"BABY"
Pairing: Dean Winchester X Masc! Reader Word Count: 7.0 k
Tags: Yearning with a little angst on Dean's part, mutual pining, the reader and Dean equally are stupid and flustered. Human!Impala.
A/N: I'm so sorry this one took so long to post. The OG idea felt rushed, and I got stuck midway. So this will be my first two-part fic. I will link Part 2 once it's done on this post.
P.S.: Yes, there's a reference to a popular game in this fic and a Tumblr post. IYKYK.
Dividers courtesy of: @uzmacchiato
Part 1 | Part 2
! DING!
Stepping into the thrift store, it’s clear how the light scent of Lemon Febreeze hitting your nose is trying to cover the mustiness of the building housing the various items on display. Without another thought, you make a beeline for the clothing first, combing through the racks, the many colors and styles, and running your hands over all the fabrics and apparel that catch your eye. You’ve picked up thrifting after seeing how much it saves you on wardrobe costs as a full-time hunter. Sometimes, getting more than you came for, with things like jewelry and other goods you didn’t even know you’d want. It’s become a habit of yours to thrift whenever you have time during or after a hunt; you call it your version of souvenir shopping.
Hopping from town to town, shop to shop, hoping to find at least one item that you could reuse.
Your drawers back at the Bunker were filled with clothes from the states you’ve hunted in, to your favorite reddish-brown, leather jacket from Texas, to that cozy, knitted, turtleneck sweater you found out in Illinois—lots of useful shit pops up every time, your own lucky streak was endless. Rummaging through, you find a cream colored Henley, a rustic, Americana belt for sale, and a set of silver rings you couldn’t resist. You’re about to head to the cashier to finalize your thrifting spree when a reflective shine on something hits the corner of your eye. You turn and see a short bookshelf across the room waiting to be noticed. It holds faded books and classic vinyls in its compartments, and on top of it is a standing silver mirror with a lone pair of sunglasses in their case, reflecting the afternoon sun’s rays in its lenses.
It catches your attention; they look straight out of Top Gun, but with black frames with rose gold lenses that fade into a more muted tone of copper. It’s kind of cool; you’ve never seen such a color combination before. Nor have you seen one with a simple little heart design in the bridge where it would rest on your nose. Putting the rest of your items in one arm, you pick them up and check the price tag tied to their frames. Flipping the tiny white square over, you see etched in red ink, “$10.00”, making you mull it over. Is it worth it? Would you wear these more than once? How would they look on you, and do they match your style? That last question could be answered with a simple look in the mirror.
Delicately setting the rest of your finds aside on the empty shelf top, you slip the glasses onto your face. Now, everything surrounding you was covered in a rosy tinge, and it’s not digging into your skull behind the ears. You check in the mirror standing in front of the case you found them in, and it’s not too bad. The frames are the perfect size; they fit your face. The color combo could go well with some more coordinated outfits if you were to buy these. $10.00 for some sunglasses seems worth it. So you slide them off and add them to the other finds you’re taking home.
…
Happily presenting your items to the boys on the drive back to the Bunker while plains and fields roll by in the windows. You hand one ring and the aviators to Sam to see for himself, listening actively as he passes on a fun fact about the specific style of the ring and the type of material. Thank God for nerds like him, honestly, now you have a way to sound smart to the next guy you flirt with at the next dive bar the three of you stop at. He hands the ring back and checks out the glasses you found at the last second. “Huh, never seen aviators like these before, not bad,” he comments before handing the shades back. “The heart on the bridge is neat though,” you add, sitting back to admire the way the afternoon sun hits the frames. Glaring at Dean over his shoulder when he snorts at the description you give of your new shades. Watching the small glint of sun travel across the metal as you turn and rotate the glasses in your hands. “Wonder if I could blind you with these alone,” you say, trying to flash the refracted light somehow into the front of the car to hit Sam in the eyes. “I’d like to see you try, pal,” he grins, shaking his head in amusement. As you shoot back a playful smirk, you notice Dean craning his neck in the driver’s seat. His hand was massaging a deep circle into the side of his neck.
