#icanteven
pt. 5
#icanteven - The Neighbourhood
“I can’t even, I can’t even believe what you did to me You can’t even, you can’t even say I’m overreacting I can’t even, can’t even hear your side Shame on me, you fooled me twice”
Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Dean’s Playlist
Summary: series; Sam cheats on you.
Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester x reader, Castiel x reader (briefly)
Warnings: descriptions of depression, guilt, anger, descriptions of infidelity, fluff, smut (sam x other woman)
Word count: 4.1k
DEAN POV
Dean pulled his duffle bag strap over his shoulder and held the Impala’s keys in his hand. He couldn’t wait to leave this godforsaken motel. He’s stayed in his fair share of sketchy places, but this was by far the worst. Never in his time on the road, has he been curled up in bed, unsure of what his foot was touching, only for it to be a condom – and a used one at that. He physically recoiled at the thought again and slammed the motel room door behind him. Good riddance.
He slipped into the driver’s side of the Impala, a motion that was thoughtless now, and jammed the keys into the ignition. The rumble of the car's engine soothed him in a way he didn’t know he craved just then. It was such a subconscious notion, that he barely even noticed it on a good day, which today was. Or it was about to be. He clasped the gear shifter in his hand, and threw the car into reverse, glancing over his shoulder to ensure there were no small children before backing out of the parking space. He thrust the car into drive and sped out of the parking lot, not caring if he left tire marks behind. It deserved it after the hell he just went through.
Dean was four hours from the bunker, and he couldn’t wait to crawl into his own bed. His bed, which had clean(ish) sheets, and a blanket free of mysterious stains. His hand reached for the sound dial and his ears were flooded with a prominent mid-range frequency; the vocals were centered in the midrange and accompanied by a solid low-end from the bass guitar. Dean trilled his fingers along the steering wheel to the beat as he drove. He let his mind wander as the scenery around him changed from fields of whisping barley to dense forest, back to fields of open nothingness.
He thought about the current song that was playing on the local classic rock station. It was generic and quite honestly, overplayed, but nonetheless, a classic. Especially during the time that it was produced, it was a masterpiece. Hell, it still is. His mind suddenly thought of you, and the argument you once got into over who had better music. Dean, of course, argued that Led Zepplin had the best music of all time (only because it was a tie between his two favorite songs of all time, “Ramble On” and “Traveling Riverside Blues”). You, on the other hand, argued Van Halen.
“Are you kidding me?” Dean had said, white-knuckling the steering wheel. He glanced over at you, with a grin plastered on your face.
“I am dead serious,” you replied, trying to hide your grin, but Dean could see right through it.
“Van Halen isn’t even in the same category as Zep, how could you say that?”
“They rank right up there for me, along with Aerosmith and CCR,” you claimed. Dean was astonished, not sure if you were just trying to mess with him, or if you were being serious. You tilted your head back and let out a laugh, and Dean laughed with you. He glanced over and watched your hand as it rested on the open window ledge of the Impala, moving up and down in the breeze. The wind whipped around the stray hairs that framed your face.
Dean smiled at the memory, glancing over at the passenger seat. The image of you had faded, now replaced with an empty seat bench and a couple of cassette tapes strewn about. He let out a heavy sigh and his smile fell, his lips pressed together in a firm line. Prior to this moment, Dean refused to let himself think about you in such a large capacity. Once a memory popped up, he did his damndest to shut it down. It hurt too much to think about the times you had spent together.
A familiar sound slowly built through the car’s speakers as the radio station transitioned from the previous song, and Dean was pulled back from his thoughts. He recognized the bass marimba and electric bass immediately. It was the intro to “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith. Before giving it a second thought, his hand went to the dial once again and increased the volume. Dean’s grin slowly crept back to his lips and he rolled the window down. He laid his foot down heavier on the gas pedal as he drove down the road.
Y/N POV
You heard the familiar sound of the bunker door creek open and slam shut behind itself. Your heart pounded in your chest. For a split second, you thought about bolting. If you got up now, you could run to the kitchen, wait for him to disappear in his room, and then sneak out without a trace.
Suddenly, a hand was resting on yours. You looked up to meet Castiel’s icy blue eyes. His hand squeezed yours, reassuring you that this was the right decision. You took a deep breath and turned your head to the sound of his heavy footsteps descending the iron stairs.
