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Summary: After your talk with Dean, you have made a decision. Unbeknownst to you, so has Dean.
Word Count: 3728
A/N: Some of you have requested a second part. So here it is. It took me a while, but I hope you enjoy it as much as you enjoyed the first part. I am also currently working on a third and fourth part if any of you are interested.
DEAN'S POV
Dean's mind was still reeling from the conversation he'd had with (Y/N) two nights ago. Granted it hadn't been much of a conversation; it had only been the answer to a question neither of them had intended to come out. He could still see the shock in her eyes, the sadness, the despair at the revelation.
A sigh slipped past his lips at the recollection. He slid his right hand over his face in a futile attempt to get rid of the images playing out inside his head. He had spent the past one and a half days cooped up in his room, telling himself it was just because he had to wrap his head around the new situation and the newly crowded bunker. But the truth was he had been hiding from her, avoiding her.
Guilt had taken over his heart with every minute he stayed away. He knew (Y/N) had come to him hoping for answers to her many questions and he had left her hanging. There had just been this one big thing - person - hanging between them. He hadn't wanted that. He knew (Y/N). His (Y/N) anyways, but for the short time he had actually spent with the (Y/N) from the other world it seemed they had some characteristics in common. It didn't help that they were the same one's he had fallen in love with in the first place so long ago.
As he was laying on his bed staring at the ceiling without seeing, his (Y/N)'s voice sounded in his head over and over again, telling him to make it right; to go and talk to her, answer all her questions about this world and suppress his memories of the love of his life.
But what would happen if he did? What would happen after he answered her questions and showed her how this world worked? How would they be able to move past the fact that she had the face of the woman he loved, the one who had died only months ago saving him? The answer to all these questions was horrifically clear: They couldn't. She would leave to make it on her own.
Dean knew he should feel relieved at the realization. He wouldn't have to see her again; he wouldn't have to look into those eyes again being reminded of all they were missing inside of them, that special light it had held. And he did feel the relief, he truly did. But it was dulled by the fact that she was the closest he had to his (Y/N). It was wrong to think that way, but he couldn't stop himself from doing just that.
So the true question he had to answer for himself first was: Was he ready for her to leave?
Grunting he hoisted himself up from his bed and walked towards his door. One hand wrapped around the door handle he halted to take a deep breath, wondering if he was doing the right thing. But who was he to make the decision - whether she wanted to stay or go - for her.
The door opened with a groan. Stepping out into the brightly lit hallway, Dean was greeted with the bustling of people wandering around with purpose. The babble of conversation came from everywhere and Dean couldn't help but try and make out her voice amongst all the noise.
He made his way toward the war room, thinking that it might be the best place to start his search for her. Sam's booming voice overshadowed all the other voices as he was explaining what sounded like a mission plan. Dean stopped in the archway leaning against a pillar and watched the scene in front of him.
There were three groups in the room in total. Each group was made off of five people. One group was standing over at the control panel eyebrows furrowed as they spoke in hushed voices pointing alternately among the blinking buttons. The second group was huddled together near the metal staircase. Some had grime on their faces, some of their clothes had blood splatters on them. They seemed to just have come back from somewhere outside the bunker. One woman was still clutching the shotgun in her hands while a man had his had wrapped around a knife.
However, the group that drew Dean's attention the most was the group gathered around the table with the map. Five eager faces were trained on the person at the head: Sam. Dean's younger brother was just explaining were the nest of vampires had hidden themselves and how many there were. Dean kept his eyes on Sam, amazed at how natural he looked in the middle of all this chaos. They had saved these people not even three days ago and he had already assumed the role of leader giving out orders.
Despite being impressed, Dean felt another wave of guilt washing over his heart. Sammy shouldn't have had to do this. It should have been his obligation as the older brother, but he had been too cowardly to face a woman, or rather the emotions that came with it all. Dean swallowed hard.
"All right, if there aren't any more questions... good luck. And be careful out there."
The words of encouragement signaled the end of Sam's briefing for the mission. Only when the group had left did Dean approach his brother.
"Wow, I'm impressed." Dean tried for a proud tone in order to hide his real emotions. "Looks like you have built an entire organization in just a couple of days."
At his brother's voice, Sam looked up from the table where he had undoubtedly marked another place haunted by supernatural creatures. Sam gave a low chuckle at the compliment.
"Thanks. I figured since they were already hunters and itching to do anything but sit around idly, why not create something that would help people, help us." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Anyways, I couldn't have done it without (Y/N)'s help. She is the one who had spent years fighting alongside all these people. She knows them. She gave me important tips how to talk to them. She also had some great advice as to how to start this whole thing and keep it working properly."
Dean had gone rigid at the mention of (Y/N)'s name. It had hit him unexpectedly. He could feel Sam's attentive gaze on him. Looking up at his brother's face Dean could see the worry written across it. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and tried to regain a neutral composure. Averting his eyes from Sam's face he cleared his throat hoping his voice wouldn't crack on the next words coming out of his mouth.
"Well, that's good. Helpful."
Dean cringed and reprimanded himself at having spoken at all. It was a lame thing to say and gave away too much of his inner turmoil. He heard Sam let out a sigh.
"Dean-"
"Sam, just don't," Dean interrupted before his brother could say what he was about to say. His voice was hard, the sentence final. He might be ready to help (Y/N) figure out this world, but he was surely not ready to talk about his feelings running amok inside of him. He wasn't ready to admit the thoughts he'd had, especially not to his younger brother.
Sam nodded, understanding the hurt Dean was feeling.
They were silent for a moment. Each of them keeping to their own thoughts. Eventually, Dean couldn't stand it anymore, his mind was about to spiral again. If he wouldn't act now, he would just go back into hiding in his room for who knew how long.
"I've actually been looking for her. (Y/N)," he added aware that it hadn't been necessary to say her name, but he missed how the letters tasted on his tongue. "Have you seen her?"
Dean frowned at the look crossing Sam's face, darkening his features. His eyes were overflowing with a combination of sorrow and pity. Emotions whose meaning Dean understood deep down but wasn't ready for his consciousness to accept. The next words out of his brother's mouth weren't as surprising to him as he might have thought.
"She left this morning."
Instinctively Dean knew that she didn't leave for a hunt, but that she wasn't coming back again.
"I see."
He heard his own voice drifting to his ears through a fog. His eyes caught the small movement of Sam opening his mouth, but before he could get a chance to say anything, Dean turned on his heels.
Numbness spread through his body, his steps mechanical as he found his way back to his room, moving through the hallways like a ghost. As he stepped into his room, he locked the door behind him, not wanting any uninvited visitors. He needed to be alone.
He stood in silence for a moment. Sam's words replaying in his head: She left this morning.Dean didn't know what came over him. Rage took hold of his body. Swiping the papers and pictures off his desk, a guttural scream breaking free of his chest, they tumbled to the floor. Next, he flipped the chair, which landed with a loud crash. In the heat of his emotions ceasing control he took apart his entire room until there was nothing left to throw around.
He sank down to his knees in the middle of all the chaos he had left in his wake. Hot tears spilled down his face. Glass crunched beneath his legs and he reached for it. It was a picture in a broken frame. (Y/N) was smiling up at him, eyes shining from the inside, red lips breaking apart showing teeth. Pure happiness radiated from her face.
