Request: “There's a protective Dean and Sam some kind of thing. They're friends with fem!reader, a shy and graceful girl. A long time ago the brothers took her in and a deep friendship was born. She only helps with research because she suffers from a heart failure, which leads to her being often dizzy nauseated and breathless. The brother care for her and always keep an eye out on her. Dean is secretly in love with her and vice versa. But neither of them admits it. One night Dean brings home some of his flings and the girl is really cruel to the reader.... Reader spirals into a rabbit hole, taking the things the bitch said to her to heart.... And shit hits the fan?! Some angst, drama and fluff, protective Winchesters.” - by anon
A/N: I broke this request into two three parts because it ended up being much longer than expected. This last part took me forever to finish, still not sure I love how it turned out but here it is. No beta, all mistakes are mine, please message me if you see any! Watercolor heart from the header image credit.
(Read Part 1) (Read Part 2)
xxxxxxxxxx
You’re not really sure where he’s driving you, because it’s not back to the town you were hunting in, and it’s not towards home, either. It feels aimless, like he’s picking turns at random for the sake of the familiarness of being behind the wheel, like it’s the only thing that’s grounding him right now. The sun has made its venture into the sky, climbing with each passing minute and painting the wisps of clouds in orange and pink. The quiet in the car is becoming unbearable, the inevitable conversation that’s about to take place encroaching with each passing second.
You decide to just go for it, like that first jump into a cold pool. Just get it over with. It’s either that or tuck and roll out the passenger door. Though…the latter option might prove to be less painful when all is said and done.
“So…” you start quietly, “where’s Sam?”
“Oh, Sam’s still working on the case.” Every word is wrapped in frustration. His jaw is tight, fingers gripping the wheel with more force than necessary. You don’t have to check for a speed limit sign to know that he’s exceeding it.
“You left Sam?”
In a split second you find yourself almost relocated to the floorboards of the car, the lap belt cutting into your waist the only thing keeping you from sliding off the seat as Dean slams on the brakes. You manage to catch the upper half of your body weight with a hand on the dash, eyes wide as he veers off the side of the road and continues right on into the neighboring grassy field. The Impala’s wheels find a small rut, bumps in and out of it, the frame vibrating from the uneven ground. He goes a few more feet and then comes to a complete halt, throws the gears into park and shuts off the engine. You quickly undo the seatbelt to rub your stomach.
“Dean, what the hell-”
But he’s already opened his door and is exiting the vehicle, the loud slam of it shutting making you flinch. You watch him through the windshield as he walks a short distance into the field, then he stops and just stands there with his hands in his jacket pockets, his back to you.
You stay in your seat, staring at him, a bit stunned. You’ve known Dean for years, and in that time you’ve seen his rough edges, watched him dissolve into anger that would leave him unable to speak, observed his elated highs alongside the dismal lows. But you’ve never seen him like this… At least, not with you. Not because of you.
A steady breeze is blowing the tall, spring wildflowers around his legs, pushing small tufts of his hair in all directions. His stiff posture is a direct contrast to the serenity around him; a tranquil view from a distance that’s lacking all of its peace up close.
“Ah, screw it,” you mutter to yourself. You pop your door open and step out, the immediate onslaught of wind attacking your hair as you walk across the grass to stand beside him. You’re not really sure how you feel, not sure what to think. A short hour ago you’d been on a bus, trying to get as far away from him as possible. And now…
“Alright, spill. What’s going on with you?”
He turns sharply, fire in his eyes. “With me? What’s going on with me? Are you serious right now?”
He wants to pick a fight, to throw everything that’s built up out into the open, and part of you does, too. You fold your arms, meet his glare with a steady one of your own. “Yes, with you. How could you leave Sam to work a case by himself?”
Air snorts out of his nose in disbelief. “I left the case? Are we forgetting that you’re the one who just up and hopped a bus in the middle of the night? Without saying anything?”
“I texted Sam.”
“Oh, you texted Sam. Of course. My bad.”
You throw your hands up in the air in exasperation. “You literally just drove god knows how many miles and tried to run a bus off the road, and you’re acting like I’m the crazy one. I have every right to go wherever I damn well choose to. I’m not a child, Dean, I don’t need to get permission from you.”
