Dean winchester and his girl best friend that hates men <3
Dean loves her. He knows it. Not always — there was a time before her, long ago. Dean can’t remember exactly when, but it was when Sammy was still shorter than him and had a little height on her. But since then, he’s loved her.
He’s glad to have met her so early in their lives; he’s glad to have had the chance to cling onto her for so long that she doesn’t have any other options but staying at his side, now. Now, Dean doesn’t think she’d even give him a glance.
Not because it’s him, or anything, but because he’s a dude. Probably, also because of him, honestly. She puts up with a lot of his gross man stuff because he’s Dean. At least, that’s always her excuse. She’ll complain about some guy, and scoff under her breath about ‘men’, and Dean will look a little offended, so she’ll pat on his arm and say, “No offense, you don’t count, De.”
He used to actually get kind of upset because he is a man. He’s very manly, and very much a guy. Now, he just pretends to be so he can ask, “Then what the hell am I?”, so he can hear her say, “You’re my Dean.”
She doesn’t really willingly talk to guys that aren’t Dean or Sam. Ever. Every bar, she rolls her eyes at free drinks, but takes them anyways, and turns back to finish her conversation with Dean about what famous cowboys they would be. He’s Clint Eastwood, unless she’s there in this universe, then he has to be the Wild Bill Hickok to her Calamity Jane, obviousy. Having a smoke outside, she refuses a guys lighter and looks to Dean by her side instead, and continues talking about how she would join the Dark Side, but only if Darth Maul asked, or Dean had already joined. Dean, who doesn’t smoke, but carries the lighter he took from Bobby’s for her.
Never once has Dean seen her enjoy a conversation with a man outside of himself, Sammy, or Bobby. She always looks to him for saving, too. He loves when she does that. Loves that she knows he’s always there for her to do that, even if it’s just throwing an arm around her shoulder to give some guy a hint. He loves getting to throw an arm around her shoulder.
He does it a lot, too. Not just for that, either. They sit in the same booth at every diner Dean pulls the Impala into, whether Sam’s there to take up the other side or not. They share beds, definitely just because it’s cheaper, and maybe even cuddle sometimes, when Dean somehow magically pulls her over to replace the pillow he usually holds. They watch cable screenings of movies together, on shitty leather couches, and always end up toppled over eachother with the comfy blanket she brings on every hunt. He likes when she folds first, and crawls onto his chest and in between his legs, but he’ll never complain about resting his head on her chest.
They touch a lot. They giggle and shove, and rub backs, and squeeze arms, and twirl hair, and grab waists, and maybe even hold pinkies and interlock legs under tables. And he’s allowed to have all of that with her cause he’s her Dean. Even all Sammy gets is a side hug and a high five here and there.
She doesn’t have much family left, and she doesn’t talk to whoever is. Her neighbor, though, some old lady with a husband she hates and an oddly large amount of grandchildren, loves her.
She’s never home much with hunting, but when she is, her and her neighbor will smoke a cigarette on the porch together with a cup of coffee. The first time Dean met this lady was interesting. When he pulled into her driveway the sun was barely up, but it was already glistening against the skin of her legs, and the rest of what was peaking out from under her silky robe.
She grinned, and took a drag, smoke pooling from her lips while he walked over.
“Look at this handsome man,” Her old neighbor chimed, waving a finger. “Thought you didn’t have no boyfriend.”
“I don’t,” She laughed right back. He’d been close enough to touch then, so she gave his forearm a little squeeze. “Hi, De.”
“Hey, Sweetheart.” He grinned back down at her, eyes rimmed red and sleepy from the long car ride, but still just happy to take in the sight of her.
“Sounds like boyfriend talk to me, there, honey.” The old lady sipped on her coffee, eyeing him.
“Nah,” Her hand moved up further, giving his bicep a pat. “This right here is why is don’t need one. Not that I ever really wanted one in the first place.”
He thinks about that a lot. And about afterwards, when she called him baby, and stood from her patio furniture to lead him inside. How her hand was warm on his bicep, and rubbed his back to sleep while she read a cheap novel until he woke back up.
She makes loving her easy, but Dean would still do it if it was hard. She never asks for much, but he always knows what she needs. When they get back to the motel room after a long day, and she flops on the bed on her tummy, Dean knows she won’t want to eat anything but pretzels or crackers, sometimes toast, for a while until her stomach will feel better. He’ll tell her he’s going for a drive and show back up five minutes later with a Ginger Ale.