You chalk the culprit up to his latest sleeping spot on the rather stiff couch; his neck has to be suffering the consequences of losing rock, paper, scissors this time around. Poor fella, so you speak up and offer to help him with a massage when you get back to the Bunker. Complete with the innocent intention to help your friend out somehow as reparations for the couch’s lingering effect on his muscles.
Dean knows this; he can see the look in your eyes in the rearview, keen to help him feel better. In other circumstances, he would’ve brushed it off and said he’ll live and not to worry about him. But because it’s you, he clears his throat and opts for a short and simple “no thanks” that comes out more briskly than he intended. Like an idiot. The burning feeling on his face is a stark reminder of his mishap. Sam’s knowing smirk popping in the corner of his lips doesn’t help to soothe him either.
Miraculously, you coolly shrug and reply, “Suit yourself, Deano”. Sitting back to enjoy your thrifted goods like you didn’t just make the snarky man internally panic just by noticing him. Dean is quietly thankful that your eyes aren’t focused on him, or else you would’ve definitely caught the ends of his ears going pink and started asking relentlessly if he was okay. There would be no universe he could safely lie himself out of that situation. Now the only witness to his internal panic is Sam, who just sits with that ever-so-pleased smirk that says, “You’re hopeless,” in every language.
Flustered Dean Winchester is a pretty sight; it’s a shame you’re missing out on it.
…
You step onto the pebbled ground in front of the entrance to the bunker. The small rocks crunch under the weight of your boots, and the smell of forests recently rained on and grassy hills mixed with that old building looking over the area welcomes you home. You go around the car to help unload the trunk. Trading easy smiles and joking around with Sam like it's tradition every time he pops Baby’s trunk open. You get handed a duffel the same moment Dean recovers from earlier by snatching the aviators off your head, getting you to chase him around the car.
Grabbing you, hook, line, and sinker, you dart around the car trying to catch your shades back from his clutches. Not even the weight of whoever’s bag you’re running around with can stop your determination to get him to surrender. All the while, Sam watches with a quirk in his brow, just tapping his foot and waiting for the two of you to stop running around like excitable puppies.
“Dean! Give me my fucking shades back before you snap them in half, asshole!”
“I will! You just have to catch me first, buddy!” he taunts back, dodging your sidestep expertly, getting a huff of exasperated air out of you. The two of you slide to a standoff, staring each other down, waiting for the other to make a move so you can counter it. He fakes you out with a twitch of muscle or a step, you fall for it, the cycle repeats an embarrassing amount of times before Sam calls from the trunk, “Alright, cmon, hand them over, dude”.
“What’d you say, pipsqueak? Truce?”
You nod agreeingly, stepping forward to meet him in the middle, meeting his smug green eyes glittering behind the lenses at you without an ounce of regret for making you run around the car like a couple of fools. You hold out your palm to him, expecting to feel your shades in it in a second, or you might actually tackle him right then and there if he tries anything.
His free hand props up the glasses on his nose, his lower lip jutting out in a fake pout. “They’re actually kind of growing on me; can I keep ‘em?”.
“No-hand em over, hotshot,” you groan with your fingers impatiently itching to grab them off his smug face. His smile perks up further, emphasizing the dimples in the corners of his lips. “Fine, give me one sec,” he turns and looks at his reflection in the windows, fixing his hair and the collar of his coat. The dumbass is fucking stalling on purpose. You sigh heavily, lolling your head to one side, “DEAN- I swear!-”. The man rolls his eyes instead of jumping as you raise your voice. He kisses his fingers and taps Baby’s roof twice.
You hit his back, corralling him to walk away. POOF. A rush of clouds hits from behind as something explodes like a smoke bomb. The three of you turn to catch what the fuck just happened. The dust and smoke clear away in billows, revealing the silhouette of a man. Tall, fit, and as you get a closer look. Shit-he’s downright gorgeous at first sight. So much so that you don’t even realize that the damn car’s missing.