“You didn’t even pick up your phone, Y/N. I’ve been calling you for hours, and I just kept getting your voicemail. What was I supposed to do, supposed to think? Since when do we not talk to each other? What the hell happened?”
His voice has progressively gotten louder with each question, and though he’s not quite yelling, the harshness has you blinking back an unanticipated bout of tears. Your mood shifts, the fight leaving you as doubt and dejection take its place.
Dean notices the change, and his eyes lose some of their sharpness. He rubs a hand on the back of his neck and lets out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just don’t understand much of anything that’s been happening the past few hours. Why did you take off? Why did you just leave us like that?”
You wrap your arms tightly around your midsection, fixate on the grass beneath your feet, and manage to softly say -
“Do you… do you really not know?”
He doesn’t say anything, which is ten times worse than all of the worst possible things you’re imagining he could say. You gnaw on your lower lip, anxiety building with each second that he doesn’t speak. You can’t take it anymore, can’t take this, whatever this is. So, like a broken dam, you open your mouth and let it all flood out.
“I know that we’re not equals. I know I could never hold my own on a hunt with you. Hell, I proved that last month, didn’t I? And you deserve someone who can have your back, someone who can actually help you when the time comes. I know you guys say I help, but that’s different. It’s reading lore and making lasagna, and anyone can do that. And to top it all off, I’m an absolute mess. I cough up blood and I can’t walk a mile without feeling like I'm going to faint. I’m like this broken thing, this deadweight that you keep dragging along with you for some reason. And I don’t get it. I really don’t understand why I’m still here, because…because you don’t need me.”
He’s still not saying anything. You give in to the weakness in your knees and sink down onto the ground, tugging your jacket around you and staring out at the borderline of trees in the distance as your fingers absentmindedly pick at the surrounding grass and flower stems.
“And then I was waiting in your room for you to come back from the bar, and instead that woman showed up. And she was just-” you chuckle dryly- “so delightful, by the way. A real charmer. And you didn’t ask her to leave, so I left. I got out of your way. And I just… I couldn't stay, Dean. Don’t you get that?”
He joins you on the ground, close but not quite touching you. You dare to glance at him from the corner of your eye, surprised by the solemness his features carry.
“You don’t-” he clears his throat, digs his fingers into the dirt- “you don’t really want me, Y/N. Not the way you think you do.”
You turn your head sideways, rest your ear on your bent knee so you can look at him. He avoids your gaze, but keeps talking.
“That girl…she’s easy. Someone I can lie to when she asks me questions, that I can be a completely different person for. It’s just an escape, a night that doesn’t matter because I’ll never have to see her again, never have to think about her again, worry about her again.”
Your face tightens. “And you want that?”
“It’s been pointless to want anything else. To let myself want something else. This life…it’s not safe to let yourself get close to anyone.”
“Well…sometimes you can’t help it. Sometimes it just happens.”
He looks at you then, the right corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”
There’s a moment of hesitation, and then in one swift motion his arm goes up and around your shoulders, firmly scooping you into his side. You shuffle close and willingly lean in, resting your head in the crook of his neck. One of his hands stays wrapped around your arm, the other finding yours in your lap. A deep sigh leaves your body with the contact, the pent up tension you’d been carrying since last night dissolving with his touch.
“You’re the farthest thing from broken, you know,” he says softly. “And don’t you ever let me hear you say that we don’t need you. Sam and I are damn lucky to have you.”
“It doesn't always feel that way,” you whisper. “I still feel like I’m broken all the time. And not just because of my heart problems, but because of everything that’s happened to me, every mistake I’ve made, all the things I want to do, want to change… but I just can’t ever seem to get there.”
“I get that,” Dean says, giving you a small squeeze. “I’ve been there. But if I’ve learned anything, from Sam or Cas or anyone else in our lives, it’s that the broken heals. You just have to be willing to let it.”
You smile faintly, tilt your head up to look at him.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for chasing me down. Literally.”
He meets your eyes, his face serious. “I didn’t sleep with her, you know.”
Your blink, surprised. “Okay…why not?”
He bites the inside of his cheek, but doesn’t answer.
You squeeze his hand. “You know, you deserve to be with someone you can fully be yourself with. Someone you can talk to without having to fabricate your life, someone that actually gets it. And it may not be easier, but…I think it might be worth it.”
