As you could tell... I'm back! While I'm not yet back in full force—Crossroads of the Heart will take a bit of re-reading and re-familiarizing myself—Familiar Ground and Second Chances: Forever are definitely back! (Not to mention, I will be having a new Supernatural One-Shot coming out for the Summer Solstice too!)
The schedule date for them will be a bit wonky. I'm going to try to keep it consistent, but likely toward the middle of the week. Like hopefully, Familiar Ground will be Tuesdays, Second Chances: Forever will be Wednesdays, and once I'm back to it, Crossroads of the Heart will be Thursdays (though every other week?).
(More under the cut, because this is turning into a long post.)
And perhaps... some sad news.
I foresee an ending to Crossroads of the Heart. I do love writing CJ Braxton and his steady love for Y/N, with the chaos gremlin that is Gabby and her unusual love with Miles, but I feel the end has come for that storyline. I don't know when it'll end, only that it will. I promise it'll end well and happily though!
And I know I mentioned I'd be working on a novel! Well, it's definitely going to be worked on! I have a tentative title in place, and a general storyline already! 😄
General teaser of the novel, for those who wanted to know about it:
[Male main character/MMC] thought the best parts of his life were behind him.
[Female main character/FMC] spends every weekend singing at weddings and every Monday reminding herself not to believe in fairy tales.
When a mutual friend's wedding throws them together, neither expects more than a pleasant conversation. Instead, they find themselves drawn into an easy friendship built on sharp humor, honest conversations, and the kind of understanding that only comes along once in a lifetime.
As friendship slowly deepens into something more, [MMC] and [FMC] begin to wonder if maybe life isn't divided into winners and losers, first loves and lost chances.
Maybe there are second verses.
And maybe the most beautiful songs are the ones that continue after you thought they were over.
———
So yeah. I'm happily writing again. The FUBAR is, hopefully, seeing the end.
Oh, life will continue to, er, life—but that difficult situation? I got out. I'm safe. To borrow a phrase from a family member, I'm rebooting my life and it's getting better. Not great, but far better. I'm healthier. And outside of melting in the heat, the stress... is manageable. To the point where my muse is exploding with stories again.
So thank you all for being patient with the sudden silence, the lack of updates. I super appreciate it all. 💖
*
(detail, inverted; levels 20 1.00 255; printed orientation)
Old Oak at Coxall, Eyton, near Leominster
illustrating H. Cecil Moore. “Further Large Trees in Herefordshire, not previously recorded in Transactions,” in Transactions of the Woolhope Naturalists' Field Club. 1898, 1899. (Issued December, 1900) : 111-113
Harvard University copy, digitized March 14, 2008
no other source available, raw screen shot here
Oak at Coxall.
In a field on the right bank of the river Lugg at Coxall, in the parish of Eyton, at the distance of about two miles from Leominster, is an old Oak which has a girth of 34 feet 3 inches, at 5 feet from the ground, and 36 feet at 6 feet from the ground.
The Photographs were taken by Mr. T. H. Winterbourne, photographic artist, of Leominster.
—
to change annually xiv
but the change is hardly justified by the evidence 31
hardly “fauve” in colour... the change in colour 43
erroneous. The change of ground-colour 63
in the stream there is constantly and suddenly changing 78
change has occurred with some regularity 82
change in habitat 89
changing later to a deep copper shade 73
through the change of the tenure 142
change, except to assume 261
the other is the change that, in this generation, is passing over the face of the country 264
to blossom out... the change, which began 265
by the change and corruption in place-names 267
Pairings: Dean Winchester x Original Female Character
Series Summary: Set in the early seasons, Familiar Ground follows Dean Winchester as an unexpected reunion at Bobby Singer’s house brings Natalie Guimet—an old childhood friend and constant from his time there—back into his orbit. Told through interwoven past and present scenes, the story explores shared history, unspoken feelings, and the slow realization that some bonds don’t fade with time—they wait.
Word Count: 4,362
Tags/Warnings: demons, bargains, discussions of 18+ topics
A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!
Dividers: by @strangergraphics, @talesmaniac89
Chapter Nine: The Morning After
Dean looked down at her and felt his heart do something strange. Not race. Not leap. Simply... settle. Natalie was here. In his arms. In his room. In his bed.
The thought still felt improbable, like something he'd imagined too many times over the years and therefore could never quite believe when it became real. Yet there she was, hair a tangled mess from sleep, wearing his oversized Metallica shirt, looking at him with sleepy affection and quiet wonder.
Dean smiled. It was small at first. Then softer. Warmer.
Natalie saw it and felt her chest ache. Because she knew Dean's smiles. Knew the cocky grin he wore when hustling pool, the mischievous smirk that preceded bad decisions, the crooked half-smile he used to hide pain.
This one was different. This was joy. Uncomplicated. And that, more than anything, convinced her they were really doing this.
Dean lifted a hand to her face, brushing his thumb lightly along her cheek. He did it slowly, almost reverently, like he was still learning the contours of this new reality.
Natalie leaned into the touch instinctively.
Dean's expression softened even more. "Hey," he murmured.
"Hey."
The word was barely a breath between them. Then Dean leaned down and kissed her. Gently. Slowly. There was no urgency in it. No desperation. Just affection.
A quiet happiness that had nowhere else to go.
Natalie's eyes fluttered shut as she kissed him back, her hand coming to rest lightly against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm—steady and warm—and the simple reality of that nearly undid her.
Dean. Real. Alive. Choosing her. The kiss lingered. Not because either of them demanded more. But because neither of them was in a hurry to let the moment pass.
When they finally drew apart, they remained close, foreheads brushing lightly.
Dean smiled again.
Natalie laughed softly.
"What?" he asked.
"You look smug."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
Dean pretended to consider this. "Okay, maybe a little."
Natalie rolled her eyes fondly.
He grinned.
God.
She loved him. The thought came easily now. Not frightening. Not hidden. Just true. And judging from the look on Dean's face as he tucked her a little closer against him, she suspected he was thinking something very similar.
Neither of them said it. Not because they were afraid. Because there was no need to rush. They had years of friendship behind them. Hopefully years ahead.
There would be time. For bigger declarations. For harder conversations. For figuring out what loving each other looked like in a world filled with monsters and uncertainty.
This morning wasn't for that. This morning was for discovering that intimacy could be as simple as sunlight through curtains. As simple as shared laughter. As simple as waking up beside someone and realizing you didn't want to be anywhere else.
Dean rested his cheek lightly against the top of her head.
Natalie curled a little closer.
Outside, Bobby's truck started with a protesting roar.
A second later, his voice bellowed from downstairs. "If you two lovebirds are awake, coffee's on!"
Dean closed his eyes.
Natalie immediately started laughing.
"I hate him," Dean groaned.
"No you don't."
"No, I really do."
From downstairs: "And put some damn pants on, Dean!"
Dean's face dropped into the pillow.
Natalie laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bed.
The sound filled the room.