A sudden stabbing pain shot through him. Its force knocking the breath from his lungs. It was like his insides were split apart, like he was breaking once again. Pain flooded his body filling every cell. It was so profound, he didn't know how he could still be alive, just like on that day all those months ago; him kneeling in the midst of all this chaos, his room, his emotions. Once again he was paralyzed by grief. What exactly he was grieving he didn't know. Surely it couldn't be the departure of (Y/N)'s copy from the other world. Right?
In the end it didn't matter. The damage was done. He felt like he had lost her again. Like he had failed her... again.
YOUR POV
The purring sound of the car calmed your anxiety at least a little. The familiar feel of the leather around the steering wheel underneath your fingers grounded you.
You hadn't been too surprised when you had found the exact replica of the car you had loved so much in your world and whose loss you had grieved as if it had been alive, in the bunker's garage. Sam hadn't put up a fight when you had asked him if you could have it. He just had this sad look in his eyes that told you everything you needed to know. It was the same look he had when he looked at you. The look of memories overshadowing everything else.
A shiver ran down your spine. You had been driving for hours, trying to put as much distance between you and the bunker - or rather the two brother's inside - as you possibly could. It was the right thing to do. You couldn't replace the person they had lost. You were not her.
If it was the right thing to do, then why does it feel so awful? A voice inside your head taunted you. You shook your head to silence it, focusing back on the road in front of you. You had no idea where you were having lost track of your location hours ago.
When you felt your eyelids getting heavier by the second, you decided you had to be far enough away to take a break. Taking the next exit, you drove along a wide and empty road that eventually lead to small town. On the outskirts you found a diner. After having parked the car you walked in. To your relief the place was almost empty except for two other people, a man and a woman, sitting in the far corner. You decided to sit down in an empty booth near a window. You loved looking outside and watching the commotion of the town.
To your surprise you realized that the sun had started setting already. It was later then you had assumed. You sighed. After the waitress took your order, you relaxed into the red leather seat and watched the sun go down in the distance. Your mind inadvertently started to wander...
***
Sleep hadn't come that night. You were wide awake staring at the clock in the room you were occupying. When it seemed to be a decent enough time and the sounds of muffled commotion came through your door, you got up with the purpose of looking for Sam.
Walking through the unfamiliar bunker on your search for the younger brother as you had learned, you came across familiar faces. Most of them wore a look of uncertainty in their eyes, while others seemed happy to be somewhere they wouldn't be killed by power hungry archangels anytime soon. You stopped every so often to give words of encouragement, sometimes what might be seen as orders when people wondered what they were supposed to be doing. More than once the question What happens next? arose and you sighed and told them you were on your way to figure it out.
When you stepped into the library it wasn't Sam you found but the angel in the trench coat. He was seated at the table reading a book. The picture was so surreal to you that you couldn't suppress the giggle breaking from your mouth.
The angel's head snapped up, brows furrowed as his gaze met yours. From one second to the next, the laughter died on your lips, muscles tensed, body rigid.
"What's so funny?"
His voice was deep, but it held no sarcasm or spite. He seemed to be genuinely curious as to why you were so amused.
"Nothing."
It was a reflex. You chastised yourself for your behavior. He was one of the people who saved you after all and Jack seemed to trust him, so you should too. It seemed habits were hard to break, though, especially with the experiences you had made. You let out a heavy breath before trying again.
"Actually, it's all this." You gestured vaguely in his direction. "An angel sitting in a library reading while being surrounded by hunters." You shook your head, a smile playing around your lips. "It's just very... ironic."
You shrugged watching him. A thoughtful look appeared on his face as if he was weighing what you had said, giving it consideration. Eventually a smile spread on his face.
"I can see why you would think it funny."
Your smile grew tentatively at his words. It wasn't what you had expected his answer to be at all.
"It's Castiel, right?"
"Yes. Although most people I know just call me Cas."
"Well, thank you, Cas. For helping save us. I think I haven't had the chance to tell you yet."
Cas shook his head in dismissal.
"No need for that. It was the right thing to do."
You send him another thankful smile. His eyes were still focused on you and you realized he was studying you. A memory from hours earlier hit you; Dean's eyes trained on you looking for something that wasn't there. Anxiety creeped up your spine and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.
"Uhm, I was actually looking for Sam. Do you know where he might be?"
Cas stayed silent for a beat longer before answering you.
"He's out on a supply run. He should be back soon."
Silence settled between you once more, its intensity almost muffling the noise coming from the other rooms of the bunker. Just when it got too much and you were trying to come up with a way to extract yourself from this situation, there was a metallic sound echoing through the halls. Sam must have just gotten back form that supply run.
"I should...," you started awkwardly not knowing where the sentence was going. Instead you just let it fade out and turned towards the entrance of the bunker.
Just when you were half way through the library, Cas's velvety voice sounded softly behind you once again.
"You're not her."
The words were clearly made to comfort you, to take some pressure off of your shoulders. But all they did was make you halt mid-motion and swallow hard. You appreciated him for trying to make you feel better and seeing you for who you were: your own person and not somebody's shadow. But it failed. Instead, you were more eager than before to get out of the bunker that was so clearly haunted by a ghost that couldn't be killed.
When you arrived at the main entrance, Sam wasn’t there. You figured he must have already gone to the kitchen to put his loot away. So you went there. Turning the corner, you were almost sure to see Dean sitting at one of the tables, beer in hand. You blinked and looked again just to find the table empty except for a myriad of paper backs filled to the brim with groceries. You shook the memory away.
Your eyes searched the room until they found the person you had been looking for stashing away the food in one of the fridges.
"Hey." Your voice sounded rough even to your own ears.
The giant of a man turned with a beaming smile on his face. It lasted only a second until his eyes met yours and the realization that you weren't who he had thought you were set in bringing with it a look of sadness. I'm the ghost of someone he used to know. You swallowed feeling weirdly guilty even though you had no reason to. Sam recovered quickly and put the smile back on his face. This time, however, there was less enthusiasm, less brightness.
To play over this awkward moment, you hurried towards him.
"Here, let me help you."
You grabbed one bag and started to put its contents away into the other fridge next to the first. Sam gave you a thankful nod before continuing where he had left off.
The two of you were working in silence for a while. Neither of you knowing what to say. After what felt like hours you gathered all your courage.
"So," you dragged the word out not knowing where to start the conversation. "I actually have some questions..."
Out of the corner of your eyes you could see his whole body tensing up. He had halted mid-movement and was careful to avoid looking at you. You turned towards him, waiting for his approval for you to start your interrogation. It took a moment before he nodded tentatively. And it hit you why he had hesitated.
"It's questions about this world. How it works and what's going on exactly. You know, in regard to angels, demons and such," you clarified hastily.
"Okay." He visibly relaxed but was still on edge.
You worried your bottom lip between your teeth. The next words weren't easy to say, but it had to be put out there.
"Actually, I prefer it if we could not talk about... her. (Y/N)." Your voice was soft, quiet, almost a whisper. It was hard mentioning the ghost they were still grieving, the one that had apparently looked so much like you. But you didn't want to know anything about who she was and what had happened. You were sure your heart couldn't take it.
Sam turned. His hazel eyes met yours and there was pain in them as clear as daylight, but also... thankfulness. It looked like he didn't want to talk about her with either. Drops of relief eased the ache in your heart, at least a little.
Sam was the first to turn back to the fridge.
"All right, what do you want to know?"
The floodgates were open and the questions, just poured out of you. By the time you had a clear image of the new world you were living in, it was getting dark and time for dinner. During the meal you discussed the gist of what you had learned with your people, before having another private conversation with Sam about turning the bunker into hunter headquarters for everyone who decided they wanted to stay and be a part of it.
