I’m Yours
Title: I’m Yours
Summary: The life of a hunter is always dark. But, with Dean Winchester as a friend and a partner, there are definitely moments that are so worth living. And maybe, just maybe, one of these moments will change Dean’s and the reader’s life forever...
Author: deanssweetheart23
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Bobby Singer, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, John Winchester (all mentioned)
Word count: 3977
Warnings: A bit of angst I suppose. Mentions of nightmares. Loss of a parent. Kid Dean (yes, that’s a warning). Implied smut. Language. And. Fluff. So much fluff, guys.
Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @becs-bunker’s 21st birthday challenge. My dear Becky, thank you so much for letting me participate and for being kind and patient enough to grant me an extension. Life’s been insane lately, but I do hope that this fluffy piece of writing is worth the wait. (Also, happy belated birthday).
As always special thank you goes to my wonderful twin @ravengirl94 who’s like the most brilliant person in the entire world. Honestly, I have no idea what I’d do without her. So. Thank you, twin. You’re the best.
My prompt for this fic was the song I’m Yours by Jason Mraz (that, by the way, brings back so many childhood memories).
Again, thank you all for bearing with me. You guys are the best and I love you all! Enjoy <3
Fingers soundly intertwined with Dean’s, you let out a content sigh as he pulled you closer to him, long torso pressed up against your own as you walked down the shore together, warm sand dancing between your toes.
It was one of those rare days when the world seemed to be doing just fine without you, so, you’d taken your chance, batted your eyelashes pleadingly at the eldest Winchester and, when his defenses began to crack, you managed to get him to agree into spending the entire weekend at the beach with you.
“I still can’t believe you talked me into this.” He grumbled into your ear as if his thoughts had aligned with yours, hands rubbing circles on the fabric of your sundress.
“Oh, please. You’re enjoying this.”
“Hmmm, not nearly as much as I enjoyed helping you shower this afternoon.” He gloated playfully, lips brushing up against that soft spot on your neck. “In fact. I think we should do that again tonight.”
“Seriously?” you chuckled, incredulity strapped into your voice. “How can you not be exhausted?”
He glanced at you then, that crooked half-smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
“Kid, have you seen yourself in that dress? ’S a miracle we even made it out of the room.”
“Dear God,” you chanted, trying very hard to suppress your grin, “you’re insatiable.”
“Well,” he said, fingertips ghosting precariously low on your back “never heard you complaining about that one before.”
Pushing his shoulder away, you groaned and mumbled a shut up under your breath, cheeks going a tad reddish, but he only laughed and wrapped his hands around your middle.
“What?” A sweet kiss on your hair. “’S true.”
“Ass.”
“Chipmunk.” He retorted and, despite the fact you wanted to bawl and roll your eyes at the nickname, you smiled, in love with the way his eyes were bright and alive under the starlight, mind already wandering to simpler times, when the two of you used to play hide and seek in Bobby’s junk yard, when you were just two lost little kids, taking comfort in each other’s presence, sharing smiles and dreams and nightmares, and you knew.
Dean Winchester had always been your person.
He was still there.
The little boy with the sad green eyes and the cute dark freckles that had visited Uncle Bobby the night before was still there, sitting on one of steps at the front porch, shoulders hunched together in defeat as he stared at the ground before him.
He looked sad and didn’t speak much.
And, even though you knew why he was acting the way he did –Bobby had explained everything to you because you were a big girl and he trusted you, you still didn’t like the look on his face. You couldn’t quite explain it but he seemed like the kind of boy that deserved to smile all the time.
All kids did.
So, after a very short discussion with yourself, you smoothed down your dress like all the ladies on TV did when they were about to do something dramatic, picked up your stuffed chipmunk and began to walk towards him.
He didn’t look up when you reached his side, so you cleared your throat and swayed a little on your feet.
“Hi.” You said shyly. “You’re Dean, right?”
No answer.
Huffing a little, you ran a hand over your face, then pursed your lips and decided to try again.
“I’m Y/N. This is Mr. Cuddles.” You explained sternly, holding up the toy your mother had given you. “We’re staying here with Uncle Bobby.” You stopped at that, looked around you and added. “Bobby’s not really my Uncle, but he said I could call him that. I think it makes him happy.”
Silence.
You looked at Mr. Cuddles in confusion and gestured towards the steps.
“Can I sit with you?”
Dean didn’t reply, but he did scoot over just a bit so, you grinned sweetly, taking a seat right next to him.
