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!
Blurb: Dean Winchester gets it all: a white-picket fence, two-point-five kids, and a wife he loves more and more every year they spend with each other.
Tags/Trigger Warnings: so much tooth-rotting fluff it's good enough to hate, lol. A happy Dean Winchester is cited on multiple occasions - yes, that's a warning. I don't even remember using a curse word, lmao. Old age? - although there's no angst about it.
Song Inspiration and Lyrics: Golden Hour by JVKE. (mentioned in bold and italics.)
A/N: So, this was my first ever fluffiest piece and I went all out for it. I wrote this - almost four, was it - years ago, and I've tried to edit it the best I could without disturbing the originality. There is no singular timeline, so don't be alarmed if they're young in one section and grandparents in another lol - I hope I could keep it as realistic as I could while also embracing it with absolute cheesiness, hehe.
Also, this was a challenge by the lovely Hepza - you can find her and her awesome stories here. My only prompt was this song and fluff. She did a reverse challenge with the same song where her story was pure angst.
{ Dean Winchester Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
The Winchesters' Family.
You'd been dreading today. As a mother, you shouldn't. But as a mother, you were.
You couldn't believe how you'd aged. There were unavoidable wrinkles on your face. You smiled at the reminder of why you got those. You'd dyed your hair for the ocassion and had them pinned up in an elegant bun. The silk dress cascaded around you, the bodice wrapping around you like a fine layer of second skin. You knew your husband would appreciate the shade of cream beige and the tall heels you'd put on. A slit ran uptil your right knee and you were just pleased that you had enough time to get out of your sweatpants today.
Your reminiscent admiration was interrupted as your younger daughter poked her head in.
'Code red?' you wondered from the pinched expression on your middle child's face.
'Yep. Cold feet,' she relayed seriously.
Your lips pursed to hide your amusement. 'Be right there.'
You set your make-up brush down and chased your youthful daughters quick footsteps to the bridal green room. You'd stepped out only half an hour ago to dress up while your oldest's friends had assured you that they would handle the rest of the dressing up shenanigans.
You poked your head in to see your older daughter, donned in beautiful white with a transperant veil and adorable pumps that would hurt her feet later. She was blowing breaths into a paper bag while her bridesmaids formed a rough semi-circle around her. Her maid of honour had also stepped out to crowd control.
'Reinforcements are here, ladies,' you chirped, stepping in with a smile. 'Can you all give us a minute?'
The girls nodded hesitantly, beelining for the door to get out. Violet, your second daughter, joined them.
Closing the door softly behind you, you approached her like one would a frightened deer.
'Johnita? Sweetie, we're alone. Wanna talk?' you quietly asked, getting that natural soothing quality you did when your motherhood kicked in - as Dean had once observed.
She glanced up from between her manicured hands, her pearly whites drawing in her bottom lip as her smudged makeup did nothing to help her appearance.
'Why do I feel like this?' she croaked.
'Don't tell your dad I said this, but, uh, if you want, we can get you out of here,' you grinned mischievously.
'Stop joking,' she cried out emotionally. 'I love him. I'm not gonna do that to him.'
'Then, why are you crying?'
You sat down next to her on the designer couch. Your arm automatically took her petite shoulders under its wing, the other one going around her back to pull her into you. She was still facing the mirror, and you were facing the door in the opposite direction. You placed one knee over the other and rested your head on hers when she put it on your shoulder, closing her eyes.
'What if I'm bad at this?' she wondered, further crumpling the tissues in her hands, knuckles white. 'What if . . . what if he regrets marrying me? I know this is silly, but what if . . . what somewhere down the line he realises this is a mistake?'
You sighed. You just couldn't believe how much of Dean you were seeing in her right now. It often scared you how much of Dean's self-doubt had bled into your oldest. Not that your husband did it intentionally.
'Okay,' you said. 'What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave the room, okay?'
'What?'
'On the day of my wedding,' you told her, 'I was having a cigarette.'
She gasped, head lifting from your shoulder. Your tactic had worked. She'd taken the bait.
'After you grounded Jake for a week?' she asked, amusement crowding in her expression. 'You were having a cigarette?'
You levied a stern finger at her. 'Doesn't leave the room.'
She raised her hands a little, imitating zipping her lips and throwing the imaginary key over her shoulder.
'I only ever had one when I was extremely stressed,' you tried to defend, somewhat embarrassed. 'That punk was doing it to look cool.'
Johnita giggled, ending in a sniffle. 'You were stressed too?'
'Yeah, well, I was marrying a functional alcoholic who pretended his depression didn't exist,' you pointed out. Johnita sombered at that, but you said it with light. 'I love that man with my whole heart, but he can test your patience like a snail.' You snorted, making your daughter smirk.
Your children knew about Dean's trauma. He'd taken counseling after Johnita had been born, and over the years, in the name of transparency, he'd come clean to your kids. That said, you both kept the information about monsters to yourselves. As in, they knew them as bedtime stories, but they hadn't been intimated to the practice of killing the said creatures.
'So, anyway,' you continued, 'I was walking outside of the Church in my wedding dress and taking a smoke - when I saw your father.'
'No! Isn't that bad luck?' her eyes widened comically.
You scoffed. 'I think bad luck was the fact that he was climbing out the window, trying to run from the wedding.'
She gasped for the second time. Utter disbelief was written all over her face.
'But you're, like, soulmates!' she stated. 'You never fight. You always support each other! You're like one person!'
You laughed. 'Thank you,' you said. 'To be honest, neither your father nor I believe in soulmates,' you told her. Dean hated the idea that a woman would have to be with her just because Cupid plinked him with her. And after the whole God fiasco, you two were relieved to know that Chuck had had nothing to do with your relationship. 'We've worked hard on our marriage, sweetie,' you said. 'And I'm proud of us for that.'
She dabbed the misused tissue on her face, and you took it from her, working on her ruined makeup. If not redo it, the least you could do was clear it away so that she didn't resemble an abused panda.
'I'm glad I got cold feet that day,' you said. 'I caught mid-escape that way. You should've seen his face,' youchuckled fondly, 'like a baby deer in headlights.'
'What did you do?' Johnita asked. 'Didn't you get mad at him?'
'Mad?' you snorted. 'I was relieved. Finally, a man who was on the same wavelength as me. He saw me and told me I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. I put out my cigarette and hugged him. He apologised and told me he couldn't wait to marry me. When I asked him later about what changed his mind, he said he just needed to look in my eyes to be okay. Marriage scared him. Marriage with me made him brave.'
'That's so sweet,' she whispered.
'It was quite the confidence boost,' you said jokingly. 'Jo,' you cupped her cheek. 'I'm so damn proud of you for finding a man you love. He's a good guy, and you are as awesome as they get, baby. I trust you two will make a great marriage.'
She bit her lip. 'Thanks, mom.' Her eyes were tearing up again.
Just as you were about to kiss her on the head, the door was pushed in and the love of your life put his head through, eyes zeroing in on his first loves. 'Jake gave me Code Red,' he said with the secret air of a covert agent. 'Baby is up and running. Let's roll.'
A muffled voice floated through the door. 'I'm standing right here . . .'
'Yeah, one sec,' Dean brushed the person off, and for a millisecond, his sheepish eyes connected with yours.
One look and you were rolling your orbs till you could see the back of your head. Your husband was the stupid-most adorable man on this Earth. You would have been pissed had you not known that his intentions were in the right place.
'I'm fine, Dad,' Johnita giggled. 'Mom talked me down.'
Dean glanced at you, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. 'Right. Well, if you need anything, just text me. I'll fly you away, if I have to.' Castiel was attending the wedding. Not that the children knew he was the angel who raised Dean from perdition once.
'Sir, again,' James' voice became clearer, louder. 'I'm right here.'
'Wait, no, it's not needed now-' Dean tried to stop him, but the young man slipped past the concerned father.
'James! You shouldn't be here!'
You suppressed your smile. 'Well, I'll make myself scarce. James,' you nodded towards the polite boy, 'Jo,' you acknowledged, and skidaddled out of there.
You briskly walked out of there, closing the door behind you to let the soon-to-be married couple talk this out. 'You're an idiot,' you told your man.
'Well, sorry for being prepared. He was Plan B!' Dean meekly shrugged. You gave him a look, and he sighed, 'I'm an idiot.'
'Just admit you don't want your little girl to go.'
He pouted, a melancholy in his eyes that stirred your previous anxiety back up.
'Hey,' you cupped his cheek like you had Johnita's a few seconds ago. 'Our little sparrow's ready to fly, babe.'
His pout amplified. 'She has such a nice nest now,' he huffed. 'That James kid is such an academic. His body strength is a joke.'
'But he loves her,' you told him. Told yourself that. 'She'll be happy. Like we are.'
'I guess,' he sighed, holding your hand in place.
You rose on your toes and kissed his lips affectionately.
He hummed. 'You look hot,' he grinned.
You chuckled. 'Aw, thanks.' You played with his haphazard collar. 'No luck with a vest, huh?'
'I told you, I don't want one,' he said petulantly. You had a strong suspicion that the vest you'd brought him was stashed in a secure location.
'You look smart in it,' you said.
'I look like a monkey! Isn't this tail-coat and suffocating bow-tie enough?' he groaned exaggeratedly. 'Haven't I suffered enough?'
You pressed your lips against your mirth. Your husband was incorrigible.
It was just one of those days when Sam was left back at the Bunker. No cases in the foreseeable future. Just you and Dean on a long drive that went on for states. No destination in mind except the road. The windows were rolled down, the wind in your hair, the skies bruised with pink and orange: you liked collecting images of the sky from all the places you visited. It was the same yet different. It was everywhere, and so damn free. And it often came with the alternating soundtrack of your and Dean's favourite music.
It was just two lovers
Sittin' in the car, listening to Blonde
Fallin' for each other
Pink and orange skies, feelin' super childish
He'd made you a cassette tape after you kept showing up in his life. Both of you were too stubborn to admit it, but the rock songs had grown on you, and the cheesy romantic ones had captured Dean's heart. And since both of you acted guilty of this, a silent truce had been agreed upon, and neither of you ever brought it up to tease the other. So used to each other's company that you could practically pen a whole book on each member of Bon Jovi, while Dean could sing the lyrics of every JVKE song, front and back.
'What'cha thinkin', sweetheart?' Dean asked, hand coming to rest on your thigh, eyes on the road.
You smiled up at him. 'The sky was of this colour the day we met,' you quipped.
He chuckled, taking a peek at the ether himself. 'That was a wild day.'
Wilder, because you both might've fallen for each other that day.
'Hey,' your honey-soaked timbre greeted the handsome man in front of you. His forest green orbs turned up, the whiskey glass halting halfway between his mouth and the teak wood surface. 'I'm Y/N. I saw you across the room and I-'
'I'm waiting for someone,' he shot you down.
'Oh.' You almost appeared disappointed. 'My bad. I thought you were the guy my sister set me up with. Dan Williams?' you asked with much too hope.
'You're mistaken,' he flatly told you - shifting in his seat, away from you, so that it was clear that this conversation had reached its full stop.
You left him alone, going to stalk the bar, but his eyes were now fixated on you.
He pitied himself for turning you down - the most gorgeous woman he'd seen in a while. Perfect for his standards of a one-night stand. But something told him he didn't want that tonight. No matter what the touch-starved parts of him demanded, he craved more after the hard hunt and the long day he'd had.
And dating was definitely out of the question. Hell, it wasn't even in the syllabus of his life. He was basically a mix between a pirate who could swear all day, an alcoholic who never gets drunk, and a warrior who kills monsters as his profession by committing identity theft. Which absolutely meant that he was screwed in this life except for the departments that consisted of sarcasm, humour, and movie/music references.
So, why, oh, why would he want to destroy someone's life with his?