His features change then, and he’s suddenly looking at you in a way that takes you back to a flour filled kitchen, with mixing bowls and a pie waiting on the counter while he’s standing over you, your hand in his, heat and tension and a deep underlying desire filling the small space between. You swallow deeply, take in a shaky breath through your nose.
“Dean-”
His lips on yours cut you off, no hesitation as he tilts your chin up with his hand to draw your face closer. Warm fingertips trail down your cheek and then tangle in your hair as he gently pulls at your bottom lip. It’s a single, long, perfect kiss, and you can’t breathe properly, but you don’t really want to. He pulls away, kisses you lightly again, once, twice. And your head is spinning and your breathing is ragged and you can feel a goofy grin stretched wide across your face.
“You good?”
You nod, breathless, still smiling. You’re not sure if you can stop at this point. You’ve wanted this for the longest time, wanted him. And now that it’s happening, you still can’t believe that it’s real. It feels like a dream you never want to wake up from.
Dean releases his hold on you and stands up, snapping you from the moment. He stretches his hand out, a smile on his face. “Ready to go?”
You raise your eyebrows, still trying to collect yourself. “Go? Go where?”
Your smile fades, uncertainty underlying the pure flood of euphoria you’d just experienced. Were things already back to normal? Just like that? Did you imagine the last few minutes? Did the bus you were on crash, and you’re actually in a coma?
He’s smiling at you, waiting expectantly, and your face flushes from embarrassment. You grasp his hand, and he effortlessly pulls you to your feet. He doesn’t give you a chance to step away, though. He keeps a firm hold on your hand and tugs you back into him. Toe to toe, your chest flush against his, he cups the side of your face, erasing any of the doubt as he says -
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
And then he’s kissing you again, firmly holding you tight against him while he steals the breath from your lungs.
Request: “There's a protective Dean and Sam some kind of thing. They're friends with fem!reader, a shy and graceful girl. A long time ago the brothers took her in and a deep friendship was born. She only helps with research because she suffers from a heart failure, which leads to her being often dizzy nauseated and breathless. The brother care for her and always keep an eye out on her. Dean is secretly in love with her and vice versa. But neither of them admits it. One night Dean brings home some of his flings and the girl is really cruel to the reader.... Reader spirals into a rabbit hole, taking the things the bitch said to her to heart.... And shit hits the fan?! Some angst, drama and fluff, protective Winchesters.” - by anon
Word Count: 2,200
Warnings: side effects due to heart failure, language, bullying, mentions of blood, negative self-talk
A/N: Italics refers to flashbacks. I broke this request into two three parts because it ended up being much longer than expected. I also re-used one of my previous drabbles as the first flashback in this fic. No beta, all mistakes are mine, please message me if you see any! Watercolor heart from the header image credit.
(Read Part 2)
xxxxxxxxxx
“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
You plaster yourself even further into the corner, the cement walls of the crevice you’re in cold against your sweaty skin. Your limbs are still shaking, trembling, in fact, an uncontrollable reaction to the fear still coursing through your veins.
“Are you injured?”
You assess yourself without moving, but your brain can’t track anything.
His boot scrapes the ground as he repositions himself in a sitting position. The harsh sound almost makes you scream, and you shut your eyes tight.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. You can see him out of your peripherals, his jean clad legs drawn up, bare arms resting on his knees, hands clasped together. There’s a dark red splash of blood on his leg and grime coating his forearms. He runs his hands through his short hair and lets out a deep sigh, but doesn’t say anything else.
You don’t know how much time passes as he sits there with you. Both of your feet fall asleep, the pins and needles biting up your ankles, reminding you that you’re still alive. You settle onto your bottom, letting the blood flow resume its normal route. By the time he speaks again, the rigidity has left most of your muscles.
“I remember the first time I saw a werewolf attack,” he gently starts. “I was ten. Followed my dad one night. Really wish I hadn’t. I didn’t even see the action, just the blood and bodies. Scared the hell out of me.”
You feel the tears run down your cheeks as you start crying, the full reality of what just happened finally hitting you.
“It’s okay if you’re scared. But I promise that I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m not going anywhere.”
A sob catches in your throat, and your shoulders shake alongside it.
“What’s your name?”
