The Damn Party
Dean Di Laurentis x Reader (y/n)
Summary: When y/n finds out that her drink has been spiked she has no one to turn to but Dean, her enemy. Dean finding y/n knocking at his door in her barely conscious state brings up clashing feelings.
TW: having a drugged drink at a party
Word Count: 4.8K
The music could be heard from half a block away. The hockey house was already overflowing by the time Hannah and Y/N arrived, laughter spilling out the open front door along with the bass that rattled the porch railings. People crowded every room, cups clinked together, someone was yelling about beer pong in the kitchen, and the living room had already turned into a sea of strangers dancing shoulder to shoulder.
Hannah sighed dramatically, "I swear they invite the entire campus."
"They probably do," Y/N replied, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her dress.
She hadn't wanted to come. Not because she disliked parties. Because Dean Di Laurentis would be here. And Dean Di Laurentis possessed an almost supernatural ability to ruin perfectly good evenings.
Hannah nudged her shoulder. "Relax."
"I am relaxed."
"You've been glaring at the front door for thirty seconds."
"I'm mentally preparing."
"For Dean?"
Y/N rolled her eyes. "I'm mentally preparing for his ego."
Hannah laughed as they stepped inside.
Almost immediately, someone called Hannah's name from across the room. It was Garrett. He was standing near the kitchen island, waving her over with an easy grin.
"Go," Y/N said.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, girl, go talk to your boyfriend. I'm not going to spontaneously combust because you're talking to your boyfriend."
"You might if Dean starts talking."
"I'll survive."
"I sure hope you do."
Y/N shoved her lightly.
"Go."
Hannah laughed and disappeared into the crowd.
Y/N made her way toward the drink table, weaving through clusters of people she vaguely recognized from campus. She could feel eyes on her. Not in an uncomfortable way. Just... noticing.
She'd spent longer getting ready than she wanted to admit. Her hair fell in soft waves over one shoulder, and the dark emerald dress she wore hugged her just enough to make her feel confident without trying too hard. It was simple. Elegant and comfortable.
"You look hot," Hannah had declared.
"I look dressed."
"You look hot."
"I look like someone attending a party."
"You look like Dean's going to choke on his own tongue."
Y/N had snorted. "As if Dean Di Laurentis has ever been speechless in his life."
Apparently... Tonight might've been close. Across the room, Dean had been halfway through a conversation with one of his teammates when Logan abruptly stopped listening.
"Dude."
Dean barely looked at him.
"What?"
Logan nodded toward the front hall.
Dean followed his gaze and forgot what he'd been about to say.
"...Oh."
Logan smirked.
"Oh?"
Dean recovered almost instantly.
"So?"
"So…?" Logan echoed.
Dean shrugged.
"She cleans up okay."
Logan barked out a laugh. "Cleans up okay?"
"Yeah."
"You've been staring for like fifteen seconds."
"I absolutely have not."
"You absolutely have."
Dean tore his eyes away.
"I was observing."
Logan’s grin widened.
"Observing."
"Shut up."
He grabbed his drink and headed toward the kitchen before Logan could say anything else.
It was a coincidence. Entirely a coincidence that Y/N reached the drink table at the exact same time. She noticed him immediately. Of course she did. Dean Di Laurentis stood out in any room he walked into, whether she liked it or not. He leaned casually against the counter in a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, laughing at something one of the hockey guys said.
Then his eyes landed on her. The laughter stopped. For just a second. His gaze traveled from her heels... To the dress... To her face.
There was the briefest flicker of something she couldn't quite read. It disappeared so quickly she wondered if she'd imagined it.
Then the familiar smirk returned. "There she is."
Y/N sighed. "Hello to you too."
"I almost didn't recognize you."
"No?"
"Nah."
He tilted his head.
"Didn't think you owned anything that wasn't a sweater."
She smiled sweetly.
"And I didn't think you owned a shirt with sleeves."
A couple of people nearby chuckled.
Dean nodded once.
"Fair."
Y/N reached for a cup. "I'll cherish the compliment."
"I wasn't complimenting you."
"I know." She looked at him over the rim of the cup. "That would've been very out of character."
Dean laughed quietly. "You really think you're funny."
"I know I am."
"Hm."
He folded his arms.
"I think the dress is trying a little too hard."