Why would anyone ruin a beautiful girl like you that way? Dean found himself staring at you longingly.
And then he did a double-take at his thoughts.
Since when did he even think about dating?
He hadn't since Lisa. But the hunt had set something caged in him free. And then he just happened to stumble on a beautiful girl.
Just my luck, he thought sarcastically.
He had told the bartender to keep 'em coming. The guy manning the drinks asked no questions, argued not, just kept sending the waitress to keep his glass filled to the brim. Time flew by, and your date soon showed up. And then Dean was glad he'd kept an eye on you, because it was soon clear that the guy was turning into a nuisance for you.
That guy was throwing himself at you in the weirdest, most creepy way possible. You were getting increasingly uncomfortable, and it was the most obvious thing in the whole damn world. But this idiot must have a PhD in obliviousness, for he could not take a hint. Whenever you tried to excuse yourself, he just stopped you one way or another.
An idea popped into Dean's head. Before he had even finished thinking or started overthinking, he surged forward for your rescue.
'Hi?' he asked, pretending to be confused.
'What do you want?' "Dan" rudely asked of him, his good-guy attitude melting off.
Dean faked innocence, glancing back and forth between you and the other guy. 'I think there's been a mistake. I'm . . . I'm here for a Y/N. My blind date? And I think that's her,' he gestured towards a wide-eyed you.
You cleared your throat, playing along. Looking surprised, 'Really? Damn, uh, my bad. Is your name-?'
'Dan Williams,' Dean offered.
'Ohhhhh!' you said, seeming utterly relieved. You were terrible at hiding it. 'This is awkward. I must have gotten the wrong "Dan Williams",' you said with a fake apologetic look in your eyes. 'It's just too bad.'
'No, she's my date,' the man butted in, addressing Dean as if you hadn't even said a word.
Dean scoffed. 'Fine, man, what's her last name?'
'L/N,' the real Dan confidently replied.
'It's Smith,' Dean smugly said.
He didn't know your real name, but he glanced at you in warning, hoping you'd catch his drift.
'Can you believe him?!' Dan stood up, and both the men turned to you.
Feeling cornered, you gripped your beer tightly and, in one jerky motion, you splashed the beer on Dan's face. The strange man whom you didn't know stepped away from the mess with amazingly fast reflexes. A laugh spilled from his dropped jaw.
'You asshole!' you accused him of your made-up excuse. 'You weren't even listening to me! God! You'd think a man would be attentive enough to my last name!' You shot Dean an incredulous look, who couldn't stop laughing.
'You bitch!' the real Dan roared, ready to retaliate.
And before the stranger could step in and defend you. You easily blocked the guy's hit and judo flipped him right on the spot.
The green-eyed blond-hair hottie stared at you in absolute amazement with his mouth agape and features puzzled in a way that clearly told you he was in a bit of awe.
'What?' you smoothened your dress as you stood back. 'I learn self-defense.'
That took the cake.
Before Dean knew what words were leaving his lips, they were out. 'Can I take you on a real date?'
You'd taken a selfie with him that day in pink and orange skies.
On yet another long drive, you two were stopped for gas. You stood outside the car, leaning against Baby's shining, sleek surface, waiting for Dean to pick up snacks from the store while you fueled up his precious car. You loved doing it because you'd never done it before, and because it was the symbol of Dean's unadulterated trust.
No Donald Glover
Missed call from my mother
Like, "Where you at tonight?"
Got no alibi
I was all alone with the love of my life
Through misty, morning silence, Dean's rock ringtone cut in. You opened the door and sat in the driver's seat. Before you could answer the phone that flashed "Mom 🙄" on the screen, the shotgun side swung open, and Dean plopped down with bags of supplies.
'Hey, sweetheart.'
'Your Mom's calling,' you scoffed with a certain tone. 'What are we, five? Calling to check up on us. I mean, it's not even been three hours . . .' You trailed off when a guilty look trespassed his face.
'Uhhhh.'
'Jeez, babe. Did you not say where you were going?'
'It might've slipped my mind.'
'You're unbelievable sometimes,' you said, swiping the green button.
'Took you long enough,' Sam's voice came through the speaker phone.
'Hello to you, too, Sammy,' Dean quirked.
'Dean, how long will that supply run be? I got us a case.'
You smirked. 'Hi, Sam. Supply Run speaking.'
Sam said your name in realization. 'I thought Dean was refilling the pantry,' he explained. 'He didn't say anything about meeting you today.'
'I'm kidnapping your brother for the weekend. It's our anniversary.'
'Why didn't you tell me?'
'She showed up at three a.m.!' Dean protested. To be fair, you did do that. Although, to be fairer, Dean had forgotten, so he didn't feel all that bad about waking him up at such an ungodly hour.
'I thought he must've told you when he packed a bag,' you said.
'He was sleeping.'
'Could've texted him,' you mumbled.
Sam sighed over the call. 'So, I guess I'll ask Garth if he wants to do the case with me.'
'Sorry, Sam!' you chirped.
'Be careful,' Dean said.
'Yeah,' Sam said. 'Bring him back in one piece, Y/N.'
You chuckled. 'Sure thing. Anything else, Mom?'
'Use protection,' he quipped, playing into the joke and making you laugh.
'Oh, gimme that!' Dean took his phone back to promptly end the call.
'You're a doofus,' you grinned like a Cheshire cat.
'I'm your doofus,' he cheekily amended. 'And you're driving,' he wagged a finger at you, 'while I finish my sleep.'
'Okay, passenger princess.'
The wedding commenced. His heart was pounding out of proportion. He'd talked to you before and hugged you desperately to ground himself.
She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night
I don't need no light to see you
Shine
It's golden hour (oh-ohh)
You slow down time
In your golden hour (oh-ohh)
But this wasn't a panicking nervousness. This was a happy nervous.
He knew now why he was marrying. For whom he was getting hitched.
When the doors opened, the crescendo of the music swelled, and you walked down the aisle.
His inner world stilled. His outer world faded until you were the only unblurred portion of it.
Alone, with flowers in your hands, beaming with happiness and confidence . . . and just like that - his doubts, his fears, his negative thoughts - it was all gone.
His darkness went away when his light walked into the room.
His hairs stood at attention when the overwhelming sense of love overpowered him; his eyes became glossy. It was frightening how much love he'd accumulated for you over the last three years. How happy you made him. And here he was: about to join you in one of the most vulnerable relationships known to living organisms.
Tears brimmed in your eyes, too.
And all he could suddenly think of was how he wanted to spend the rest of his life staring into those very eyes, living and re-living how he fell for those eyes. All he could think of was how he wanted to just stay beloved in those e/c orbs, how he wanted to possess your look, the one that looked up to him like he was your entire world.
'Hey,' you whispered.
'You're beautiful,' he repeated from earlier that day.
And both of you knew he was not just talking about "in this moment". He wasn't just complimenting your looks.
He was talking about you, as a whole, and as a soul that completed him.
So, you knew he would say the same thing when you have a bad hair day, or when you have bruises marring your body from a hunt that you're scared to show, or when you're donning the sexiest cocktail dress ever known to mankind, or when you were old and grey, having spent all your life beside him.
Your smile brightened if that was even possible. 'You, too.'
And each other was all either of you could see. The most gorgeous hour of your lives. The golden hour.
Shining so brightly that this burned holes into your lives, into your memories, so that when you both looked back, even though you couldn't see through your mind's eye what had actually happened, at least you'd be feeling it.
And the time almost slowed down to a stop when it was declared: 'I now pronounce you husband and wife.'
You laughed at the same time as Dean, and you both grew closer till your lips were sealed, in turn sealing your hearts, minds, and souls in marriage.
Dean walked down the aisle (without the vest) with your daughter nervously draped on his arm, walking forward to be given away to the man of her dreams. As her eyes locked with James', yours sought Dean's, who flashed you a wink, smiling more freely than you had seen him do in ages.
Can you even imagine
Fallin' like I did for the love of my life?
She's got glow on her face, a glorious look in her eyes
My angel of light
I was all alone with the love of my life
She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night
I don't need no light to see you
Shine
It's your golden hour
Neither of you wanted to take the light away from Johnita's moment, but it was a special memory for you two to capture, too. Your eldest, the one who had come out prematurely by maybe a week, wailing and covered in blood. She was taller than you now, beauty radiating off of her as everyone in the room stared at her.
She had come to you, your bundle of joy, wrapped up in soft cloth, watching the unknown land of giants with wide eyes and weird, wet liquid babbling from her mouth.
And that was the fastest you fell in love, holding such a pure soul - a soul that came from you and the man you love the most - and you were her mother. Dean was her father.
What more could you have even asked for?
Wiping a happy tear away from your cheek, you turned straight as your husband proudly handed her off to your son-in-law in five minutes, his chest puffed, and just the look in his eyes was worth remembering your whole life. Dean joined your side, reluctant glee all over his face. He was happy for her - he couldn't help it, no matter how much he complained leading up to today.
And the procession was the second best you had ever attended. The best, of course, being your own. Your hand had snaked around Dean's arm, your body leaning into him, and he had kissed your forehead.
And as nervously and anxiety-ridden as each half of the couple had entered, just as carefree and happily, they left the chapel as a whole. The crowd began dispersing.
'Race me to the car!' Jake exclaimed to his older sister, the middle sibling, who immediately accepted his challenge, chasing after him.
'Be careful!' their Dad yelled as they seeped into the crowd, while your eyes fell on Sam - 'Are you crying?'
'I'm not crying, you are!' he snapped at you, swatting at his tears.
He really did love his niece, and your heart swelled with love for your brother-in-law, who had never failed to support you more than Dean. He said he was doing that to annoy his brother, or because you were always right when it came to relationships, but you knew it was mainly to never let you feel lonely in their small family. It was so that you never gave up on Dean - he supported you till you knew how to live with his older brother better than he had been able to.
He was the one who made you feel like you had had a family again after your parents' demise, way back at the hands of a Wendigo. And that was a reason why you made fucking sure that he got the woman he loved. You made sure that he'd man up and admit his feelings when he needed to, and you made sure that you got him his deserved family, too. Even after all the shit Chuck pulled.
Eileen rubbed her hand on his back calmly, signing to you that Sam indeed was crying. And that she'd handle him. The unpaid babysitter of all your children was ushered out of the venue by his wife. He'd been that place of comfort when your children couldn't talk to you or Dean - he'd never let them feel like they had anything to miss, as they didn't have any grandparents. He had been the only army of relatives they needed. And when Eileen came into their lives as their Aunt, she was exactly the same.
'Alright,' Dean steered you away from them, noticing the tears in your own eyes. 'I thought you promised Jo a tear-free wedding.'
'But I'm happy,' you whined.
Dean's eyes were wet too. 'Me too,' he said, moulding you to his side as he walked you out.
'They grow so fast,' you complained.
He chuckled. 'I thought that was my line,' he teased.
Then, everyone hauled ass for the reception, treating themselves to the festivities. You and Dean got separated managing the crowd, while Voilet helped you out, and Jake just gave up on socialising to play video games on his phone.
And it was long before everyone started moving onto the much-needed energy source - food.
The chatter was everywhere, the atmosphere so happy, the wind dancing, the skies cooperating, the moon glowing. It was possibly one of those cliché romantic nights.
And as Dean saw you glide around the dance floor, sometimes talking and sometimes dancing with the guests and relatives, entertaining everyone and excluding no one, Dean took a backseat. He, like his son, had given up on socialising after the first three hours. He was trying his damndest to be in the moment - something you taught him over the years.
He was trying to fathom how he fell for the love of his life . . . who was just enough shades of fucked-up to love him back.
He watched you like a hawk, awe etched in each of his fibres as you smoothly took the world on. A soft glow on your face, a never-tiring smile, and a glorious look in your eyes.