And Dean, despite himself, found himself laughing too.
Natalie laughed until tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
Dean, meanwhile, had buried his face in the pillow. "I am twenty-six years old," he announced to the mattress.
"And Bobby is determined to remind you of that every day."
"He is a menace."
"You love him."
"I love him in the same way people love natural disasters."
Natalie laughed again.
Dean rolled over dramatically, glaring up at the ceiling.
From downstairs came the unmistakable sound of Bobby moving pans around with entirely too much force.
The old man was making a point.
Dean groaned. "He is absolutely smirking right now."
"Oh, definitely."
"And Sam knows."
Natalie nodded solemnly. "Sam absolutely knows."
Dean closed his eyes. "This is the worst morning of my life."
Natalie looked around the room pointedly. "Interesting."
Dean cracked one eye open. "You know what I mean."
"I don't think I do."
He pointed at her. "You're enjoying this."
"A little."
"Traitor."
Natalie's smile softened. Because the truth was, she was enjoying this. Not Bobby's teasing.
Well.
Maybe a little.
But mostly this strange, ordinary morning. The easy banter. The sunlight filling the room. The fact that she'd fallen asleep in Dean's arms and woken up there too.
It felt absurdly precious.
Dean sat up finally, scrubbing a hand over his face. "All right."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "We gotta face them eventually."
Natalie groaned. "Do we?"
"Unfortunately."
He stood and stretched, shirt riding up slightly as he did.
Natalie very deliberately looked at the ceiling.
Dean caught it. His ears immediately turned pink. "Oh, come on."
"What?"
"You looked away!"
"I was being respectful."
"You were not."
"I absolutely was."
Dean laughed.
Natalie grinned.
The easy embarrassment of it surprised both of them. Because this was new. Not attraction. That had been simmering beneath the surface for years. But allowing themselves to notice it.
Allowing themselves to be shy. To flirt badly. To discover all the little awkwardnesses that came with changing the shape of a relationship.
Natalie climbed out of bed. The Metallica shirt fell nearly to her knees.
Dean looked at her. Looked away. Looked back.
Natalie immediately caught him. "Oh my God."
"I wasn't—"
"You were."
"I was not!"
"You absolutely were."
Dean groaned and pointed toward his dresser. "Get dressed."
Natalie burst out laughing. "You're blushing!"
"I hate this."
"No you don't."
Dean muttered something unintelligible while digging through his clothes.
Natalie found her jeans folded neatly over the chair she'd abandoned them on the night before.
The sight stopped her for a moment. There they were. Her clothes. In Dean's room. Because she'd slept here. Because they'd finally stopped pretending. The realization sent a warm little flutter through her chest.
Dean glanced over just in time to catch the expression on her face. His own softened immediately. Neither said anything. They didn't have to.
Natalie finished dressing and handed Dean back his shirt.
He took it. Then paused. "You can keep it."
She blinked. "The shirt?"
Dean shrugged, suddenly very interested in putting on his socks. "If you want."
Natalie's smile widened. "It's hideous."
"It is not."
"It absolutely is."
"It's classic."
"It's older than I am."
Dean gasped. "Rude."
Natalie laughed and folded the shirt carefully anyway.
Dean noticed. His smile was small. Private. Happy.
A moment later they stood by the bedroom door together. Neither reaching for the knob. Because downstairs waited Bobby. And Sam. And explanations. And whatever came next.
Dean glanced at Natalie. "You ready?"
She thought about it. About the Master. About Leandro. About the fear she'd carried for years. Then she looked at Dean. At the shy smile he was trying to hide. At the fact that he'd spent the night holding her. At the quiet certainty growing between them.
And she realized something.
For the first time in a very long time: she was.
Natalie smiled. "Yeah."
Dean smiled back. Then, without thinking too hard about it, he reached for her hand. And together, still chuckling about Bobby's disastrous timing and inevitable teasing, they headed downstairs to face the morning.
The disaster began the instant Dean and Natalie appeared at the top of the stairs.
Not because they'd done anything scandalous.
But because Bobby Singer looked up from the stove, saw Dean descend first with Natalie a step behind him, and immediately smirked so hard his mustache nearly disappeared into his beard.
Sam, seated at the table with a mug of coffee and an open lore book he clearly hadn't been reading, followed Bobby's gaze.
He blinked once.
Then slowly closed the book.
"Oh no," Dean said, stopping halfway down the stairs.
"Oh yes," Sam replied.
"We didn't—"
"Nope," Bobby interrupted. "Don't wanna hear it."
Dean looked offended. "You don't even know what I was gonna say!"
"I know exactly what you were gonna say."
Natalie, who had been feeling brave approximately thirty seconds ago, suddenly wished to return upstairs and perhaps out a window.
Dean pointed accusingly at both of them as he reached the bottom step. "We slept."
Bobby barked out a laugh. "That's what they all say."
"We did!"
"Sure."
Natalie threw up her hands. "Why is that so unbelievable?"
Bobby stared at her. Then at Dean. Then back at her. "You expect me to believe that after twenty years of pine-scented longin' and unresolved feelings, the two of you shared a bed and just slept?"
Dean sputtered.
"Natalie," Bobby continued, as though Dean hadn't spoken, "this boy kissed you stupid in my backyard last night."
Dean nearly choked. "I did not!"
"You absolutely did," Bobby said.
Natalie's face went scarlet.
Sam looked delighted.
Dean swung toward him. "You're not helping."
"I haven't even said anything yet."
"You closed your book!"
Sam lifted his coffee innocently. "I was preparing."
"For what?"
"For this."
Dean groaned.
Natalie covered her face.
Bobby pointed his spatula at them both. "Listen. I ain't judging."
"You are absolutely judging," Dean said.
"I'm judging your terrible lyin'."
"We're not lying!"
Bobby squinted at them.
Natalie dropped her hands. "It's true!"
Sam looked at Dean thoughtfully.
Dean didn't like that look.
"You know," Sam said slowly, "the fact that you're both so defensive makes me think—"
"Sam!"
"What?"
"You know what!"
Sam shrugged. "I just think it's interesting."
"It is not interesting!"
"It's a little interesting."
Dean groaned again and dropped into a chair.
Natalie sat beside him.
Which turned out to be a mistake.
Because Bobby noticed immediately. He pointed. "Look at that."
Natalie blinked. "What?"
"You sat next to him."
"I've sat next to him my whole life!"
"Not while blushin'."
"I am not blushing."
"You are."
"I'm not!"
Dean looked at her.
Natalie pointed at him. "Don't you dare."
Dean, the traitor, started laughing. "Oh my God," he wheezed. "You are blushing."
Natalie stared at him in betrayal. "You said we were in this together!"
"I lied."
"Dean Winchester!"
Sam looked like Christmas had come early.
Bobby abandoned all pretense of cooking and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "So."
"No," Dean said immediately.
"What'd you talk about?"
"No."
"How awkward was it?"
"Bobby."
"Scale of one to ten?"