The words landed harder than either of them expected. Y/N's smile faltered. Only for a heartbeat. She recovered so quickly that most people wouldn't have noticed.
Dean did.
"So does your personality," she replied evenly.
He smiled again.
"If I wanted my personality judged, I'd have dated an English major."
She stared at him.
"You know, for someone who's supposed to be good with teamwork, you're remarkably insufferable."
"And yet," Dean said with a shrug, "people still invite me places."
"So do people invite me."
He looked around theatrically.
"Really? I assumed Hannah brought you as emotional support."
There it was. The one that actually stung. Y/N's fingers tightened around her cup. She and Hannah had been inseparable since freshman year, and Dean knew it. He knew exactly which remarks would hit where they hurt.
She forced a laugh. "Don't flatter yourself."
"I'm not."
"You've clearly spent all week thinking of that one."
Dean smiled lazily. "Took me about three seconds."
"Must've been exhausting."
He stepped just a little closer.
"Not nearly as exhausting as pretending you're above everyone in this room."
Her eyebrows lifted. "I don't pretend. I just have standards."
Someone behind Dean let out an audible, "Damn."
Dean chuckled.
"There she is."
"What?"
"The real you. The one that thinks she's smarter than everyone."
Y/N held his gaze.
"I don't think I'm smarter than everyone."
"No?"
She smiled.
"Just you."
The surrounding group burst into laughter.
Dean's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He laughed too. But this time it didn't quite reach his eyes.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt strangely charged. Like the room had grown quieter despite the music still shaking the walls. Dean looked at her again. Really looked. The dress. The way she'd done her hair. The confidence she'd walked in with. She looked... beautiful. Annoyingly, unfairly beautiful. Which irritated him more than it should have.
So instead of saying the one thing that had unexpectedly crossed his mind: You look nice, He smiled that infuriating smile and said, "You know..." His voice was light. Almost conversational. "I guess if you were trying to distract everyone from your personality..." His eyes flicked down her dress once before meeting hers again. "...it almost worked.”
Silence.
This time, she couldn't hide it: the hurt. Dean continued, “I just wish Hannah wouldn’t bring you along; it’s just a waste of space, you know. And it’s not like you’re gonna have fun,” he scoffed, “as if anyone would go for that,” he eyed her down, “I sure wouldn’t, and you know damn well I’m all over gorgeous girls all the time.”
The hurt flashed across her face before she buried it beneath a practiced smile. As much confidence as she carried, some words did take her back to high school, where everyone would just shatter and break her heart all around.
"So that's your best one tonight?" she asked quietly. "I expected more."
She stepped around him before he could answer. "Enjoy your party, Di Laurentis."
She walked away without looking back. Dean watched her disappear into the crowd.
Logan appeared beside him a second later. "What the hell was that?"
Dean didn't answer. Logan looked toward where Y/N had gone. Then back at Dean.
"You know..." he said slowly, "I think you just can’t take your eyes off that dress.”
Dean frowned.
"What?"
Logan shook his head. "You looked at her like you forgot how to breathe. And then you immediately acted like an ass."
Dean scoffed.
"I always act like an ass."
Logan smirked, "Yeah, but usually it's because you think someone's annoying."
He looked toward the crowd where Y/N had disappeared.
"This time..." Logan clapped him on the shoulder. "I think it's because you're in trouble."
—
To forget the snarky comment, Y/n went in for a drink. Of course she looked gorgeous: her hair, her dress… everything was just breathtaking, but Dean’s words awakened some hidden insecurity that was resurfacing from high school.
Y/n was making her way to Hannah to ask her to leave the party, but she saw her and Garrett walk upstairs to Garrett’s room.
Shit…
What kind of friend would she be if she interrupted their special time? She needed her friend’s support, but not at the cost of inconveniencing her. So she sighed and went back for yet another drink. There was no point in going home alone and suffocating in bed with resurfacing bitter memories. Y/n chose to drown those with more alcohol.
Y/N lasted exactly twenty-three minutes before she needed another drink.
Not because she'd had that much to drink. Because she needed something to do with her hands. Something to wash away the lingering sting of Dean's words.
She slipped into the kitchen, grateful to find it momentarily less crowded than the living room. She reached for a clean plastic cup. Ice. Lemonade. A splash of vodka.