Throughout all of this your eyes had roamed the rooms, the faces. Without even being aware of what you were doing, you had been looking for Dean. Every time you had realized he hadn't been there, relief flooded your veins. Nevertheless, there was also this little pinch in your heart that you refused to call disappointment. It was a good thing Dean wasn't there, you told yourself. It made it easier.
Only the next morning did you tell Sam about your plans to leave and make it on your own. You were standing in front of him with your packed bag. There was sadness in his eyes, maybe even a little regret, you weren't sure, as he equipped you with some weapons: knives, stakes, guns, ammo, everything a huntress might need to survive.
You were surprised when he hugged you. It wasn't a quick hug. His arms were tight around you as he pressed you to his body. You were overwhelmed and didn't know what to do. In the end, you hugged him back and allowed yourself to enjoy this intimacy for a little while. Eventually he stepped back. And he let you go.
Looking at him through your rear view mirror, Cas beside him giving you an encouraging nod, a tear had slipped from your eyes.
***
And now you were here in this diner, hundreds of miles away from the only people you knew. Making it on your own. Alone.
You were so caught up in your spiraling thoughts that you missed the suspicious looks the only other two patrons threw your way.
Summary: You were saved from the gray world by the Winchester's and find yourself with all the others at their bunker. So many questions about the new world you're in are running through your head. But there is one secret about Dean you are too curious to know.
Word Count: 3186
A/N: I know I've been MIA for a while now. Mostly because I stopped writing fanfiction and writing original short stories instead. But for some reason I have writer's block and thought why not go back to my roots in order to beat it. So here you go. Hope you like it :) (FYI: (Y/N/N) stands for Your Nickname)
Your POV
You opened your door. Your head poked out as you looked around to see if anyone else was still up and about. When you saw that the hallway was empty, you walked out and closed the door quietly behind yourself as to not disturb the others.
After having stepped through the tear in the universe and into a parallel world everyone was exhausted. Having barely escaped certain death and power ceasing archangels it wasn't surprising that they all went straight to bed in their assigned rooms after settling into the new surroundings.
However, you weren't able to find any rest. Adrenaline was still pumping through your veins even hours after all the excitement, while unanswered questions made your head spin. To say that the past few days had been confusing was an understatement. Nevertheless, the day itself had topped even the craziest shit that had happened during your life so far.
You wandered the hallways aimlessly. Your eyes skipped over the walls, the doors, the books and everything else you passed on your way. Taking in your surroundings, acquainting yourself with the bunker you eventually ended up in the kitchen.
You stopped short in the doorway. To your surprise the kitchen wasn't unoccupied as you had assumed after walking through empty halls, silence your only companion. Apparently one of the brothers that had helped save your friends hadn't been visited by sleep either.
His back was facing you as he sat at the metal table to the right side of the wall. He seemed to be deep in thought judging by his posture. For a moment you considered turning around and heading back to the room you came from without having him notice you. However, the thought quickly escaped your mind.
A lot of questions were swimming around in your head, to which you wouldn't find the answer to on your own, had to do with the man sitting alone at the kitchen table. If he couldn't sleep either, you could as well pick his brain and try to find some sort of rest for yourself. Who knew, maybe some company would help him too.
You cleared her throat. The man flinched before turning around to see what or rather who had disturbed the crippling silence. When his eyes landed on you, he relaxed a little. There was a strange look in his eyes that shifted through countless emotions. You thought you recognized one of them for happiness, but couldn't be sure. Your heart ached a little for the stranger as they quickly dulled over and sadness settled inside them.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
Your voice was barely above a whisper as the quiet had not disappeared completely just yet. You put on a friendly smile in order to try and make the man feel more at ease.
"'s okay. I'm just not used to having people around."
The look on his face never changed while his voice sounded as if it was booming in the silence. He turned back to stare at the beer he was holding between his hands.
You watched him for a bit. Then you braced herself walking around the table to face the hunter.
"I couldn't sleep," you explained yourself even though you knew there was no need to. "May I?"
Without taking his eyes away from his drink he nodded once. You slid onto the seat opposite him.
"It's Dean, right?"
At you question, his eyes flicked up to yours for only a split second. Then they settled back on the beer. What you saw in them made you shiver. It was as if all hope had been sucked out of them. Just like that, there was another question you didn't know the answer to, but you couldn’t pry after he and his brother had opened their home to all these strangers.
"Yeah."
Dean's reply was short, his voice rough. He raised the bottle of beer and took a sip. His eyes were turned toward the ceiling. You knew instinctively he was avoiding to look at you. You tried to ignore the dull pain in your chest at his demeanor. Instead of commenting, you chose another road to go. You swallowed hard, sitting up a little straighter trying not to fidget as much. Your hands were resting on the table tightly clasped together.
"Thank you... for saving us."
The words were sincere. The thanks were long overdue. Moreover, it would have been impolite to start the questioning without as much as a nice word.
"Without you, all my friends would be fried by now. We probably wouldn't have lasted another day."
Dean had taken back to staring at the bottle in his hands. His jaw was set and his face tense as were all the other muscles in his body.
You kept looking at him, gauging his reaction. He was a stranger after all and you would like see a flying glass bottle coming instead of feeling it crash in your face. You would make that mistake only once. On the other hand, you had a feeling that the man opposite you wasn't going to hurt you. Still, you weren’t about to take any chances.
"No problem."
The reply surprised you. You had expected him to explain to you that they didn't do it for them, but to save the blond woman and Lucifer's kid, Jack. You stayed silent for a moment puzzling over it. After a little while you shook the confusion out of you head, assuming it had something to do with the fact that he didn't want to talk at all given his previous curt answers.
Realizing that you might not get any answers tonight - or from Dean in general - you let out a soft sigh. Despite your hope dissipating, you made one last attempt. If he already hated you, there was nothing to lose.
"Listen, if this isn't a good time or in case you don't want to talk to me, it's fine, I get it." You hated the hopelessness being evident in your voice. You cringed but kept going. "The reason I can't sleep is because there are too many questions roaring in my mind and I can't shut them up no matter what I try because I don't have any answers. I don’t know this world, I don’t know anything about it and that gives me a headache. I don’t know how to protect my people or myself for that matter, and that is something I don’t like. It makes me want to throw up."
After all the words that were stuck inside of you for the entire day, you felt exhausted. You let your head hang low kicking yourself for sounding so desperate and whiny. You hated that you couldn't figure it all out yourself and instead were dependent on others to give you the answers you so desperately needed. For your survival and the survival of the others.
Surprise, or rather shock, made your head fly up when you heard a deep chuckle coming from your late night company. You stared at Dean open-mouthed. There was a smile on his face for only just a second before it disappeared again. You would have felt offended that Dean seemed to laugh at you for the things you spilled out at night, but the laugh had sounded nothing like that. Instead, it was more of an understanding laugh; one that said 'of course you do, that's just you.'
What made her completely bewildered was when Dean spoke more than only one word.
"Let me guess, I bet you hate yourself that you have to asked someone else for help and can't figure out the situation by yourself."
It was a simple statement, there was no humor in it or satisfaction at guessing what was going on inside your head. There was just.... a certainty that those had to be your thoughts.
You were taken aback. Your eyebrows furrowed and you couldn't stop staring at the stranger that seemed to know you so well. He had been spot on with his guess and you knew that he knew it. Although you didn't understand the reason behind how he could know.
As you didn't say anything, too dumbfounded, Dean let out a sigh, took another swig of his beer and spoke once more without having to be prompted.