“I think you make him happy too. Uncle Bobby, I mean. I think he really likes having kids around.”
You had his full attention now, green eyes glued to your tiny form and you squinted, head cocked to the side.
“You don’t really talk, do you?”
A shrug.
“It’s okay. I talk enough for the both of us. We’ll be great friends.” You blinked. “Do you want to be friends with me?”
He didn’t respond.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” You stated, licking your lips. You paused for a minute, thinking about something and then-
“Uncle Bobby told me what happened to your mom.”
Dean tensed visibly at that, jaw clenched and brows bumped together in a scowl.
“Don’t be mad, please. He just wanted to help.” You whined, your grip tightening around the stuffed animal you’d been holding as tears began to fill your eyes. “I lost my mommy too, you know. First her, and then my daddy. And that’s why Bobby took me in.” you sniffled a little, avoiding his gaze, though you could feel his eyes burning holes at you. “So, I get why you always want to be alone. But I still want to be your friend. Everybody needs a friend, D.”
Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist and squeezed then, just the tiniest bit of pressure catching you off guard.
You smiled, faintly.
And, despite the fact you were only five at that time and didn’t know anything real about the world, you knew that, in that moment, in Bobby’s junk yard, while the morning sun kissed your skin, you and Dean Winchester became inseparable.
Gentle breeze caressed your skin, dress swaying along with it, while the waves rolled up at the shore and the salty scent of sea foam blended with that of burning wood.
Most of the people were huddled together around the bonfire by now, lonesome guitar strains and stray voices blanketing the fresh night air until a new reggae tinged melody drifted around the beach, vibrant and warm.
Glancing up, you noticed a bunch of kids that were gathered around the bonfire. Most of them were just standing there, orbs pools of awe in front of the bright light, but your eyes stumbled over a couple of them dancing, happy little smiles gracing their faces.
“Cute, huh?” Dean’s voice crawled into your thoughts, words grazing your skin like the softest of touches.
“What?”
“The kids.” He explained, a smile in his voice. “They’re cute.”
“Well. All kids are.”
“Yeah, right.” he snorted. “You were such a monster.”
“Hey, I was not.” You complained, elbowing his ribs as your cheeks flushed pink.
“Sweetheart, you could get away with just about anything because of that innocent little smile of yours.”
“I was adorable, alright?”
He chuckled then, genuine and warm, a laugh that vibrated through his bones and fluttered in the air between you.
“Never said you weren’t, Chipmunk.” He whispered, voice dipped into a sea of tenderness as he kissed your temple, eyes focused on the immensity of blue before you. “Never said you weren’t.”
Silence.
Nothing but the sound of crickets and Bobby’s loud snores echoed into the dark hallway as you padded towards Dean’s bedroom, dragging M. Cuddles with you.
Reaching the dim-lighted bedroom almost immediately, you scrunched your nose up when the door creaked and entered the room, eyes drifting to where Sam was asleep. Once you made sure you hadn’t woken him up, you sighed in relief and let your small feet lead you to your friend’s bed.
“D.” you whined, lightly tapping his shoulder.
The boy stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.
“Bobby?” he rasped, nuzzling his pillow. “Is Sammy okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. It’s me. Y/N.” You replied patiently. “C’mon, D. Wake up.”
A groan.
Eyes blinking owlishly.
“Y/N? What’s wrong?”
“Nightmare.” You explained simply and he frowned in concern, rumbling the sheets as he sat up.
“Same as last time?”
You nodded solemnly, fidgeting with your stuffed toy.
“The monster in the closet took Bobby. And then he came back and took you and mister John and Sammy.” You whimpered, tears glistening in your eyes.
Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, green orbs wide and concerned as they gazed at you.
“Y/N, it was just-”
“I know it wasn’t real.” you explained, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands. “But it was really scary, D.”
Dean smiled then, a sleepy, cute smile he always wore when his brother was around.
“C’mere.” He said, patting the empty space next to him on the bed. “Want to stay with me tonight?”
Your face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Can I?”
“Course you can, Chipmunk. Mr. Cuddles can stay too.”
You nodded at that, and reached for the sheets, then stopped a few seconds later, seemingly thinking about something.
“What? What is it?”
You gnawed on your bottom lip, eyes drifting to the floor.
“I didn’t bring my pillow.”
