edge of the step, checking the contents.
She doesn’t seem particularly thrilled to have found the valuable items. When Dean scans the ceiling of the VW, he notices that the windshield has perished in the storm, the rearview mirror is nowhere to be seen. The most important object in her world is missing. “It’s gone,” she says, her voice monotone.
Shut down, she flips through her cards; her driver license, creditcard, a couple of hundred dollars in cash - all there. She couldn’t care less, though. It’s worth nothing to her at this point. It would have been a hassle if she had lost it as well, but everything in her hands could have been replaced. The last fragment of Jade’s existence can not.
“We’ll keep searchin’. It could still be around here somewhere,” Dean offers, trying to keep her spirits up. Y/N sniffs and nods, refusing to break even though she can sense the grief growing in her chest, speeding up her heart rate and constricting her airway. She pushes it down, the tough survivor rising to her feet again, leaving her wallet and proof of American citizenship in the crate.
Aimlessly, she begins to wander through the debris, joining Dean in the search. They find a few random items surrounding the camper; a coffee mug she bought in San Diego that somehow is still in one piece, her camcorder that clearly isn’t. Bits and pieces that used to tell a story about Y/N, a tale that now has turned tragic.
A familiar face stares back at her from one of the many photos that once decorated her camper, lying between the rubble as a bittersweet reminder of what once was. Captivated by the bright eyes, Y/N crouches down and picks it up. The polaroid is wrinkled, water having damaged the colors, but she can still see her.
Jade. Sweet, sweet Jade.
Motionless, she stares at the picture. Her sister has her arm around a girl she barely recognizes. A younger version of herself, happy, clueless, without a care in the world. It’s almost as if both women in the image have died, because without her soulmate by her side, she feels more like a ghost than a living being. Sure, she is trying to make the most of it. Taking on this adventurous trip, meeting people and having fun is all part of that journey to find herself again. But will she ever, now that her best friend was ripped away from her so violently?
Why didn’t I save her? Why did she die? Why?
Y/N doesn’t realize that the tears are streaming down her cheeks, not until a drop of agony falls on the already stained photo. There’s no way she can stop the tidal wave that crashes onto shore and wipes her off her feet. The guilt and grief is too great, too much for her to handle. All those unresolved feelings come right back up to the surface, despite that she buried it deep.
“Hey…”
She barely registers Dean’s voice, her pulse drumming in her ears. The touch of his hand on her back doesn’t make her jump, even though she didn’t realize he was standing next to her. It offers only little comfort, because what could possibly make this kind of pain go away?
Dean tentatively rubs his thumb over her shoulderblade, seeing her so mournful and hopeless tugging at his heartstrings. She’s trembling, her fingers holding the damaged picture shaking. For a second he looks at it, recognizing Y/N. He assumes the other girl in the photo is her sister, since they hold such resemblance. A moment in time that the poor woman by his side will never be able to relive.
“C’mere,” he says softly, gently turning her quivering form.
Finally she responds to his presence and leans in against his chest as he pulls her close, wrapping his sheltering arms around her. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the traumatic night she had on this exact spot that adds to her heightened emotions, or that she hasn’t been held like this in a long time, but the embrace seems to snap something inside of her as she lets out a sob. Like the glass of the VW’s windows, she shatters. Like the Cypress tree, she breaks.
Dean lets her cry, only hushing her when she struggles to breathe between sobs. Silently the stormchaser tucks her head under his chin, caressing her hair with slow, even strokes. He feels the tears stain his shirt, the tremors her body is radiating, her fingertips pressing into his jacket, leaving prints on his soul.
For a second he puts himself in her shoes, thinking of Sam. His little brother’s well-being is the only thing on his mind whenever they drive into dangerous weather. As the oldest, it is his job to protect the small boy with messy brown hair that outgrew him by the time he turned seventeen. Dean’s instincts kicked in the moment his mother handed him baby Sammy for the first time and they are just as strong today as they were back then. After their mom died, it was John who fueled that fire, teaching Dean that keeping Sam safe was the only priority, drilling it into his mind like a sergeant.
Dad.
