All Our Own
Summary: You struggle to help Dean work through his stress
Content: Dean x Reader, swearing, yelling, injuries, a bit of arguing, and some slight fluff at the end.
Note: This was written for the 5K Celebration Challenge for @zepskies! I entered under my main blog beakaleak32 and asked for a .gif to base a story on, and she gave me the one below (cuz she knows I'm a sucker for shower scenes haha). Congrats on all your amazing followers Alex! I hope you and everyone else enjoy the story!
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You weren’t sure when you had lost track of how Dean was handling his stress. Maybe it was innocent, and you believed that he was managing things just fine. Dean also was a professional liar and had gotten good at hiding things. More likely was that things hadn’t been easy lately and you were focused on yourself. Whatever the reason, Dean was starting to scare you.
While you were on the hunt for a wickedly smart shapeshifter, you noticed Dean’s easily losing his temper over little things. At breakfast one morning he snapped at a waitress for serving crappy coffee. He was either bickering with Sam or pointedly ignoring him. You had even noticed he was slamming the doors of Baby a bit harder than he usually did. But it all came to a head when you were trying to get information from a witness.
“I said talk, dammit!” Dean roared, whipping a knife out of his pocket and holding it up against the young man’s neck.
Immediately, you realized where Dean’s head was at. Before you could open your mouth, Josh kicked out his foot in an attempt to sideswipe Dean. Caught off guard, Dean stumbled slightly but righted himself and quickly latched his hand onto Josh’s throat.
“Dean!” You yelled. It was pointless to try to pull Dean off, you knew he was stronger than you. Why had Sam decided to go back to the motel?
“You better knock that shit off or I’m running this blade through your throat.” Dean was inches away from the witness’s face, his voice low and gravelly.
“He’s not a shifter!” You cried in desperation. Dean threw a look over his shoulder at you.
“A what?” Josh gasped, meeting your gaze over the top of Dean’s head. Dean turned back to face Josh, his eyes narrowing for a moment, before releasing his grip. Josh inhaled deeply.
“You serious?” Dean muttered, walking a path around you while he gave Josh some room.
“I had to act fast, you were gonna hurt him!” You explained in a hushed whisper.
Dean didn’t reply, but you saw his jaw twitch before he stepped back in front of Josh. It seemed that mentioning the paranormal had helped loosen Josh’s tongue, because he was able to recall seeing his girlfriend in two different places within minutes of each other.
On the drive back to the motel, Dean was quiet. You had expected him to call you out or at the very least talk about the next steps. When you tried to ask him a question he responded by turning up the volume on the radio.
Great, that’s just great.
You’d seen this before, of course. Whenever you were half a step ahead of Dean or forced him to see his incorrect logic, he started to disengage. Call it a defense mechanism or a trait learned early in childhood, you still struggled with this aspect of his personality. Part of you wanted to shine a spotlight on it and make him see how unhealthy it was, and the other part knew that would just push him further away. But Dean had genuinely frightened you when he pulled the knife on Josh, and you couldn’t let that slide.
“Look, I’m sorry if you thought I was interfering, but that was not supposed to be an interrogation. He did not deserve to have a knife pulled on him.”
Dean barely hummed in response, his eyes on the road in front of him. And just like that, you were pissed. With a jab of your finger, the music stopped cold. Dean’s head pivoted.
“The hell?”
“Stop being a freaking child!” Your fists tightened around themselves, going white with the lack of blood.
“Oh, I’m being a child?” Dean spat back.
“Yes! You’re giving me the freaking silent treatment!” You felt like you were screaming in the confines of the car. Lowering your voice slightly, you continued. “Dean, what I’m trying to say is that you’re worrying me. And I want to be here for you, but you have to talk to me. You can’t just shut me out.”
“You’ve got nothing to be worried about, I’m fine.” Reaching out, Dean thumbed the stereo back on, and he continued driving in silence.
There wasn’t a chance to discuss it further as Sam had new information when you got back to the motel. With a solid lead, you all headed out to an old warehouse where you suspected the shapeshifter was holing up in between activities. Just when you thought that the lead was a bust, Sam found a small hiding space. As you started to investigate, the shifter appeared, and a brawl ensued.