“It’s okay, Y/N. We’ll share mine.” He offered and grinned when you climbed into the covers, scooting as close to you as he possibly could.
“D.?” you whispered after a few minutes, snuggling into Mr. Cuddles.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He smiled, soft and sweet.
“You’re welcome, Y/N.” he whispered, looking at you through his lashes. And then. “You don’t have to be afraid, you know.” He mumbled, fingers laced with yours. “I’ll protect you from all the monsters.”
“Promise?” you asked in wide-eyed amazement.
“Promise.”
You nodded.
“I’ll protect you too, D.” you told him, voice laced with firmness. “I’ll always protect you.”
And you prayed to God that you’d always be able to keep that promise.
“Think they’ll end up like us?” Dean whispered softly into your ear after a while, eyes glued to the adorable couple that had caught your attention, and you hummed, lips curved up in a pensive smile.
“You mean hunting monsters and working with a two-bit tailor who sold his soul for an extra three inches below the belt?”
Amusement twinkled in Dean’s eyes and he laughed, breathy and loose.
“No, smartass.” He replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, dancing the horizontal tango like we do.”
Rolling your eyes, you scowled at him, but he pointedly ignored it, focusing on the little boy who picked up the plumeria flower that the girl had accidentally dropped to the sand.
“Poor kid.” Dean muttered, shaking his head, though there was a fragile smile blossoming in his voice as he spoke. “She’s got him wrapped up around her little finger already.” A chuckle. “Yeah, they’ll definitely end up like us.”
“Excuse me?” you implored, gapped-mouthed. “I so do not have you wrapped around my little finger.”
He smirked then, spread-armed shrug on full display.
“Kid, you managed to talk me into coming to a bonfire party with you. It’s pretty much safe to say you’ve officially ruined me.”
“I’m sorry, are you complaining?”
“Nope.” he replied, cupping your face with his large hands. “I mean, God knows you can be a major pain in the ass sometimes-”
“Hey!”
“—but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He whispered and brushed his lips up against your own, all intimacy and glow, and yeah, if the way he kissed you like it was the first and the last time meant anything, then he was still so stupidly in love with you.
“So,” Dean started, licking his lips, “have you finally decided what we’re doing tonight?”
“Dean, I already told you I-”
“Nope. Staying in is not an option.” He chanted, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You just graduated high school. We’re totally celebrating that shit.”
“I don’t want to-”
“Don’t care.” He cut you off, shaking his head.
Sighing, you ran your fingers through your hair in frustration and glanced at him, eyes heavy and appraising.
“You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope.”
Deep breath.
Bottom lip pulled between your teeth in thought.
“Okay.” You started, clutching at his arm. “There’s one thing.”
“See? Now you’re talking.” He gushed, draping an arm over your shoulder, your body nestled against his side. “’M all ears.”
Shifting a little, your eyes drifted up to meet his, and you were suddenly nervous.
“How would you feel about going to an ice cream shop?”
“How would I –kid, that sounds awesome.”
“Yeah, but I… It’s in Hartford”
His jaw almost dropped to the floor.
“Hartford?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” You sassed, rubbing at your forehead.
“You do realize it’s gonna take us all night to get there, right?”
“I know but…” You shrugged your face tiredly. “Never mind.”
“No. Tell me.”
And you wanted to lie to him because, hell, it’d be the easiest thing to do, sweep the subject under the carpet like it never happened, but he was Dean, the person you knew you could always trust, the boy that had always been there for you, the one who didn’t need words to understand you and could heal your wounds without even slicing them open.
And, dammit, you couldn’t not tell him.
“It’s just… My, uh… My parents used to take me there when I was a kid. For my birthday.”
He nodded curtly then, jaw clenched and teeth gritted, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on floating across his face.
“Well,” he said, voice wavering just a bit, “I’ve always wanted to drive Baby all night.”
“D., you don’t have to-”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.” He cut you off, slipping his fingers through yours and gripping. “I want to get ice cream from Harford. It sounds delicious already.”
“Dean-”
“Just get in the car, Y/N.” He chortled, opening the passenger’s door for you.
“Fine. Bossy bastard.” You grounded out, but he could see the smile you were so desperately trying to hide.
You fell asleep almost immediately. After all, that bubbly sense of overwhelming safety that floored you every time Dean was around along with the beer you’d been drinking earlier were enough to make you light-headed.