“Cass!” He called, echoing through the bunker halls. “You would not believe the week I’ve had, man. This motel was such a–,” he stopped mid-sentence, his boots landing on the concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs. The silence is deafening as the two of you stare at each other. You sit up from where you were seated with Cass at one of the library tables and take a few steps toward Dean, who is still frozen in place. You are unable to read his facial expression. There were no indicators as to if he was mad or upset; happy or elated. Panic floods your body, realizing that he is not happy to see you. He should have said something by now. This was a mistake. This–
Before your brain can fully process what is happening, Dean drops his duffle bag to the floor and moves towards you, fast. He doesn’t speak a single word, nobody does. You expect him to walk right past you and to his bedroom, harshly knocking your shoulder as he goes by. A final fuck you before you leave for good this time. Instead, he closes the space between the two of you and wraps his arms around you. He buries his face into your shoulder, inhaling deeply. His embrace was warm and firm, his hold on you unwavering.
You had been craving this moment since the day you had left the bunker. It was a deep, hunger buried far below the surface, now awoken with the feeling of him holding you close. Leaving Sam was painful, sure. But you physically ached at the loss of Dean. The loss of your best friend. You felt your heart race at the thought, unsure of how you were ever able to leave in the first place. You had left the one person behind who could have helped you heal.
Dean was the first to pull away from you, but he would be damned if he let you go just yet. He placed his hands on either side of your face, almost as if to distinguish if you were really there before him or not. You instinctively leaned into his touch and smiled. Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.
“Hi Dean,” you said softly. Dean let out a chuckle and smiled down at you.
“Hi y/n,” he replied, his voice wavering slightly.
“Can I have my face back now?” You asked playfully. Dean only looked back at you, smiling at your sarcastic comment. However, he didn’t move his hands. He gently stroked his thumb across your face, brushing away a stray tear that fell down your cheek. You cursed that tear for betraying you and brought up your hands to rest on Dean’s. Shakily, you pulled his hands from your face and held them in your own.
“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly, staring down at your connected palms.
“I missed you,” you whispered, admitting this to yourself for the first time. You stared at him, willing him to look up at you. As if hearing your thoughts, he looked up at you then. His eyes were swimming with emotion; pain and happiness all swirling together. You were lost in his eyes, which were as green as the first leaves after a winter. They held a captivating allure, whispering secrets of the wild, drawing you into their mesmerizing depths. Dean squeezed your hands, slamming you back into reality.
“I missed you, too,” he spoke softly. Your heart skipped a beat, and it took everything inside you not to cry right then and there. Heat rose to your cheeks. You let go of his hands and backed away from him slightly, not missing the slight twinge of hurt that spread across his face, before being wiped away quickly.
“I got you something,” you said, quickly trying to recover before his mind spiraled. His face picked up on the mention of a gift. You turned back towards the table you had been sitting at with Cass. You expected to still see him sitting there, waiting for the moment between you and Dean to pass to pick up your conversation from before. But he was gone.
You moved to where your bag was resting on one of the chairs and pulled out a box. You hid it behind your back as you turned back to Dean. He was resting his shoulder cooly on the entryway to the war room, standing a few inches from the small staircase that descended. You couldn’t help but smile at his nonchalant demeanor, even after the moment you just shared. You pushed the thought away and stood a few feet from him, excited about what you were going to give him. He watched you carefully, grinning.
You moved the box from behind your back and displayed it with both hands in front of you. Dean’s face lit up immediately, first seeing the box’s contents. It was a medium-sized box, with a clear plastic middle that displayed a freshly baked apple pie. A small crust heart was baked in the pastry top's middle. You motioned for him to take the box from you, and he didn’t hesitate.
“Grand Traverse Pie Company,” he read aloud, examining the box. The smile never left his face and was spreading like wildfire to your own features.
“I just finished a hunt up in Northern Michigan,” you explained, rushing to fill the silence. Your heart pounded anxiously in your chest. “I decided to make a stop on my way back down. I remember you telling me about how your dad stopped there once when you were a kid.”
You watched Dean’s facial expression change. For a moment, you thought that you had made a mistake. You were struggling to read Dean. Hell, almost everything he had done since he got back was hard to read. The thought broke your heart, unknowingly forgetting things you had taken for granted just over a year ago.
“I can’t believe you reimbursed that,” he said softly. He slowly looked up at you, his eyes glossed over. You had barely ever seen him this emotional before. He gave you one of those patented grins, like a child with candy — or pie. It hit you then, just exactly what he was thinking. You cocked your head to the side slightly and grinned back at him.
“Right now?” You asked, already knowing his answer.