Later, you would wonder what you had been thinking when you tried to surprise the shifter from behind. At the last second he spotted you and tossed you into a wall, your knee taking a big chunk of the impact and letting out a resounding crack. Dean yelled your name. Sam was closer and able to come over while Dean poured his fury into finishing the shifter off. He joined you as Sam helped you to your feet, your right leg holding your weight, and gripped your left side tightly to support your bad leg.
The drive back home was filled with a different kind of silence. You sat in the back with a makeshift ice pack over your knee while Dean shot random glances at you through the rearview mirror. Sam was researching knee injuries and asking you sporadic questions based off of his findings. You noticed him beginning to grit his teeth in the light of his phone, but you didn’t have the energy to ask how bad he thought this was.
In the fleeting hours of dawn, you arrived back at the bunker. Even though Dean utilized the garage so that you didn’t have to take the towering stairs, there were still small steps and uneven levels within the halls of your home. Apparently, the Men of Letters didn’t think about maneuvering around with injuries. As the corridors began to wind, making it difficult for Dean to immediately support your side, he swung you up into his arms and carried you the rest of the way to your room. You desperately wanted to protest that you could have made it, but it also felt nice to give your good leg a break.
“You probably want to shower?” Dean questioned after depositing you onto your bed. He knew that was generally your routine after a hunting trip. You nodded impishly, but he was already moving around the room collecting things you would need. After he set a pile down on the bed, he moved towards the door without you. “I’ll be right back, gotta grab my stuff.”
“Your stuff?”
“I’m not letting you shower alone.” His words came out with a little grit, like he was holding something back. You sighed, knowing there was no talking him out of it, and sat and waited for him to return.
After what felt like an hour of equal parts creative thinking and frustration, you were balancing on your foot under the shower spray with Dean hovering protectively behind you. He waited patiently while you soaped up and rinsed off and then let you stabilize yourself on his hands while you swapped positions. Dean seemed to fall into a rhythm and forget you were there for a moment, tilting his head back under the shower and letting the water fall over his face like it was washing away more than just grime. He ran his hands through his hair, sighing heavily. You felt your heart ache.
Reaching out, you set your hands on Dean’s shoulders. He immediately tensed up. Slowly, you used the water as a lubricant and dug your thumbs into his muscles. You expected Dean to move away from you and finish up, but he surprised you by lowering his head and letting you work out the knots along his neckline. When you found a tight spot by his shoulder blade, he let out a soft groan.
Even though your leg began to quake from overuse, you simply tried to shift onto your bad leg, not wanting to stop. When it became almost unbearable, you wrapped your arms around Dean’s waist and leaned into him to take some of your weight. Trying to hide your discomfort, you planted kisses along his shoulder and neck. His hand came up to cover yours.
“Do you need to sit?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at you. Of course he saw through your ruse.
“I don’t want to be done,” you said, avoiding the point he was trying to make, “this is nice.”
“You’re shaking,” Dean responded simply. He turned slowly, avoiding toppling you, and adjusted himself so that he was more supportive. Gently he placed a kiss at the crown of your head, a quiet thank you, and then he stood there and gazed into your eyes.
“Is this the part where you tell me I’m an idiot and to stop hurling myself into danger?” You quipped after a minute.
“Nah, I’m leaving that lecture for tomorrow.” Dean smirked. “Tonight, we talk about what you brought up in the car.”
You cocked your eyebrow. That was the last thing you had expected him to say.
“I hear what you’re saying. Life has been a shit show, and I’m probably not handling it well.”
“Probably?”
“Okay, smart ass.” Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not. But when I was watching you in the back seat, I remembered that time you had me talk to you through your panic attack. How having something to focus on helped pull you out. And I thought maybe…” Dean swallowed. “I could try to let you be my focal point.”
“I ain’t going anywhere, Winchester.” You pressed yourself closer to him as you answered. “Not emotionally, and definitely not physically anytime soon.” You both smiled. “I’m here, and I got you.”
Dean ducked down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, before he leaned his forehead against yours. It might seem small, but you knew this was actually a big step for Dean. You were ready to help him find himself again, even if it was ugly. Because that’s what you did for people that you loved.