It had just been over and about thirty years, but Dean still felt like a lovesick teenager.
'Take a photo, it'll last longer,' Voilet's voice made her father jump. He chuckled when he realised who it was, unashamed of being caught staring. But his daughter didn't mind pointing it out, still, 'Simply staring is creepy.'
Dean smirked, 'Can't help it. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.'
'She's wrinkly,' Voilet tried to irk her father, not meaning any insult to her Mom.
'I stand by my statement,' Dean played along.
'She's starting to get white hair.'
'Still standing.'
'Is she more beautiful than me?'
'Trick question,' Dean quick-wittedly dodged. 'You're not a woman yet, young girl.'
'Smart move, Winchester,' she teased.
Dean chuckled. 'Why don't you go find someone your age and have fun?'
'Only if you go ask the lady your age to a nice dance.'
'Accepted,' and the older man walked purposefully on the dance stage, tapping on Claire's shoulder.
'May I?'
'All yours,' she granted, placing Dean's wife's hand in his.
'Thank you,' you shot the younger woman a smile, before your laser focus was diverted to your husband. 'Took you long enough.'
'Ah, I got lost - sightseeing.'
'And pray tell, what did you see?' you flirted back, knowing some cheesy line was going to be hurled your way. Dean started moving with you on the dance floor, carefully sidestepping other people as he guided you through the song - it was one of your favourites. Guess your taste was passed down the lineage.
'An angel of light,' he romanticized it, knowing how much you liked it. It was silly, and it was stupid, and this was strongly Dean's opinion. He still had only one advantage out of it - to see you blush. That was all he was in for.
'Uh-huh?'
'She's got glitter for skin. She's like my radiant beam in the night,' he said with a sing-song to his words.
(Remember how he learned all the lines backwards and forwards of all your favourite songs? Yeah, now guess why.)
'How much alcohol did you have?' you giggled, but blushing exactly like he wanted.
He sighed dreamily. 'I didn't have to drink. I was on high on you.'
'Jeez, eww,' you laughed, thumping your head on his shaking chest as he guffawed along with you. 'Where'd you learn that? Cas?'
'Jake.'
You laughed harder, pulling back. 'Our son's giving you flirting lessons?'
Dean shrugged, unfazed by your laughter, not at all embarrassed. 'I asked him what's new. I'm not disappointed.'
'Oh, he's gonna hear it from me,' you retorted, chuckling harder. 'If that's how he picks a person up, he might end up alone!'
'Yes, Mom,' Dean grinned. That particular tease had passed down to your kids from Dean, one he refused to regret. He placed an errant strand behind your ear as he changed the subject: 'Today was magical.'
'Mm-hmm,' you happily sighed. Silently, you both pulled each other closer. His arms left the dance stance and wrapped around, while yours did the same for him, and you two closed even the tiniest gap that you could have had between your bodies, slowing down to a side-to-side sway.
(One side of his jacket was bulgier than the other - and you would bet Baby that his vest was hidden inside his coat pocket. A fact you'd suspected that morning when he told you lost his vest. It was unendingly amusing to watch this man try and hide these little things from you.)
You put your head on his chest, a soft smile on your lips, and eyes closed in content, his heart beating steadily in your ear. Dean rested his chin on your head, his arms tightening around you as he thanked his lucky stars with all he had. He placed a soft but long kiss on your head, letting your warmth and weight settle into the memories of his muscles.
'Remember when Johnita was just born?'
'You were too scared to pick her up. She was so small and you were terrified of hurting her.'
'Yep. If you hadn't encouraged me, I probably wouldn't have ever even touched her.'
'She was so fragile, a small little princess.'
'Yeah. Our princess.'
'And when you finally picked her?' You'd heard this a million times, but it always tugged on your heartstrings.
'I couldn't believe how a being so small could make me love her so much, so fast. It was almost against my will.'
You snorted. 'She had you wrapped around her tiny finger.'
He shook his head like there was still some disbelief in his mind. 'I couldn't believe I'd just had a child with the only woman I ever could love.' And he kissed your head again, this time harder and longer, afterwards, just closing his eyes as he let his head fall on yours.
He did this every time you asked him about Johnita's first day on Earth. He said this line every time, and no one has to guess why you got gooseflesh every time he said it.
'That's so sweet!' crooned your granddaughter, Maze, the first-born of your eldest, and the twin sister of Emmett. She was very much enjoying your and Dean's love story.
You slow down time
In your golden hour (oh-ohh)
'Yep, I never get tired of hearing it,' Emmett and Maze's aunt genuinely said, the pregnancy making her skin glow. She moved a hand over her eight-months pregnant belly - her later months one of the reasons why you and Dean had come over to help out in the last month, while Violet's husband, Tyler, went to work in the day.
But today, everyone was here. The whole family, and you all had gone and done the whole nine yards for Voilet's baby shower. Jake and his husband, Adam, had flown in from Europe; James, Johnita, and their twins drove in from New York. Sam and Eileen had come in from Kansas with you and Dean, while their kid, Mary, and her fiancé, Percy, had met you halfway on the road.
Both Sam and Dean had quit hunting a very long ago, but neither of the brothers could quit the Bunker. Even when the kids didn't know fight monsters, they thought of the Bunker's library as the most priceless collection of mythological stories. It was no surprise that all four kids were a tight-knit group, having grown up together like that in the Bunker.
And all special occasions excluded - it was a rule of the Winchester family to meet back at the Bunker at least three times a year. May it be a family vacation or something else. But it was always family above all - a rule bestowed by Dean.
'Food's ready!' Johnita excitedly exclaimed, and her children dashed out of the room, leaving you and Voilet to chuckle. You walked out slowly, helping your kid waddle out into the dining room, which - if the delicious aroma was anything to go by - seemed to be absolutely mouth-watering.
En route, the back door to the house opened, and a huge roar of laughter bled in as the men of the family goofed around and about. As soon as Dean looked inside, his eyes were on you, just at the same time as you looked up.
Dean's eyes twinkled with love for you, and he didn't notice when Tyler broke away from the group and took his wife from his mother-in-law. The men were filtering out to find their own spouses or kids, or just going for food.
But Dean waited. And then the time slowed down as it often did in your company. The happy dredged up a lot of happy memories for him, and Dean could only blame this on one person.
'I have a complaint,' and it was a good thing that everyone else had left, for you had an inkling this was about to get cheesy. Not that he would have cared even if they were listening - he had a reputation to maintain, as he liked to say.
'Sounds serious,' you smirked, your arms going around each other automatically. 'Should I be worried?'
'Yes. It's about you.'
She mock-gasped. 'What did I do?!' you dramatically whispered.
'First, you stole my heart, and made it yours,' he said it very matter-of-factly - with a straight face and everything.
'Okay, keep going, I'm noting everything down in my mental note-pad that I'll remember forever,' you joked.
'Good because you made my life so happy that it should be illegal.'
'Dammit,' you said, trying hard not to smile.
'Exactly,' how Dean kept his stoicity was beyond you because you were on the verge of breaking character. 'And you know what? You are so perfect that you almost make me cry.'
'It's sad that it's so happy.'
'I know! What's more, is that you walked into my life and turned it upside down. Completely!'
'I see. Anything else, Mr. Winchester?'
'Yeah. One more thing: I never thought I'd have a family. That I'd quit hunting. I never thought I'd be a father, let alone a Grandpa. You gave me the world, woman! Everything. I have a family now!'
'A Winchester's family,' you said with your eyes going wide. 'The audacity of the atoricity!'
'What?' Dean snorted, finally breaking character.
'Too wordy?' you laughed.
'Yes!' he exclaimed, struggling to get serious again. 'And too much of a mockery of my plight!'
'Oh, I'm just awful, aren't I?'
'Tell me about it.'
'Would it make you feel better if I say "I love you"?' you asked, feigning sympathy.
'Yes. But I want more.'
'Yeah?'
'I want a kiss,' he demanded.
'Well, I think that's fair, now that I've already ruined you-'
'For every other girl on this planet,' he glared playfully.
You snorted.
'This is serious,' he reminded.
'You're right. I'm sorry,' you giggled. 'Come here, you,' and you pulled him down for a sloppy one.
A kiss that was certainly not the first, and certainly not the last.
Just like it was certain that it could only be your fault that this family was under one roof. You were the only criminal when it came to the Winchesters' family.
A/N: So - need a dentist yet? ❤😂
By the way - I know this was supposed to come out last week, but I got to know about a surprise test a day before 😭😭😭. So, I had to split my attention for that 🥲🫠. Likewise, my other posts also get affected - I have so many upcoming exams - but I will try to keep posting as much as I'm able.
Blurb: God's been replaced with someone reliable. But peace makes Dean feel useless, especially if his brother buys into it by hanging up his gun. Would Dean be able to move on from hunting and accept the myth of happiness, too?
Tags/Trigger Warnings (18+): mention of Season 15 end; sort of a Season 15 "fix-it"; tooth-rotting fluff (for a change, lmao); slight angst; (sort of) hurt/comfort; mentions of death; language, etc.
Word Count: 5k (I've rounded off, but it's mostly less than 5K - different apps tell me different things, lol)
A/N: This is a submission for @zepskies 's 5k challenge. Congratulations, hon - I'm so glad you decided to do this. This was my first challenge ever, lol, and I had too much fun with it! It's also officially my second fluff fic ever🤣 - do go easy on me, haha. The GIF in question is a part of the narrative itself, so I haven't put it here to keep the impact intact.
A shoutout to the lovely @bettystonewell for, first, encouraging me to join and hooking me on this, and second, to give it a read when I was freaking out about it - thank you! Also, many thanks to @ambiguous-avery and @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth for being my sounding boards.
Anyway - I'll stop yapping 😂😂. Good luck Hope you have fun!
{ Dean Winchester Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
Love At First Laugh.
Dean escaped death not two months ago. Had an entire surgery after the rebar impaled his back, three inches to the left, and it would've been his sternum. But it happened to be Dean's lung, and it rode him into the bed for one fucking month. Sam recommended exercise for faster recovery; Dean recommended his brother to kindly fuck off.
And, astonishingly, Sam did.
Three weeks ago, Sam went to check out a case two states over from the Bunker. Where he met a girl, and it became his last case.
Dean kept thinking his little brother would return, but then he got a call the previous night, and Sam told him that she might be the "one" – whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. Dean's shoulders had sagged as he congratulated Sammy on the keeper, and his heartbeat accelerated when Sam asked him to drive out and meet Leah himself.
Dean didn't floor the accelerator like he usually did on that drive. He was stalling.
His fingers drummed leisurely to the faint music on the steering wheel. Dean'd been dancing to his father's tune, in John's footsteps, for over four decades now. His rock bands were all he knew; he vaguely wondered what song Leah played. He wondered how his repetitive personality that ran around hunting, apocalypses, and monsters was supposed to gel with a civilian. She would probably judge Dean's borderline alcoholism, his psycho paranoia, and his broken trauma.
Dean would probably fling a knife across the room if the wind moved wrong, and it would break a treasured family photo. He'll be asked to leave, and then he'll only see Sam on the holidays. Maybe special occasions like when they had kids.
Jesus. What kind of uncle would he make?
He didn't know what to do with those creatures anymore if he wasn't just protecting them.
It was late evening when he pulled up into the quaint, sleepy town. He booked into a motel: he was invited for lunch the next day. Dean thought he could take the night for himself, hit a bar, maybe see what attracted Sammy to this slice of earth.
He found the town bar that was crowded because it was karaoke night, the Friday night. Regular patrons, several huddles of befriended couples, and the singles raised the roof to the Heavens. There was a long line to sing; didn't matter how embarrassing the performance was, everyone was nauseatingly supportive. Beer bottles clinked, pool triangles scattered, lively conversation sent Dean's head into a lonely tailspin; he was in the corner of the bar with an un-clink-able glass.