“Y/N,” you manage to choke out.
“Y/N, it’s good to meet you. I’m Dean.” His hand extends into the hole you’re in, palm up. “Let’s get you out of here.”
xxxxxxxxxx
“Y/N, you in here?”
Dean’s voice carries across the room, startling you from your sleep. The memory that had wrapped itself into your dreams, the day that Dean had pulled you from the hole of an old life and into the light of another, fades with each blink of your heavy eyelids. You don’t have time to answer him because he’s already rounded the row of shelves, eyes latching onto you and a smile simultaneously finding his lips.
“There you are. Sam said you were here doing research, but that was hours ago.”
He’s wearing his ‘fed’ suit, the loosened tie indicating that he’s done interviewing for the day. You sit up fully in the old armchair you’d made your home base, eyes falling to your watch and eyebrows rising in surprise.
“Shit, I must have fallen asleep.”
You glance around the library, notice the lack of people and the low, golden light beaming through the windows. You close the open book in your lap and add it to the stack on the table beside you, knees yelling in protest as you unfold them so your feet can find the floor.
His hand comes into view, extended as an offering of help, which you gladly accept. He clasps your palm firmly in his, gently pulls you to your feet, his other hand coming to your back to steady you. He waits a few seconds before letting go, a necessary habit that both brothers had formed over the past year. Your lungs are tight, and a cough threatens to push its way up your throat. Deep breaths, eyes closed, you focus all of your energy into suppressing it.
“You good?”
It’s a question you’re asked more times than you care to count, like a mantra that everyone around you can’t help but reply with any time you so much as twitch in a concerning manner.
You open your eyes again, meet his with a smile. “I’m great.” You stuff your notebook into your bag and swing it over your shoulder before placing a hand on the crook of his arm. “What did you guys learn from the locals today? I found a few leads myself that we can follow up on.”
You walk out of the library together, Dean supporting you, like he always does.
xxxxxxxxxx
“Dammit!”
You hurl another shoe at the door, your back sliding down the wall as you sink to the floor with it, sobs wracking your body. The dress you’re wearing billows around your legs, your now bare feet tucked under you. Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you let the tears fall. You know your makeup is going to be ruined. You don’t really care.
“Y/N?”
Three hesitant knocks follow your name, then-
“You good? Can I come in?”
Even if you wanted to answer, you can’t. Your lungs begin their typical protest, a cough soon shaking your frame. You try to pull in a breath but only find yourself weezing between each cough, your head spinning alongside them.
A warm hand appears on your back, firmly rubbing circles.
“Sammy! Get some water!”
Dean slides between you and the wall, his legs on either side of you, pulling you back into his chest while he says, “Breathe, Y/N. Just take a breath. Nice and slow.”
The hand that had been covering your mouth is now speckled with bright red. You look down at your dress through watery eyes, see the spots there as well, stark against the pale blue fabric.
Sam appears in front of you, resting on his knees with a glass of water in one hand. “Here, take a sip. Nice and slow.” He helps you find the straw, and you manage to suck down a small sip of metallic tasting water before another cough overtakes you.
It takes some time, but your chest slowly grows less tight, your throat finding relief with each drink. You finally lean your head back against Dean’s chest, pull a long and even breath through your nose and let it out with a sigh.
“What’s going on with the shoes?” Dean asks.
You look at the scattered pile of high heels that litter the floor of your room, a grimace scrunching your nose as you feel your face redden with embarrassment.
“Yeah…sorry about that.”
Sam reaches for the shoe closest to him, picks it up and turns it over in his hands. “Think you threw this one a little too hard.” He pushes the thin heel with his finger and you watch as it swings on the base like a door hinge, barely holding on.
You shrug. “Doesn't matter, they’re worthless now, anyway.”
Dean rests his head on top of yours and squeezes your hand that you only just now realize he’s been holding the entire time. “What does that mean?”
More tears well up, and you swallow hard to try and keep them down. “I can’t wear them anymore. I tried, I put on this dress, I did something nice with my hair for once, strapped on those damn heels. But I can’t walk in them anymore. My balance is to shit these days. I can’t go two feet without getting dizzy. Almost broke my damn ankle.”