And still, when Dean pulled over at a gas station, and laid his worn-out leather jacket over your frame like a blanket, you snuggled closer to it, and when he dropped a kiss on your forehead, lips lingering on warm skin longer than necessary, you smiled, and when he whispered G’night, Chipmunk to you in the duskiness of the car, you let out a content sigh and took in the gruffness of his voice.
This was what being at home felt like.
Sighing, you looked up at Dean, memories swirling inside your head like a whirlwind as yellows, reds and oranges glinted across his face, bouncing on his forehead and on the strong line of his jaw, lighting up the curve of his lashes, his nose, that freckle on his lower lip that you’ve always found adorable.
And, even though you knew that he was a man who’s been to Hell, Heaven and everything in between, knew that the innocence that had once been there was now long gone, he reminded you so much of that little kid in Bobby’s yard, the one who used to let you stay with him whenever you had nightmares and sang his brother to sleep every night with a lullaby.
He reminded you of the young boy that had offered you your first drink, the one who carried you back to your bedroom when you fell asleep on the Impala.
He reminded you of the man that made you rice tomato soup whenever you were sick and held you close when the nights were too much to face alone, breaths and heartbeats fused together like you were one.
He reminded you of home.
“Hey. Hey.” Dean chanted, snapping his fingers. “Whatcha thinking about?”
You blinked.
The words waltzed right out of your tongue.
“Marry me.”
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you let out a content sigh and snuggled closer to Dean, torso pressed up against his own as you played with his fingers absentmindedly.
It was a breezy spring night, brilliant silver stars dancing on the navy-blue sky and he’d surprised you by showing up at Bobby’s house unexpectedly and sneaking into your bedroom.
“Sam called today, you know.” You mumbled all of the sudden, voice soft as you glanced at him.
He tensed under you, body going rigid the moment the words left your mouth.
“Well. At least, he remembered someone’s birthday.”
And you knew he didn’t mean it, knew that he was just trying to swathe himself deeper into his armor so you wouldn’t see the cracks and slits in him, but the way he said it, the way he clenched his jaw soundlessly and narrowed his eyes made your entire soul ache.
So, you sat up on the hood of the Impala and took his hand in yours.
“D., it’s not like that and you know it.” You objected, running circles over his knuckles gently.
He sighed then and dragged a hand down his face, then rubbed the back of his neck.
“’M sorry, that sounded –look, I’m glad he called. I just wish…” he swallowed loudly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “God, I don’t even know.”
You nodded, biting on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
Your stomach plummeted.
“C’mere.” You whispered, spreading your arm open.
A murderous eyeroll.
“Don’t gimme that look, Winchester. ‘S my birthday, remember?”
Huffing out a quite dramatic breath, he eyebrowed you, all judgement and annoyance, and let his head drop on your lap.
“He misses you, you know.” You whispered after a while, fingers sinking into his short locks soothingly.
“He said that?”
“He didn’t have to. I’ve known that kid since he was in diapers, Dean. ‘S as plain as the nose on your face.” You retorted and he cracked a small, thankful smile.
Silence and then-
“Is he doing okay?” he asked, the gruffness of his voice a palpable proof of his concern.
You hummed in response, and ran your knuckles over his cheekbones.
“He’s fine. Still trying to fit in.” you said cautiously, making patterns with Dean’s freckles. You paused, thinking about something and-
“I think he’s seeing someone.”
“What? Like… Like a real girl?”
You snorted out a laugh.
“Yeah, D. Like a real girl.” You repeated wryly. “Her name’s Jess. He mentioned her a couple of times. Stumbled over his words a little.”
Dean chuckled at that, nuzzling your tight, and mumbled something that sounded awfully like that’s my boy under his breath.
You smiled.
You really couldn’t help it.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just… missed you, I guess.” You shrugged and he took a deep breath and sat up to face you, dragging his body close to yours until the two of you were woven together again, edges and limbs falling perfectly into place.
“Yeah,” he agreed, kissing the side of your head, “yeah, me too. Can I…” A nervous chuckle. “I’ve got a question.”
“Fire away.”
He cleared his throat, quietly.
“Last time we saw each other, you… You mentioned something about me going after the things-”
“You want. Yeah. I remember that.”
He smiled, almost too shy.
“D’you mean it?”
“’Course I meant it. Why?”
He swallowed.
His green eyes landed on your lips before flickering up to meet your Y/E/C ones.
When he spoke again, it was low and rugged, the words curling around his tongue.