He watched the performances across the room, tuning everything else out. He hadn't touched a mic since he'd been a demon. Too many bad memories. He missed his voice though; pulsing through the speakers, feet thumping on the ground, heart pounding against his chest and the mediocre air conditioner trying to dry his sweaty hair.
He tried to savor his whiskey because he was supposed to slow down in life now, apparently, but he ended up chugging it like it was cheap beer. Linus, the bartender, replaced his drink – awed by how well Dean was holding his liquor. It was a skill, but it was useless in a life out of hunting.
Dean felt useless.
'Hello, Linus!' a chirpy voice chirped as a woman slid onto the stool next to Dean's.
Dean glanced in the direction out of habit. Pretty, he thought off-handedly. But he was going to the motel, hopefully drunk tonight.
'You're in town!' Linus exclaimed. It was the most excited Dean had seen the bartender all night. 'O-M-G, how are you?!'
You laughed a ridiculous laugh that made Dean's lip quirk up without his permission. It was a pretty laugh.
'I'm good! I see that diet's been working,' you beamed up at the man as he twirled happily. 'How's Katie? And the kids?'
'Katie got the promotion!' Linus told you. 'Tracy's gone to second-grade and Cinamon won the state-championship!'
You gasped animatedly. 'That's big, Li – congratulations! See? You were worried about nothing!' You turned to Dean as if you knew he'd overheard it all. 'I used to be the assistant football coach here,' you grinned, putting your chin on your hand and your elbow on the counter. 'I trained Cinamon for a brief period.'
Dean blinked in surprise. 'O-Oh?'
'Mm-hmm.' You glanced back at the bartender, 'Get me my usual, Linus? One for the mopey guy as well?'
Dean's eyebrow quirked at your presumptuous statement. 'Why am I mopey?' he frowned.
You swiveled in your seat and then leaned forward, invading his personal space. Dean stiffened when your brows scrunched, scrutinizing him up close. He couldn't help but notice the pull of your e/c eyes; it reminded him of someone pulling the burnt cover of a marshmallow for the gooey center. Then you smiled warmly at him like you could read his mind, and Dean had to blink out of his daze.
On second thought, he reflected, you were downright breathtaking in your simple sundress; bold choice for a bar.
'Hunters are usually mopey, Dean.' You winked like it was your little secret with him. He realised you'd been waiting for Linus to leave to say that.
Color drained from Dean's face, and appreciation drained from his mind.
'Who are you?' Razor sharp.
You smiled softly, unfazed. You raised a badge between your two fingers, and Dean glanced at it cautiously – it dawned on him a second later. His hand went to his pocket, and he found the bulge missing.
'That's my—'
'Fake badge, yes,' you said, placing it on the counter. 'Found it in the parking lot. I'm a hunter too,' you said as a way of explaining. ''S all good.'
Dean breathed out subtly. 'Thanks, uh—'
Linus came back with two tall glasses. Ice fought the water to freeze your favorite color into an aesthetic taste. Even had an umbrella on the top.
'It's named after me,' you gestured at the drink with a twinkle of your eye. 'The Y/N.'
'You come here a lot then?'
You chuckled. 'Not at all. Just grew up around here. Small town, eh? Everyone knows me here – although I wish they didn't always.'
'Must make hunting tough.'
'You don't say. I have, like, a bounty on my head in three different states,' you snorted. 'Does not bode well that an entire town knows my name and addresses.'
'You have a home here?'
'Two,' you answered.
He nodded. Both of you sipped on your drinks.
'Wow,' he muttered.
You smirked. 'Lots of champagne along with stuff I don't ask.' You tilted your head in a way that reminded Dean of his once best friend; his heart got tugged downward by weight when he recalled Castiel. 'It's supposed to cheer people up. Like me,' you snorted like it was a joke.
'It's nice.'
He was awkward to say anything else. Today didn't feel like a good day for anything.
You leaned towards him again, so your shoulders touched. It caught his attention, and among other things, he noticed your arresting eyes again. He could recognize the sort of intense happiness they shed.
'I'm no bartender,' you began. 'But you can tell me if something's bothering you.'
He couldn't. It was too mundane. Irrelevant. Like him.
'Nothing,' he said. Took him a heartbeat to shrug it off. 'Are you here on a hunt? Or just to visit your home?'
'The latter. You?'
His home was the Bunker. But then, so was Sammy. 'Just passin',' he lied.
'You know I'm a little mad at you,' you said after a hum of acceptance.
You straightened up as Dean's brows engaged.
'What'd I do?'
'What didn't you?' you giggled. 'You, sir, have a national criminal record!'
That, he wasn't expecting. 'You're mad at me for having a hefty criminal record?'
'Uh, yeah!' you scoffed. 'Do you know how cool that is? I mean, you kidnapped the President for God's sakes!'
Dean's eyes darted out to check if anyone overheard. 'We got into real trouble for that,' Dean said, voice low. He still shuddered about that federal imprisonment that Billie had to help them get out of. Then something occurred to him like the sharp pain of a paper cut. 'Wait . . . do you know my last name?'
You blinked at him. 'Yes,' you chuckled lightly then. 'Winchester! Dean Winchester: the man, the myth, the legend! Emphasis on the legend. I honestly didn't think one person could die so many times. Again – cool!'
Dean was starting to get irritated by your misuse of the word "cool". 'My name wasn't on my badge,' he said, giving his voice that edge again. 'Who told you? Are you working for someone?'
'Whoa!' You raised your hands. 'Calm down, man. No such thing. I just ran the police database for your picture before I realised it was a fake badge. I didn't want an FBI agent to catch me. Then, found out it's you and thought I'd come over and say "thanks".'
'For what?'
You snorted like he'd just cracked a hilarious joke. 'Saving the world?' you jogged his memory. 'Personally handling a bunch of apocalypses? I mean . . . don't we all owe you tons of gratitude?'
Dean's mood swung to another extreme. 'That's, uh, not necessary,' he said. He decided he was embarrassed with pink ears.
'Are you kidding?' you stamped his shoulder, startling him. He barely resisted retaliating with his hunter instincts. 'I've read Edlund's books, dude – it just fueled my idea that you were a myth – but if all that's true—'
Dean sighed. 'It is.'
'No way!' you gasped haltingly. 'I'm, like, a super fan!'
And just like that, the last chance of having a nice night was ruined. He never should've left that damn motel.
Dean pulled swigs of his bubbly drink while you finished getting breathless about him.
'Sorry,' your laughter tapered. 'I shouldn't be a Becky.'
Dean's lips came close to twitching.
'Linus!' you said with grandeur as you stood up. 'Put the gentleman's tab on mine!'
You got a thumbs-up in return, but Dean tensed.
'You don't need to—'
You surprised him by placing a gentle finger to his lips, and your face was close to his again. Standing up, you were more to his height. You smiled softly, and he couldn't help if his eyes flit down at the pink-petaled shade; the glisten made it seem all the more inviting.
'I know when I'm not wanted,' you said. Dean felt both relieved and disappointed. 'Doesn't mean you can't have a good night.' You lowered your hand: disappointment grew. 'Your life couldn't have been easy,' you admitted. 'I laugh like I'm high all the time,' you chuckled on cue, ''s a coping mechanism. Can't be broody like you, can I?' you teased. 'Mopey looks sexy on one of us. That ain't me.' Before he could fully register the compliment, you smiled sadly – and Dean realized what you meant: after seeing and hearing you laugh so well, sad was just too upsetting on you. 'Ciao, handsome,' you perked up again. 'Hope the open bar cheers you up at least one night!' You seemed to mean that – like you sincerely wanted him to be happy.
While you walked out, Dean was still trying to come up with something to say.
Dean didn't stay till close-up. He still wasn't drunk, and he'd hate to abuse your kindness too much. The cigarette-less smell of the night was nippy still. He wasn't looking forward to scratchy comforters and broken heat.
'Oh, fuck!'
A short shout set him on high alert. Hand on gun, but he heard no signs of struggle. A small walk took him a few cars down.
'Linus?'
He turned with a phone in hand. Tears on his face. Held a finger up.
Dean let go of his gun.
The other man sniffled as he finished his conversation. Dean hesitated on leaving - how cold-hearted would he be considered?
'My grandmother just died,' the man sobbed, hanging up.
Oo-kay, very cold-hearted if Dean left. He ignored the dull prickle of his chest that to normal people felt like a sucker-punch when they heard of deaths.
'Sorry to hear that,' he said. He wished Sam were here. Dean would gladly opt out of this talk. 'Anything I can, uh, do?'
'Actually,' he cleared his voice of cracks. 'Can you get this file to this address?' He slipped a file off the hood of his car. It had a plain paper pinned to it. 'I need to go to the hospital but I was supposed to meet a client.'
'Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever you need,' he guessed.
Linus ignored Dean's "take care" and drove off. Dean sighed forlornly and set out.
He knocked on the right address. A vaguely familiar voice yelled for him to wait. When the door swung in, words died in his throat.
'Dean!'
'Uh, hey.' He didn't fail to notice your comfy shorts that were nearly swallowed by your oversized Scooby-Doo hoodie. His lip quirked up in a corner. 'I have Linus' file?' He forced himself to meet your eyes.
They had an unreadable emotion in it. 'Yeah. I found out.' You extended a hand for the file. 'Linus is selling the bar. This is its deed.'
'I thought you were a hunter.'
'I am. But I promised myself I'd leave the day I find a good reason.'
'What's stopping you?' he couldn't curb his curiosity. He was looking for a reason, too.
'Honestly?' you snorted. 'I'll tell you when I find out.'
He pressed his lips and accepted it.
'Do you want to join me for dinner?' you asked, popping a hip and placing a hand on it. 'I was just about to have some.'
Dean was reluctant, but his stomach rumbled its consent. Dean blushed a little.
'Didn't eat before drinking, did you?' you teased. 'Come on in! I make extra almost accidentally.'
Bit his lip, but caved for some reason he couldn't fathom. Stepping over the threshold was like entering a new world.
Fairie lights were strung across the walls that gave your home a golden warmth. Your furniture was in soft colours and with softer curves. It smelled like a bakery, if he was honest. He followed the smell (and you) into the kitchen. He was downright delighted to see a platter of apple-cinnamon buns.
'Wow.'
You hummed. 'Help yourself. I got gyozas popped in and spaghetti's about done.'
Dean's face had lit up. 'You did all this for a regular night?'
'Cooking calms me,' you smiled. 'So does company,' you smirked at Dean. 'Get neither of them often, though.' You opened the fridge. 'Do you want beer to go with it all?'
'Okay, when this is over, I might not leave.'
You laughed that ridiculous laugh that tickled Dean's gut, too. You guided him to the plates, and he had a weird fluttering feeling in his chest as he helped you to the couch with all the food.
'I'll give the rest to Linus' family tomorrow,' you told him without asking. Like an old friend.
He hummed. You'd made enough that you'd have leftovers even after second servings (or third, if Dean was allowed to gander).
'What do you want to watch, Dean?'
You startled him yet again. 'Uh, don't you want to choose?'
You shrugged. 'I'm not picky.'
'Still. You've already done so much for me . . . '
'I wish I could say it was for you,' you teased. 'Would be a nice line - but all hunters are welcome in my home, sweetheart. Don't be shy, I love hosting people!'
He liked that you called him a "sweetheart".
You had subscriptions, much to his excitement, and he requested a few Western movies. You played them gladly, and much to his happy surprise, you joined in on the commentary.
Eventually, the long drive, luxurious couch, the wholesome dinner, and surprisingly homely company conked Dean right out. You shrouded him in one of your blankets and went to clean the kitchen.