"Shoot."
He was looking at you. Really looking at you. His eyes were focused on yours showing you that you had all of his attention.
Seeing his eyes boring into you, you felt as if you had been transported to a forest. Not the dull grey one you had just escaped from but a bright one where the trees had radiant green leaves. You imagined hearing birds singing, squirrels rushing by making the leaves rustle and you could see the golden sun shining through the tree tops illuminating the scene, making everything seem lighter. For once, you didn't hate the forest; for once you felt safe.
You tore your eyes away. It was like pulling apart two strong magnets. Once you were free of Dean's mesmerizing eyes, you took in a sharp breath. Slowly your mind cleared up from the daze you had been under and soon enough all the questions you had came pouring back. One was particularly loud and clear screaming inside her head.
Before you could stop yourself, you heard yourself already blurting it out despite what a terrible idea it was.
"Earlier, when you were guiding everyone through the tear and I wanted to wait for some more people, what did you mean when you said 'I'm not losing you again?'"
Your eyes were back on him. This time you were careful not to get lost in them.
Dean let out a sigh. His head turned down leading his gaze to the table once more. The question had been inevitable, but it might not have been the right moment.
"(Y/N/N)."
You flinched at the nickname. You had never heard it before, but you immediately knew it was yours. It sounded right. Especially coming from the man on the other side of the table. When he said it, it was as if a warm blanket had been wrapped around you. Never had you felt anything like this before.
"I'm sorry," Dean apologized as soon as he saw your reaction, reprimanding himself silently and reminding him that it was not you. You weren’t his (Y/N/N).
You watched Dean gulp. You couldn't stop staring at him. You waited patiently for him to answer your question. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as they were working on it. Anxiety grew in your body.
"Someone like you existed in this world,” Dean answered after what felt like an eternity. “I mean another version of you... I mean she had the same name, looked just like you. Basically, you are an exact copy of her. I mean, not that you aren't valid or less real- I mean-"
Dean broke off his rambling. He didn't dare to look at you. You guessed it would be better that way. His explanation had hit you off-guard. You had no idea what your face might be giving away from the emotions playing out inside of you: shock, confusion, pity and fear.
He reached up one hand letting it slide over his face, but although you were still staring at him, you barely noticed the movement. Your head was spinning and you had no idea how to react or what to do with this information. This was a total mess.
Once more one of your thoughts was louder than the others: He was in love with her. As soon as the thought hit you, another one followed: She isn’t with him. A shiver went down your spine and you felt the color leaving your face.
Dean’s POV
He felt like a complete idiot. He didn't dare look at the woman in front of him, knowing too well that a mixture of hurt, offense and confusion must be displayed on her face. He reprimanded himself for having answered the question at all. But looking into the eyes of the person he once…
He reached up one hand to let it slide over his face in an attempt to try and organize his thoughts. He had no idea how he was supposed to explain his (Y/N) to the one sitting at the table with him now. This was a total mess.
In addition, a little sparkle of hope had settled in his chest. Hope that somehow this version was his (Y/N) - in some sense. Hope, that he might get another chance. He didn’t know where it came from.
As soon as he felt it, hope was replaced by shame. Shame, that he could feel that way about someone else that clearly wasn't her, but just someone who looked like her; someone who wore her face. Guilt washed over him. Guilt on how he could dare to think about replacing her, his best friend, the love of his life. He couldn't taint the memory of her like that.
He raised his beer to his lips once again, hoping the alcohol would eventually shut up his destructive thoughts, numb his body, his pain, only to find it empty. Dean pressed his eyes close. He felt so lost. All he needed was for his (Y/N) to help him and tell him what to do and how to untangle this chaos. But that was never going to happen.
So he did the next best thing he could think of. Dean opened his eyes and looked at the person opposite him. He prayed that seeing her image would be enough to calm him. He wished that it would give him the strength and inspiration he so desperately needed right then.
That's when he realized the truth.
The (Y/N) from the other world had the same hair color, the same eye color, but it wasn't her. Behind those eyes sat a different person, one he didn't know. There was no second chance. Having her here was only a reminder that he had failed her.
A silent tear slipped out of his eye. He wiped it away quickly as not to make his emotions obvious. But it was to no avail. (Y/N) had seen and her face changed to pure pity. He knew she could see right through him, see the man that had been left behind, a shell. But he also knew in the left over pieces of his heart that she wasn’t the person who could fix it.
"I'm not her," she whispered.
He took in a shaky breath; the truth he had realized seconds before hitting him like a punch to the stomach as they were spoken out loud by the same voice that had coaxed him to sleep so many nights.
Your POV
Only as you watched Dean’s reaction did you realize that that was the problem. And those had been the wrong words.
"I'm sorry," you hurried to say as you averted your eyes leaving him some privacy with his emotions.
You weren't sure what you were apologizing for exactly. The fact that you weren’t her? The fact that obviously something had happened to this version of you? For the way Dean felt? It was probably a mix of everything.
The urge to take away his pain was strong. Another thing you didn't understand. Since the first second you had seen the green-eyed hunter, you had been drawn to him. In your world, you didn't trust anyone anymore. But that man on the other side of the table only had to look at you intently and without a doubt you had trusted him, you had faith in him.
You couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards the hunter. Whenever their eyes would meet, your heart skipped a beat and your breath caught in your throat.
But you weren't going to acknowledge that feeling sitting in your chest. You would push it down hoping it would eventually go away. It wouldn't be good for either of you to act on these emotions.
His pain was too raw and you weren’t the right person to fill the hole inside of him, no matter how alike you and the (Y/N) from this universe had looked. In the end, you were two different people. You spoke again after a moment of silence, your voice soft.
"You don't have to explain. I think I understand. Or most of it anyway. I'm sorry I brought it up, it's none of my business."
You wanted to make up for bringing all these emotions back to Dean. You didn't want him to feel obligated to tell you anything about the person you had been in this universe. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were nosy and push him away completely. He didn't deserve this. He didn’t deserve being hurt by the only other person that looked like the woman he loved.
"I think I better get back to my room. I'm really tired."
You faked a yawn to sell it, although you weren't sure he bought it. As you glanced at him he nodded, but otherwise stayed silent and unmoving, eyes averted.
You got up and started to head out of the kitchen. As you reached the entrance way you turned back one more time to look at the man you had left behind.
Dean had hung his head low and cradled it in his hands. His body was occasionally shaking with a sob. Seeing this tough man like this made your heart ache even more and tears gathered in your eyes.
You turned on your heel and continued to your room, your bottom lip shaking as tears slowly ran down your cheeks. As much as you wanted to be, you weren't the right person to comfort him. It wasn't you his heart was yearning for. There was nothing you could do to numb his pain. Not yet anyways. Maybe not ever.
As you closed the door to your room behind you and slid down it, you decided to stay away from him in hopes to not cause him anymore pain. You had done enough. You would talk to Sam tomorrow about this universe and head out right after to make it on your own. Just like you always did.
The fact that Dean was so upset to talk about his (Y/N) and her not being around in the bunker spoke volumes. Whatever had happened, it had left a barely scraped over wound and your presence would rip it wide open day after day, again and again. There was no place for you here.
The thought shouldn't have scared you, never mind made you sad. You didn't know the brothers or the two angels. But somehow, the prospect of not having them in your life filled you with dread.
The tears were flowing faster now, cascading down your face.
Suddenly the wish to have stayed behind in the colorless universe crashed down on you. It would have been gentler on your heart.