“Because there’s something I really want to do right now. God, there’s something I’ve always wanted to do but I… I’m worried I might have to deal with your right hook.”
“Why?”
“Cause I want to kiss you.”
It came out scraped and wrecked, a breath of a sentence that was too honest and desperate to ignore, the shadowy meaning of it becoming tangible as he hooked a finger under your jaw and ducked in just a little, waiting for you to walk away, to stop him and laugh at his face.
“Kid, are you-”
“Yes, I’m… Yeah.” You breathed out, sliding a hand up his arm.
His orbs trailed the movement of your fingers and he beamed at you.
Ever so slowly, he dipped in and pressed his mouth against yours, testing the waters for one, two, three long seconds and then really went for it, with fingers threading in your hair and tongues dancing together, with soft touches and whimpers until you were a mess of delicate closeness and swollen lips right there, on the hood of the Impala.
When he broke the kiss off, he cupped the back of your head and pressed his forehead against yours, slanted grin playing at the corners of his lips.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose.
And you fell deeper in love with him.
“Y/N, did you just-”
“No. Listen.” You cut him off and put a hand on his chest, taking in the wide-eyed bemusement in Dean’s orbs. “I know it sounds crazy, right? I mean, we’re hunters and hunters don’t do shit like that. But…” you paused, running your thumb along his cheekbone, a soft smile gracing your features. “We make sense, D. We always made sense ever since we were kids and this-”
“Sweetheart-”
“What I’m feeling, it’s… I’m just so tired of letting the evil-”
“Sweetheart, will you-”
“The evil crap in our lives stop us from actually living it. And I know you’re not a really fan of-”
“Jesus Christ, will you shut up for just a second?” he chanted, crackly expression floating across his face. A sigh. Hand rubbing over his forehead. “I got… Uh, I got something for you.”
“You got…”
“Yeah,” he muttered and reached for his pocket. “Here.”
He handed you a small velvet box.
You snapped it open.
Your heart almost leapt to your throat.
“That’s a…” you chuckled a bit, mirthless and loose, smoothing a thumb over your brow. “Dean, there’s a diamond ring in here.”
He snorted at that, swaying a little on his feet.
“I’m aware, Sherlock. Don’t worry it’s not stolen.” He smirked, but the cheekiness melted almost immediately, giving way to something else, something a lot more fragile.
“What-”
“It’s been there for a while now because I… Well. I was kind of hoping you’d make one more stupid decision and say yes. So,” he said quietly and interlocked his fingers with yours, “what do you think? Wanna get hitched?”
Chuckling a chuckle that was painted with happy tears you’d never dare shed, you leaned closer, nose nudging against his.
“I dunno, Dean. I think your proposal needs a bit more work.” You teased, face so close to his that you could almost taste him.
“That so?”
“Uh-huh. But on the other hand,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his waist, muscles and sinews smooth but solid under your touch, “Mrs. Winchester has a very nice ring to it.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, and I don’t think I can risk you changing your mind.”
He laughed at that, that real gruff laugh that was your favorite sound in the entire universe and pulled you closer, tucking some hair behind your ear.
“Yeah, you really don’t have to worry about that.” He whispered, gaze dropping to your mouth for a second, softness and intensity shimmering into it. “You got me, kid.” He vowed, lips curled up in a brilliant smile.
And, God, when he kissed you, turning knees into liquid and hands into heat just from the way his lips moved against your own, you knew that this, that kiss, was yet another promise Dean was going to keep.
Because that was what he did.
Because he had no other choice.
Because, despite the demons and the monsters and the darkness, the two of you belonged.
There’s no need to complicate
Our time is short.
This is our fate,
I’m yours.
Tags: @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @ravengirl94 @trexrambling @escabell @tiny-friggin-human @impala-dreamer @imagining-supernatural @hannahindie @atari-writes @emilywritesaboutdean @ofloveandlonging @becs-bunker @percywinchester27 @pickupthatamulet @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @dancingalone21 @wordstothewisereaders @sgarrett49 @myrabbitholetoneverland @ruprecht0420 @iwriteaboutdean @spngeronimo @captainemwinchester @thevioletthourr @mogaruke @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @wellthatsrandomkek @winchestersnco @jayankles @winchesters-flannels @akshi8278 @kathaswings @keepcalmandcarryondean @mandilion76 @polina-93 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @a-glass-of-orange-juice @ravenangel33 @holahellohialoha @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @atc74 @juanitadiann