The person standing there, where Baby was parked, looks to be around Dean’s age, maybe a little older; it’s hard to tell from the shock of finding someone standing where a whole ass car used to be. He resembled the ’60s heartthrob with the classic pompadour haircut and icy gray eyes that froze you in place when they locked with yours. His attire screams mysterious biker, the worn black leather jacket with patches that definitely have a story to each one, black leather pants to match, with the collar popped up to his jawline to add to the mysterious allure. His pants are tight enough to show off defined, long legs confined within faded and slightly torn black denim. The shirt he has on underneath looks to be a dark grey button-up with the top two undone, showing off his collarbone and a patch of cleavage. Tapping the legs of his pants with his knuckles brings your attention to his rings, all the silver jewelry he’s wearing, really. From the row of three small earrings on his lobe to the two rings on the hand not in his pocket. Hell, you would’ve called him Greaser Dracula if he didn’t look so damn hot, as if you could speak right then and there without your voice cracking.
The gentleman saunters over with a simple confidence you’ve seen in Dean before, almost exactly, but it looks as if he’s perfected the walk. Then he stops in front of you, and he greets you first.
“Hi there, darlin’.” The tense air immediately cracks as he shoots you a kind smile. “It’s about time I got to talk with you”. Heat fills your face at the flirty and sudden Midwestern tone of his voice. It’s way too much. The man is hot. He’s flirty-it’s not fair to your poor, racing heart, your poor, burning hot face. Poor you.
“Wh-who- what are you?” your voice panics, the pitch rising with the flush that builds up your neck. The man smiles fondly. “Isn’t it obvious?” he gestures to his attire. “I’m Baby, the car that was here like a minute ago?”.
Your soul leaves your body. And you’re sure Dean’s and Sam’s do too.
“BABY??” Dean’s exclamation drags you back to Earth. Looking over, you see the brothers are now at your side, both observing the greaser with utmost shock and scrutiny. The man just chuckles warmly, enjoying the intense looks from the three of you. “Take all the time in the world, boys”. He poses a little, drinking in the stunned gazes as if they’re cameras getting his best angles.
This is about to be a very interesting evening, isn’t it?
…
A very long talk with Baby ensued. It turns out you bought an enchanted object; the damn aviator shades. What a steal for 10 dollars. After some help from Cas over the phone, you learned the exact magic that was infused in the lenses and how to turn Baby back. The man didn’t pose a threat to you, so you all agreed to let him enjoy human life for a little longer. The only threat he posed was to your heart rate and Dean’s blood pressure.
You thought Dean’s flirtatious behavior helped to form a tough skin against most forms of charm and every available pickup line. But Baby’s words were sharp enough to crack through the shell. The perfect mix of sweet, adoring, and so powerfully suave that you felt your knees nearly give in. Behind the greaser jacket was a gentleman who always made sure he wasn’t overwhelming you or making you uncomfortable. All the more reason you felt so under-prepared for how the Impala-turned-human would act. Of course, it was also all the more reason for Dean to fall into a rabbit hole of emotions he wanted to crawl out of.
Two types of jealousy possessed him, digging under his skin and crawling into his thoughts, like a disease. Poisoning his every thought and image that flashed behind his eyelids when he blinked.
The first was birthed from envy. A deeply hidden one, he kept for anyone, any guy who was free, unlike him. Someone free of the burden of the world on his shoulders every morning, weighing them down into the mattress before they sat up in bed. Someone who didn’t have so many restrictions on his heart and the person he could fall in love with. You were so unshackled, untethered, and not stupidly loyal to such outdated rules that a poor excuse for a father drilled into his very being since age 4.
The second came from the one he didn’t hide as well, infatuation. “No way his car was going to steal you away from him”. He felt his jaw tick as he watched you and Baby laugh over something the humanized car said. That bubbly and bright laugh that he found so endearing, directed towards someone else, his car of all fucking people. Shame came right after, it always did, tagging alongside the infatuation he held close to his chest like a good hand of cards. He had no claim on you; you weren’t his. You were just a friend; you could choose any guy you wanted, who cares if it’s not him? The remorse and scandal doubled as he realized what was happening. This is wrong. This is so wrong. I can’t, I shouldn’t be crushing on him in the first place! What the hell is wrong with me… he sighs and runs a hand across his face. Wiping away all traces of emotions, leaving his expression a blank canvas.
How could he even think about you that way? He had no right or reason to despise you so harshly.