She stared down into the drink for a second, hoping it’ll help to stop thinking. Dean Di Laurentis had spent the better part of two years insulting her. She should've been immune by now.
So why had that one landed?
She let out a slow breath. Because this one remark hadn't been clever. It hadn't even been funny.
It had just been... Mean.
Then her racing thoughts were interrupted by a stupid comment: "You look like you're making a chemistry experiment."
She closed her eyes. Of course.
Without turning around, she said flatly, “Don't you have girls waiting in line for your attention?"
Dean walked up beside her anyway, grabbing an empty cup. "They'll survive."
He poured himself a drink, leaning casually against the counter.
Silence settled between them. It felt... different this time. Less like a game.
Y/N focused on dropping ice into her cup. Dean watched her from the corner of his eye.
She hadn't looked at him once. Not after earlier.
For reasons he couldn't explain, that bothered him.
"You know," he said, swirling his drink, "Logan thinks I was too hard on you."
She gave a small shrug.
"Good for Logan."
"So you're not gonna defend yourself?"
"I've learned it's usually a waste of energy."
That wasn't the answer he'd expected. He frowned.
"What?"
She finally looked at him. Her smile was polite. Almost painfully so.
"You've already decided who I am." Her voice was calm. "So why bother changing your mind?"
Dean looked away first. Something about that answer sat wrong. He covered it the only way he knew how.
"You know what your problem is?"
She sighed.
"Please. Enlighten me."
"You walk around acting like you're too good for everyone."
A tiny laugh escaped her.
"No."
"No?"
"I walk around trying not to care what people think."
He scoffed.
"That's adorable."
"It works most days."
"Clearly not tonight."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
He saw it immediately. The way her shoulders stiffened. The tiny inhale she took.
He should've left it there. Instead….
"I mean..." he said lightly, "you spent all that time getting dressed up." His eyes drifted over her outfit again. "And for what?"
She said nothing. Dean smiled, though it felt forced now.
"You really thought tonight was going to be different?"
The kitchen suddenly felt very quiet.
"You thought someone was finally going to notice you?" He laughed once. “I hate to break it to you..." His voice dropped just enough to make every word sharper. "But people are looking because they don't recognize you." He held her gaze. "Not because they're interested."
For a long moment, Y/N didn't move. Dean waited for the comeback.
She always had one. Always.
Instead she looked down into her cup. "Are you done?" Her voice was so quiet that it almost didn't sound like her.
Dean blinked. "What?"
"I asked..." She swallowed. "...if you're done."
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
She gave one small nod, as though answering herself.
"Okay."
No sarcastic remark. No eye roll. No smug smile. She simply picked up her drink.
"I hope, one day," she said softly, "someone speaks to you the way you speak to other people."
Dean's chest tightened. She looked at him one last time. Not angry. Not even upset. Just disappointed. Then she turned and walked away. Dean watched her disappear into the hallway. For some reason, he felt awful.
Y/n was so consumed in her thoughts and a need to get away that she shoved through a crowded hallway just to get outside. She didn’t even notice the small splash... a splash that was made when someone dropped something into her drink.
Some guy tossed a pill into her cup with an easy flick of his wrist. It landed with a tiny splash before sinking beneath the ice.
"There." He snorted. "Let's see how long it takes…"
A couple of people laughed.
Y/n was already outside, sitting on an empty chair she found. Still replaying Dean's words in her head, she wrapped her fingers around the cup.
Y/N looked down at the cup for only a second. Then, she took a sip of the drink and then another one, unaware of what happened nearly thirty seconds ago.
—
Dean had never hidden from one of his own parties. Usually, he was the reason they stayed alive. If the music got louder, it was because Dean wanted it louder. If another game started in the kitchen, it was because Dean had convinced everyone to play. If people were laughing, chances were he was somewhere in the middle of it. He thrived in rooms like this. Crowded. Loud. Chaotic. Easy.
Tonight everything felt just a little off. He wandered back into the living room, weaving through people who greeted him with pats on the shoulder and shouted greetings over the music.
"Dean!" Someone shoved a red cup into his hand. He accepted it automatically.
Another guy pulled him into a conversation about next week's game. Dean answered. Mostly he just nodded in the right places, made the occasional sarcastic comment, and even laughed once.
But his attention kept drifting. His eyes searched the room without meaning to. Not looking for anyone in particular. Just... looking.