The way Sam’s looking at you makes you wish the floor would open up and swallow you to avoid the mortification. You sniff and let go of Dean’s hand to rub the sure to be smudges out from under your eyes, push the hairs that had escaped their clips back into place.
“I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m just being stupid. You guys go on ahead and go to this gala thing without me. I’ll just slow you down, anyway.”
Dean finally gets up from behind you, the lack of contact creating a very noticeable bubble of cold air in its wake. Sam stands up beside him, sets the broken heel down on your bed, and then they’re both extending a hand down to you.
You look up from your place on the floor, eyes tight in confusion. “What?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Sweetheart, if you think we’re leaving you behind, well, think again.”
“But I can’t-”
“Who says you have to wear heels? I’m not wearing heels. Sam’s not wearing heels, at least I think he’s not. So why should you?”
You hesitate another second before reaching out to let them help you to your feet, neither brother letting go once you’re standing.
You sniff back stray snot, look down at the crimson spots on your dress. “I’ll need something else to wear.”
“Considering you look damn good in anything, that shouldn't be a problem,” Dean says with a wink.
xxxxxxxxxx
The motel door bangs open loudly, making you jump. You look up from the show you’d been watching on your tablet, eyes widening as a woman you have never seen before walks in. Each step in her stiletto heels exhibits confidence, like she has the right to be in every room she enters. Including the one you’re occupying, apparently.
“Um, hello?”
Her eyes cut to your voice, quickly finding you at the corner table. “Oh, who are you?”
You take in her sleek black dress, dangling earrings, and bright red lipstick and immediately feel self-conscious in your sweats and oversized T-shirt. “I’m Y/N. This is my room.”
Her lips pout. “No, this is Dean’s room. Four-oh-five. He told me to meet him here.”
The muscles in your jaw clench, amusement promptly turning to anger. “Ah. Gotcha. Well… as his girlfriend, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
She laughs, a loud cackle that makes your ears grow warm. “Oh, you sweet little thing. As if.” She chuckles to herself, walks a few feet closer to rest on the edge of the bed, one dainty leg crossing the other, her shiny heels reflecting in the lamp’s light. “You must be the girl he was telling me about at the bar. Who was it… his sister?” She smiles, tight and cold. “Now be a dear, because I must have gotten the rooms mixed up. Where’s Dean staying?”
You’ve had enough at this point, in more ways than one. Anger mixed with embarrassment has your face flushed and your heart beating much faster than it should be as you push the chair back and stand.
“Listen, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but…but…”
Your head swims as black dots coat your line of sight. You must have gotten up a bit too fast, and it takes a few breaths for the dizziness to subside. It’s only a few seconds, but the silence following the start of your sentence is painstakingly obvious. When you look at her again, she’s staring with mild traces of disdain, a scrunch creasing her nose.
“What are you,” she scoffs, “a cripple?”
Any fight you’d been carrying inside of you immediately disappears at her words. You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes out; just a startled stifling of emotions and thoughts leaving your mind completely blank.
She snaps her fingers at you. “Hello? God, are you stupid, too?”
You slowly sink back into your chair, clearing your throat as you fold your arms tightly around you. “Can you please leave?” you manage to whisper.
She sighs, long and dramatic. “You still haven’t told me where Dean is staying.”
As if on cue, the door opens again and Dean’s long legs carry him into the room. He spots you immediately, surprise and confusion painting his face.
“Y/N, hey. What are you doing here?” He looks between you and the girl still sitting on the bed, then focuses back on you. “Sam said you guys were working through the stuff you found at the library.”
You nod, clear your throat. “Yeah, we were. We, uh, we’re taking a break. He went for a food run.” You very much need to be anywhere but here right now. You carefully stand again, unplug your tablet, and hold it tightly to your chest. “Needed to borrow your charger. Sorry, I’ll… I’m leaving now.”
It takes all of your willpower to not bolt out of the room, to take steadily measured steps across the worn carpet, to keep your eyes on the floor and off of the woman that you can see sneering in your peripherals.
Dean’s hand is suddenly on your arm, gently stopping you right before you make it to the doorway, turning you towards him.
“Hey, you good?”
You look at him then, read the discomfort on his face, watch his eyes flit between you and the girl he’s brought back to his bed for the night. The girl that’s not you. That’s never you. The girl who can still wear tight dresses and won’t trip in heels. The girl that’s beautiful without trying, that catches the eye of every man in the room. The girl who can undoubtedly show a man the time of his life without needing to rest to catch her breath.
