His Drive.
Pairing: Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N
Blurb: Open road. Peaceful drive. Dean feels loved.
Tags/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, hurt/comfort, fluff, Dean's internal angst. Early seasons Dean (why, yes, that's a warning.)
Word Count: 1.8K - yep, it happened! I kept it short, lmao - this is officially the shortest one-shot/chapter I've ever published.
A/N: This is another and final submission for @zepskies 's 5K Challenge; above's the gif I received: Dean's adorkable hedgehog 😄❤️!
This was très fun, hehe - even though in the beginning I struggled for an idea a lot, I ended up with his fluffy piece, and I have no regrets because Dean's a God-given cutie, and I will die on that hill!
{ Dean Winchester Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
His Drive.
Lamplights interrupted the darkness along the long stretch of road. Sam was peacefully snoring in the backseat, sprawled out as much as he could manage to defy the natural laws of height.
For once, you were driving. Dean hadn't slept for three days due to back-to-back cases. He would try to power through the last three hours that would reach you all to the next motel, where the next hunt awaited, but he'd also pulled a muscle in his back. Not that the stubborn man had told you - you guessed by the way he grimaced every time he shifted in his seat.
'Should've taken the backseat,' you told him after watching him squirm for five minutes straight.
'Sam needed it more,' Dean grunted, carefully laying his torso against the corner created by the vinyl seat and the passenger side door - you assumed he didn't want anything to touch his inflamed parts.
You gave his black bags an annoyed glance like they personally offended you. He hadn't been sleeping well, if at all, ever since he returned from Hell. You'd coaxed him into bed and worn him out with a few activities, but it all only lasted so long. At this point, you were trying to stagger his naps, so the sleep deprivation didn't hurt him so much.
It helped that you were dating him now.
You'd met him at the Roadhouse as a bartender for the Harvelles. For the first six months, you ran long-distance research for them being the resident master on mythological studies across cultures. Then Dean called you on a case. It went well enough that you became a frequent guest star in their crazy lives.
And when Dean sold his soul, you decided not to leave them at all. You remember being torn between falling in love with a dying man and fooling yourself that a dying man would love you back.
It killed you, too, when the hellhounds came for him. You returned to the rebuilt bar with your tail between your legs and grieved like the love of your life had died.
You two wouldn't have gotten together - or rather, Dean wouldn't have realised that he loved you too, had you not kissed him the moment he stepped through the bar doors to see you again.
You'd streaked across the room and practically launched yourself in his arms, your lips finding his much to his surprise. But his eyes had shut, and his fingers had curled into your greasy hair. His free hand had curled around your malnourished waist and then lowered to support your thighs that wrapped you around him like a goddamn koala. He'd pulled a swig of deep breath from your lips before he returned your kiss, crushing himself against you. You two had had lost sense of time and space.
'The pill kick in yet?' you asked, eyes on the road.
You noticed Dean looking sheepish in your periphery. 'You saw that?'
'Yep.'
'Can't sneak anything past you, huh?' he said, smirking a bit. He loved how much attention you paid him. You'd once admitted that you were always staring at him, even when you didn't mean to.
You smiled wryly. 'I'm sorry if you're the only attraction of our ghastly, sordid lives.'
He snorted, but looked away, an adorable small smile on his face.
He wasn't used to how you complimented him so often. Or how you touched him all over, all the time. He definitely wasn't used to loving someone so madly, outside of his family. It scared him . . . you scared him, nearly enough that he worshipped you for it - like early men did nature.
'Come on,' you said, extending a hand for him to take. You tugged on him when he gave you his hand, 'Lie down. I'll wake you when we stop for breakfast.'
Dean weighed your hand down in the middle of the seat. 'I told you, I'm not tired. Besides, the seat ain't big enough.'
'No. I mean, lie on my lap. Rest your back even if you don't fall asleep.'
He seemed surprised by that. But he knew it was a trap - there was no way he was not falling asleep if you had anything to do with it. His eyes darted down, and he longed for it. You loved running your fingers through his hair, and he washed them more frequently (not that he would confess it) just so you could compliment their softness; he couldn't physically explain what your hands and nails did to him.
He squeezed your hand but shook his head. 'You'll go numb.'
'Oh, please, you're not that heavy.'
He grinned. 'Still. Don't want to take any chances – what if you crash Baby?'
'Stop making excuses,' you groaned. 'Let me take care of my boyfriend!'
'It's weird!' he protested. 'We're in a car.'
You laughed softly that time. 'When has weird stopped you? I mean, dude, we share motel rooms with your brother. I've seen you naked. I've smelled your fart.'
'I think that's more Sam's wheelhouse!' he defended.
You continued, nevertheless, 'I've had the privilege,' sarcastically, 'of watching you have burping matches with multiple people.'