When she scrolls through the TV channel guide before pouting and tossing the remote in his lap, he can tell there aren’t any Dr. Sexy reruns on, so now it’s up to Dean to find an acceptable movie. When a hunt goes bad, and her eyes go all spacey, Dean knows it’s time to go lay in bed. Not necessarily go to bed, just be in bed. With Dean. To lay together, under her huge, comfy blanket. She likes watching cartoons, then, or just talking. The two of them, they can talk about anything for hours.
Sometimes, she likes to lay on his chest. Dean will already be in bed, channel surfing, when she strolls from the bathroom in his old hoodie and soft pj shorts. She’ll crawl into the bed, and curl up with her head on his abs, facing the TV.
Once, halfway through an episode of Scooby-Doo, she shuffled around to face him.
“Do you think it’s weird I never try to get with guys?”
It threw him off pretty bad. Never once, has he ever really thought about it. She just…didn’t do that, and that was that. End of story.
“I don’t know,” She shrugged. “Just…when we went to the Roadhouse awhile ago and I was hanging out with Jo, she wanted to talk about boys and stuff. I told her you’re the only guy I tolerate — besides Sam, obviously, but — she kinda made fun of me a little. She was just joking, y’know, but I guess it just made me think.”
“What did?” His eyebrows were crinkled, and his pretty green eyes showed just how truly lost he was.
“I just never realized that it wasn’t normal for that to not be appealing. The whole…sleeping with a random guy thing. That’s probably why i’ve never had sex.” She said it like it means nothing, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“…You’re a virgin?” His eyebrows moved all the way up, and his mouth didn’t gape, but it was still open when he finished. The prettiest, smartest, most hilarious woman he’s ever known — is a virgin.
“Well, yeah,” She shrugged again. “Why would I wanna have sex with some random dude who won’t even get me off? I’d rather just do it myself. Besides, I’d want it to be someone I trust, and I only really trust you that much.” Then, after staring him in the eyes and spilling the one thing he didn’t know about her in the most casual tone possible, and saying, out of anyone in the world, she’d only want to have sex with him, she turns back around and watches the rest of the Scooby episode until she falls asleep. Her head is still on his tummy, moving up and down with his breath, and her hand lays in front of it, a little too close to his waistband.
They’ve been different after that. Not much, but enough for Sam to notice. Jo, Ellen, and even Bobby, notice, too when they’re around.
All their soft, small touches that could’ve maybe passed off as just something sweet between good friends now linger. They fully hold hands, all the time. No more pinkies linked under tables, but now, swinging hand in hand everywhere they go. Kisses on the cheek are mandatory when one is leaving for more than five minutes without the other, whether it’s to a different state or the next room over. Hugs are constant and never ending. She receives a minimum of four Dean Winchester given piggybacks on a weekly basis. Playful pushes turn into tickles and giggling and careful tackles onto beds and big bear hugs. Basically, they’re just fucking insufferable.
They say I love you, like they’ve been doing it for centuries. To Dean, it feels like they have. Everything is just so easy with her, that there’s no way he can’t say it back. It’s not like he’s lying, either way. It kinda scares the shit out of Sammy, though, the first time he catches it.
Dean and Sam were just going to the library, she was staying back in the room with an upset stomach because Dean wouldn’t let her go. He’d had gotten her Goldfish and a Ginger Ale already, had her propped up in bed with the best pillows in the room and Cake Boss ready to shine (Dr.Sexy wasn’t on).
Sam had already been waiting by the door, annoyed and impatient when it happened. He was about to start sighing and grumbling for Dean to hurry up when the older brother leaned back into her side, after just finally being convinced to leave it, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Call me if it gets worse or somethin’, alright? We’ll be back in a minute.” Her hand curled up, into his hair, basically petting him.
“I know, De,” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Nothin’ to thank me for.” He got all bashful, grinning like he was on top of the world.
“Alright, get out of here,” She laughed, and gave him a push. “Stop making Sam wait.” He moved away, finally, and just as the two were about to shut the door behind them, she shouts for Dean. “Love ya!”
He sticks his head back in, grinning so fucking sickly sweet it almost made Sam’s stomach start to hurt too. “Yeah, love ya, girl,” He closes the door, turning back to Sam. “Hurry up, Sammy, we’re running late.”
Yet, both of them will still claim they’re ’just best friends’. What absolute bullshit.
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