The girl that Dean wants.
You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m great. See you in the morning.”
Request: “There's a protective Dean and Sam some kind of thing. They're friends with fem!reader, a shy and graceful girl. A long time ago the brothers took her in and a deep friendship was born. She only helps with research because she suffers from a heart failure, which leads to her being often dizzy nauseated and breathless. The brother care for her and always keep an eye out on her. Dean is secretly in love with her and vice versa. But neither of them admits it. One night Dean brings home some of his flings and the girl is really cruel to the reader.... Reader spirals into a rabbit hole, taking the things the bitch said to her to heart.... And shit hits the fan?! Some angst, drama and fluff, protective Winchesters.” - by anon
Word Count: 2,350
Warnings: side effects due to heart failure, language, negative self-talk
A/N: Italics refers to flashbacks. I broke this request into two three parts because it ended up being much longer than expected. No beta, all mistakes are mine, please message me if you see any! Watercolor heart from the header image credit.
(Read Part 1)
xxxxxxxxxx
“What are you doing out here?”
You smile softly at Sam’s voice, scooch over to make room for him on the park bench. “Just thinking.”
“About?” He settles beside you, an arm automatically wrapping around your shoulders to help offset the cold.
You gladly lean into his warmth. “How all I’m good for is reading a book and taking notes. How I can’t fight, can’t protect you guys, can’t even protect myself. That I’m basically a potato lump you guys get to drag around. You know, the usual.”
He’s quiet, but you can feel him thinking. You resume your watch of a cardinal nest you’d spotted earlier, see the dad dart back in with a fresh worm hanging from his beak. The simplicity of their lives is lost to them, just another day being a creature that can fly above the rest of us.
“You mean so much to us, Y/N. You know that, right? You have more to offer than you give yourself credit for.”
“Dean doesn’t seem to think so.”
He sighs. “So that’s what this is about.”
You start to pull away, but his arm tightens around you. You groan in frustration, snatch some of the emotions rolling through your mind and string them into a coherent thought.
“I just got in the way today, made things dangerous for everyone. It’s like Dean said, it would have been better if I’d just stayed home.”
You feel him shake his head, and you lean back to look up at him with a scowl on your face. “What? You heard him. He literally said-”
“He loves you, you know.”
Your eyes widen, and your mind goes blank for a split second before a whole new wave of thoughts crash through it. “I mean… I know you guys love me. I love you guys, too.”
“He was worried for you today, Y/N. Scared, even. Scared he might lose you. No one could have known that the demon was going to be waiting for us, that they had reinforcements. It was all a huge mess, and you were almost seriously hurt.”
Your brow furrows. “Yeah, but… he yelled at me.”
Sam sighs. “Yeah, he does that.”
You can feel the confusion on your face. “I don’t get it.”
He smiles down at you. “I don’t think Dean does yet, either.”
xxxxxxxxxx
You opted to get a bus ticket back home. It was, after all, your right to choose whatever mode of transportation you damn well pleased. And right now that meant not being in the back of the Impala with Dean in the front seat where he could stare you down in the rearview mirror every few seconds.
You also had the right to pack up your stuff and go to the bus stop without saying a word to anyone. Hell, you didn’t even leave a note. Guilt, however, did have you sending a quick text to Sam letting him know you’d see him back home and that you were fine. You then promptly turned your phone to ‘do not disturb’ mode and climbed aboard the bus.
Earbuds in, your favorite playlist blasting, you lean your head back against the seat’s headrest and try to sleep. It should prove to be an easy task because you’re absolutely exhausted, and the walk to the bus station had taken its toll. And yet…
It’s a half moon tonight, and you stare at its bright form in the cloudless sky as cars whiz around you on the road. It’s going to be a good many hours before you’re back, and more than likely another few days before Dean and Sam follow behind you. The guilt of leaving them in the middle of a hunt boils in your gut, threatening to overflow the edges of your current state of sanity.
It’s not like they need you. Sure, you can hold your own with Sam when it comes to the research side of things. You can make coffee in the mornings, throw a meal together for dinner, make sure everyone has what they need. But when it comes to the actual job part of the job, the part where the monster is taken care of and lives are saved… Well, you get to twiddle your thumbs in a room and wait while the guys handle it.