Just the mere thought of losing his family ignites such an uneasy sensation that Dean swallows with difficulty. Very well aware that the memory alone has pulled the pin from the grenade of emotions, he throws the mixture of reality and imagination as far away as possible.
He can’t have it detonate. Not now, not ever. But fuck, does he understand Y/N’s sorrow.
Taking a deep breath himself, Dean adjusts her hold, but the broken girl is nowhere ready to let go already and shuts her eyes firmly. She can feel the sun however, a comforting warmth heating her skin. The rays invite her to let some of that light through fluttering lashes, her surroundings coming into focus again.
The sheer contrast between the destruction and the blue sky above couldn’t be greater. Chaos versus clear, depression versus brightness. Y/N lowers her gaze while resting her head against Dean’s shoulder. Amongst the mess made by the wind and rain, something catches her attention a couple of yards further up. A shimmer, caused by the sun reflecting on a shiny bit of material, bouncing back a glint of hope.
No, it can’t be. It’s just a shard of glass, right? It couldn’t possibly be.
Almost too afraid to move and disrupt the mirage, she slowly lifts her tear-stained cheek from Dean’s chest. As she creates a little distance, he allows her to slip from his embrace. When he notices her fixed stare, he follows it, confused. Her first step is hesitant, but despite the fear of disappointment, she strides towards the glimmer.
The sun flashes against the flat surface of the object that she lifts up from the glass, the chrome of the rearview mirror still shining brightly. From it hangs a cylinder-shaped pendant, the gold engravings filled with dirt, but the piece of jewelry still whole.
“You found it,” Dean says, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the priceless item. Y/N stares at the small golden container, dangling on the end of a black string. When her stunned gaze shifts to the man who she owes her life to, a broad smile breaks through the tears.
I found her.
A sigh of relief escapes her mouth as she unties the pendant from the car part. Tears have filled her eyes again, but this time not just from sadness. Mixed emotions shimmer in her irises when she holds the ashes of her sister in the palm of her hand, showing Dean the beautifully crafted piece of jewelry.
“May I?” he asks, before picking it up carefully. She nods, using her sleeve to wipe her runny nose, smiling at the tiny object she holds so dear. “Turn around,” Dean says, undoing the clasp as she does so.
He carefully sweeps Y/N’s hair out of the way before he positions the leather string around her neck, fastening the clasp behind her head with careful fingers. She twirls around, looking down at the pendant that is resting just below the dip of her collarbone. A deep breath leaves her lips as she encloses her hand around the only physical object of Jade that she possesses. Her heart will never be whole again, but being able to wear her ashes close to her chest, gives her the feeling that she is still with her, even though it’s not in this universe or dimension.
When she looks up at the man in front of her, there’s an trace of relief and calm adorning her features. For a short moment the two stare at each other, and the stormchaser can see that the world just became a lot less daunting for the young woman. Content, he mirrors her expression.
“Let’s see what else we can find,” he offers. She nods, smiling through the tears, still holding on to the pendant. If they can find a golden necklace in all the carnage, who knows what other treasures lay buried under the rubble.
They find Y/N’s camcorder, but give up on ever retrieving her phone after a half an hour. The clothes that they find are ruined, so are the books she had gathered during her trip, to read in peaceful moments.
That’s it, that’s everything. There is nothing more to search for, and Y/N doesn’t know whether to be surprised she was able to live with so little, or mourn for how much she has lost.
With a half filled crate containing all that she owns, the pair walk back to the Chevrolet with the sun shining down on them. They might not have been able to salvage much, but she doesn’t care. Jade is with her, and that’s all that matters.
They leave her things on the backseat and Y/N takes a moment to look back on what feels like the end of an era. Saying goodbye to her Volkswagen isn’t easy, but she knows she will find her way again.
Dean watches her over the hood of his car, allowing her a few seconds by herself before he unlocks his Silverado. “Ready to go?” he ushers gently. Y/N nods, pulling the handle and opening the door of the large truck. “Where are we going?”
“Walmart,” he states, throwing her a grin as she sits down in the passenger seat. He doesn’t like to generalize, but he knows he is about to make one woman very happy. “Let’s go shopping.”
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you're up for it, don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!
Taglist reblog: M - Z
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