"Bobby!"
Natalie buried her face in her coffee mug.
This was somehow worse than fighting monsters. Much worse. Because at least monsters had weaknesses.
Bobby and Sam were feeding off each other.
Sam tilted his head. "Actually..."
Dean pointed. "No."
"You slept holding hands, didn't you?"
Dean froze.
Natalie froze.
Sam gasped. "Oh my God, you did."
"We did not!"
"You hesitated!"
"I did not hesitate!"
"You absolutely hesitated."
Dean looked to Bobby for support.
Bobby was crying. Not emotionally. From laughing too hard. "You two are killin' me."
"This is abuse."
"This is family."
"It's the same thing!"
Bobby wiped his eyes. "No, seriously."
Dean slumped lower in his chair.
Bobby's expression softened just slightly. Not much. But enough. "You happy, boy?"
The question came out gruff. Unexpectedly sincere.
Dean looked up. The teasing had vanished from Bobby's face. Just for a moment. Dean glanced at Natalie.
She was smiling at him. Not embarrassed anymore. Just... happy. The kind of happy that had frightened both of them for years. And now sat comfortably in his kitchen at Bobby's house, drinking coffee while being relentlessly bullied.
Dean smiled back. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.
Bobby nodded once.
Sam smiled too.
The moment lasted exactly two seconds. Then Bobby grinned. "Still don't believe you didn't fool around."
Dean dropped his forehead onto the table.
Natalie burst out laughing.
And Sam, ever the helpful younger brother, helpfully added: "Honestly, I'm with Bobby on this one."
Dean's muffled scream echoed through the house.
Dean lifted his head from the table just enough to glare at everyone present. "I hate this family."
Bobby snorted into his coffee. "No, you don't."
"I do."
"You don't."
Dean jabbed a finger at Sam. "He betrayed me."
"I asked one question."
"You interrogated me!"
"I asked if you held hands."
"You made it weird!"
Sam blinked innocently. "I wasn't aware holding hands was weird."
Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Because somehow, impossibly, holding hands had become weird. Not bad weird.
Just new weird.
Natalie was sitting beside him, nursing her coffee with both hands, trying valiantly to maintain some semblance of dignity. She failed. Spectacularly. Because every time she glanced at Dean, she remembered waking up in his arms.
And then she'd smile. And Bobby would see. And then Bobby would smirk. Which was exactly what happened now.
"There she goes again."
Natalie froze. "There who goes what?"
"That smile."
"What smile?"
"The one where you look at Dean like he's hung the moon."
Dean nearly inhaled his coffee.
Natalie stared at Bobby in abject horror. "I do not!"
"You do."
"I absolutely do not!"
Dean, traitor that he was, had the audacity to look pleased.
Natalie pointed at him. "You stop that."
"What?"
"That face."
"What face?"
"The smug one."
Dean grinned wider.
Sam looked delighted. "Oh, this is fascinating."
Natalie dropped her head into her hands. "Why did I come back to Sioux Falls?"
"Because you missed me," Bobby replied immediately.
"Not you."
"Liar."
Natalie laughed helplessly. God. She'd missed this. The noise. The teasing.
Bobby's kitchen smelling like coffee and bacon and slightly burned toast because Bobby refused to admit he couldn't multitask.
It struck her suddenly, painfully, how much she'd missed all of it. Three years. Three years she'd spent in Nova Scotia chasing ghosts and rumors and monsters wearing other monsters as masks. Three years she'd spent convincing herself she was alone.
And now—Dean was beside her. Sam across from her. Bobby bustling around the kitchen, pretending not to hover.
The realization hit hard enough that she quieted.
Bobby noticed first.
Of course he did.
The old hunter had always possessed an uncanny ability to sense shifts in mood, even if he pretended otherwise.
He set down his coffee. "Natalie."
She looked up.
"You okay?"
The teasing vanished instantly. Sam's smile softened. Dean turned fully toward her. The concern on his face was immediate.
Natalie swallowed. And smiled. "Yeah."
This time, she meant it. Not now. Not the fragile distinction she'd made the night before. Just... Yeah.
Bobby studied her for a moment. Then nodded. Satisfied. Mostly.
Dean wasn't satisfied. Dean was watching her closely now. Not suspiciously. Just... attentively. Like he was still adjusting to this new reality where he could worry openly.
Natalie noticed. And because she was apparently incapable of resisting him anymore, she reached beneath the table and nudged his knee with hers.
Dean looked over.
She smiled. A small smile. Just for him.
His expression softened instantly.
Sam saw the entire exchange. "Oh my God."
Dean groaned. "What now?"
"You guys are disgusting."
Natalie gasped. "Betrayal!"
"I'm serious!"
Sam pointed between them. "That."
"What?"
"The smiling."
"We've always smiled."
"Not like that."
Dean frowned. "What does that even mean?"
Sam waved vaguely. "You know."
"No."
"You know!"
Dean looked at Natalie.
Natalie looked at Dean.
Neither of them knew.
Sam groaned. "You have heart eyes."
Dean recoiled. "I have what?"
Bobby laughed so hard coffee nearly came out his nose.
Natalie looked scandalized. "Excuse me?"
"Heart eyes," Sam repeated.
"We do not!"
"You absolutely do."
Dean looked horrified.
Natalie looked equally horrified.
Bobby looked ecstatic. "I've waited twenty years for this."
"It has not been twenty years!"
"Feels like it."
Dean slumped.
Natalie laughed.
And somewhere in the middle of the chaos—in Bobby's triumphant gloating, Sam's relentless teasing, Dean's wounded dignity, and her own helpless amusement—Natalie realized something.
This. This was what she'd nearly died without ever having. Not just Dean. Though, God, him too. But this whole ridiculous, loud, loving family she'd stumbled into because Bobby Singer couldn't live with himself after Leandro died.
The Master had taken so much from her. Taken years. Taken certainty. Taken peace. But sitting here now, Dean's knee pressed lightly against hers beneath the table while Bobby argued with Sam over the proper way to cook bacon—Natalie found herself thinking: You're not taking this.
Not Bobby.
Not Sam.
Not Dean.
Not this happiness.
Whatever came next. Whatever the Master was. Whatever secrets still waited in Nova Scotia. She wouldn't face them alone. And for the first time since Missouri Moseley had shaken her head and told her Leandro wasn't at peace, Natalie Guimet felt hope.
Natalie was still smiling when the thought settled into place. Not all at once. Not like lightning. More like dawn. A slow certainty spreading through her chest, pushing back years of fear.
The Master had taken so much already.
It had taken certainty from her father. It had taken peace from her mother. It had taken three years of her life and nearly taken the rest of it on that cold floor in Nova Scotia.
But sitting here now, surrounded by Bobby's grumbling, Sam's teasing, and Dean's increasingly wounded protests about his alleged "heart eyes," Natalie suddenly realized something profound.
She was done letting fear dictate her choices.