Summary: Having visions about what’s going to happen on a mission is not easy to deal with. Good thing the visions only come when sleeping. There is an easy solution to this.
Pairing: implied Steve x Reader
Word Count: 5259
A/N: I got a little carried away with this one. Feedback is always appreciated :)
A heavy sigh escaped my lips. I closed my eyes focusing on the smell coming from the machine in front of me. The scent of freshly brewed coffee invaded my nostrils and already warmed me from the inside out. I reopened my eyes leaning my elbows on the counter top while still holding a tight grip on my over-dimensional coffee mug. This way my gaze was on the same level as the sacred device.
I watched the black drops of the holy beverage drip into the coffeepot, slowly filling it up. As I kept my focus on this event, the reason and the worries that were keeping me awake throughout even the ungodly hours of the night were being pushed to the furthest corner of my mind.
However, despite the light burning as bright as the sun itself and the reviving smell of coffee, my eyes started to flutter shut. The ticking of the grandfather clock Tony had insisted on keeping was on beat with the drops of the dark juice falling into the steady growing puddle on the bottom of the pot.
Tick. Drip. Tock. Drop. Tick. Drip. Tock. Drop.
All of a sudden I shot up, shocked about my own carelessness. In the process, I took a surprised step back from the counter paying no regard to the forgotten mug in my hands. I let go of the mug sending it flying to the floor. It broke into pieces as it hit the tiles of the kitchen, making a shattering sound that echoed through the whole compound.
I froze. My gaze went towards the archway at the opposite side of the kitchen marking the entrance. Holding my breath I listened.
There was only the sound of the grandfather clock from the living room and the steady hum of the coffee machine. It looked like everybody was still fast asleep. After a minute or so, I let my breath escape and focused back on the mess I had made.
Eyeing the shattered pieces of porcelain, a frown appeared between my eyebrows and a whine left my mouth. This had been my favorite cup.
I let out a heavy sigh. After this little show of self-pity, I went over to the cupboard underneath the sink and took out a brush and a dustpan and started sweeping the tragic remains of one of my closest friends. At least I had something to do; there was no danger of falling asleep while working.
When I finished cleaning up, I put the tools aside and reached for a new mug inside the cabinet. I was sure Bruce wouldn’t mind if I was taking his for now.
As I came to stand beside the coffee machine once again, the pot now half-way filled to the top and the delicious smell wafting through the kitchen, I noticed a movement from the corner of my eye.
Turning quickly in order to defend myself if it came to a fight, I barely picked up on the shattering sound as the second cup that night was sent flying by my hands.
“(Y/N)?”
Steve was standing in the archway, his voice gravelly. He rubbed at his eyes with one hand evidently getting the sleep out of them. He must have just woken up. Probably by the noise I had unintentionally been making.
Upon seeing my friend and colleague, another breath of relief passed my lips. I relaxed against the counter behind me as one hand went up to my chest right above the ferocious beating of my heart. If the breaking of my favorite mug had not woken me up before, the sudden appearance of the blond super soldier sure did the job.
While I looked at him with slightly less widened eyes, I could see the confusion in his gaze about what I was still doing up this late. I could also see the light twitch at the corner of his lips as a smile tried to form on his face, most likely in regard of my disheveled form.
I held his eyes for a moment – or did he hold mine? – until my brain caught up with what had happened. Hadn’t there been a noise of some sort, other than my heavy breathing?
Once more my eyes widened as realization hit me. I looked down. Sure enough in front of my feet was the green mug that had once belonged to Bruce Banner.
“Oh, man.”
I heard Steve chuckling at my whiny tone as I scooped down to pick up the broken pieces.
“Wait, (Y/N). Be careful with that. Here, let me help.”
His voice was filled with concern. I heard the sound of his bare feet against the tile floor as he walked over.
“No, it’s alright. I got this. You aren’t wearing any shoes… or socks for that matter.”
But Steve ignored my objections. Instead he came over with the brush and dustpan that were still laying on the counter top by the trash can. He put them down next to me and carefully reached over to take the shards I had already collected off of my hands.
I grabbed the tools once more – by now I was a real professional with a brush – and started sweeping – once again. Meanwhile, Steve threw away the bigger shards.
“Bruce is going to kill me,” I said underneath my breath. It was supposed to be inaudible, for my ears only, but Captain America had many talents, enhanced hearing being one of them.
“Why would Bruce kill you,” the amusement clear in his voice.
“Because I just destroyed his cup.” I sighed.
I swiped up the last of the mug and stood, throwing away the evidence that it had ever existed.
When I put the tools back into their place underneath the kitchen sink, I could feel Steve’s eyes on me. After I was done, I stood up straight and turned around to face my friend.
Steve was leaning with his back against the other end of the kitchen counter. He had his arms crossed in front of his broad chest that was covered by a blue T-shirt that seemed a couple of sizes too small. I swallowed hard. Then I let my eyes travel all the way up to his face.
It was framed by tousled blond hair, a stark contrast to his usually styled appearance. His blue eyes were as calm as the sea on a sunny day, but his stare was not less intense, however. There was a crease between his eyebrows. It was the one he always got when he was trying to figure something out. I had the sudden urge to reach out my hand and touche it to the crease on his forehead to smooth it out.
“Why were you using Bruce’s mug?”
His question pulled me out of my trance. I had to blink a few times to find my way back to the here and now. The crease between his eyebrows grew more prominent as he awaited my answer.
I opened my mouth, but closed it after a few seconds as I realized I hadn’t caught the meaning of the words.
“Hm?”
The sound was a little too high pitched for my liking and it made me cringe. I watched as the lopsided grin I liked so much appeared on his lips. However, this time as he started to speak, I forced myself to not be distracted and listen.
“I asked, why you were using Bruce’s mug.”
I shrugged once trying to play it cool, hoping he would let it go. Unfortunately, he raised an eyebrow questioningly, clearly not content with my wordless reply.
I lowered my gaze to stare at my feet clad in sparkling turquoise fuzzy socks.
“I broke mine earlier,” I mumbled in hopes Steve wouldn’t have heard.
But again, Captain America had super-hearing… Ergo, so did Steve.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise before knitting together in consideration. I could feel his scrutinizing look on me and I couldn’t refrain from squirming slightly. At one point I couldn’t suppress the urge to look up any longer.
His eyes were trained on my face. I could swear I saw the up and downs of waves reflecting in them. I swallowed, my mouth dry.
“Why did you break your mug?” His voice was calm and quiet.
Without taking my eyes off of his, I shrugged again. It was the only reply I was willing to give.
Steve’s expression changed and I could make out even more concern, if possible, shadowing his usually sunny features. Looking into those empathetic eyes, I wanted nothing more than to spill the truth. But would me feeling alleviated be worth burdening Steve with even more worries? As the leader of this team, I decided he had enough to worry about.
When it became evident I wouldn’t start to speak anytime soon, Steve slowly came towards me, stopping only when he was less than a foot away. Upon his close proximity, my heartbeat picked up its rhythm as if trying to escape my chest. I would have prayed he wouldn’t hear it, hadn’t I been distracted by his scent – a mixture of soap and leather – invading my nostrils.
His smell in addition to the fact that my eyes were now focused on his broad chest made me feel dazed. All my thoughts had been turned into thin air.
Out of nowhere I felt a large, calloused hand cupping my chin with so much gentleness that it seemed like a harsh contrast to the roughness one might expect from a soldier with super strength. There was a soft pressure making me look up just to be met with the bluest eyes I had ever seen speckled with tiny green spots.