“Uh, yeah right now,” he said, walking right past you. He made a beeline for the kitchen, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder at you. You turned to follow him quickly, as you watched him vanish around the corner. In the kitchen, Dean whipped open a drawer and pulled out two forks. He hands a fork to you, which you eagerly take, and uses both hands to ever so slightly slides the lid of the box up. In this moment, as you watch Dean’s face practically glowing as he adores the pie through the box window, you imagine yourself in a cartoon-like scenario. The radiant sunbeams illuminate Dean’s face as if Heaven’s light is being cast on him; the box's edges acting as bumpers to the light's edges and following the lid's edges. You smiled at the thought and looked back to a normal Dean, licking his lips as the lid falls behind the box.
Dean wastes no time now slicing the pie into pieces, albeit overly sized.
The two of you sat at the kitchen counter, the metal cool against your forearms. You wiped your face and watched Dean shovel in one last bite of pie. There were crumbs on his face, and you instinctively reached out to brush them off. Dean stiffened when he noticed this, and you quickly drew your hand away. He just as quickly wiped at his mouth to brush the crumbs away. Awkward. Dean cleared his throat and set down his fork. He looked up at you as if he had something he was dying to tell you. But you beat him to the punch.
“So,” you said, clearing your own throat. “What have you guys been up to?” The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up slightly, remembering the past few months. He gently pushed the empty plate away from him and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Cass and I have been all over the place lately. It’s a messed up world out there,” he said cooly as if it were the company line. “I was just in the absolute worst motel I’ve ever been in.”
“Yikes,” you breathed, knowing that it had to be bad for Dean to bring it up.
“Yeah, I don’t even want to talk about it,” he agreed, reaching out for his beer that rested on the table. He took a long swig, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. A sinking feeling started in the pit of your stomach, and you looked away from him, knowing this familiar feeling. Dean noticed the change in your body language. “How have you been?”
You looked up at him again and smiled, a big, genuine smile that made Dean’s chest flutter.
“It’s been great,” you said sarcastically. “Alone, out on the open road, the wind rushing through my hair,” you continued, throwing your hair dramatically over your shoulder. Dean let out a soft chuckle at your dramatics. You reached for your own beer and took a swig. “No, it’s been okay. I needed to take some time, clear my head. I was pretty messed up there for a while,” you said, letting the words fall easily. A weird wave of relief washed over you finally being able to admit that to yourself, let alone someone else.
“He’s not here,” Dean said abruptly. You almost spit out your beer at his words. You looked at him with wide eyes, not knowing what to say. He cocked his head to the side slightly. “C’mon, someone had to bring him up.”
“I honestly wasn’t sure if I wanted to know,” you replied, a weird sense of relief and…sadness taking over. You were surprised at the latter, not expecting to feel sad in Sam’s absence. Dean could see the contradiction on your face, your own emotions betraying you. And if he were being honest with himself, they were doing the same to him, too.
“He moved out,” he said. What Dean didn’t say was that he more or less kicked Sam out over what he had pulled with you a few months before. He came home upset and looking to confide in Dean. But Dean wasn’t hearing a poor sob story from his younger brother about losing his girl. No, all he heard was how Sam managed to hurt you yet again after you had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Dean’s fists clenched at the thought, and he lowered them to his lap under the table, hiding them from your line of vision. “He didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Dean added.
“You didn’t have to-”
“I couldn’t look him in the eye, y/n,” Dean’s eyes were pleading with you. He finally understood how you had felt when all of this first started. The only thing that kept the boys together was a familial bond; the Winchester brothers' family line of toxic codependence. But Dean was no longer blind to his brother’s actions, and he was no longer ignorant to his feelings for you.
You were speechless.
There was no air left in your lungs.
You stood slowly, your heart pounding so loudly it nearly drowned out the world around you. Every step you took around the table felt like crossing into something unknown and inevitable. When you reached his side, you paused for just a heartbeat, and then you placed your hands on either side of his face, your fingers brushing against his skin, warm and soft beneath your touch.
"Dean…" you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you felt but hadn’t yet said.
His eyes flickered down to your lips and back up, his own parting slightly, and you could feel the tension pulling you closer — like gravity, like fate. His hands rose slowly, fingers grazing your waist before settling there, tentative and gentle.
"I—" he started, but whatever words he meant to say were lost as you leaned in. Your lips met his softly at first, a question in the touch. But when he answered — when his mouth pressed back against yours with quiet desperation — the question turned into certainty.
The kiss deepened, fierce and urgent, as his hands slid up your back, drawing you closer until there was no space left between you. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head as he claimed your mouth with a passion that stole your breath. The heat of him, the way his heart raced under your palms — it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Time unraveled, and the only thing that mattered was the way he kissed you, as though you were the only thing keeping him breathing.
When you finally pulled back, just enough to rest your forehead against his, your chest rose and fell in time with his, both of you breathless and trembling. His eyes were still closed, his breathing uneven, and when he finally opened them, that forest-green gaze was filled with wonder and fire.