Dean woke up a few minutes later to a dimmer room and to the sounds of the sink. A guilty stab made him drag away from the carpet and onto the cold tiles. You were twerking a bit on the soundtrack of "Heat Of The Moment" - Dean hadn't heard it since Sammy banned it; it made him grin like a little shit.
'Why didn't you wake me?' he rubbed his eye, voice ridden with gruffness. 'I could've helped.'
'Oh, but you looked so cute all relaxed!'
He didn't know how to react to that.
His amusement faded while you were wiping your hands on a cloth, just about done.
Something compelled him towards you. You turned to his chest, puzzled because there was barely a foot of distance left. He stared you down, like he was trying to whittle you down to your core.
'Why are you being so nice to me?'
You smiled so widely that your nose scrunched. Dean wanted to touch it because it was so beautiful.
'Has no one ever been nice to you?' Rhetoric.
'Not like this,' he answered anyway. 'I mean, you paid for my drinks, we had dinner. If I didn't know any better, you're tricking me into a date.'
Your laugh rose like the crescendo of windchimes, even if he hadn't said anything too funny. He was starting to believe that laughing just came naturally to you. It was infectious in the way his lips turned up. You raised a hand to his shoulder as if to support yourself against the stitch in your side.
'Ah, sometimes I wish I were that conniving,' you wagged your brows at him, with a face-splitting grin. 'But I'm just a charitable woman, Dean.'
His brows furrowed. 'So I'm a charity now?'
'More like a cause,' you teased. 'Like, the cause of why so many people wake up in the morning.'
Smooth, Dean thought. He couldn't seem to decide whether he should take offence to your words, or get down on his knees and worship you for them.
'You're deflecting,' he chose to say.
You took a beat to look away, and then when your eyes found his again, they were more deliberate. 'I don't think my niceness is a problem here, Dean,' you said. 'I'm nice to everyone. The fact that I admire your invisible strengths and that I think you're scorchingly hot has nothing to do with my hospitality.'
Dean was glad for the natural dimness of your kitchen. It gave you two a romantic setting, but mostly, it gave him the darkness to hide how your words touched him - coated his cheeks in a fierce red.
'Well, I . . . I don't know what I could do for you.'
You smiled softly at him - and maybe the moon had changed the angle in the few milliseconds because when it touched on that smile, Dean could've sworn you lit up. His heart skipped a beat, and he was seeing you in a literal new light. His eyes dipped to your lips, and he got the incessant urge to taste them.
'My mom was a hunter,' you told him, bringing his eyes up again. 'My dad dedicated his life to an NGO. They were killed in a car accident. My aunt got me.' You shrugged. 'Gave me an option: I can stay at school or learn to hunt. I chose hunting. Decided I would leave the day I'd get someone to root around for, you know?'
Dean hummed in understanding.
'I've been prepping ever since. Paid off this house - my parents'. Had to do a few odd jobs for this one,' you gestured around you, fond smile on your face like you were proud of it. 'Got my aunt's house - it's a few streets away.'
'You paid for that, too?'
You ducked your head sheepishly. 'Okay, my mother comes from a rich family. My spinster aunt inherited most of the estate. My mom and dad liked the low-key life they had going. Aunty Moira offered to pay for this house after them, but I wanted something of my own . . . She passed away last year. I got a lot of money, the second house, and no one to squander it on.'
'Oh.'
'She had cancer,' you said, matter-of-factly. Your deep breath was telling of the emotions you were waiving, however. 'Anyway. You listened.'
He arched a quizzical brow.
You chuckled. 'This evens us,' you explained. 'You didn't know what you could do for me?' you referred. 'You listened,' you shrugged. 'It's a form of favour.'
Silence flooded in.
Dean took your hand in solidarity, charging the air with electricity. He deeply searched your face, inching closer like he was drawn to you. Your smile dulled like it was about to be the background of something more special. Time seemed to crawl to a stop when you two finally met at the lips. Short-circuit stuttered his heart, and he was afraid to breathe out lest you dissolve into the air with it.
Then he felt your fingers caressing his five o'clock shadow, and he couldn't wait to move. His hands found your waist, and he held you against him when your toes tipped up. He could feel your warmth through the layers, and he wanted to get closer, like Icarus when he tried to touch the sun.
Your tongue swiped his mouth for permission. He let you in with a moan, and he lifted you into the air with ease, gripping your thighs that wrapped around him securely. He was able to pull you closer, moulding you to him without much trouble. His fingers carded your hair, and you shivered.
You pulled away for a beat, forehead against his. 'Do you, uh, want to take this to the bedroom?'
'Is this one of the favours?' he teased, but there ran an undercurrent of genuineness as if he was making sure it was something you wanted.
He'd earned your laugh. Dean wondered if he could have sole proprietorship of it.
'Not a favour but maybe I am shrewd - maybe the date just went really well,' you winked, before dissolving into chuckles.
Dean slammed his lips against yours in a mouthwatering kiss and led you to the adjacent room.
Dean woke up alone. The shades were parted to let a sliver of sunlight in. He didn't hear the shower running or any utensils clanking. The house was dead silent. His hunter instincts were chided by the note you left for him next to a glass of water. It said:
Mornin', handsome. A tall glass of water for this tall glass of water 😘.
Had some errands to run and food to distribute. Make yourself at home if you decide to stay - I'll see you tonight. If not, I'll see you at the next apocalypse, lol.
P.S.: No wonder your criminal record is as long as a mummy's bandages – could bounce a quarter off that ass 🙄.
A laugh burst out of Dean. He didn't remember last when he'd done that first thing in the morning. Hell, he didn't even remember the last time he'd felt as well-rested.
'This girl,' he shook his head.
But his throat tightened a bit as he realised he might not be returning to the best night of his life.
He folded the note and saved it in his pocket. He decided to shower back at the motel because he didn't have a change of clothes on him. He dressed and walked down to what seemed like a deluxe continental breakfast: buns from last night, pancakes, bacon, toast, juice, and fruit. He questioned why he ever had to leave. There was another note - without any shenanigans here - that said he could take the leftovers with him, if he wanted.
Digging into the delicious treats, he mulled over your handwriting - even that was nice, your drawn emojis on paper impeccable.
He couldn't remember when anyone had felt so right.
He picked up a peach cobbler on his way and knocked on the right address, three minutes before his arrival time. A familiar feminine voice told him to wait, and Dean had a sense of déjà vû. Before he could think about it, the door swung in.
And Dean's world tilted.
'Dean!' Sam beamed.
He was standing with an arm around . . . you.
'Hi!' you waved enthusiastically. 'It's so nice to finally meet you! Please, come on in!'
Dean was paralysed by shock. Numbly, he managed to move in.
Sam took the cobbler from his hands. 'You okay, man?' Sam perceptively asked.
It slammed Dean back into reality. Guilt coiled low in his belly and made him nauseous.
'Sorry, it's all a mess,' you waved around the house. 'Sweetheart, can you check if the potatoes are done?'
Dean blanched at the very nickname you'd used on him last night, while Sam responded instantly and left the room.
'Would you like to sit, Dean?' you politely asked. 'Some water? Or beer. Sam says you have a taste for it.'
'What the fuck are you doing?' he hissed without Sam in the earshot.
You reeled back with wide eyes. 'Is, uh, everything okay?'
'Did you orchestrate this?' he spat. 'Is this some twisted fangirl scenario of yours? What the fuck is wrong with you? I trusted you! All that nice and sweet girl crap – was it all just some game to you?'
'Okay,' you crossed your arms, 'I don't know what you're going through, but I don't appreciate the tone!'
'Hey, babe, I forgot the–' Sam paused on his way back in, glancing between the sort of standoff his brother and girlfriend had come to. 'Is something wrong?'
Dean met your eyes with an icy warning. Sam worried because it was the same look his brother gave to monsters. 'Are you going to tell him, or should I?'
'Can you tell me?' you asked, bewildered.
But Dean didn't buy it. Not anymore.
His shoulders set back. 'She slept with me last night, Sam.'
'What?!'
Sam's lips parted in silent confusion.
You scoffed. 'I don't know why you're lying, Mr Winchester, but you cannot walk into my home and blot my character with false accusations! Last night, I pulled an extra shift at the hospital! I even cancelled my plans with—Ohhhhh!' your voice went down just as quickly as it had risen. 'Oh, my God,' you suddenly laughed, different than last night, turning to Sam. 'Do you remember who else is joining us for lunch?'
It dawned on Sam, and instantly a smile broke on his face. He laughed with you.
'Will someone explain to me what the fuck's going on?' Dean snapped, irritated beyond belief. You had the audacity—
The bell rang.
You were still laughing when you went for the door. Sam shot his brother an apologetic look that also seemed way too amused.
'Dean, Leah has a twin sister,' Sam supplied.
Dean's face fell in horror. He turned in time for the door to open, and the real you's voice flooded in.
'Oh, my God, Lee! You won't believe who I met in the bar last night after you cancelled on me–' You stopped dead in your tracks, a disbelieving laugh left you. 'Uh, Dean?'
Dean's soul had left his body.
Sam thumped his brother's back in solemnity. Sam was enjoying his brother's embarrassment too much.
'He thought I was you,' chuckled Leah.
Dean was struck that there wasn't a physical difference in your appearances, but in the way you two laughed. Leah's was a bit less ridiculous, like she wasn't trying to infect others with it, merely just a part of the crowd - or so it seemed to Dean.
You snorted, hand on mouth. 'Oh, my, I missed that?'
There was the eye roll only you seemed to elicit from Dean.
Sam grinned. 'I'm Sam, by the way.'
'Winchester, apparently!' you shook his hand. 'Why didn't you tell me your boyfriend was a hunter, hon?' you asked your twin.
Leah's eyes widened. So did Sam's.
'You are a hunter?!'
'Oops,' you bit your lip, turning with a bemused look towards Dean, who was both shocked and relieved that Leah didn't tear him a new one for jumping to conclusions.
'How do you know about hunters?' Sam countered.
'I am one,' you raised your hand.
Leah laughed. 'I thought you were a civilian.'
'Oh, honey, he's a legend,' you told her. 'You know those two brothers I told you about?'
'From your books?'
'You know about the books?' Sam groaned.
A smile threatened to break on Dean's face.
'Do you guys smell that?' you piped up.
'Oh, fuck! My potatoes!' Sam bolted like his ass was on fire.
Leah shared an identical grin with you and a superior communication than the one Sam and Dean had, passed between the two of you. Leah followed Sammy outside.
'Can't believe you called my sister a whore,' you giggled.
'I didn't say whore!' he said defensively.
You laughed, raising your hands. 'Sorry. I could only guess so much.'
'You two look freakishly alike!' Dean said, internally beating himself up for not being able to tell you two apart.
'Oh, that's for my benefit,' you shrugged. 'We cut our hair the same, wear similar clothes, and even try to keep nearly the same body weight – gives me an escape when the police comes a'knocking. We've learned not to talk about the other to protect ourselves. Sorry about the confusion.' You didn't seem sorry at all.
'That's . . . actually kinda neat.'
'So.' Meaningful pause. 'I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, hmm?' Your eyes swept over him in a flirty gaze.
'Guess so.'
Timestamp: In A Sentence.
A/N: Might make this into a series some day 👀. Thoughts?
P.S.: Thanks to @mellowyellowdaydream for the gyozas idea, haha - anyone who knows, knows I suck at coming up with varied cuisine, lol.
Blurb: In a sentence, life changes. And in this story, your life with Dean changes for the best.
(Continuation of Love At First Laugh after a bit of a time skip, but can be read as a standalone.)