Overhearing Baby, he catches how the man somehow remembers everything you and the boys have gone through, starting from the day Dean rebuilt him in Bobby’s scrapyard. Glancing back over at you, he sees you fully relaxed now, speaking with Baby casually and comfortably, as if you’ve been friends for years, just gossiping the minutes away. Softly chuckling when you said you’d never look at inhuman objects the same, as if you needed another reason to apologize to table corners for bumping into them.
Dean’s nails buried themselves in the fabric of his flannel, enough to indent on the skin beneath the material. He felt his teeth clench tighter together; the words “I love you” were bubbling up in his throat, threatening to burst out if he stayed in his spot any longer. So he briskly left you, Sam, and Baby in the library, heading to cool off in his room. Hoping to hear only his own footsteps as he walked away. Gratefully, that's all he heard before he shut his door. I love you, morphing into I wish I didn’t love you so much.
Everyone noticed his departure. Sam let it go, knowing his elder brother needed some space and a quiet place to sulk about whatever was going on with him. You felt an instinctive urge to check on him, but pushed it back on the to-do list when he was in a more sociable mood. He didn’t need you bothering him when he obviously needed space.
Baby, however, internally made a note to go check on him later. For now, he’d continue to stay and chat with you. He could absolutely see why the boys adored you and kept you around. The longer you chatted, the deeper Baby’s already deep appreciation amplified.
No wonder Dean was slowly going gaga over you.
A good mix of smarts, wit, and a sweet temperament that balanced out the more rough and rowdy hunter you could be. You were the perfect straight man for them. Always the one to keep them from fighting over the stupidest things for too long. Effortlessly getting them to open up and talk. Even those times when they adamantly didn’t want to. Baby knew you were good for them, and he made sure you knew it.
“Thanks for keeping them in line for me, sweets.”
“You’re a good match for them. God, am I glad they met you,”.
“You’re the best; I really appreciate you, doll.”
Jesus Christ, this man was really testing just how red your cheeks could glow. He loved it. No matter how much you deflected, chose to be humble, and play it off with “it’s no big deal”, he thought you needed to hear it, anyway. Which, for a Hunter, is always appreciated, helps you feel like your world-saving efforts aren’t invisible at the end of the day.
…
Dean thought some alone time with the usual queue of music would help, drowning out his thoughts, work its magic, and help him return to a better mood. The minute he returned to the three of you, he found Baby and Sam chopping up vegetables at the countertop while you were preoccupied with peeling potatoes at the table. Making his way over to you, he sits himself down. Clearing his throat to make his presence known, “Hey, uh, mind if I join ya?”.
You nod, and the two of you get to work on the last few spuds that needed their skin off before they could be cooked.
“How’s your neck, by the way? Still stiff or somethin’ ?”
He glances up, realizing you still haven’t moved on from him being even the smallest bit uncomfortable earlier that day. “Why? Still waiting to give me a massage?” he teases back, regretfully hoping for a yes, anything to feel your hands on his skin. Trying to feel what your hands feel like when it’s not in his dreams, but in a stolen moment between the two of you.
“I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it,” you shrug back. “If you’re still up for it,”.
Dean wished his response had been smoother and less snappy, but what came out was way too awkward to be his voice. He regretted it the minute he finished the second attempt at a “no thanks”. You were slightly unsure if you pushed him, made him uncomfortable by pushing to help him so physically too soon. Neither of you said anything, only stealing glances at the other as things gradually eased back to normal.
As you tried to focus on removing the skin of the ingredient in your fingers, you became slightly distracted by the warmth you felt whenever he was nearby. Comfort and security emanate from him like a fireplace you want to curl up next to whenever the cold and the dark get too close for comfort. He was the one you depended on during strenuous hunts and the one to divert the unwanted flirty women at bars. You felt so well looked after with him, and you wanted to do the same whenever you could to return the favor. It was a battle to stop yourself from leaning against him to get closer to that presence you were so enamored with.
His pretty face was only a bonus in your eyes. But god was it a perfect bonus at that.
From the kitchen counter, Baby and Sam shared a knowing look. Oh boy, you two were so painfully awkward whenever you got in close contact. It was groan-worthy yet endearing to watch. Both of them had their brows gradually raise in intrigue, the longer it took for the two of you to peel two potatoes. Sam, being the tired third wheel he is, clears his throat to grab the absent attention of the clueless pair at the table.
