What happens to a casual relationship when lockdown forces it to progress?
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Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT - NO MINORS ALLOWED. Angst, Dean acting like a bellend, Covid story. Disrespect to anti-vaxxers is not aimed at anyone with a genuine reason so don’t @ me. Lockdown conditions are based on UK law. Mention of domestic abuse. Language.
A/N: This is my entry for @negans-lucille-tblr and her 5k Senses Challenge. Congrats on the milestone darling, and thanks for hosting! This was supposed to be a frivolous little fic, but I ended up using it to process my pandemic experience. God bless fanfic catharsis. My allocated sense was “touch” - meaning this story can contain no dialogue. This is a story told from Dean’s POV so tenses, grammar etc are intentionally jumbled. Prompt is in bold. W/C: 2138. I tried Bee!
Thanks to @evansrogerskitten for powering through a shit week to beta for me.
Forty-four days. Fourteen days of quarantine, less seven that overlapped with lockdown. Plus thirty of lockdown living. Plus the seven I subtracted earlier. Makes forty-four. Simple math but it’s nice to know my brain can still function without help from my dick and my stomach. All we’ve done since I got over my Covid symptoms is eat and fuck. I felt better after five days so that’s thirty-nine days of bacon and booty. I figured that out all by myself too.
She’s not impressed. Me figuring out how many days it’s been since she accidentally moved into my house is apparently “passive-aggressive” and helps our situation “not one rats-ass sized bit”.
Warnings: cursing, injured reader, mentions of blood, reader death, also really sad???
Word Count: 1069
A/N: I’m sorry if this is a bit half assed, its 4 am and I just felt like writing something. Enjoy!
Dean could recall it so easily, the sound of laughter floating over the mix of music and billiard balls. He turned his head away from his beer to look over his shoulder, seeing you sitting with Jo at the other side of the roadhouse. The way his breath caught in his throat, taking you in for the first time. The interactions you had with Jo told him that you were a usual customer, but his lack of appearances in the first place explained why he had never seen you before. The moment you guys made eye contact, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
Now years later, you still had the same effect. It didn't matter if you were walking across a damn parking lot, the breath still left his lungs. After meeting through Jo and realizing you were also a hunter, you joined the boys on their journey. Helping them defeat Azazel, all the way to dealing with Chucks bullshit. Anyone would have felt safe betting that you guys were a couple, however nothing ever crossed the line of semi consciousness pillow talk. You guys were his team, Sammy and you. Dean was nothing without his family and overtime that grew to include you.
He still remembered the red smile you threw at him when Jo finally introduced the two of you. The smile that casted out the laughter that hooked him from the start. It was one of his favorite things about you, so big and bright. Your smile was contagious, and even on the darkest of days you were able to pull one out of just about anyone.
Dean would describe you as bright, especially the light in your eyes. You radiate so much good, he often found himself wondering how someone like him could even gain a friendship like that. A friendship. What the hell was he supposed to do. Dean was absolutely wrapped around your entire existence. It was almost twisted how bad Dean had it. He’d lay his head on the blade if it called for your safety. He could recall every single detail of the night you met, hell he could probably recall the whole conversation. He knew all your likes and all your dislikes. They were all etched into his brain only because he made sure they were. You consumed Dean whole.
So where the hell did he go wrong?
The sound of your scream seemed to be louder than anything he heard… laughter, music, and billiard balls in a busy hall combined. Seeing you collapse to your knees, squeezed his lungs so tight that he almost forgot to breathe. The red of your lips from that night was nothing compared to the dark red stain that grew on your shirt. Panic shook him to his core as he held his hand to your side, attempting to stop anything else from happening. Dean and Sam shared a look before the latter took off after the monster.
“I could’ve sworn I had it.” You winced as you smiled. Even with yours forced, Dean failed to refrain from reflecting his own.
“We’ll get you out of here sweetheart, gonna get your patched up.” He attempted to lift you, resulting in you crying out.
Immediately he paused any movement, searching your face.
“Remember when we met at the roadhouse?” You looked up at him, taking a deep breath.
“Are you kidding me? That was the best night of my life.”