Before she could overthink it, she reached across the small distance between their chairs and took Dean's hand. Not beneath the table. Not hidden.
Openly.
Dean blinked.
The kitchen was noisy one moment and strangely quiet the next.
Natalie's fingers laced through his. She squeezed gently.
Dean stared at their joined hands for half a heartbeat before looking up at her. He wasn't embarrassed exactly. Just surprised.
Because Natalie had always been affectionate in private. A shoulder bump. A hug after a hunt. Leaning against him while watching a movie. But this? In front of Bobby and Sam? Especially after twenty straight minutes of merciless teasing?
That was new.
Dean's expression softened immediately. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
The teasing in the room evaporated. Because she did seem different. Lighter. Not carefree. Natalie would never be carefree again after Nova Scotia. But something had shifted.
Natalie looked at him. Then at Bobby. At Sam. At this kitchen she'd grown up in. At the family she'd nearly convinced herself she didn't deserve anymore. And she smiled. "Yeah," she said softly.
Dean waited.
Natalie drew in a breath. "Because..." She looked down at their joined hands. Then back up. "The Master isn't taking this from me."
The words fell into the room and stayed there. Bobby stopped moving. Sam's smile faded. Dean went utterly still.
Natalie swallowed. Her voice wavered at first, then steadied. "I spent three years afraid."
Nobody interrupted.
"I was afraid of what happened to my dad. Afraid of what happened to my mom after she lost him. Afraid of loving someone and losing them." Her fingers tightened around Dean's. "I was afraid of you."
Dean's brows knit together.
"Not you," she corrected softly. "What loving you meant."
Dean's face softened.
Natalie looked down at the table. "I let that fear send me chasing answers." A humorless smile touched her lips. "And maybe I would've done that anyway."
Bobby grunted softly. "Maybe."
"But..." Natalie looked up again. "I came home."
The words carried more meaning than geography. She'd come home to Bobby. To Sam. To Dean. To herself. "And for the first time in years," she said, "I woke up this morning happy."
Dean swallowed hard.
Natalie smiled at him. "A little scared."
He huffed softly. "Same."
"A lot in love."
Dean blinked.
Sam's eyes widened.
Bobby immediately looked at the ceiling. "Oh, hell."
Natalie laughed softly. But she didn't take it back. "A lot in love," she repeated.
Dean looked like someone had knocked the wind out of him. Because she'd never said it. Not outright. Not until now. Not in Bobby's kitchen over coffee and bacon while Sam tried very hard to become invisible.
Dean stared at her. Then his mouth curved slowly. Wonderingly. Like he couldn't believe he'd heard right.
Natalie squeezed his hand again. "The Master doesn't get this," she said. Her voice was stronger now.
"It doesn't get Bobby." Bobby looked away.
"It doesn't get Sam." Sam ducked his head.
"And it doesn't get you." Dean's eyes never left hers. "It took enough."
The room was silent. Not awkward. Reverent. Because suddenly this wasn't just a conversation about monsters anymore. It was a declaration. A line in the sand.
Bobby cleared his throat roughly. Twice. Then he stood and turned back toward the stove. "Well," he grumbled. His voice was suspiciously thick. "If we're declaring war against extradimensional soul thieves over breakfast..." He flipped bacon a little harder than necessary. "...I'm making more coffee."
Sam smiled.
Dean laughed softly.
And Natalie—Natalie felt something inside her settle. The Master was powerful. Ancient. Patient. It stood outside Heaven and Hell. But it had made one terrible mistake.
It had let her go.
And in doing so, it had given Natalie Guimet the chance to come home.
This time, she intended to fight for it.
Bobby busied himself with the coffee pot for a moment longer than necessary.
It gave him time.
Time to recover from Natalie's declaration. Time to pretend the suspicious tightness in his chest was heartburn and not emotion. Time to reassemble himself into the gruff, practical hunter he preferred to be.
Behind him, Dean and Natalie were still holding hands. Openly. At his kitchen table. Bobby grimaced. The kids were growing up. It was offensive. He poured himself another cup of coffee.
Then, without turning around, he asked, "All right." The room quieted. "You've drawn your line in the sand."
Natalie smiled faintly.
Bobby pointed his mug vaguely in her direction. "So how do you propose we get more information on this thing?"
Natalie blinked. The shift in topic was abrupt enough to catch her off guard.
Bobby finally turned around. No teasing now. No jokes. Just the question. Because if Natalie was serious—and Bobby knew she was—then they needed to start thinking like hunters.
Natalie sat back in her chair. For a moment, she looked younger. Not physically. Just thoughtful. Thinking out loud. "We start with our sources."
Sam nodded immediately. "Missouri."
Natalie nodded. "Definitely Missouri."
Bobby grunted. "If she'll talk."
"She'll talk to me."
The confidence in Natalie's voice surprised him. Then again... Missouri had tried to protect her. That counted for something.
Sam leaned forward. "What about lore?"
"We hit everything," Natalie said. "Bobby's library. University archives if we have to. Every hunter journal we can get our hands on."
Dean looked skeptical. "You think anybody's written about something outside Heaven and Hell?"
"No," Natalie admitted. Then she smiled faintly. "But I think somebody's stumbled into it."
Bobby nodded slowly. That was hunter logic. No one discovered anything entirely new. Some poor idiot always got there first. Usually died horribly. But sometimes left notes.
Sam was already thinking ahead. "Other hunters."
"Maybe." Bobby looked unconvinced. "Most hunters would think we're nuts."
Dean shrugged. "We are nuts."
"Fair."
Natalie absently traced circles across the back of Dean's hand as she thought. Then she said quietly: "And then..." She hesitated.
The room stilled.
Bobby immediately became suspicious. "You got that look."
"What look?"
"The one that says I'm about to hate what comes outta your mouth."
Natalie sighed. "We branch out."
Dean frowned. "To who?"
Natalie looked at each of them in turn. "Supernatural sources."
The kitchen went silent.
Bobby closed his eyes. "Goddammit."
Dean sat upright. "You mean psychics?"
"Among others."
Sam looked intrigued.
Bobby looked ready to throw something. "No."
Natalie blinked. "What?"
"No."
"Bobby—"
"No."
"You don't even know who I mean!"
"I don't care."
Dean was grinning now. This was familiar territory. Bobby versus Natalie. The eternal struggle.
Natalie crossed her arms. "You taught me to follow evidence."
"I taught you not to be stupid."
"This isn't stupid."
"This is exactly stupid."
Sam, meanwhile, was looking thoughtful. "Actually..."
Bobby pointed at him. "You shut up."
Sam ignored him. "If this thing exists outside the normal cosmology..."
Bobby groaned.
"...then conventional hunter knowledge may not be enough."
Bobby groaned louder.
Dean snickered.
Natalie pointed triumphantly at Sam. "Thank you."
"I hate both of you."
Dean looked offended. "Only both?"
"Today."
Natalie laughed.
But Bobby wasn't entirely joking. He sat down heavily, coffee mug cradled in both hands. "Who are you thinking?" he asked reluctantly.