“Those potatoes aren’t peeled yet, seriously? It’s been like seven minutes, I’ve seen you two take out a nest quicker than that”. Baby snorts, adding with snarky amusement.
That jogs you both to get back to work and not fawn over the other. Peeling the vegetables in your hands to prove you weren’t just drooling over the person sitting quite close to you.
He was faring just as, if not worse than, you were in his own head. Dean’s internal struggle with his feelings for you came back in full swing. You laughed softly at a stupid pun he made to break the clumsy quiet that seemed to come between you once again. Proud that it worked just as he knew it would on you, he was slowly overshadowed by the usual voices that came with fawning over you. That he wasn’t deserving of you, that he shouldn’t be thinking you were cute in the first place, and that he’d break you somehow and leave without a tool to help fix whatever disaster he’d make of you.
He always did to others, why would he be any different with you?
As you set down your final vegetable onto the finished pile of peeled spuds in front of you, a noticeable tenseness in his jaw alerted you to something wrong he wasn’t saying out loud. “Dean? You okay? Something the matter?”. Your question brought more eyes than he wanted on him; both Baby and Sam’s eyes were now watching with equal concern and confusion from across the room, burning holes into his skull without meaning to. He curtly responded with the usual, “Yeah, yeah, of course, I’m fine, don’t worry,” which always sounded more forced than practiced.
“Just asking, your jaw clenches when you’re deep in thought sometimes,” you say, dodging the fact that you know the truth about why his jaw tightened, you’d never make him feel exposed or worse. Gently taking the vegetable, he peeled out of his hands. Your fingers brush against his (cheesy, I know) as they grasp the smooth surface. It sent sparks through both of you, which you hid well with a turn of your heel to hand the newly skinned ingredients to Sam and Baby.
Dean dragged a hand across his face, feeling the heat coming from his cheeks drag against the calloused palm of his hand. One touch and he’s this fucking warm all over?? How pathetic could he get over one man? How much more could he take…the voices quickly drowned him before his mind could come up with an answer.
…
Dinner was relatively peaceful and routinely filled with the usual banter and casual conversations. It was slightly enhanced now that Baby was thrown into the mix (the man had a good sense of wit and snark; he was definitely a Winchester). After some clean-up and more banter, the four of you spread out into the Bunker to do your own things. Sam and Dean retired to their rooms while you, not as ready to head to bed, stayed behind in the library to catch up on a classic novel you found in one of your drawers. Probably left behind by the man of letters who stayed in there before you moved in.
A gentle knock on the wood breaks your concentration on the written words on the page. You find that you’re not alone; Baby’s also feeling not so tired. The two of you share a quick smile before he hands you a glass of water. “What’s this for?” you ask, taking it from him gracefully. “You don’t have to take it, y’know, you can say no, toots”.
“I know, but I still want to know why you’re giving me this...” You smile again kindly. Your new pal just pulls up a chair and sits down beside you. “Just because I thought I once heard Dean say it’s some sort of routine thing for you to drink a glass while reading before bed”. “He said that? When?” Baby scoffs under his breath.
“A few weeks after you moved in, they were out hunting, and you were left alone, sick as a dog at the Bunker”. The heat rises in your neck, blossoming against your cheeks. You always thought you were alone and quiet as a mouse when you stayed up long after the Winchesters called it a night. “Wait, he said that?? What the hell were they talking about??” Baby’s soft laugh doesn’t help your already flustered state, and his explanation that Dean was getting antsy, rambling non-stop about your well-being, worried if you were eating or drinking enough water, and the usual things a mother hen concerns themselves with.
“He was going on and on about you, sweets. I swear he knows almost everything about you.” It doesn’t help that Baby has receipts to back that claim up. Lots of them.
With every detail Baby rattles off, panic sets in as the idea of him noticing everything about you, even the things you hoped he never saw. Something that he may not like in a potential partner, maybe he noticed one of your embarrassing flaws, too. Or worst of all-your devastatingly large crush on him. You’d die on the spot if he knew, tried to make a move subtly, and you didn’t take it that way.