The universe they held enveloped me whole. I was reminded of a day at the beach filled with sunshine, as I splashed around in the sea with my younger brother. A shiver ran down my spine and a calmness I had experienced the last time on that very day took hold of me.
It only lasted a second. Paradoxically, that calmness was what made me feel on edge. All my muscles were tense.
“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
Steve’s voice was almost inaudible and my eyes flicked down to his lips. I was still aware of his intense gaze on me. I bit my bottom lip not only to keep me from talking, but to keep it from quivering.
The way Steve was interacting with me, his calm and gentle manner somehow sent my emotions into turmoil. Tears were threatening to spill down my cheeks, a sob was stuck in my throat making it impossible for me to breathe properly. It cost me all my strength to keep myself hidden from the member of my team so close to me.
It was silent for an eternity. The only sounds were my accelerated heartbeat and the soothing humming of the coffee machine. Even Steve was holding his breath not wanting to miss any of my words should I decide to open up to him.
Heartbeats later, Steve let out his breath in way of a sigh. He let go of my chin. However, he didn’t step away. A breeze of cold air made me shiver, nonetheless.
“I think coffee doesn’t help with sleeping problems,” Steve joked attempting to lighten the mood.
I inhaled a shaky breath, releasing the lump that had been stuck in my throat. A tear slipped past my guard and I hurried to wipe it away, hoping Steve hadn’t seen.
“That’s-” I cleared my throat. “That’s kinda the point.”
My eyes widened. I was surprised my voice worked. Actually, I was surprised I said anything at all. I surely didn’t mean to.
I risked to sneak a peak at Steve to gouge his reaction. His eyes once again on me, a slight smile appeared on his lips. It didn’t quite reach his eyes and I knew he was just trying to be kind by not pushing me further to explain.
“Right then.”
The blond super soldier walked over to the cabinet and took out two mugs. He filled them with coffee before setting them on the kitchen island. He sat down on one of the stools and took a sip.
I watched closely, trying to see what he was about to do next. But he just kept sitting at the counter contently nursing his drink.
After a little while I tentatively walked over sitting myself down on the stool next to his. I stared at the cup in front of me.
It was the one I had made Steve the first Christmas after having joined the Avengers. He had been the one to welcome me and shown me around. We had hit it off instantly and spent quite some time talking to each other about everything and nothing. It was easy talking to Steve. During one of our conversations he had told me about his favorite piece of art and I had tried to recreate it, painting it on a mug. I had been insecure about my gift when the day actually arrived, but Steve loved it and gladly replaced the mug he had used before – the one with the star on a blue background, a very considerate gift from Tony – with this new one.
Surprised I looked over at him, checking which cup he was using. My suspicions were confirmed as I recognized it. He was drinking out of his hated mug – Tony’s gift – that now belonged to Bucky.
I couldn’t help but stare as my brain reeled trying to figure out what this might mean.
“Is something wrong? God, do I have something on my face,” Steve inquired, putting down his cup and wiping at his mouth.
Shaking my head I quickly averted my eyes and took my own cup in my hands to hide my burning face. I guided the mug toward my lips, the smell of freshly brewed coffee making me close my eyes in satisfaction. The smell always seemed to calm my nerves.
However, before I could take a sip I moved the mug away from my face just to place it back on the counter. I took a deep breath all the while silently cursing myself for what I was about to do. Then I released it in one forceful exhale.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Steve putting down his own cup. His focus was only on me now.
“I’m scared.” The words came out in a whisper. I didn’t dare speak any louder. The words were too heavy.
I counted ten ticks of the grandfather clock before Steve matched my voice.
“Scared of what?”
“Of sleeping.”
Ten more ticks.
“It’s because of your visions.”
It wasn’t a question but I nodded my confirmation, nevertheless.
“They are stronger before a mission,” I started to explain. “It always feels like I’m really there in that moment... But that’s not the worst.”
This time, after ten ticks, Steve stayed silent, letting me decided when to keep going in my own time. It was as if he could sense when I needed someone to push me and when I would get to it on my own.
I swallowed once, gathering the courage to continue.
“I’m scared that some day it won’t just be the destruction of buildings I see. That it won’t be just injuries, which is always bad enough… I’m scared to see-” A sob broke me off. The lump from earlier was back in my throat.
Steve moved at the noise, turning on his stool to fully face me. An expression of pain was set in his face as he was hurting while seeing me like this. He reached out his hand, lightly putting it on mine intending to show me he was there with me and I could share my pain; showing me that I didn’t have to go through it alone.
Without thinking about it, I grabbed his hand holding on to it as if it was the only thing tethering me to reality. The action came to me like a reflex. Steve returned the squeeze of my hand, giving me strength to continue.
“I’m scared I’ll see one of you die.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They cascaded freely from my eyes.
Two seconds after the words finally freed themselves from my sealed lips, two strong arms circled around my form, enveloping me in a tight, warm hug.
My arms went around Steve of their own accord; my fingers clawing at his shirt. Steve held me close against his chest as my body was shaking from sobs that forced their way out. Tears were streaming down my face, snot running out of my nose. I knew the sight wasn’t pretty like in the movies, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t. All the emotions inside of me wouldn’t stay captive any longer. They demanded to be released.
I didn’t know for how long I had been crying when the dam eventually sealed. The only thing I knew was: Steve had been holding onto me the entire time; he was still there.
The two of us stayed like this, I safe in his arms, for a moment longer while I tried to catch my breath and compose myself at least a little.
As I moved away, Steve not letting me go farther than half an arms length so he could still have me close, I wiped off the wet paths that the tears had left on my face.
When my sight wasn’t blurry anymore, I noticed the drenched patch of Steve’s shirt clinging to his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s okay,” Steve interrupted my apology, wiping it away as if it was an unimportant speck of dust.
One of his hands let go of my waist as he reached up to wipe at the last remaining tear stains on my face with his thumb. In that moment I was thankful that my face was already red, swollen and blotchy.
His thumb lingered on my cheek before he cupped it with his large hand. The gesture was so sweet and comforting, I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into the touch.
“I understand that you would rather stay awake than seeing those kinds of scenes play out before your eyes.”
I recoiled at his words as they reminded me of why I was here now, in Steve arms. But Steve had a firm grip on my waist. He wouldn’t let me run away. Not again. Not ever. Especially not like this.
“I get it.” Steve held my gaze with his so I wouldn’t avert my eyes. He needed me to hear this. He needed me to understand.
“I can’t even imagine how it must feel like to experience visions like that. But,” he sighed, “you have to sleep. Especially before a mission. Without enough sleep you might loose your focus and that’s when... those things happen. I wish there would be a way around this, but there isn’t. But I can promise you that, as long as I am here, nothing is going to happen to anyone on this team. You hear me?”
I stared at him. Although his words were supposed to comfort me, which they mostly did, my heart still felt heavy.
“And what about you? Who is going to protect you when you are busy protecting the others?”
I was scared of this answer, this scenario, but I had to ask the question anyway. Uncertainty was even worse than knowing. If you didn’t know what was going to happen, you wouldn’t know how to stop it from happening.
Surprisingly, a smile pulled on one corner of Steve’s lips giving me the lopsided grin I loved so much.
“I’ve got you for that, don’t I?”
It wasn’t relief that flooded my body at his reply. It was something else warming and calming me just as much. A weight was not lifted off of my soul completely, but rather part of it was placed somewhere else. I didn’t have to carry this secret, this burden, around alone any longer.