"I think I’m in love with you," you whispered.
His smile was slow, radiant. "Good," he murmured, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "Because I’ve been in love with you for a while now."
The loud groan and squeal of the bunker door shattered the quiet intimacy. You turned toward the noise, assuming that it was Cass leaving. But the sound of footsteps faintly grew closer, and your stomach dropped when you saw him — Sam —- round the corner into the kitchen. The air grew heavier and colder, the old hurt flaring up at the sight of him. A year ago, Sam had shattered your heart when he cheated on you, but the pain of that betrayal still felt fresh. His expression froze as he took in the scene before him — you still tangled up in Dean’s arms, your face flushed, your breath still uneven.
"I—" Sam started, but you cut him off with a sharp look; your first instinct to take the defense.
"Don’t," you said, your voice low and tight. "I have nothing to say to you."
Dean’s arms tightened around you protectively, his eyes hardening as they met his brother’s. "You heard her, Sam," he said, his voice calm but firm. "This isn’t your business."
Sam’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. "I just… I didn’t mean—"
"Whatever you didn’t mean, it’s done," Dean interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’ve hurt her enough. You don’t get to walk in here and make this about you."
The silence stretched, heavy and charged, until finally, Sam nodded, his shoulders slumping. Without another word, he turned and walked away; moments later, the sound of the door closing behind him like a finality. Your whole body jumped at the sound, and Dean’s arms tightened around you instinctively.
He turned back to you then, his hand coming up to cup your face. "You okay?" he asked softly.
You nodded, leaning into his touch. "I am now," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. His eyes softened, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.
A few days later, Dean found Sam sitting on the front steps leading into the bunker, his shoulders hunched and his face drawn with regret. Without a word, Dean sat down beside him.
"I messed up," Sam said quietly after a long silence. "I didn’t mean to hurt her — or you. And I don’t know how to fix it."
Dean stared ahead, his jaw tight. "You can’t just fix something like this, Sam. You broke her trust — and mine. You cheated on her, and that’s not something you just brush off. But if you’re serious about making things right, you start by owning what you did. No excuses. No justifications. Just the truth."
Sam nodded slowly. "I want to. I just… I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me."
"That’s not up to you," Dean said. "But if you want even a chance, you have to show her you’re willing to change — not just with words, but with actions. And you give her the space to decide when — or if — she’s ready."
The weight of Dean’s words settled heavily between them, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like they were on the same page.
"Thanks, Dean," Sam said, his voice rough. "For not giving up on me."
Dean glanced over at him, his expression softening just a little. "You’re my brother. That doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed at you. But I’m not giving up."
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, they sat there in silence — two brothers trying to find their way back to each other, one step at a time.
In the weeks that followed, life slowly began to take shape again, as though the pieces of your world were being gently reassembled, one by one. You and Dean, despite the weight of everything you’d been through, found a rhythm together — a kind of quiet harmony that seemed to grow with each passing day. It was something warm and steady, something you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there. A love that felt like home, safe and sure, with no pretenses or expectations, just an understanding between the two of you that ran deeper than words.
The bunker, once a hollow and desolate space, transformed before your eyes. It no longer felt like a cold fortress of isolation; it began to echo with life. There was laughter now, spilling freely from both of you when Dean cracked some ridiculous joke or you both stumbled upon something that reminded you of a time before everything went wrong. Shared glances became your secret language, a silent comfort between two people who understood each other more than anyone else ever could. Even in the silence, there was a quiet joy in the small, mundane moments. Soft lamplight bathed the rooms in a warm glow, and late-night whispers became the soundtrack of your existence — secrets shared, plans made, and dreams that felt less impossible now.
Sam, on his own slow journey, had begun to talk about moving back in. It wasn’t an easy thing to bring up, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes, the weight of all that had transpired between you. His words were careful, measured, as if testing the waters to see if there was room for him again in your life. You weren’t sure if it would ever be the same, but there was a tentative hope in his voice, something that had been missing for so long. Forgiveness wasn’t easy. The wound he left still ached sometimes, a sharp reminder of the betrayal that had threatened to tear everything apart tore everything apart. But you were trying — for yourself, for him, and for Dean.
You weren’t doing it alone.
Not anymore.
It was clear that healing would take time — maybe a long time. But the cracks in the past, though still visible, were starting to feel less like chasms and more like stepping stones. There was something different now. Something that hadn’t existed before, a fragile but real sense of hope. It was small at first, flickering like a candle in the dark, but it was there. And for the first time in a long while, you felt the pull of something powerful.
You felt like you were finally home again.
Series Masterlist
A/N: Unedited; Enjoy <3
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