Your mind rambles endlessly until it can’t run any more hypothetical scenarios for you to lose more sleep over.
“Oh, God…” You slump onto the desk, curling your arms around your head melodramatically to hide your growing embarrassment. The thunk of your head against wood echoes across the room.
A pair of gentle hands prop you back upright in your chair. A warm and rich laugh follows, tumbling out Baby’s lips. You scoff, “You’re too easily entertained, dude…”. He shrugs, “Hey-why’s that a bad thing-besides, I’ve always enjoyed hearing you and the boys go back and forth-you’re one hell of a spitfire sometimes, sweets.”
“That’s nice, at least someone thinks I’m hilarious around here.”.
The man scoffs, patting your back with mock sympathy, “Oh, cmon, doll, don’t be so hard on yourself. Besides, what’s got ya head banging that desk like that?”. As if he needs to ask at this point, he’s just waiting for you to admit it out loud. You let a hesitant sigh roll from your lips, ending with a soft raspberry into the air. Baby senses your reluctance, as if you’re putting in any effort to hide it. But he doesn’t push you to spill, sitting silently beside you, ready to listen with a noticeable eager sparkle in his eye.
“I uhhh…” You rub your hand against the back of your neck. “I might…”
Baby jumps the gun and words it out for you, “Have a crush on our dear ol’ Deano?”. A rush of warmth hits you, most of it resting against the sides of your face. “You knew??”. The look he gives you could win the award for “most smug, yes, without saying a single word. “Doll, do you even have to ask? Of course, I know, I wasn’t born yesterday. Literally”.
“And…does he?” You’re scared to think about the possibilities, you’d rather not even say it. How he sees you, how he thinks of you, if he even remotely wants you in any way. Baby slowly nods, finishing the question for you, “Of course he does, who wouldn’t?”. Igniting a spark of hope, you meet his warm grey eyes, searching for confirmation. “He adores you, sweets, he couldn’t stop if he wanted”. There it is.
The spark inside you grows brighter and warmer, so he does like you, not just like, he adores you. Just the word alone, ringing in your head, brings you enough confidence to confess quicker than you were originally planning. Excitement mixed with unease bubbles low in your stomach; you’re seriously going through with this…holy fuck- what do you say?, how would you go about it?, would you lead up to it or would you just come out swinging??.
You don’t realize you’ve been thinking out loud until you freeze, suddenly standing up with Baby staring amusedly at you. One arm resting over the top banister of the chair, his brow raised with a knowing gaze beneath it.
Some more planning is definitely needed and appreciated.
…
The morning after that weird end to a hunt started with a few grumbled “good mornings”, slow first sips of coffee, and many yawns between the four of you. Despite your bleary efforts to focus on Sam’s words or the taste of breakfast tea on your tongue, your eyes just won’t obey; they want to look at Dean. Trying to see if you will catch him staring at you, longingly, just for extra confirmation. Fighting the urge was like battling the pull of the strongest magnet ever invented.
When you do give in reluctantly, you catch it, a quick gaze filled with too much emotion for you to decipher and handle at 11 a.m. Which he quickly hides and averts his gaze back to his breakfast, but the tips of his ears give him away, glowing bright red like alarms wanting to grab your attention to what’s really happening beyond the mask of nonchalance. The endearing sight gets you to crack the first of many smiles that would have the same cause, him. You resume drinking your tea, the soft herbal flavors refreshing your sleepy mind perfectly. You let yourself sink into the aroma of coffee and tea, relaxing in your seat as you’re finally ready to reply to what Sam said. Without anymore itches to meet Dean’s gaze.
Dean watches the conversation start to flow, leaning casually back against the counter’s edge. The sound of your voice is as soothing as it is the one thing keeping his eyes open, like he’d want to miss a single word that falls from your lips. His mind was conjuring up little daydreams of waking up to your voice while wrapped in the smooth sheets on his bed. Letting your signature aroma leave its mark on his pillow, the same way your voice never fails to imprint itself in his mind to play on repeat like it’s his favorite vinyl.
The ideal scenario doesn’t last long as that damned voice returns with even more malice in its hiss. The same demons as yesterday, mixed with some newer, sharper reminders that stab deeper into the wounds that were already bleeding. How fragile your smile would be if it were ever in his care, how he’d resume the cycle. Fall, break, leave, repeat. No happiness was left in sight after he was done with you. Or worse, after you were done with him.