However, Steve might have alleviated my fear of my visions becoming reality, but the fear of still having them wasn’t so easy to get rid off.
“I’m still scared of sleeping. The visions will still come.”
It was like starting telling Steve about my fears made my confessions now come out easier. I trusted him. I always had. But I knew something had shifted. Especially, as Steve uttered his next words.
“But you won’t have to face them alone.”
He said it as if it was a secret only the two of us would share.
He got up. I watched, curious to see what he was going to do.
After taking the milk out of the refrigerator and dividing it into two cups, he put them into the microwave. While the milk was warming up, Steve poured away the coffee, cleaned the two mugs we had been using as well as the coffee pot and got rid of any evidence that the two of us had been there during the night at all.
He worked in silence. I didn’t mind, it was comfortable. His presence had, for some reason I didn’t understand myself, a calming effect on me.
Just one second before the microwave chimed, Steve hit the stop button and took out the drinks. Before he left the kitchen, he poured some honey in each cup and announced it as the beverage his mother had sworn on for sleeping problems. I followed him out of the kitchen staying a bit behind to see where he was leading us.
Instead of turning into the living room or getting off the elevator on his floor, he was heading towards my room. In front of the closed door he turned to look at me expectantly. Confused about all his actions up until then, I just looked back with one eyebrow raised. Suddenly, Steve turned a deep red.
“I just thought your bedroom would be a good place to sit and talk and drink the milk. I mean better than the kitchen, you know,” he started stumbling over his words. “I mean, in case any one would wander into the kitchen because they are looking for some water or something. Here we would be away from any prying eyes.”
The crimson color was spreading from his neck all the way up into his face and to the roots of his hair. I was certain, if it had been possible, his hair would have turned red, too.
“I mean not that we would be doing anything… I mean besides talking and drinking warm milk. I don’t mean-”
He interrupted himself at that point. Defeated and clearly embarrassed he let his head hang down. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I had heard the word ‘shoot’ leave his mouth. My mouth was twitching as I tried to keep the amusement hidden from view. I was still confused about what exactly he had intended to explain with that spate of words.
A second later, it hit me. I felt so stupid and I had to close my eyes for a moment to get over my own stupidity. Then I rushed to open the door.
“Oh, sure, of course. I’m sorry. Really sorry. Here you go. Please, come in.”
My face was glowing from heat. Surely, Steve and I could have made a contest out of ‘who was the deeper red’. It would have been close.
“Are you sure?”
I could see that Steve had grown uncertain and hesitant by my reaction or rather lack thereof. I threw him an encouraging smile.
“Of course.”
Steve took a deep breath before entering and I wondered what that was about. I dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. I had enough on my plate. The last thing I wanted to do was figuring out why Steve was like he was and did what he did. It was just a Steve-thing.
Once inside with the door closed, he put the cup down on my nightstand. Then he looked around the room aimlessly. The tension was palpable. There was an awkwardness between us I didn’t know where it came from. Spending time with Steve had always been easy-going. There was never a conversation forced between the two of us. Being with Steve was comfortable. This was the opposite.
I didn’t know how I could disperse the tension between us, so I did the first best thing that came to mind. I sat down on my bed settling into the cushions.
When I was settled, I patted on the empty space next to me signaling Steve to sit down and get comfortable himself.
After a moment of hesitation he eventually sat down. However, I could see his tense muscles, even through his layers of clothing. It seemed like he was prepared to fight someone at any minute.
I rolled my eyes. This whole weirdness of the situation was starting to annoy me.
“You know, it might be more comfortable to lean into the pillows behind you instead of sitting up straight. Nobody’s going to attack you in here, you know.”
I tried to make my words sound like a joke while simultaneously showing Steve that he didn’t have to be weirded out by whatever it was that was weirding him out.
He got the message. Tentatively he leaned further back, moving closer to me as to not awkwardly lay and sit at the same time. It took him a few moments, but after a while he began to relax more and more.
When I was satisfied with Steve’s mostly relaxed posture, I grabbed the two cups from my nightstand and handed one to Steve. After, I encircled my cup with my hands and took a sip. The sweet drink warmed my insides and I felt the tension leaving my body altogether.
We sat like that in silence, each one of us listening to their own thoughts. Never had I felt so at peace with someone else. Usually, sitting silently with someone was stressing me out. I would always feel like I had to fill the emptiness between us with meaningless words, but this was different. It was a whole new experience. It was comfortable and cozy.
After ten minutes, Steve broke the silence.
“If you could travel anywhere, where would you want to go?”
At first I was dumbfounded by the apparently random question coming out of nowhere. Then I understood what he was trying to do. I appreciated him attempting to distract me and not make me talk or think about my visions. So I played along.
“Oh, I would love to see…”
We fell into a nice conversation then, alternating between asking each other random questions. The easiness came back step by step and soon enough it seemed impossible that we might have had an awkward moment between us.
Within the conversation I saw a new side to Steve and learned something about the person he really was instead of the person everyone always tried to make him out to be. I also felt myself opening up to him, even though it might not have been evident in regard to the topics of our conversation.
When I had finished my milk with honey, I put the mug back down on my nightstand. Then, still chatting with Steve, I scooted closer to his warmth. On instinct, Steve reached an arm around my body, pulling me so close, my head was resting on his chest. Soon enough the steady heartbeat under my ear, his velvety voice encompassing me, and his even breaths lulled me to sleep.
When I awoke a couple of hours later, panting, sweating, Steve was there to calm and reassure me. He would listen to my vision and I would tell him. For the first time, I didn’t have to deal with it on my own. For the first time, someone was willing to listen to gruesome details that were haunting me even during daytime - especially during daytime. For the first time, I had help carrying this burden. So eventually, I fell back asleep. The last thing I felt was the touch of Steve’s fingers playing with my hair.
In the morning, Steve was still there holding me in his arms as he continued sleeping peacefully for a few more minutes. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his calm features. Never had I felt so well rested before a mission, although four hours of sleep was not ideal yet. Baby steps.
When Steve’s eyes started to flutter and his blue eyes shimmered through his long dark lashes, my breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t sure whether it was the view in front of me or the nervousness taking hold of me.
“Good morning.” His voice was a gravel whisper just like last night in the kitchen.
I had expected it to be awkward between us, but the way he said ‘good morning’ – without a hint of unease – erased that fear instantly.
“Morning,” I replied smiling. Steve returned that smile with his own, which made the sun rise over the ocean he held in his eyes.
We stayed like this, silently gazing at each other, cuddled up in the blankets until we were both fully awake. However, at one point we had to leave the comfort of my room to get ready for the mission. But not without coffee first.
As the two of us entered the kitchen everyone was already up and making themselves breakfast. Bruce was standing confused in front of the cabinet wondering as to why his mug was gone.
“I could have sworn it had been there yesterday. (Y/N), have you seen my coffee mug,” he asked as I walked in.
I felt my face growing hot and my eyes widen a little. I didn’t want to explain why I had been awake in the middle of the night destroying first my mug and then Bruce’s. But before I could find the courage to speak up, Steve jumped in.
“That’s my fault. I was making some warm milk because I couldn’t sleep, and when I reached for my cup in the cabinet, I accidentally bumped against yours and it fell and shattered. I’m really sorry, Bruce, I promise I’ll get you a new one.”
Bruce scowled a little but nodded in understanding. Steve washed the cup he had used the night before and handed it to his friend so he could get the coffee that would make him useful.