And then there’s the things that they definitely don’t need you for. Don’t want you for. Things that a girl in a black dress and heels can handle.
God, that girl. You don’t even know her name and you hate her. Maybe not knowing her name makes hating her easier, makes her feel less than human to you. If she doesn’t have a name, then you can’t imagine Dean saying it while they…
You let out a low groan, and the person sitting beside you gives you a hard side eye and shifts further away in their seat. You stay quiet after that, but the thoughts raging in your head don’t.
You must have drifted off, because the next thing you hear is the blaring horn of the bus and lively, muffled chatter over the music playing in your ears. You yank your headphones out and raise yourself up to get a better look at whatever is happening, hands clutching the seat in front of you for support while your brain rapidly tries to decipher what the hell is going on.
The horn blares again, followed by obscenities from the driver up front. You whip your head around, trying to see out all the windows.
“Can you believe this guy?” someone says a few rows up.
“They’re going to run someone off the road,” another person chimes in.
You shove your headphones into your jacket pocket and grab your bag before unceremoniously stepping over your seat buddy and making your way into the isle, senses on high alert.
Did the monster we were hunting somehow track me? Get my scent? That’s crazy, right?
One step at a time, using the seats as a makeshift handrail, you get closer to the people who seem to be able to see what’s happening. Your mind is already formulating a plan of escape, all the worst case scenarios playing on a loop with game plans to match them. You finally make it to the front of the bus, a bit breathless and running high on adrenaline.
“Excuse me, what’s going on?”
The bus driver gestures wildly at the cars ahead. “This dumbass.”
And then you see it.
And it’s definitely not a scenario you have an escape plan for.
The handrail above your head is the only thing keeping you on your feet as shock floods your system. You blink your eyes and lean closer to the windshield, the synapses in your brain firing at high speed but still unable to truly connect if what is happening is actual reality or if you’ve somehow slipped into a demented, yet highly vivid, dream. Which would honestly make more sense to you, because…
…that’s the Impala.
Right there.
Directly in front of the bus you’re standing precariously in the isle of.
So close to the front of the bus that if the driver were to tap on the gas he’d rear-end Baby’s back bumper.
“What the hell?” is all you can manage to say. Because what in the hell indeed.
A flannel clad arm, illuminated by the bus’ headlights, sticks out the Impala’s front window, waving off and to the right, a wild gesture that can only be interpreted as ‘pull over’.
“This guy’s insane,” the bus driver mutters.
“You have no idea,” you say under your breath, then a bit louder- “You should probably pull over.”
He glances at you in surprise. “Wait, do you know this moron?”
“Uh-huh-” your grip on the railing above you is now slippery with anxious sweat- “and I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
The bus’ blinker clicks on, the speedometer needle moving counter-clockwise as the wheel turns to the right, the rumble strip vibrating the floor under your feet as brake lines squeal in protest. All movement is finally halted with one final lurch.
“Do I need to call the police?” the driver asks you.
His offer is very tempting. You let go of the rail, wipe your sweat soaked palm on your pants, and then clap your hand on his shoulder. “I’ll let you know.”
Loud raps on the bus door make you both jump. The glass is tinted, and it’s still dark outside despite the hint of daybreak teasing its appearance on the skyline, but there’s no mistaking the outline of the man on the other side.
“Should I…open the door?”
“Yes!” someone from the back of the bus yells.
You turn your head and look back, perplexed, only to realize that all of the passengers are either halfway standing up in their seat or leaning out into the aisle, watching. Their investment in the unfolding drama is almost on the same level of intensity as your desperation to avoid it.
The bus driver is waiting for you to answer. You don’t want to answer. You also don’t want Dean to break the door down.
So you nod.
And then the door is open, and Dean is staring at you, eyes tight around the edges, hair a bit out of place, as if he’s been running his hands through it.
He doesn’t say anything, just takes the first step onto the bus and holds an open hand out, an offering for you to take it.
And you do.
xxxxxxxxxx
“Quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
You roll your eyes and flick some flour in Dean’s direction. “Like you’re going to waste away into a pile of dust on the floor if I don’t let you pre-taste the pie.”