A gnawing resentment starts to make itself known as he takes a bitter sip of his coffee, trying to focus on your voice instead of the one in his head for one goddamn minute. The jealousy returns to bite deeper, telling him repetitively that it’s not fair. How come you had everything he didn’t? A sense of who he was outside of the dangerous hunter, even the most legendary monsters feared, the utmost confidence in loving another man like it was easy for you, and how unfairly you made him realize how badly the universe wouldn’t let him ever be happy like you were. That even a drop of it just wasn’t in the cards for Dean Winchester.
“Yknow, I could share the recipe on how to make it, if you want, Sammy”.
Dean finally gets his thoughts in order, clearing his throat, and butting in, “What recipe?”He hopes his voice is smooth enough to hide how bothered he was by his own inner thoughts. Placing a practiced smile of ease on his lips, hoping no one saw behind the curtain he dropped.
You perk up and turn to face him, happy to repeat your offer to Dean. A tea recipe you remembered your mother making as a child-one you were feeling super nostalgic for. The two brothers watch as you burst with fireworks in your eyes. They can feel the sentiment and love you have for such fond memories in the way you speak and move your hands. The little awkward laughs also give you away as you realize you’re rambling again.
Sam reassures you, tells you it’s fine, while Dean just stares in awe and adoration. For a moment, he let himself be unapologetically in love with you. His eyes were nothing but soft, and speaking every bit of unsaid emotion he couldn’t let leave his lips. Despite how he wants to, there’s always that invisible wall blocking it from escaping. He takes it as a win when he doesn’t hear that nagging voice make a return, taking a break from tormenting his conscious.
So he’ll happily just sit back and watch you shine like a pure white diamond in the kitchen lighting.
…
If there was one benefit to Baby becoming human, it’s that your two workaholic friends get the break they so definitely deserve by default. Free to spend a day longer, however they’d like. But just in case, you still say the garage is off limits and forbid them from using any of the spare cars. Stealing every single key and locking it in a chest (also thrifted) and stashing it under your bed. For safekeeping.
You bounced around, from reading non-hunting-related content alongside Sam in comfortable silence. Going for a long run with Baby, learning that he still had the same amount of horsepower as he did when he was a car. You came back slightly winded and achy, but you managed to convince yourself it was worth it for cardio training. Then came making lunch with Dean, and the minute he popped his head into your room to ask, the second he finished his sentence, you knew- this was going to be it. You’d ask if he’d like to be more than friends. Eagerly following behind with a small breath for confidence, you cross into the kitchen, ready to possibly change everything. Here goes nothing.
It started with the simple gathering of ingredients. “So, what’re ya thinking?” you question, rocking eagerly on your feet, watching as he opens the fridge with a slight click. He grins, pulling a plastic grocery bag and placing it down in front of you. “Take a gander”. You pull out a package of skinless chicken, sweet potatoes, some vegetables, rice cakes, a few sauces and oils, alongside some things that really help narrow down the type of cuisine he wants.
You stare at him, a little more dumbfounded. The hell? Then it hits you what he’s hoping to master as your eyes fall on the gochujang (Korean chili paste) and the bunch of perilla leaves. “Dalkgalbi?” you snort amusedly, proudly sporting your perfected pronunciation of the dish you mastered years ago. “For real? You wanna make that?”. Dean nods eagerly, “I had Cas help retrieve the ingredients needed for us, since we’re pretty much stuck here with Baby walking around like he’s a fricking Good Guy doll”.
“Without the cussing and murderous intent at least,” You add playfully.
“Yeah, we got lucky, didn’t we?” he chuckles, pulling out his phone with a recipe at the ready. “You mind pointing me in the right direction, pipsqueak?”. Of course, you’ll help him, so you nod, folding your arms confidently,
“Let’s start, shall we?”
Dean and you began cooking, Dean as the main chef with you as an advisor and assistant. Watching over his shoulder, making sure he’s on the right path. Following his every move with your eyes, pliantly fetching whatever the recipe asked for. Easy banter is being traded as he follows your advice and tips for creating such a dish for the first time. You’re a little distracted while making the sauce, watching his forearms and hands flex as he preps things and holds onto some ingredients. The movement of muscle under his skin, enough to draw your eyes to the other side of the counter.