He caught himself glancing toward the hallway. Then toward the kitchen. Then the staircase. His eyebrows pulled together. What was he doing? He took a long drink instead.
"Dean." A familiar voice.
He turned. A blonde girl smiled up at him, already standing much closer than necessary.
"I've been trying to find you."
"Have you?"
"Mhm."
She reached up, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the front of his shirt.
"I thought maybe you disappeared."
Dean looked down at her hand.
Then back up.
"Huh."
She laughed.
"I was wondering if you wanted to dance."
Normally? He would've said yes without thinking.
She was pretty and confident. Exactly the kind of girl who usually made parties more interesting.
Instead his answer caught in his throat. "I..."
For some reason, the image that popped into his head wasn't the blonde standing in front of him.
It was emerald green, the color of Y/n’s dress.
A quiet voice that never seemed to leave his thoughts got louder, “I hope, one day, someone speaks to you the way you speak to other people.”
He blinked. "Maybe later."
The girl looked surprised.
"Oh." She recovered quickly. "Okay."
She disappeared back into the crowd.
Dean watched her go.
That was… weird.
He took another sip.
Someone cranked the music even louder. The living room erupted into cheers. Someone started chanting his name from across the room. Usually, he'd be over there already. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was.
"Dean!" Another voice.
This time, a brunette. She slipped easily into his space, smiling like they'd known each other forever.
"You owe me a rematch in pong."
"Do I?"
"You destroyed me last weekend."
"I probably did."
She laughed, looping an arm through his.
"You sound thrilled to see me."
Dean looked at her.
She was gorgeous. Dark hair. Bright smile.
One of the girls who always seemed to show up whenever there was a hockey party.
She squeezed his arm playfully.
"So?"
"So?"
"The rematch."
Dean looked toward the dining room where everyone was gathered around the table.
Then looked back at her.
"I think I'll pass."
Her smile faltered.
"You... don't want to play beer pong?"
"Not really."
She laughed like he was joking. When he didn't laugh back, she slowly let go of his arm.
"Okay..."
She walked away looking thoroughly confused.
Dean was, too.
What the hell?
He never turned down beer pong.
He frowned into his cup. Something was wrong with him. He wandered onto the back deck. Fresh air. That would help. Except it didn't.
He saw Y/n. After the past two encounters, he didn’t feel like going at it again. He couldn’t even ignore her and go on about his day and enjoy the party.
He wandered back inside, weaving through strangers who moved aside automatically when they recognized him.
Someone called after him. "Dean! Take a shot!"
He waved without looking.
Another voice.
"Dean, come dance!"
He ignored it.
A hand caught his wrist.
He turned. Another girl. She smiled brightly.
"You've been avoiding me all night."
"Sorry."
She stepped closer. "You can make it up to me."
Usually, he'd flirt back. Usually, this part was effortless. She reached up, fingers brushing lightly over the back of his neck. Dean felt... nothing.
Not even annoyance.
Just... Nothing.
"I'm actually heading upstairs."
Her smile slipped.
"Oh."
He gently untangled her hand from his arm before continuing toward the staircase.
Halfway up, he stopped.
He looked down.
The entire house stretched beneath him.
Music. Laughter. People dancing. Friends shouting across rooms. Girls smiling at him every time he looked their way. It was everything he'd always enjoyed. Everything that had always been enough.
Tonight it wasn't.
He ran a hand through his hair. "What the hell..." The words came out barely above a whisper. No answer came.
He climbed the rest of the stairs. His bedroom door clicked shut behind him, muffling the music until it became nothing more than a dull pulse through the walls.
Silence.
Dean leaned back against the door.
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Then laughed once. A humorless sound.
"If anyone ever finds out I'm hiding in my room during my own party..." He shook his head. "They'll never let me live it down."
He tossed his phone onto the bed before sitting beside it. For the first time in years, the party downstairs held absolutely no appeal.
He couldn't explain it. Couldn't fix it. Couldn't even name it.
All he knew was that every laugh downstairs sounded too far away. And every time he closed his eyes, he saw a pair of hurt eyes and heard a quiet voice asking, "Are you done?"
—
Outside, the party only seemed to get louder.
Someone had turned the music up again. Cheers erupted from the living room, followed by the unmistakable crash of something breaking and a chorus of laughter that suggested nobody particularly cared.