Natalie sobered. "Missouri."
"Fine."
"Maybe other psychics."
Bobby grimaced. "Ugh."
"People who deal with spirits."
"Less ugh."
She hesitated. Then: "Demons."
The silence was immediate. Absolute.
Dean's smile vanished.
Sam stared.
Bobby looked like she'd suggested summoning a hurricane into the living room. "Absolutely not."
Natalie raised both hands. "I know."
"No."
"I'm just saying—"
"No!"
"Bobby—"
"You are not making deals."
"I didn't say deals!"
"You said demons!"
Dean finally found his voice. "Nat..." His tone carried genuine concern.
Natalie looked at him. "I don't want to." The admission came quietly. "I really don't."
Dean relaxed a fraction.
"But," she continued, "the Master exists outside the normal rules." Her fingers tightened around his. "What if the things we hunt are scared of it too?"
That landed.
Sam sat back.
Bobby frowned.
Because... that was an interesting question.
Dean hated that it was an interesting question.
Natalie looked around the table. "We don't know who knows something." Her voice softened. "But I know one thing."
Everyone looked at her.
"I am not spending another three years chasing this alone."
Dean squeezed her hand. "You won't."
Bobby nodded. "Damn right."
Sam smiled.
And just like that, the mood in the kitchen changed. Not lighter. But purposeful. The Master was no longer a ghost story Natalie carried alone. It had become a hunt. And if there was one thing the Singer-Winchester family knew how to do: it was hunt monsters.
Even the impossible ones.
Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @mandee7, @deans-baby-momma, @foxyjwls007
Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other stories I’m writing!
Pairings: Dean Winchester x Original Female Character
Series Summary: Set in the early seasons, Familiar Ground follows Dean Winchester as an unexpected reunion at Bobby Singer’s house brings Natalie Guimet—an old childhood friend and constant from his time there—back into his orbit. Told through interwoven past and present scenes, the story explores shared history, unspoken feelings, and the slow realization that some bonds don’t fade with time—they wait.
Word Count: 4,477
Tags/Warnings: Mention of death, afterlife, mention of eating disorders, grief, hints of 18+ discussion, alcohol
A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!
Note: I'm back! Thank you all for your immense patience for my absence. Life had kicked me back and I couldn't even do Familiar Ground for a time. But life seems to have calmed down so I'm hoping to return to writing all the stories again!
Dividers: by @strangergraphics, @talesmaniac89
Chapter Seven: Arrangements
Bobby pointed his fork at all three of them before anyone could even think about reopening the conversation.
“No.”
Dean blinked. “We didn't even say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were breathin' like you were about to.”
Sam immediately looked down at his plate to hide a smile.
Bobby ignored him.
“Food first,” he declared. “Apocalyptic soul-stealin' nightmare later.”
Natalie found herself smiling despite everything.
Bobby noticed and pointed at her next. “And you. Eat.”
“I am eating.”
“More.”
“Bobby—”
“More.”
Dean snorted into his beer.
Natalie shot him a look.
Traitor.
Bobby sat back, apparently satisfied that everyone had food in front of them, and for the first time all evening, the house settled into something almost normal.
Almost.
Conversation drifted in fits and starts. Sam made an observation about the water spirit. Bobby complained about hunters who never returned books where they found them. Dean argued that Bobby's filing system was incomprehensible.
Through it all, however, something had changed.
Something small.
Something private.
Natalie sat beside Dean, close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed. The first touch was accidental. At least, it could have been. Her hand shifted near her plate and her knuckles brushed his.
Neither of them pulled away.
A few moments later, Dean's thumb grazed lightly against the back of her hand. Natalie's breath caught. No one noticed.
Well.
No one except Sam. Sam noticed everything. Across the table, he wisely kept his mouth shut.
A little while later, Natalie reached for her beer at the same time Dean reached for his. Their fingers touched. This time Dean let his hand linger. Just for a second. Just enough to make sure she felt it.
Natalie's lips curved faintly.
Bobby was in the middle of complaining about rust demons—"which ain't a thing but probably should be"—when Dean's hand found hers again beneath the table.
Not holding. Not yet. Just resting close enough that his thumb could stroke lightly over her knuckles. The gesture was so small. So simple.
And somehow it felt more intimate than the kiss.
Because this was Dean. Dean, who rarely slowed down. Dean, who carried affection in actions more than words. Dean, who kept finding reasons to touch her simply because he could.
Natalie looked down at her plate to hide her smile.
Across from them, Sam saw it anyway. He glanced between the two of them. The subtle touches. The quiet happiness. The way Dean looked lighter than he had in years.
Sam smiled to himself and returned to his dinner.
At the head of the table, Bobby continued grumbling about food, hunters, and the state of the world. But beneath all that gruff irritation was relief.
For tonight, at least, everyone was home. Everyone was alive. And for the first time in a very long time, the house felt full again.
Bobby sighed. The kind of sigh that suggested he had personally suffered on behalf of every stubborn person in the room. His eyes drifted to Natalie's plate.
Natalie immediately caught him looking. And gave him a look. It was a very specific look. I am eating. Back off, old man.
Bobby's mouth twitched.
Dean saw the exchange and barked out a laugh.
Natalie shot him a betrayed glance.
Dean bumped his shoulder lightly against hers.
"I ate," she insisted.
Bobby grumped under his breath, eyeing the admittedly diminished contents of her plate.
Then, reluctantly, he nodded. "Fine."
"Thank you."
"Don't get used to it."
Natalie rolled her eyes.
The moment settled something in the room. A little of the tension leaked away. The familiarity of it—the banter, the grumbling, Bobby monitoring everyone's food intake whether they liked it or not—felt strangely comforting after everything that had been revealed.
For a few moments, they simply ate.
Then Bobby set down his fork. The room quieted. He looked at Natalie. This time there was no irritation in his gaze. Just concern. "Tell us about the Master."
Natalie's smile faded.
Dean immediately felt her tense beside him. Without thinking, his hand brushed hers beneath the table. A silent reassurance.
She glanced at him briefly. Then took a breath. "I'm not sure how much of what it told me was true."
Sam leaned forward slightly. "Tell us anyway."
Natalie nodded. "It doesn't think the way we do." That was how she began.
The room went still.
"When I talked to it..." She paused, searching for words. "I got the impression that Heaven and Hell weren't enemies to it."
Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it wasn't aligned with either side."
Bobby's expression darkened.
Natalie stared down at her beer bottle. "It spoke about both of them like they were neighboring countries."
The statement landed heavily.
Sam's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "It exists outside the system."
Natalie nodded. "As far as I could tell." She rubbed her thumb against the glass. "Outside Heaven. Outside Hell. Outside the usual universe entirely, maybe."
Dean's stomach tightened. The way she said it sounded less like theory and more like experience.
"It described Heaven and Hell as..." She hesitated. "Structures."
Bobby looked disgusted by the implication.