“Hey, pal, I need some more water just in case-” you break out of your forearm-induced trance and quickly grab a cup for water. Suppressing a soft giggle as you see his tongue peek out from between his lips, like he’s a cartoon character who’s concentrating on a single, minute detail a bit too hard.
As he turns to receive the water, he comes face to face with you- you’re so close, you can smell his cheap cologne. He looked down, a little flustered with his words stuck in his throat. Your eyes focused on him, and him alone, lips resting in a content and waiting smile for what seems like forever in a split second.
The moment ended when you seemed to realize your proximity and took a few steps back, leaving both of you sporting a slight blush. Apologizing right away, “Whoah-sorry there, Deano, didn’t mean to get so up close and personal”.
Yes, you did, you smitten bastard.
He coughs awkwardly into his sleeve as you pass the cup of water. Dean grasps it gently with a nod. A hiss breaks the sort of awkward tension, reminding you both that your dish might be suffering because you both froze like a deer in headlights. Breaking the tension once again as you scramble to act as if nothing happened. A very well-known routine for both of you.
You heard him mutter a quick “thank you” and try to regain his composure to try to save the Dalkgalbi. Without wasting a single second thinking about your sweet smile, he witnessed just a moment ago.
You nod when his back is turned to you, running a hand over your face in embarrassment. Of course, you got too excited and made that dumb move. But you had the privilege of seeing the little details in his features, even if it wasn’t enough seconds to count the freckles decorating his features, you say it’s worth it.
The atmosphere relaxes back into friendly territory as the dish is taken off the stove and onto a placemat. You grab a fork and take a piece of chicken out for a taste test. It’s nearly too perfect to be a first attempt, although it could’ve used less soy sauce; that’s on you for getting lost in Dean’s eyes…again. “Well, teach? How’d we do?” Dean asks, expecting a good review based on how happily you're chewing on that first bite.
“It’s delicious, a little bit heavy on the soy sauce, but that’s my bad”.
“I guess hunting abroad in Korea really came in handy, huh?”.
You nod excitedly, “Yep, I didn’t just learn more methods of hunting, I also learned some 'killer' dishes”.
Dean mocks your corniness, turning to grab some plates and call Sam and Baby down, ruffling your hair teasingly as he passes. You swat at his hand, watching his broad form disappear to the living quarters of the Bunker, sighing like a dramatic teenage girl as soon as his form is out of sight. Your body is about to relax and melt onto the table, when it hits you.
You forgot to confess.
…
The thought has a second wind, rolling around in your head as you watch the men around you enjoy the joint effort dish, which should make you feel proud, but it’s just overwhelmed byy your anxious thoughts. Eating won’t shut it up, nor will letting it fester. It comes back with a vengeance every time you look up. Seeing his stupid grin, his annoying ass voice, and that god-forsaken pattern of veins on the back of his hands.
Every time Dean smiles, his mouth is half-full. “
He pointed at Sam with his fork prongs to tease him about something.
When he laughs with the rim of a beer bottle against his bottom lip.
Your leg bounces restlessly below the table, stowing away the energy that you refuse to let out words meant for his ears and his ears alone. Clamping your lips into a tight line must look like a ridiculous pout to the others. Your friends. The “I’m fine” mask comes back on, and you silently pray to whatever god is listening that no one saw you holding your breath.
“You got something on your mind, pipsqueak?” You freeze.
Of fucking course Dean’s the one who notices. Of course, he brings it up because you both know it was a ridiculous face to make at dinner. And of course, it gets the other two men to look over at you. Just piling on the embarrassment, aren’t they? You shake your head, taking a forkful of food to avoid having to expand further. Chewing indifferently and hoping that they leave it alone. Baby leans forward, his head tilted with interest, “You sure, sweets? You’re looking a little red in the ears there”.
Dammit. You swallow down and make direct eye contact with Dean. Shocking the three men with the conviction that's suddenly present, quieting the room immediately.
“I need to talk to you after…please?”.