'I'm the undefeated champion,' he bragged. You stopped asking him not to be proud of that long back.
'And I've been in the same room as you when you've peed!'
Crimson dusted his cheeks at that at least, and he rolled his eyes to emphasise his annoyance.
'I think sleeping in my lap is pretty normal by that standard,' you quipped.
Relenting, he slowly turned himself to lie down, not letting your hand go, so you had to raise it before looping it over his head and resting it on his chest when his head dropped on your right leg.
At this angle, he could literally look up to you. You smiled down at him for a second before watching the road again. As light and shadows transpired over your features like a running zebra, it made Dean's chest clench for some reason before his heart eased with a flutter. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was some heightened vulnerability to not watching the road while he lay on your lap. He'd already put his brother's life and his own (and his car's) in your hands by letting you drive, and now he was also allowing himself to be cared for by your touch: it made him swallow the clogging emotion in his throat.
Unbeknownst to his thoughts, your hand slipped out of his fingers to change the gear, but when it returned, you'd moved it into his hair like he'd dearly anticipated earlier. Some neglected part of him was pleased when the yearned touch soothed him. He fought a smile as your fingers carded through his spiky locks, and his entire body loosened. He wouldn't admit it, but despite the cramped space for his legs, the cushion did feel amazing against the tweaked muscles of his lower back.
He closed his eyes lest you gaze down and catch him desperately enjoying the movement of your fingers; your soft skin moving against the side of his face in gentle, unintentional caresses. He dared not breathe at a normal rate; it could disturb your hand. Ultimately, he was right about that trap: slowing his breathing led him towards the unwanted lull of sleep.
'Comfortable?'
'Yes,' he whispered – didn't want to tempt fate.
'Good.'
Your hand would sometimes stray down and trace patterns on the side of his face like you couldn't stop touching him, and it stirred something supressed inside of him; the hand would trail lower and dance above his heart that couldn't decided if it wanted to ease up or not, then you would draw your fingers back up again to play with his hair.
'What's that fragrance?' Dean murmured, trying to stay awake for a few moments longer. He'd hate to punctuate this treatment with a nightmare, even if that's where he was most likely headed.
'My fancy perfume,' you chuckled.
'It's on your wrist?' his brows furrowed.
You eased his forehead with the light pressure of your thumb. 'That's where girls apply it.'
'Why?' he whispered again because your fingers were gracing his lips now, inciting tingling there.
'Dunno. Some old-fashioned deal. Guys used to kiss a lady's knuckles, right? Probably why.'
He hummed in acknowledgment.
'You're like a hedgehog,' you mused then.
Dean's lids opened for a second to convey his confusion to your already staring eyes, before you looked away to the road again. 'Why?' He needed to know if he was offended or not.
'Your hair, for one,' you snickered, grasping his strands in a pleasurable pull that sent Dean's blood downstairs.
'You mussed them up,' he commented. Not that he was complaining.
'I think they're sexy this way,' you quirked.
Dean smirked and filed that information for later.
'Besides, hedgehogs are a symbol of protection and vitality,' you said. 'And rebirth,' you had a good self-laugh at that one. You amused Dean; only you could find ways of making light of all the awful situations you two had been in. 'We should buy a hedgehog,' you noted at the end. 'And we'll name him "Dean".'
A dry smile graced his face. 'Over my dead body.'
'You're just gonna resurrect sooooo, that was a "no"?'
'Yep.'
'You're no fun,' you sighed theatrically.
'Mm-hmm.'
'By the way,' you chirped. 'I got some money saved for a spa day.'
'Oh?'
'You wanna visit a chiropractor with it tomorrow?'
His lips made the effort of curving downward. 'Why?'
'For your back,' you said in your "duh" tone.
'They're not real doctors.'
You snorted. 'If you say so then it shouldn't trigger your aversion to doctors.'
He walked right into that one. Luckily, your hand wasn't there to feel his eye roll under his closed lids. 'I don't know, sweetheart. This'll go away in two days.'
'Come on.' He could hear that goddamn pout in your voice; it oft became his undoing. 'Please? For me.'
He sighed.
'Is that a "yes"?'
His lips hinted at a smile. 'You annoy me constantly, you know that?'
Your stomach vibrated next to him with your laugh; he leaned into it subtly.
'So that's a "yes".'
'Fucking fine,' he groused half-heartedly. 'One appointment.'
'Deal.'
'And you'd owe me,' he pushed his luck.
You laughed again. 'Keep on dreaming, handsome.'
And he would, in a few minutes, as sleep would soon claim him. He hoped he wouldn't have night terrors in a few years, but for now, he would settle in for his drive: you.
A/N: Simple and sweet 🥰❤️. Lemme know what y'all thought of it!
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