"Structures built around rules."
"And this thing isn't bound by those rules?" Sam asked.
"No." Natalie swallowed. "It lives in the spaces between them."
The room fell silent.
Dean remembered the scar. Remembered her saying it could have killed her. Remembered the fear in her voice when she'd admitted she wasn't strong enough. "What does it want?" he asked quietly.
Natalie looked at him.
For a moment, Dean saw the memory of Nova Scotia flash across her face.
Then she answered. "Power." A pause. "But not the way demons want power."
Sam frowned. "Then what kind?"
Natalie's gaze drifted toward the dark window over the sink. "The kind that comes from controlling what everyone else ignores."
Nobody spoke.
She continued softly. "The lost." Another pause. "The forgotten." Her voice dropped lower. "The souls that slip through the cracks."
The room grew very quiet indeed. Because every hunter at that table knew one terrible truth: There were always cracks.
The silence lingered after her last words. Dean could feel everyone thinking. Turning over possibilities. Trying to understand something that sat completely outside the lore they knew.
Natalie stared at the label on her beer bottle for a moment before speaking again. "The Master called them border souls."
Natalie looked up. The question seemed to pull her backward through time. "When I finally got her to talk..." she said softly, "she told me my father wasn't at peace."
The room went still. Dean remembered her saying as much earlier. But hearing it again somehow landed harder.
"She said Leandro hadn't crossed cleanly." Natalie swallowed. "That he wasn't suffering."
A flicker of relief crossed Bobby's face. Then vanished.
"But he wasn't free either."
The relief died completely.
Dean watched Bobby's expression close.
Natalie continued. "Missouri said that when my father died, he wasn't killed by the master."
"He was killed by the monster," Sam said, recalling the story.
Natalie nodded. "That's when she started talking about border souls." Her fingers tightened around the bottle. "She said sometimes a death creates... interference."
Dean frowned. "Interference how?"
"I don't know." The admission frustrated her. "I kept asking. She kept refusing to explain." A sad smile touched her lips. "She spent half the conversation trying to convince me to leave it alone."
Bobby snorted. "Smart woman."
Natalie shot him a look.
Dean almost smiled. Almost. Because he already knew where this was going.
"She told me my father was one of them." The room quieted again. "A border soul." Natalie's voice softened. "Not in Heaven." A pause. "Not in Hell." Another. "Just... trapped."
Dean felt her pain then. Not the physical kind. The grief. The years of it. Because until that moment, Leandro had been dead. Gone. Mourned. Now he occupied a far crueler place. Not gone. Waiting.
Lost.
"And Missouri knew?" Sam asked.
Natalie nodded. "I think she knew more than she ever told me."
"Probably." Bobby's voice was rough.
Natalie looked toward him. "I think she was trying to protect me."
"She was." The certainty in Bobby's answer surprised everyone. He stared into his beer. "Missouri wasn't the kind to hide things unless there was a reason."
Dean watched him closely. Bobby looked older suddenly. Tired. Like he was remembering old conversations he'd hoped would stay buried.
Natalie noticed it too. "You knew something."
It wasn't an accusation. Just a realization.
Bobby was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed. "I knew there were questions."
Dean immediately looked at him. "Bobby—"
"I never had answers." His voice carried genuine frustration. "I knew the hunt didn't sit right. Knew things about it never lined up." He rubbed a hand over his face. "But not enough to go chasin' ghosts."
Natalie looked down. "Well." Her laugh was small and humorless. "I did."
Nobody argued with that. Because the scar on her stomach was proof enough. Dean's hand found hers beneath the table again. This time he didn't bother pretending it was accidental.
Natalie looked over. His thumb brushed once across the back of her hand. A simple gesture. But the message was clear: You're not carrying this alone anymore.
For the first time since she'd started talking, some of the tension left her shoulders. And Bobby noticed. Of course he did. He watched them for a second. Then looked away.
Not because he disapproved. Quite the opposite. Because after everything Natalie had just told them, Bobby found himself grateful that when she finally decided to stop carrying the burden alone: Dean Winchester had been waiting to catch it with her.
Dean sat with his beer untouched, Natalie's hand still beneath his, his thumb occasionally brushing across her knuckles as the conversation settled into an uneasy silence.
The house seemed smaller somehow.
Maybe because the thing they were discussing wasn't a ghost. Wasn't a vampire nest. Wasn't even a demon.
It was something that existed beyond the categories that had shaped Dean's entire life.
The old clock on Bobby's wall ticked. The refrigerator hummed. Outside, the South Dakota wind rattled loose sheet metal in the junkyard.
Finally, Dean broke the silence. "How do we kill it?"
The question landed with the weight of a dropped stone. Natalie closed her eyes briefly. Sam looked thoughtful. Bobby immediately looked irritated.
"That's your first question?" Bobby demanded.
Dean turned toward him. "It nearly killed her."
"That wasn't my question."
"It is now."
Bobby pushed his chair back slightly, the wood scraping against the floor. "You don't even know if it can be killed."
Dean's jaw tightened. "Everything can be killed."
Natalie made a small sound under her breath.
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dean—"
"No," Dean said, leaning forward. "We're talking about a thing that's collecting souls and using monsters as tools. So yeah. I want to know how we put it in the ground."
Bobby barked out a humorless laugh. "And then what?"
Dean frowned. "What do you mean, then what?"
"What happens to all those souls if this thing is holdin' them together?" Bobby shot back. "What happens if it's part of the structure?"
The room fell quiet again. That possibility hadn't occurred to Dean. It clearly had occurred to Bobby.
"You don't know that," Dean argued.
"No," Bobby agreed. "Neither do you."
The older hunter stood and began pacing again, his beer forgotten on the table. Dean could see the gears turning behind his eyes, could see decades of experience trying to wrestle with something completely outside the normal rules.
"We're making assumptions," Bobby continued. "Big ones."
Natalie watched him carefully. "We know it's dangerous."
"Damn right it's dangerous."
"We know it's trapping souls."
"Maybe."
That made her blink. "Maybe?"
Bobby stopped pacing and pointed at her. "You know what it told you."
Natalie's expression hardened. "I saw the records."
"You saw what it wanted you to see."
The room went still. Dean felt something shift. Because Bobby had a point. A frustrating point. But a point.
The Master had controlled the battlefield from the beginning. It had expected Natalie. Expected her questions. Expected her grief. For all they knew, the entire encounter had been staged.
Sam sat forward, elbows on the table. "Actually," he said slowly, "that's the real problem."
Everyone looked at him.
"We don't know what's true."
Natalie frowned. "What do you mean?"
Sam spread his hands. "Think about it. Everything we know comes from three sources. Missouri. The Master. And assumptions."
Dean hated when Sam got that look. The one that meant he was right.
"Missouri said Leandro wasn't at rest," Sam continued. "The Master confirmed it. But neither one actually explained the mechanics."
Natalie's shoulders tensed. "You're saying my father might not be trapped."