Y/N stood in the middle of it all.
She couldn't hear herself think.
At first, she assumed it was the music.
Then she realized the room itself had started to move.
She frowned.
The people around her blurred together for half a second before snapping back into focus.
"Weird." She blinked hard.
Maybe she'd stood up too fast.
She lifted her cup to take another sip, but stopped halfway. Her stomach rolled unpleasantly.
No.
Something wasn't right. She lowered the cup.
The bass thudded through the floor beneath her feet, each vibration making the dizziness worse.
Someone bumped her shoulder as they squeezed past.
Normally, she would've stumbled a step and laughed it off. Instead, her knees almost gave out. She caught herself on the edge of a nearby table.
"Oh..." A whisper .Barely audible. "...Oh, no."
Another wave hit. The room tilted sharply to the left before correcting itself.
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut.
Okay.
Okay, breathe.
When she opened them again, the crowd seemed even bigger somehow.
Too many people.
Too much noise.
Too little air.
Her fingers tightened around the plastic cup until it crumpled.
"Oh, shit."
Her voice trembled.
"Oh, shit..."
She looked down at the drink in her hand.
Without another thought, she walked to the nearest trash can and dumped the rest of it out before tossing the cup after it.
She needed Hannah.
That thought came immediately.
Hannah.
She'd know what to do.
Y/N turned toward the hallway.
Then remembered.
Garrett had quietly stolen Hannah away almost twenty minutes ago.
Garrett had simply grinned, taken Hannah's hand, and led her upstairs.
Privacy.
Right.
Y/N swallowed.
She couldn't exactly burst into Garrett's room.
Absolutely not.
Her breathing grew uneven.
The hallway stretched farther than she remembered.
Another wave of dizziness crashed over her so suddenly she reached for the wall. Her palm slapped against it. Her fingers trembled against the old drywall.
Think.
Who else?
Her parents? No way, she was far away in college, what would her parents even do? Fuck.
An ambulance?
No.
That sounded more stupid. Who calls an ambulance to a party?
No, no...
She wasn't even sure what was wrong.
She just... She just needed someone.
Someone she knew.
Her thoughts landed on a name she never would've expected.
Dean.
She almost laughed.
It would've been funny under different circumstances.
Dean Di Laurentis.
The same Dean who'd spent the entire evening trying to make her miserable. The same Dean who'd looked her dead in the eye and told her no one would ever be interested in her.
She hated him.
He was an ass.
Cocky.
Infuriating.
Meaner than he realized.
But...
He would never hurt her in a way bunch of guys in this party would if they found her in this state.
Her drink has been spiked, she thought, and whoever it was was bound to show up sooner or later. She needed to get away.
She knew that with complete certainty.
Her feet were already moving.
The staircase looked impossibly steep. By the third step, her legs felt strangely disconnected from the rest of her body.
Come on.
One more.
She gripped the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white. The music downstairs faded with every step upward, replaced by the pounding of her own heartbeat.
Halfway up, her vision blurred again. She stopped. The stairs shifted beneath her.
"No..."
She squeezed the railing harder.
"You are not passing out." As if scolding herself would be any help.
Another breath.
Another step.
Then another.
By the time she reached the second floor, she was breathing like she'd run a marathon.
Dean's door.
End of the hallway.
So close.
She took one step. Then another.
Her foot caught slightly against the carpet.
She stumbled, catching herself against the wall.
The hallway spun. "Oh, God..."
Everything suddenly felt so far away.
She finally reached Dean's door, raised her hand and knocked.
—
Inside, Dean didn't move.
He stared absently at the ceiling from where he sat on the edge of his bed.
The music downstairs had become little more than a dull vibration through the walls.
A knock sounded.
Dean sighed.
Without getting up, he called toward the door.
"Occupied."
Silence.
Good.
Probably another couple looking for somewhere quiet.
Not happening.
He leaned back against the headboard again.
Another knock.
More insistent this time.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I said go away."
Nothing.
Then…. a heavy thud. Like something, or someone had fallen.
Dean's head snapped toward the door. Every trace of annoyance disappeared. He was on his feet before he'd even realized he'd stood.
He yanked the door open. And froze.
Y/N laid crumpled just outside his room. One hand still stretched weakly toward the doorframe. Her hair had fallen across part of her face. She looked frighteningly pale.