Tags/Trigger Warnings: fluff, pregnancy reveal, Dean Winchester's retired and happy 🙃, language. This one's really mellow and silly in a sweet way, lol ❤
Word Count: 1.9K (I wrote 19K on accident before - I'm sick and sleepy, lol, forgive me 😭🤣.)
A/N: Hello, my lovelies! So this is my entry for Sorry's Fallish Fluff-fest ( @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth ). Thank you, H, for creating this challenge - it was a hoot and a half (like you 😘🙃). Hope you like what I've gotten here.
I selected a hat trick of prompts. The first one's the beautiful moodboard you see above that she made, titled "Snowed in". Next is the trope of "Cozy Cuddles". And last is the quote: "You have one new message". Also, chose the cute divider that you'll see in the story.
Hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it!
{ Dean Winchester Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
In A Sentence.
You have one new message. That's how it started.
Well, actually, it might've started two months ago when Dean said he wanted to try with you.
It has been a year and a half since you met Dean Winchester at your town's bar. The bar that you two currently own. The business has been booming lately. So has your marriage with Dean.
The eternal bachelor threw his hat into the marriage ring half a year after meeting you. He retired from hunting since he fell head over heels for you. The retirement was a joint wedding gift you two gave one another. Now, you two only hunt when someone claims the friends and family discount. Like this one you just finished.
It left you two stranded in the snowy outskirts of a town far from home, though. At least Dean's friend and father figure, Bobby, left him a lovely cottage in that area. You two were able to reach it before the weather snowed you in. Thankfully, there is running electricity and water, along with a stockpile of wood to ignite the fire.
The window collects ice as you two get the quaint house running. It's fascinating how the forces of nature work, sealing the humans in their homes and reclaiming their world. The innocent bloodthirst of the environment is sometimes enthralling - how it doesn't discriminate between the people it may or may not take the lives of.
No wonder your man is worried about supplies and the wheezing heater. You're a little worried about that, too, but you're not really the type of person to take things to heart, or someone who jumps to conclusions. Dean's the cynic of the relationship; one can watch the man win Olympic medals in worrying when it comes to his family.
Bless his heart, he tries to hide it, too, but the divots in his brows and the pouts on his face just make it so obvious.
'Relax, sweetheart,' you'd assured Dean with a teasing smile. 'We'll be out of here in no time.' And you'd booped his frosty nose with your icy finger.
He tried his best to believe you with a roll of his eyes and a fond smile. Took your hand in his gloved ones and rubbed them for a minute.
And you would have consoled him more if you weren't busy catching up on your messages after surveying the weapons you two have got. While you listen to your twin sister, Dean is busy adding warm water to cup noodles.
'Hey, sweetie! Hope the hunt went well,' Leah says in it. 'Your results came back. As your doctor, I shouldn't be telling you on the phone, but DAMMIT! I'm going to be an Aunt!'
She squeals so loud in the end that you nearly drop your phone. Well, your hands have also started trembling a little, so that might be a factor. Or it's the cold - but all you know is that your insides are shivering and chattering.
'It's TWINS, Y/N/N!' she screams in your ears. 'Call me back the SECOND you get this!!'
You want to, but there's no signal.
You keep the phone down slowly so it doesn't slip out of your hands like a bar of soap during a shower. You're built into a pile of sleeping bags and blankets that Dean burrowed you into, right in front of the fireplace, while he insists he needs to do an inventory of the food and water supply.
But none of it matters anymore.
A soft laugh leaves you - the one Dean finds both ridiculous and ridiculously attractive. You look up to the Heavens - sending a quick thanks to Jack.
Your hand has found your belly to caress it gently as if you're already afraid of the delicate lives growing there. Your hands slip under your t-shirt at one point, and tears of joy gather in your eyes.
You can't believe it.
You're pregnant. With the man of your dreams.
'Hey,' Dean says. He blows out a breath of relief as he slides under the mountain he's made, nestling deeper into your side. He drops a kiss to the edge of your head, and you melt into him. 'Okay, we have supplies for the next two days,' he relays. 'I'm so glad we stopped at that diner last night. Saved us some grub for today.'
'Mm-hmm,' you are only able to hum.
'Dinner will be ready in five minutes.'
You blink your eyes and try to focus on his words, but you're a little dizzy with incredible shock and paralyzing happiness.
You officially have everything you wanted since you were a little girl.
'Sweetheart?' Dean chimes, his nose nuzzling into your neck. 'You good?'
'Yeah,' you whisper. When your eyes meet his inquisitive ones, you're able to giggle out of sheer overwhelm.
His expression wavers between amusement and worry. 'What's the joke?'
'Just . . .' You shake your head. 'I'm enjoying myself.'
The small grin kicks up on his face until his chuckles join your ongoing laughter.
He didn't use to laugh as much, but he does these days, especially with you giggling for no goddamn reason all the time. It's pathetic how infectious your laughter is to him, or how it lights up his face, or how his heart beats just a little bit faster every time he hears it.
When he asked you to marry him, he vowed to protect your smiles, amongst other things. Hell, he's pretty sure it was one of the reasons he fell so hard. That, and how you kept him on his damn toes all the time. The day he could predict you, the sun would've risen from the west.
You had missed your period this month, which is why you'd gone to your sister for a check-up. You hadn't told Dean not to get his hopes up, especially since morning sickness or any other signs haven't cropped up yet either. And now that you know for sure, you know exactly how you want to tell him.
It took you the whole of dinner to set it up in your mind.
'Do you want to cuddle with me?' you ask once you carefully lower yourself into the sleeping bags.
Dean decided that sleeping near the fire is best for the night until he takes a look at that heater in the morning.
Dean smiles, setting the last of the dried utensils back on the shelves.
'Always,' Dean chirps. 'Should I bring the laptop? We could continue Lord of the Rings.'
You bite your lip in all mischief. 'Can we play games instead?'
'What games?' he questions, walking over.
'You know, truth or dare. Never Have I Ever,' you suggest.
He chuckles, sidling up to you. 'We're not in middle school anymore.'
'Aw, please,' you beg. 'I want to do something silly!'
'Can't I just pretend to lose in poker again?' he bargained over a whine.
'Please!' You bat your eyelashes at him, and he's pretty much gone there.
He sighs, long-suffering: 'Fine.'
'Yes!' you exclaim, throwing your arms around him and tackling him with your body weight into the fluffy nest Dean'd made on the floor - the mama bear had all the nesting qualities during the hibernation season. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you!' and each of those is accompanied by kisses all over his face.
He laughs his full-body laugh, shaking under you as he holds you steady by your waist. 'You're a menace.'
You can be extremely enthusiastic, like a five-year-old hopped up on ten ice-creams. And he can't even be mad. He gets this permanent, and at this point, signature smirk when he's in your presence. A symbol of his love, if you will.
'I take pride in that!'
You make your husband turn on his tummy, half your body propped over his. You are basking in the fact that your babies are essentially between the two of you. His head is on his crossed hands, and he loves your weight on him. Your legs tangled with his, arms running up and down his sides. Your chin perched on his shoulder, and your lips next to his ear.
'Cozy?' you ask, warm breath fanning his cheek.
He turns his head so his lips are closer to yours. He leans forward, and you catch the hint, meeting him halfway for a slow, sweet kiss. When he parts, his eyes meet yours.
You know that look. It always comes with a—
'I love you.'
Right on time.
You grin. 'Love you, too, sweetheart,' and you share an Eskimo kiss with him.
Under your poker mask, you're resisting the urge to fan yourself. You wonder if he can feel your heart pounding - you can feel the pulse everywhere: in your nerves, in your head, in your stomach.
'Okay. Here are the rules,' you mumble, almost unable to deliver this without breaking character. 'I'm gonna write some letters on your back, and you've gotta tell me what the sentence is.'
His brows crunch. 'That's amateur.'
'Oh, trust me,' you winked. 'You're gonna love it!'
He huffs. 'Alright. And what do I get if I win?' he wagged his brows at you with a small challenging smile.
You smirk as if he has walked right into your trap. 'You'll see,' you say enigmatically.
'Okay, but for the record, I'm hoping there's some adult games involved,' he side-eyes you.
'Dean!' you laugh, slapping his back lightly. 'Would you let me begin?!'
He consents after another peck of bribery, and you blow a nervous breath.
This is it.
You firmly trace the first word.
'V?'
'Try again,' you said, making the letter again.
'Y?'
'Yep.'
'O?'
'Uh huh.'
'U.'
'Going good!' you kiss his ear.
'You . . . A?'
You draw the next alphabet.
'P?'
'No.'
'R? Is that YOU ARE?'
'Yep. Next word.'
'A. Okay, YOU ARE A?'
'Yeah. Last word, okay?'
'Keep going,' he mutters, face invested despite his earlier disinterest.
'P?'
'No.'
'R?'
'No,' you chuckle. 'Try again.'
'F!'
'Yes!'
His eyes narrow on you. 'This is not going to be a creative way to call me a "Fucker", is it?'
'No!' you guffaw. 'Just let me finish!'
'Just sayin', I'm good at that,' he reflects with a self-assured smirk.
You giggle, 'Yes, you are. It's not that, though!'
Technically, it was kinda that. Same wheelhouse.
You make the lines, flushed and very close to bursting.
'A . . . T? Fat? Really?' he scoffs, almost turning to look at you incredulously. 'You told me you like my curves!'
He blamed you for rounding his edges with your food.
'No! I mean, yes, I do like them. But there's more.' A snicker is violently ripped from you - in all the times you imagined it, you never saw him guessing that. 'Let me complete the word!'
'Okay . . . A?'
'Nope.'
You write it again.
And then . . . you can whittle the moment down to its millisecond when it dawns on him. His playfulness drains as fragile hope creeps in.
'. . . H?' is a whisper.
'Can you guess?' you querry in just as low a voice.
He pushes himself up, and you follow suit. He kneels before you, while his hands find your face, cupping both your cheeks, and peering into your eyes with disbelief.
'Are you serious?' he asks, a crack in his voice.
You nod into his palms, rising to your knees as well, taking his wrists in yours and pecking his palms in the middle of a laugh.
A laugh chokes out of him, too, when he sees your eyes water and spill over.
'We're going to be parents!' you exclaim.
'Fuck, I'm going to be a Dad?!'
You cry-laugh. 'Of twins!'
They run in your family.
His face contorts into glee that looks almost painful.
He smashes his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss that's interspersed with incredulous and incredible bouts of laughter.
(It does lead to the adult games.)
A/N: What'd you think about her style of reveal 😂❤️? That's how I want to do it - love that silly game, lol. Would you like to see more of these two 👀?
Word Count: 5.7K (I tried my best to shave it down to 5K without removing the point of the story, and this is as far as the story and I were able to negotiate😅🥲)
Blurb: One day, Dean is an eligible bachelor. The next day, he is married with a kid. Christmas can work in mysterious ways, but how wonderfully miraculous is it actually?
Tags/Warnings: fluff, romance, hints of crack, angst, case fic, happy endings, magical hilarity (time loop), exs-to-lovers, established relationship (accidental marriage), miscommunication, yearning, confessions, babies, humour, language, ridiculous romcom scenario (I think 😂). Overall chaos, lol.
A/N: So, we had a Secret Santa going for our Tumblr's group of friends, and for it, I got @bettystonewell . This is for one of the most gorgeous and incredible friends I've ever had ❤️. Merry Christmas, lovely! Hope you like it 😘.
(And yes, I felt that gif is appropriate for what's about to come 🤣🤣 - I'm not sorry 😋😗)
Lastly, thank you to @mellowyellowdaydream for forwarding the dividers and to @saradika-graphics for making them (they're all so beautiful 😍❤️!). A special thanks to @ambiguous-avery for being my soundboard for this story from start to finish 🥹😘 - appreciate it so much, lovely. Also, a huge shoutout to you for hosting this Secret Santa in the first place - I bow to your organisational skills, haha ❤️. Here's to my first Christmas, and hopefully many more with y'all 🥰💘
{ Dean Winchester Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
Meet Me Under The Mistletoe.