"I'm saying we don't know."
The distinction mattered. Dean could see it hit her. Not relief. Not hope. Something more complicated. The possibility that she had spent three years chasing a story whose ending she still didn't understand.
"I met it," Natalie said quietly.
"No one is saying you didn't."
"It nearly killed me."
Dean's hand tightened around hers instinctively.
Sam nodded. "I know. But that's different than understanding what it actually is."
The silence stretched. Then Bobby sighed heavily and dropped back into his chair. "What I'm hearin'," he said, rubbing a hand through his beard, "is that everybody's already talkin' about killin' somethin' we don't understand."
Dean opened his mouth.
Bobby cut him off. "And before you start, boy, if this thing really exists outside Heaven and Hell..." He pointed toward the ceiling. "Then we are officially operating outside our pay grade."
That earned the smallest snort from Sam. Even Natalie smiled faintly. Dean did not. Because he kept returning to one image. Natalie bleeding out on a cold floor in Nova Scotia. The scar. The fear in her voice when she'd admitted she almost hadn't come home.
"You know what?" Dean said finally.
Everyone looked at him. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"I don't care."
Bobby groaned immediately. "Of course you don't."
Dean ignored him. "I don't care if it's part of the structure. I don't care if it exists outside Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Oz, Narnia, wherever the hell."
Sam rolled his eyes.
Natalie actually laughed.
Dean pointed at her. "That thing hurt you." The room quieted instantly. His gaze didn't leave hers. "And maybe we don't know how to kill it."
A beat.
"Yet."
Something fierce settled across the table. Because Dean Winchester had never been particularly impressed by impossible.
Bobby stared at him for several long seconds before shaking his head. "God help me."
"No argument there," Sam muttered.
Bobby pointed at all three younger hunters. "You are not marchin' back to Nova Scotia tomorrow."
"We weren't—"
"You were thinkin' it."
Dean had, in fact, been thinking it.
Bobby's glare sharpened. "We do this right." The words carried the force of command. "We research. We investigate. We figure out what this thing actually is."
His gaze moved to Natalie. "Then." To Dean. "And only then." To Sam. "We decide whether killin' it is even the right answer."
No one immediately argued. Which, for this group, was as close to agreement as anyone was likely to get.
Dean sat back in his chair, but only physically. The rest of him remained wound tight as piano wire. The revelation that Natalie had nearly died, that she had spent three years chasing whispers across the continent, and that some impossible thing had marked her and let her live, had settled beneath his skin like a splinter he couldn't remove. Every instinct he possessed kept returning to the same place: the scar across her stomach. He could still see it every time he closed his eyes.
The room itself felt deceptively normal. Dinner sat half-finished on plates. Bobby's old kitchen light cast a warm yellow glow across scarred wood and mismatched chairs. The refrigerator hummed softly in the background. It should have felt like every other evening they'd spent at Bobby's over the years.
Instead, it felt like they were sitting around the edge of a cliff.
Dean finally broke the silence. "So how do we kill it?"
The question landed heavily in the room.
Natalie looked up from her plate. Sam's attention sharpened immediately. Bobby, however, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as though Dean had just confirmed every frustration he'd ever had about raising Winchester boys.
"Of course that's where your mind goes," Bobby muttered.
Dean frowned. "Something trapping souls isn't exactly getting a free pass from me."
Bobby's chair creaked as he leaned back. "And what exactly makes you think killing it's the right answer?"
The challenge caught Dean off guard. Not because Bobby disagreed—Bobby disagreed with him all the time—but because the older hunter seemed genuinely troubled by the question itself.
Dean gestured toward Natalie. "It nearly killed her."
"It nearly killed her because she went after it."
"And?"
"And that's not the same thing."
Dean stared at him in disbelief.
Across the table, Sam folded his hands together, his expression thoughtful in the way Dean knew usually meant his brother was about to become annoyingly reasonable. "Bobby might have a point."
Dean let out a sharp breath. "You too?"
Sam didn't flinch. "Think about what we actually know."
The words hung in the air.
Natalie had gone very still. Dean could see her listening carefully, her fingers wrapped around her beer bottle, her expression caught somewhere between hope and dread.
"We know the Master exists," Sam continued. "We know it had records. We know it knew about Leandro. We know it injured Natalie and let her leave. But beyond that?"
He spread his hands. "We're taking a lot on faith."
Bobby nodded immediately. "Exactly."
Dean hated when they agreed.
"What, you think she's lying?" he asked sharply.
"No." Sam's answer came immediately. "I think she believes what she saw."
Natalie's gaze dropped to the table.
The distinction mattered.
Dean could tell from the way her shoulders tightened.
Bobby rose from his chair and began pacing again, unable to stay seated when he was worried. It was a habit Dean had watched for years. Whenever Bobby started wearing a path into the floorboards, it meant something had gotten under his skin.
"This thing knew exactly what buttons to push," Bobby said. "It knew about her father. Knew she'd come looking. Knew she'd keep digging."
The older hunter stopped near the sink and turned back toward them. "For all we know, the whole damn encounter was orchestrated."
Natalie looked up sharply. "You think it lied?"
"I think powerful things rarely tell the whole truth."
The room fell quiet again.
Dean found himself watching Natalie's face. He could practically see the argument playing out behind her eyes. The certainty she'd carried home from Nova Scotia was being challenged now, not because Bobby thought she was wrong, but because Bobby had spent decades surviving by questioning everything.
Even his own conclusions.
Especially his own conclusions.
Natalie finally leaned forward, resting her forearms against the table. "When I was there," she said slowly, choosing each word with care, "it felt real."
Nobody interrupted her.
"The records were real. The souls were real. The fear was real." She swallowed. "And my father's name was there."
Something flickered across Bobby's expression then. Pain. Old pain. The kind that had never entirely healed.
Dean realized suddenly that Bobby wasn't just worried about Natalie. He was reliving Leandro's death all over again. Every new revelation peeled open another layer of guilt the older hunter had spent decades trying to bury.
Bobby lowered himself back into his chair, looking older than he had an hour ago.
"Kid," he said quietly, "I've spent twenty years wishing I'd had answers."
Natalie's eyes softened. "I know."
"No." Bobby shook his head. "I don't think you do."
His voice had lost all its irritation now. What remained was exhaustion and regret.
"When your father died, I tore that hunt apart. Every witness. Every scrap of lore. Every lead I could find. I wanted there to be a reason. I wanted there to be something I missed because that would've been easier than accepting what happened."
The room was utterly silent.
Dean glanced at Sam. Sam had gone still too.
"You know what I found?" Bobby continued.
Natalie slowly shook her head.
"Nothing."
The word landed heavily.
"Just a dead friend and a little girl who deserved her father."
Natalie's eyes glistened.
Dean felt her hand find his beneath the table. This time it wasn't subtle. It wasn't accidental. She simply reached for him.
He laced their fingers together immediately.
Neither of them commented on it.
Bobby noticed anyway.