"What the…" Dean dropped to his knees instantly. "Y/N?"
She stirred. Barely. Her eyelids fluttered open just enough to find him. For a second, she simply looked at him. Like she was trying to make sure she'd found the right room.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, the question coming out much sharper than he'd intended.
Was he angry? No.
Panicked? Confused? Terrified? Yes.
"I..." she whispered. Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it. "I know..." She swallowed with visible effort. "I know you hate me enough not to try anything…”
Her eyes began slipping shut.
Dean's expression shattered.
Her arm gave out beneath her. Her body pitched sideways.
"Y/N!"
He caught her before she could hit her head.
Dean held her; one arm around her shoulders, the other catching her legs awkwardly before lowering her carefully against him.
"Hey, hey, hey." His voice had changed completely. Every ounce of sarcasm was gone. Every trace of arrogance vanished. Raw panic replaced all of it.
"Look at me." Her head lolled weakly against his shoulder. "Y/N."
Nothing.
"Come on."
Her eyes opened halfway. Just enough.
"There you are."
His hand came up instinctively, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face. She looked exhausted. Not sleepy. Drained. Like staying conscious required more effort than she had left.
"What happened?"
She blinked slowly and closed her eyes.
Dean's heart slammed painfully against his ribs. He tried to control his shaking hands.
"What did you have to drink?"
She frowned.
"...just..." Another slow blink. "...not much..."
"Did you hit your head?"
A tiny shake. "No."
"Did somebody…" His voice caught. He couldn't even finish the question. Y/N looked at him, and nodded.
"I think so..." Her breathing hitched. And she fully closed her eyes.
Dean’s eyes widened. He was trying to hide his panic.
"Okay." He nodded quickly. "Okay."
He wasn't okay. Not even close. But she needed him calm.
"I've got you."
He slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. She was lighter than he'd expected. Too light.
She instinctively curled toward his chest as he lifted her. Her forehead rested weakly against his shoulder. Dean carried her inside as though she might break.
The bedroom door swung shut behind them. He crossed to the bed immediately. He lowered her carefully onto the mattress, supporting her head until it rested against the pillow.
She shivered. Without thinking, Dean tugged the comforter over her. He crouched beside the bed.
"Stay with me." He shook her slighly so she’d stay conscious. Y/N looked at him through half-lidded eyes.
"I'm trying."
"I know." His voice cracked. "I know."
She reached for him without really meaning to. Her fingers brushed weakly against his wrist. Dean took her hand immediately. Firm. Steady.
"I'm here."
Her grip was almost nonexistent. She still didn't let go as she closed her eyes one last time to sleep off the drug’s effect.
Dean looked at her. Really looked at her. She was unconscious and laying in his bed. A dark thought crossed his mind. She could have not made it to his room and right now… God knows what would have happened.
She'd climbed the stairs. Walked through an entire house full of people. Passed countless rooms. And somehow she'd come here, to him. And out of all people he chose him not because she trusted him, but because she thought he hated her enough not to try anything another filthy guy would.
A lump settled painfully in his throat.
Y/n’s eyes opened slowly, she was in and out of consciousness.
"I'm here." Dean whispered.
Her breathing slowed again. Her eyelids drooped lower.
"No, no."
Dean gently squeezed her hand.
"Don't fall asleep again, not yet."
"Tired."
"I know."
"Just..." Her words were fading.
He leaned closer. "Stay awake a little longer for me."
She tried.
God, she tried.
He could see it.
The effort it took just to keep her eyes open.
Eventually she looked at him one last time. Really looked. Like she wanted to make sure he was still there. Then, satisfied, her fingers loosened around his hand. Her breathing evened out. Her face relaxed for the first time since he'd opened the door.
"Y/N?"
No answer.
Just the quiet rhythm of sleep.
Dean stayed exactly where he was.
Still holding her hand. Still watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. As if looking away, even for a second, might somehow let something happen to her.
Downstairs, the party raged on. People laughed. Music shook the walls. Someone cheered loud enough for the sound to carry upstairs. Dean didn't hear any of it. His entire world had narrowed to the girl asleep in his bed and the sickening realization that she chose him to be her safe place due to every cruel thing he said to her, because in y/n’s eyes Dean hated her.