You don't think you were meant to hear it; otherwise, he wouldn't have said it when he thought you were away, taking care of your ungrateful sister, who had an innocent baby boy recently. You were back early because you couldn't stand the idea of wasting a Christmas with them, even for the lovely little boy.
Sure . . . you were just mad because of how they treated you. It wasn't new, but it stung all the same every time you heard the regular slurs: fat, unmarried, high-school dropout.
They didn't know you hunted, and they didn't believe you could keep a handsome man like Dean when you'd sent them a photo of his. It didn't help that Dean opted to stay behind this time because he didn't want to intrude on a "family moment" the first time he was meeting them. While that was a valid reason, you'd been "dating" the man for almost a year by this Christmas, and you hadn't even labelled it yet . . .
Some part of you knew you were being petulant with your expectations - what Dean didn't say, he showed in his actions. In the way that he made coffee on the days he woke up before you, or regularly tuned up your car, or how he remembered the smallest details about you, or how he would sleep nearest to the door.
And you were willing to convince yourself that those things screamed love until you accidentally overheard him talking to Sam about you.
'. . . dating her, right?' Sam had asked. You heard a cup being put on the library table and the scrape of a chair.
You pressed up against the wall - your surprise of early arrival could wait a moment longer. After all, how many times will you get to hear about yourself from Dean Winchester himself?
'Sammy, it's just convenient. It doesn't mean anything.'
You stilled, unable to believe your ears.
'Oh, yeah?' Sam said, sounding amused. 'So, you don't like her at all?'
'Dude, she fugly,' Dean scoffed. 'And she's so damn attention-seeking! Sometimes . . . I just pretend I need to take a piss so she'd stop talking.'
Your face boiled with shame and rimmed your eyes with tears.
'Then, why don't you break up with her?'
'I don't know,' Dean sighed. 'She's part of the team . . . Maybe if someone better comes along, I can slowly edge her out, you know? Maybe she'll find someone better, too. Just . . . somewhere else.'
You'd heard enough. Sam was saying something else with a chuckle, but you wouldn't be able to breathe if you stayed there a second longer.
You fled the crime scene where your heart lay in pieces, murdered callously by the Dean fucking Winchester. You made only one stop at your door, where all your important trinkets were, and you left without a goodbye.
Broke up with him over text and blocked him later. Didn't think you would ever see him again.
Until a year later. When Vegas happened.
Dean had been going through a bit of a selective dry spell. It was why he was in Vegas.
Well, that, and he couldn't stand Christmas in the Bunker.
Not since you ruined it for him.
It was your favourite holiday. So when you moved in four years ago, every Christmas, he would wake to the alluring waft of cookies in the air - an aroma he would float on like in the cartoons, right to the Christmas tree you'd set the cookies in front of. It was a ceiling-scrapping tree, too, that craddled festive decorations in its branches and sprouted gifts at its roots overnight. The cookies were a bribe for the brothers to be in a good mood for the rest of the week.
And you made the week so fucking perfect, too. With your elaborate, delicious meals, and cakes, and fudges - it was worth all the Christmas cleaning you made the brothers do for weeks in preparation.
The fairie lights on the walls made him feel almost human, too; not a lonely soldier who was denied celebrations. He could drink as many cups of eggnogs as he pleased and snuggle with you under one blanket on his favourite armchair in the Dean cave while Sam fanned out on the couch, often falling asleep when his biological clock struck him down early, which led Dean and you to whisper away into the night like two silly idiots in love.
But neither of you realised your feelings until much later - when the best part about Christmas came - two years ago precisely: when his lips met yours under a mistletoe. His New Year's resolution that year might've been to marry you . . .
And like all resolutions, it fell apart when you left.
Broke up with him in a text without an explanation. And when he showed up at your sister's door like a dog looking for their owner, he was first met with shock (they couldn't believe he was your ex), and then he was flirted with (by your married sister and widowed mother), who were utterly unhelpful in telling him where you'd gone. They didn't seem to care either when he said something might have happened to you.
So imagine his surprise when his self-imposed celibacy was broken by the woman who broke his heart. A year later, in Vegas, on Christmas again.
It was upon seeing you at a casino that he realised that you were completely fine. You hadn't been kidnapped or killed - you just didn't give a fuck about him anymore.
And that had stung.
When you both saw each other across the room, a game began. Neither of you wanted to leave the first because that would show that the first one to leave still cared.
So both of you stayed.
Therefore, both of you drank.
Annnnnd . . . Fifteen hours later.
'Oh, fuck,' Dean groaned, holding his head.
You moaned your protest when Dean rolled your naked body off his numb arm, gently depositing you back into the fluffy bed.
His head was pounding more than his heart was, but he had enough clarity to know that he didn't want to leave. He was torn between that and swallowing an Aspirin raw only to curl into your side like a loyal pet until you kicked him to the curb again.
Why wouldn't you?
A part of him could already hear the "This was a mistake" in your voice.
He wondered if having his heart shattered would be worth the few seconds he could hold you again. Or if he could pretend that he was asleep, maybe you would sneak out on him, and that would hurt less than knowing he was your biggest regret.
He was still deciding when nature made the call for him. Literally.
His bladder talked him into leaving the warm bed. He stumbled on his way, pulling on his boxers before shutting the bathroom door behind him and washing his face with ice-cold water on this winter morning. He hoped it would jar some sense back into him.
Sleeping with his ex? What the fuck had he been thinking?
But, God, you'd smelled so good.
He hadn't smelled that perfume in a fucking year, mixed with the smell of snickerdoodles and pine trees - his personal miracle. As if that wasn't torture enough, you'd worn that tight-fitted sweater and pretty skirt that were lying on the motel room floor right now.
If the soreness in his body was anything to go by, he knew he'd had a good night.
Too fucking bad I can't remember it . . .
'Dammit,' he mumbled to himself, moving to empty his tank.
How he wished he could remember, though.
Last time he'd slept with you, he hadn't bothered to. He didn't think he had needed to. Because he hadn't known it would be his last time back then . . .
He flushed, thinking maybe it would be best to leave. Not face you again at all. Just like you had left him nearly a year back - maybe that'll show her, some angry part of him argued.
He couldn't get himself to leave the bathroom without a game plan, though, so he started pacing. The chilled tiles of the floor distracted him from his pebbled nipples and the hammering headache.
No wiseness was coming to him, honestly. Then again, he'd only made three laps in the small cubicle. Maybe he could drink some water and pace some more before he could operate some heavy machinery like his brain.
He turned abruptly towards the door, bracing himself to see you sleeping like an angel, when something caught his eye in the mirror.
'What the hell?'
Brows creased and shoulders tensed, he slowly turned his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder. The words were reflected to him, looked all wrong from the mirror's point of view - but he could make it out just fine.
"JUST MARRIED".
What came out next was just a string of beeps in all the PG movies.
The sun was bothering you. Naturally, you tried swatting the sunbeams away.
The clock on the wall said it was three in the afternoon. You and Dean had slept around seven in the morning. Eight hours was like Disneyland for Dean - so it had helped him get over most of his hangover. You would still need five to six business hours and a grease-heavy meal to be okay with existing again.
Except, the rug had been pulled from under the older Winchester.
He rushed to the bed, shaking your shoulder. 'Y/N, you need to wake up!'
'Why?' you whine-sobbed, tightening your chokehold on a pillow. 'Why are you shouting?!'
To his credit, Dean wasn't. Eventhough he felt like he should be.
'You need to wake up!' he insisted. 'Do you remember what happened last night?'
'Absolutely,' you mumbled strategically: 'Now leave me alone.'
He called your name sternly again.
'Go away!' you groaned, pulling the sheet over your head. 'My head hurts.'
'Makes the two of us,' Dean huffed, prying the blanket away from your face. 'You need to talk to me! Do you remember anything from last night?'
You scoffed, still refusing to open your eyes but you got a divot in your brows.
'I ate a ring pop,' you mused after a thorough contemplation.
Dean's heart sank like an anvil.
So that's why his mouth tasted like cherry and apple: red and green ring pops. One for you and one for him.
'I can't believe our wedding rings were ring pops,' he said, genuinely astonished.
You giggled like he'd made the biggest joke of his life. 'No, silly. Why would we get married?'
Dean gave a beat for the wheels to turn in your head.
Then you shot up with your eyes as wide as saucers. Almost immediately, you regretted it. 'Ow! Ow! Ow!' Your shocked face went directly into your hands as you bent in half. 'Oh, God!'
'. . . Maybe we should have some coffee first.'
Medicines, caffeine, showers, and lots of water later . . .
Dean had a beer in his hand.
You were sitting on the motel room table now, wearing your favourite set of tank top and shrug with those cute shorts that you'd bought for your first date with Dean. You had a cold mug of coffee in front of you and your face buried in your hands; you said you were processing, but it had been five minutes, and it was giving Dean anxiety.
'We can, uh, always get divorced,' Dean cleared his throat where a painful lump had been trying to stop those words from coming out.
'Annuled,' you corrected, voice muffled.
'Right. We can head down to a—'
'Would you stop being so calm!?' you burst out, looking up from your "hiding" place. 'I know commitment means zip to you, Dean, but relationships mean something to me!'
Your words wrapped around him like barbed wire. He slammed the beer can down so some of it sloshed out.
'I'm not the one who bailed on us!' he sharply retorted. 'You're the one who broke up with me in a text!'
'Oh, I think I was doing you a favour,' you yelled. 'I'm sorry, I'm not a zero-waisted, tall blonde bimbo!'
Confusion distorted his rage. 'What are you even—?'
A sudden flash behind the closet made you both freeze.
'Did you see—?'
But Dean put a finger on his lips. With cheetah-like reflexes, he'd pulled his gun out and put the safety off. He gestured you to follow him to the slitted closet doors.
He nodded at you to open the door as he got his aim ready.
Three, he mouthed. Two . . . One!
The door flew open, and Dean's target was . . . Is that a one-year-old?
It came in a set of a car seat and a diaper bag, which just freaked both of you out more.
'Um,' you whispered, blinking rapidly. 'Did we kidnap a child last night?'
'What, no!' Dean's whisper denied. 'There was a white flash, so maybe it was a spe—'
A smack on his head jolted him, and his widened eyes found your contemplative ones. 'What the hell, dude?'
You sighed. 'I was checking if this was a nightmare.'
'Then pinch yourself!'
'I would've,' you said. 'But I really wanted to hit you, too.'
Dean's nostrils flared. You shrugged.
'Not a nightmare. Were you saying it's a spell?'
He had to take a moment to compose himself, which led his eyes to stray to something behind the second flap of the closet. He pulled the second door open, and there it was.
The blood symbol his grandfather had once taught him, the one Henry Winchester had used for chronokinesis, branded into the cheap wood of the back of the closet. The blood sigil connected the traveller, in this case, the child, to its relatives in the past or present . . .
Dean abruptly knelt down.
'What's wrong?'
'I've seen that sigil before.'
'Great. What does it do?'
But Dean was busy pulling the child's bag apart. The first thing that fell to the floor was a letter; his hands fumbled to pry it open.
Take care—this is your child.
Dean utters your name nervously.
'What?'
'Slap me again.'
The baby cooed in your arms, and you knew you knew you'd give your life for her. You finally figured her gender out when you had to change her stinky diaper - for some reason, she was very enthusiastic about the process, as if she was laughing that you had to be the one to clean her crap.
You'd mashed an apple for the little angel and were trying to wrangle her to eat something.