Of course he did.
His gaze lingered briefly on their joined hands before moving away again. "Maybe this Master is exactly what you think it is," he said. "Maybe it really is holding souls. Maybe Leandro's one of them."
A pause followed.
"But if we're going after it, we're doing it because we know what we're dealing with."
Dean's jaw tightened. "And if we find out she's right?"
Bobby looked directly at him. "Then we'll burn that bridge when we get to it."
A reluctant smile tugged at Sam's mouth.
Natalie actually laughed softly.
Dean shook his head. "That's not the expression."
"It is now."
For the first time all evening, the tension eased slightly. Only slightly. Because everyone in the room knew the truth. The Master was still out there. Leandro's fate remained unresolved.
And somewhere beyond Heaven and Hell, something had noticed Natalie Guimet—and had allowed her to walk away alive.
The question hanging over all of them wasn't whether they would go after it.
The question was what they would discover when they finally did.
The conversation eventually ran out of steam. Not because they had reached any answers. If anything, they had accumulated more questions than when they started.
But there came a point where exhaustion settled over the room like a blanket. The beer bottles were mostly empty. The dinner plates sat abandoned. The clock on the wall had crawled steadily toward midnight, then beyond it.
Bobby was the first to surrender.
The older hunter pushed himself upright with a groan and reached for another beer from the refrigerator. He twisted the cap off with practiced ease and stood there for a moment, looking at the three younger hunters around his table.
His gaze settled on Natalie. Then Dean. Then back to Natalie.
The look alone was enough to make Dean suspicious. "What?"
Bobby sighed heavily. "Lord help me."
Dean frowned. "What?"
Bobby pointed vaguely between the two of them. "I don't wanna know."
Natalie blinked. "Don't wanna know what?"
"How the hell you two are gonna handle sleepin' arrangements tonight."
The silence that followed was immediate. Natalie's eyes widened. To Dean's absolute horror, he felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. Across the table, Sam immediately buried his face behind his beer bottle.
Bobby looked vindicated. "Yep."
"Bobby!" Natalie exclaimed.
"What?"
"You cannot just—"
"I absolutely can."
Dean opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Which somehow made everything worse. Natalie looked equally horrified. And embarrassed. And if Dean wasn't mistaken, actually blushing. That realization nearly finished him off.
Bobby took one look at both of them and barked out a laugh. "Oh, that's priceless."
"Bobby," Dean managed.
"Nope."
The older hunter pointed his beer at them. "Not hearin' it."
Then he pointed toward the hallway. "You two can figure out whatever awkward nonsense you're gonna figure out."
Dean wished the floor would open beneath him.
Natalie appeared to share the sentiment.
"I don't want details."
"Bobby!"
"I don't want explanations."
Dean groaned.
"I definitely don't want visual aids."
"Oh my God."
"Which means," Bobby concluded, taking a victorious swallow of beer, "you can both shut up, idjits."
With that, he turned and headed toward the hallway. Halfway there he paused. Without turning around, he added, "And if either one of you wakes me up, I'm changin' my will."
Then he disappeared. The sound of his bedroom door closing echoed through the house.
Silence followed.
Long.
Painful.
Silence.
Sam was the first to break. A slow grin spread across his face.
Dean pointed at him immediately. "Don't."
Sam lifted both hands. "I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"Maybe."
Dean groaned.
Natalie dropped her face into her hands.
Sam's grin only widened. "You know," he said mildly, gathering plates, "I think I'll do the dishes."
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
Dean muttered something rude under his breath.
Sam laughed quietly and carried the dishes toward the sink, giving them what privacy he could without actually leaving the room.
Which left Dean and Natalie sitting alone at the table.
Or at least as alone as two people could be while Sam Winchester deliberately made more noise than necessary with plates in the background.
For a few moments neither spoke. The enormity of the evening finally seemed to catch up with them. The confessions. The kiss. The Master. Leandro. Everything.
Dean found himself looking at Natalie. Natalie looked back. And suddenly the reality of it hit. They weren't wondering whether they had feelings anymore. That question had been answered. Decisively.
Instead they found themselves facing an entirely different uncertainty.
What happened now?
For years their friendship had been built on familiar ground. They knew how to be friends. Knew how to call each other in the middle of the night. Knew how to tease, argue, comfort, and trust one another.
But this?
This was new territory.
Natalie laughed softly, the sound carrying equal parts joy and nervousness. "This is weird."
Dean immediately nodded. "Yeah."
Another pause.
Then, unexpectedly, they both laughed. The tension loosened. Not entirely. But enough. Dean reached across the table and took her hand again. The gesture felt natural now. Easy. Natalie squeezed his fingers.
Outside, the junkyard settled beneath the South Dakota night. Inside, Bobby was pretending not to listen from his bedroom, Sam was washing dishes with entirely too much interest, and somewhere beyond the safety of the house waited questions neither of them could yet answer.
But for the moment, none of that mattered.
For the first time in years, Dean and Natalie simply sat together in the quiet, looking at one another and realizing that after all the waiting, all the fear, and all the years spent circling around what they felt—the story between them had finally begun.
Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @mandee7, @deans-baby-momma, @foxyjwls007
Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other stories I’m writing!
Hitting a creative restructuring for a bit, so I'm sharing an update and then some. Or rather... cleaning up a bit. Organizing. And realizing... all the Supernatural one-shots made me realize... I miss writing Dean! Not just as one-shots, but as an actual story.
More, as much as I've been loving writing Crossroads of the Heart, at times the story can be a bit heavy--which is understandable, given the premise and setting. CJ and Y/N do handle The Stand, the topic of parental and familial pain, depression, and such, are at the center of the story--but it's been... a bit hard to write. I don't want to stop it entirely, but perhaps slow it a bit to perhaps a couple times a month for a bit until it's easier for me to write frequently again.
If anyone is wondering... no, Second Chances: Forever is still going to be the same. Come on, it's Beau! Maybe I switched a tiny bit for the last few chapters to Emily, but it's always going to be Beau. I can't stop with him. Ever.
(It's Beau. 🥰
I may be a tad obsessed with the man. Ahem. 😜)
In the coming days, you may see posts with me fixing, updating links to past chapters. I'm just redoing the master posts, my navigation posts, links to them. (Discovering errors with my Crossroads master post that I can't fix has me irritated as all get out with Tumblr. 😤)
So!
Schedule changes, new story coming out (titled: Familiar Ground), more one-shots (Valentine's Day will be coming out, oh I can't wait to see what the boys get up to!), and updates to the whole blog!
Taylor be busy!
Oh, Taylor be very busy! I mean, Taylor's also writing a book!
Oh.
Oops.
Yeeeaaahhhh... you all inspired me! 😅
If you all are interested, I'll let you know what that's about too!
Anyway, that's it for now! I'll keep you in the loop!
Sincerely,
Taylor
P.S. If you want to be tagged in the new Dean story, please let me know in the comments and I promise you'll be tagged once it's out!