Afterwards, Steve gave me his favorite cup to keep using for my beloved black elixir leaving him mug-less. I wanted to protest, but Steve just shook his head and went to make himself some cereal. Gratefully, I walked over to pour myself some coffee.
Never before had a smile as bright as the one illuminating my features at that moment played on my face at the advent of a mission. If our team mates were surprised by this, they kept it to themselves.
As I sat down at the counter, I glanced at Steve watching him chat with Bucky. I felt like the smile on my face wouldn’t disappear any time soon.
Outside of the battlefield I might not have any idea what my future held. But if the previous night had been any clue, for once I was excited for what lay ahead.
Summary: You have some quirks that you are embarrassed about. How will your boyfriend react when he finds out about one of them.
Word Count: 584
A/N: This is just a little drabble to get me back in the spirit of writing as I felt somewhat uninspired in the past few months. It’s not my best piece but I figure I need to get back into it. Hope you enjoy anyway.
I entered the apartment leaving a trail of mud and water behind. The door fell closed with a soft click after I gave it a quick nudge with my elbow.
Upon hearing that sound, I heard the TV being turned off and saw Bucky slowly turning to look at me from the couch.
“Hey, doll, I didn’t expect you to be back so soo-“
He broke off as he gave me a once over. He furrowed his eyebrows.
I was bent over attempting to take off my drenched shoes. I had barely been listening, already having guessed the question that would arise from my early return. Instead of wondering why he hadn’t finished his thought, I assumed his silence was my cue to reply.
“Yeah, apparently Nat had to leave for a mission and she only got the info when I had walked through her door. Literally.”
I had finally rid myself off the soaking garment and picked them up in order to let them dry in the shower where they wouldn’t ruin the floor.
As I looked up, I saw Bucky’s confused look. He was still staring at me. I raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.
“Your coat is dry.”
“Yes.”
I answered despite it not being a question.
“It wasn’t raining as you came in.”
“No.”
This time my reply came more hesitantly, his statement confusing me.
I followed his eyes as they flicked between my dry jacket and the dripping shoes I held in my hand. That was when it dawned on me. I suddenly knew where he was going with this. I started to grow sheepish.
“Why are you shoes wet,” he inquired a little flabbergasted.
“There was a puddle.”
I had averted my eyes focusing on my wet socks, and the words came out barely above a whisper. I bit my lip and fidgeted with the hem of my jacket.
“Why did you step in it?”
I let out a silent breath before I answered bashfully.
“It was a puddle.”
Bucky blinked a few times mulling over my words.
Stepping into puddles was a habit of mine I couldn’t seem to break. I knew it was childish, but I couldn’t help it. Every time I spotted a puddle, the next second I would be standing with my feet in it, my body acting on its own accord. I had been informed by others to be embarassed about it.
I didn‘t dare look at my boyfriend as I felt too self-conscious. That way I missed how a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The sudden burst of laughter exploding from the once feared Winter Soldier made me look up perplexed. This wasn’t the reaction I imagined.
His head was thrown back and one of his hands was draped over his stomach as the other held onto the back of the couch. His entire body was shaking as if an earthquake went through him. I noticed tears of joy glinting in the corners of his eyes.
A smile of my own spread across my face as I saw Bucky this amused.
After a while he calmed down wiping at his eyes. A last chuckle left his lips as a wide smile stayed in place brightening his entire face. Bucky‘s eyes found mine. The intensity behind his gaze knocking the breath out of me.
“I love you, doll.”
The smile in my own face grew even bigger and I forgot why I had been embarassed in the first place.
I know I haven’t written in forever. I’m terrible at keeping up this blog.
But recently I wrote a scene for a fic because this idea just popped into my head. I really love the bit I wrote, but now I can’t seem to think of a story around this scene which is really annoying and I’m so aggravated by this.
It sucks that now that I finally have some time to write, I can’t think of anything to write about. I probably just have to write something, anything, to get back into the habit of writing creatively instead of for uni.
So, guys, if you have any ideas, any requests or any tipps for me to get out of this writer’s block please send me an ask or a message. I would really appreciate it!
Fam, 2013 Avengers fandom is still lit, idk what to tell you. We stopped at Winter Soldier long enough to pick up Bucky and Sam and haven’t looked back since.
I love this particular aspect of fandom; it’s like you pack people into the car for a road trip, and you pick up a few more people along the way, and then you just pull over and “Welp there’s no more gas in the tank we live here now.”
I think one of the reasons this trope is so enduring is that it existed before the Avengers movie came out. It was based in comics canon, where this did in fact happen – not quite in the same sense, but in the comics the Avengers frequently lived together either at Tony’s mansion or, later, in Stark Tower (I believe this was after the Avengers Mansion was destroyed in, I think, House of M, but I’d have to look up which storyline it was – I know it was Bendis because he talked later about what an asshole move it was). They were the official Avengers headquarters and had a rotating cast of residents.
So people were writing “they all live in the tower and Tony made them separate floors” fanfics with the MCU Avengers cast probably as soon as the Avengers movie was announced – certainly in the year before it aired. It has an endearing, enduring quality to it, and it ties in nicely to the Found Family conception that none of the writers or directors of the Avengers films ever fully grasped as part of the mythos of the Avengers.
So in that sense, the fans are right to reject later film canon and build on the tropes of 2012; they have more history behind them and are supported by over forty years of original canon.
IT’S 100% FUCKING ILLOGICAL TO EXPECT MEN TO HAVE THIS RIPPED SIX-PACK ABS AND BE SKINNY AND HAVE PERFECT SKIN AND FACIAL COMPLEXION! MEN ALSO EXPERIENCE BEING UNCOMFORTABLE WITH OUR BODIES ALL. THE. FUCKING. TIME.
I’m bringing back the REAL post. For those of you who care enough about how body image issues effect BOTH MEN AND WOMEN and how ignoring men with eating disorders or who have depression or deep insecurities because of their body image is not just ignorant, but it’s horribly insulting. Making fun of this post means you are telling men who feel degraded that they should feel bad about themselves and that they don’t mean anything. For everyone who reblogged the posts that made fun of this original post, shame on you. I’m very disappointed. Please share the original because this is an important issue.
Also raised to my attention is I neglected to add people of color to this post, I am sorry for my negligence so I shall add bonus images here of unrealistic expectations for men of every race, I chose Men’s Health Magazine because it’s extremely popular in telling men how to look:
This is actually the VERY FIRST TIME I’ve seen the original post, which goes to show how quickly people turned it into a joke. I confess that I did laugh at some of the absurd replacement images in the other versions, and I feel guilty for that now because I, like many, was missing an extremely important message.
To all of my male followers who struggle with self-esteem: I support you too. Even though I’m really quiet and have a bad habit of going weeks or months without posting, I WILL be there for you if you come to me wanting to talk or just vent. That’s a promise.
Another thing to note that in all, ALL, of those pictures the men are actively flexing. And often such defenition for shoots is exaggerated by dehydration, airbrushing and photoshopping. That chiseled look isn’t a look you can acheive at rest without literal implants. Here are 2 examples of flexed vs relaxed:
And you know what? Dollars to doughnuts none of the above muscular looking guys are as strong as these men:
These are strongmen. These are the bodies of men that train for strength, not defenition. These guys can practically lift cars and drag trains.
So men of the world that get depressed about not looking like you just stepped off a magazine cover, relax. You don’t have to look like that. You are handsome, beautiful and fantastic the way you are.
To all my beautiful boys <3 Please read and heed. You’re amazing, and you don’t have to look any particular way. This goes for transboys too. You’re handsome no matter what!!!