You let out a small laugh at his response, staying quiet for a moment. You knew you weren’t coming out of this building.
“Don’t do anything stupid Dean... “
“I thought you loved stupid, and don’t speak like that. You’re going to be fine (Y/N), you hear me?” God damnit, where the hell was Sam.
“That was the best night for me too,” You looked past him for a moment, before looking back at him.
“Oh yeah? Why is it the best?” The only coherent thought Dean was putting together in his head was that you needed to get somewhere safe, and he was not it.
“Cause I met you… I love you Dean.” Again there was the damn smile, this time it wasn’t forced. “I should have said something sooner but I didn’t want to make Sammy the third wheel.”
Dean was in awe that you could be cracking jokes at a time like this, but like him you had your own defense mechanisms. The forced jokes and smiles didn’t stop the tears from gathering in your eyes.
“Don’t worry we’ll have plenty of time to make Sammy the third wheel. We can start tonight once we get you out of here.”
“I wish we could go back, Dean.” Your voice sounded so small, Dean almost missed it over Sams approaching footsteps.
“Me too... me too, sweetheart.”
He looked up at Sam who shook his head, letting him know that the monster got away.
“Let’s get you out of here, (Y/N).” The lack of a response from you caused him to look down, expecting you to be nodding silently.
Instead the lack of your response was matched by the absence of life in your eyes as Dean realized you were gone. That bright light that encased you was now dark. The small chill that you had once given Dean by just shooting a look over your shoulder was now replaced by a deep, frozen, ache in his bones.
“Dean, we need to get out of here…”
He heard Sam clearly, but moving from the building, to the backseat of Baby, and eventually to Bobbys’ was a clouded mess. Your funeral, the days after, it was all a disarray of time. He was struggling to understand how he could go from one emotion to another. Feeling ecstatic that you felt the same as he did, only to have you leave him moments later. You didn’t deserve that, nothing should have changed today. You should be here with him.
Dean fell back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling until unconsciousness put a temporary end to his heartache. Unaware were his dreams, pulling him back to the familiar worn surface of the bar. Once again the recognizable clack of the billiards and finally his favorite sound.
Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome. You go on a hunt with the two Winchester brothers, one of whom you love. You decide who your Winchester is and what happens along the way. Each part is a fully independently written section and no parts are copies of others, so the story can be read a full 8 different ways with 15 parts in total and 8 endings!
Total word count: 45k+ words (over 15 parts)
Triggers: Dark, torture, reader death, angst, loss, pain, blood, serious injuries, heartbreak, implied possible major character death, fear of abandonment, loneliness, hostage situation, gore (series levels blood, torture and fatal injuries)
Triggers depend on your choices, so if you are easily upset by any of the above please proceed with caution.
[Your Story Starts Here] - You’ll be asked to make your first choice at the bottom of this chapter.
Y/N = Your Name
—
“(Y/N)! Get a move on!”
Dean’s deep voice echoed down the hallway just as you shouldered your duffle bag with a roll of your eyes. It hadn’t even been 10 minutes since the call for help had come in. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’d been busy cleaning your guns when the call came, you would’ve already been out there in the library with them, ready to go. It wasn’t as if you’d been standing around fussing over which ratty t-shirt to pack for an hour.
“On my way!” You shouted back, grimacing as the heightened volume easily erased the annoyance you’d wanted to subtly lace each word with. Throwing another quick look around your room in the Men of Letters bunker you sighed at the mess.
T-shirts and jeans were everywhere, as you’d pulled out everything to quickly stuff a few items in your overnight bag just in case the hunt took longer than planned. Not to mention the cleaning supplies you’d left abandoned on the floor from where you’d been sitting cross-legged polishing your favourite revolver.
It would all have to wait till you got back. Even though you knew you’d regret it once you made it back, bruised and stiff from the fight and the subsequent ride back in the Impala. Having to clean your room before you could fall into your bed feeling sorry for your aching bones was never fun.
Yet, sticking to a decision you knew you’d come to regret; you got a move on before Dean could call out for you again. Swiping up your phone, you hurried out into the hallway and nearly ran straight into Sam as he came barrelling out of his own room.
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