His eyes go round. “Wait, you weren’t going to let me have some? Not even the bowl? Come on, Y/N, everyone knows that’s the best part.”
You laugh at the desperation in his voice and spoon the last bit of filling into the crust lined dish. “I don’t even like making pie. I’m only doing this because you asked me to, so…” When he doesn’t respond, you look over. He’s just staring…at the bowl. Feeling the weight of your eyes, he glances up.
“Huh, did you say something?”
You sigh deeply, but there’s a smile on your face as you grip the ceramic and then slide it with a small push across the table into his waiting hands. “Do you want a spoon for-”
His finger is already scraping the remnants from the edges, popping a filling coated finger into his mouth to suck it clean before diving right back in for more.
A snort pushes past your nostrils, quickly evolving into a laugh that has you doubled over, hands on your knees.
“What’s so funny?”
Your laughter turns to a cough just as quickly, and when you do your best to suck it back in something must have gotten snorted in the wrong direction because your diaphragm decides to start spasming, leaving you in a now seated position on the floor with high pitched hiccups squeaking through every few seconds.
Dean hasn’t left the table. He just looks down at you from his seat, licks another finger full of pre-pie into his mouth, and quips - “You good down there?”
He eventually sets the bowl down and walks over to you, helps you up with a sly grin on his face. “There’s an easy way to get rid of them, you know.”
“Well then-” -hic- “please do share with the-” -hic- “rest of the class.”
He takes a step closer to you, and you instinctively take a step back. But he only moves again, and with your next step your back hits the wall. He’s suddenly close. Very close. His socked feet touch the tips of your bare toes, one arm resting on the wall above your head, his head turned down so he can look you in the eyes. His chest is so close that you’d only need to lean forward to be flush against it, the gray short sleeve he’s wearing outlining his muscles.
Your whole body is warm, and a tingle runs down your spine when he firmly takes your hand in his. You swallow, watch as his eyes dart to your lips. You subconsciously bite the bottom one, an anxious tell you’ve carried all your life.
And then the playful look is gone from his face, shifting into something that holds a deeper intensity. He blinks and clears his throat, moves his arm from the wall and takes a small step back. You’re intently aware that, despite the separation, he’s still holding your hand.
“So, uh-” he clears his throat again- “are they gone?”
You take a deep breath through your nose, try to slow your pounding heartbeat. “What? Is what gone?”
“Your hiccups.”
“Oh.” You breathe deeply again, try to keep your face clear of the emotions that are screaming to be let free. “Um, yeah. Yes.” They’re gone, and with them your ability to breathe properly.
“Awesome.” He gives your hand a small squeeze and then drops it.
“Oooh, are we making pie?” Sam, the blessed knife to cut the uncomfortably thick tension, strides into the kitchen. You let out a sigh of relief at his presence, cut your eyes to Dean one last time before returning to your previous spot at the table.
“Hey, hands off!” you exclaim, smacking Sam’s hand away from where he’d been about to dip it straight into the center of the uncovered pie. “I’m not done with that yet. Maybe Dean will share the mixing bowl with you.”
“Not a chance.” Dean quickly scoops the bowl into the crook of his arm and reclaims his seat. “I called dibs.”
And, just like that, things go back to normal.
But you don’t.
You can’t get the look in Dean’s eyes, the way he was looking at you, out of your head.
xxxxxxxxxx
Read Part 3
Tags for this story (and this story alone, as all other tag lists have been discontinued): @iprobablyshipit91 @senjoritanana @amythyststorm33 @morgiex @sushiumex
you don't know how happy you made me only with reading and answering my request AND THEN you want to write it 😱😵🥰 that makes my little reader heart skip a beat. Thank you so much and I'm so freaking looking forward to this fic. Is it maybe possible to give it a happy ending? Reality is so cruel, I'm almost afraid my safe haven is sad too :D
So much love for you. Take care 🤍
I hope you've been liking it so far! I'm working on finding a good ending for this last part, and as you requested it to be happy I'll make sure the fluff overrides the dramatic/angsty conversation that Dean and the reader are currently in... 😁
I'm so glad you liked it!!! Thank you for your kind words. I miss writing, and this one has been fun to put together. I'm excited to share the last bit of it with everyone in a few days 😁