'C'mon, baby girl,' you huffed when she pushed another morsel away with a whine. 'Let's do some anatomy here. Don't you want to experience how your digestive system works? Where all that colour and consistency comes from in your tiny, tiny body?' You tickled her, making her squeal. 'Just a couple more bites!'
She screamed in her tiny voice and pulled your hair.
'No, no, no!' you tried to pry your strands out of your little fingers. 'That's not nice, sweetie. Why are you down in the dumps when I was the one who had to be down in your dump, huh?'
She gave you a deadpan.
'It was a good pun!' you defended. 'Get it? Dumps, dump?'
'That . . . is disgusting, sweetheart,' Dean said with a minor deadpan, and it worried you how much it seemed to resemble her.
You side-eyed him, however, squeezing a bite into her mouth. 'What do you want from me? I'm not experienced in childcare, Dean.'
Dean fiddled with his phone, perching on the edge of the bed. 'You didn't stay with Dina, then?' Dean asked, despite knowing the answer that you didn't go back to your sister.
You wondered if you should tell him about your life . . .
'No, I finally got a place of my own,' you said after a long beat.
'That's good. Good,' he cleared his throat.
'Uh-huh. What did Sam say?' you changed the topic.
'He's gonna see if that little girl is our ancestor.'
'How's he gonna pull that off?' you snorted.
'Castiel,' Dean said with a small grin.
'And . . . if she's from our future?' you questioned. 'Whose is she?'
'I don't know,' Dean sighed.
You hummed, focusing back on the baby. But Dean turned to size your "hmm" up - the tone hadn't sat well with him.
'What?'
'I didn't say anything,' you were quick to defend.
'But you want to,' he pressed, shoulders tensing with anger.
You gave him a look like it was all obvious. 'I mean, if she's one of ours, she has to be mine, right? . . . You're not exactly cut out to be a father.'
'Excuse me?' He stood up to fully face you, offended.
You raised the hand with the spoon in it, the other one holding the baby to you. 'No offense, but you don't like responsibilities.'
'Hey, I took care of my brother, alright? I took care of Ben. I took care of you!'
'Protecting a person from a monster isn't the same as having a healthy relationship with people, Dean,' you frowned. Then, you scoffed, realising you don't need to justify anything. 'Besides, why are you bothered by this? You don't even want a relationship - why does it matter if this baby is yours or not?'
'Why do you keep saying that!?' he asked, voice on a higher pitch.
The baby's breath hitched, and tears corralled in her gaze when his voice did that. Your eyes sharpened into a glare. 'You're scaring her.'
'And you're antagonising me!'
'Can we not talk?'
'Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?' Dean scoffed. 'Because you're a coward. You couldn't even tell me you wanted to break up with me to my face!'
Your jaw clenched. 'You're just upset that a girl like me broke up a guy like you. You don't like the fact that I can live a better life without you.'
Dean froze like you'd plunged him with a knife. That cut him deeper than when you actually left him . . .
Then his face hardened with his outrage.
'Screw it,' he gritted. 'We're gonna find out whose baby it is!'
'Okay, genius,' you snarked. 'How?'
'The baby will tell us,' he declared, taking her from you.
You blinked in puzzlement as he placed the child on the motel room floor.
'There,' he said, turning to you with a challenge in his eyes.
'O-kay . . . you are punishing her by making her sit on the questionable carpet until she suddenly learns to talk?'
He puckered his lips like he did whenever someone irritated him. 'Babies recognise faces at this stage,' he explained instead. 'We stand on opposite ends of the room, and she crawls to the person she knows - who is her parent.'
Your face pinched like you were trying not to laugh in his face. 'I'm starting to question if you've been alive so long based on pure dumb luck.'
His eyes flashed at the insinuation. 'You would know something about that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?' he said, calm and menacing.
Your face twitched, and you punched the pillow you'd been using to support the baby down on the bed.
'I can't friggin' stand you sometimes!' you gritted out.
Dean crossed his arms. 'Then let's make a deal - only the parent of the baby gets to stay.'
'Let's do this, Winchester!'
'No, baby, no!' you said desperately as she turned her cute tushy towards you. 'You're supposed to be on my side! I fed you, and I cleaned your poo!'
'I'll give you ice cream,' Dean bribed with a devilish smile. 'Come here,' he said in a baby voice, and she laughed cutely.
'That's cheating!' you groaned. 'Baby, you're not supposed to take candy from strangers!'
'Oh, she can take it from her father,' Dean smirked as she crawled to him like she was on a damn mission.
'Baby!' you complained. 'That's not girl code!'
'Ah, there's my girl!' he cooed, lifting her from the ground and throwing her into the air. She laughed her little head off as he caught her, and she squealed even louder when he sputtered into her abdomen, making her kick her feet.
'I want a rematch!' you demanded.
'Ignore her,' he shifted her more comfortably into his arms. 'She's just jealous you're not her baby. Because you're my baby. The prettiest baby in the world.' She giggled and wrapped her fingers around his index finger, trying to chew it with her two half-grown front teeth. 'Yes, you are,' he kissed her cheek, letting her play with his finger however she wanted. 'Yes, you are!'
'I'm not leaving her with you,' you announced.
'Oh, I won this fair and square, sweetheart.'
'We don't even know if she's from the future!' you argued. 'We just got caught up in your stupid game. Maybe she's one of our ancestors and knows neither of us!'
'Or maybe,' Dean disagreed just because he was feeling pissy, 'she chose me because I'm her father.'
'Oh, please. The only reason anyone would choose you is becasue you're pretty.'
'Since when have you cared about looks?'
'Since you did!' you yelled in your frustration.
The baby started crying, burying her head into Dean's neck.
Your face fell, but you refused to go check on her because of him.
Dean seemed to have it handled, though as he patted her back and said some soothing words in her ear, bouncing her as he started pacing.
'This is ridiculous,' you huffed as tears gathered in your eyes. 'First, we're married, and now we're fighting about a child? I'm supposed to hate your guts!'
Dean held his apparent child closer as if that would counter the pain pressing into his chest. The baby girl's cries and your words twisted into his gut like a hot knife.
'Why?' he spat the word out.
You looked at him like he'd grown a second head.
Dean locked his eyes with you, though. 'You never told me why,' he said, voice edged with misery.
'Dean—'
'We were friends,' he cut you off. 'We dated each other. I think I deserve to know why you hate me.'
Your face tightened, and you would literally pay a demon to come fetch you right now because somehow, inspite of everything he'd done to you, he seemed sincere. And like the idiot that loved him . . . you gave in.
'I overheard you and Sam in the library,' you said in a thick voice.
You expected him to be shocked, or guilty, or even ashamed . . . But he stared at you blankly.
'Two days before Christmas,' you jogged his memory. 'You were in the library, talking to Sam, about me.'
Dean vividly remembered that day because it was the one where he'd waited for you to text back to his regular check-in the whole day - and when you had, it was to break up with him . . .
Suddenly, it dawned on him.
A flux of emotions stirred in him, but disbelief dominated his expression.
'You mean the conversation I was having with Sam about the video game?'
'What video game?'
Rage ripped all his calm to shreds. 'The one I was playing on my laptop with Charlie!?'
'No, there was no . . .' And you remembered you hadn't really checked to see what the boys were doing. 'No, you . . .' You swallowed the sudden dryness in your mouth. 'You were talking about the girl you were dating!'
'I was talking,' he said, voice struggling not to climb higher, 'about the multi-player video game where my character was dating someone on the team!'
'No!' you denied with all your might. 'You . . . You called her ugly and clingy!'
'She was a cyclops!' Dean protested. 'The single eye freaked me out! And the player wouldn't stop chatting with me or calling me in real life, even when I dropped several hints that I had a girlfriend!'
That gave you a pause.
'Y-You thought of me as your girlfriend?'
'Yes, Y/N because I loved you!' he roared those words without meaning to.
You stilled: lips parted, eyes widened, ears ringing. There was a tingling in your chest that seemed vaguely like hope, but your mind had exploded with panic.
Dean seemed to process what he'd just said; he looked away at the ground like it had his life's answers.
The baby started crying again because Dean stopped bouncing her - he promptly resumed, but he couldn't look at you anymore. . . . There was a lump in his throat from all the betrayal he'd felt in the last year, now growing in size from the revelation of your reasons for the breakup.
You didn't even trust him enough to talk to him once?
The silence was broken by your cell phone ringing. It was nearer Dean, placed on the table of the room. His glance just happened to fall on the caller ID . . . And his heart sank.
'Who's David?' he asked, unable to hide the slight crack in his voice.
Disoriented, you said the worst thing you possibly could have in the moment: 'Just a guy I'm seeing,' you shrugged.
Dean's face was mutilated with grief.
When the baby started bawling because of his stillness again, Dean startled.
He looked down at the small face and noticed the colour of the baby girl's eyes for the first time - they were yours.
It was a hop, skip, and jump from there for him to figure out that he might not be the father after all . . .
He tried to breathe better, but he felt like someone was choking his throat. He was walking before he could stop his legs.
'Hold her,' he handed the girl off to you. 'I need some air.'
'Wha—?'
But he was too fast, slamming the door behind himself.
You took a seat on the bed, trying to understand what just happened - and it took you an embarrassing amount of time to figure out what your last sentence could be interpreted as.
'Oh, shit!' you cursed.
The baby quieted a bit at your tone, looking at you with teary eyes and a snot-filled nose.
'Don't look at me like that,' you groan-whined. 'I accidentally broke up with the love of my life, and you make spit-bubbles . . . We've both made mistakes in life!'
Now she was playing with her toys on the bed, and you were calling Dean for the millionth time. In every voice message, you were begging him to come back.
Naturally, you didn't expect him to actually do that.
When he barged in through the door, you jumped sky-high and reached for your Glock.
'Hey,' Sam said, stepping in after Dean, along with Castiel. He had a polite but wary smile on his face. 'How are you, Y/N?'
But you ignored him in favour of the green-eyed hunter. You picked up the baby with one of her stuffed toys and came to a stop in front of Dean.
'I've been calling you,' you said.
'Yeah, I got your hundred messages,' he said, face and tone stony. 'Sam has the ingredients. We figure the baby's soul isn't being used to fuel the time travel. We can just use some grace to send her back without harming her.'
'Yeah,' Sam awkwardly interjected. 'And maybe we can visit with her - see if she was safe there.' His eyes darted down to the ball of cuteness, and he waved at her.
She got overexcited, flopping her arms so hard that the toy fell from her small fingers.
'Okay, good plan,' you breathed out, addressing Dean next: 'I love you, too, Dean.'
Sam and Castiel froze like you'd launched a grenade on them. They glanced at Dean for his reaction, but Dean's gaze was drilling into you. There was mistrust, disbelief, and anger written all over his features.
'I do,' you said, eyes unwavering from his, lips trembling.
'We should . . . wait outside,' Sam said.
Neither you nor Dean bothered to stop him as he pushed Castiel out, nor when he took the eager baby from your hands. She cooed loudly in Sammy's arms, and for a brief second, you worried that Dean truly was the father of the baby and that . . . Maybe, he would never be the father of your children . . .
As soon as the door shut, your hands began fidgeting. Dean's razor-sharp eyes judged you; it felt like a trial.
'I-I know we have a lot more to talk about,' you said, voice wobbly. 'And I'm sorry for how I've dealt with us,' you gestured between you two, 'but my family got into my head and—'
'If you really loved me,' he interrupted, voice low and cutting, 'you would've trusted me. You would've talked to me.'
You blinked furiously against the onslaught of your tears. You'd never been more embarrassed or frustrated with yourself - it was horrifying to you that this situation was born out of bland miscommunication.
'I'm sorry,' you cried out. 'I just . . . never thought you would prefer me!' And Dean kept watching you devolve into a pathetic mess: 'My parents have always liked my sister better, and my friends like each other better because of my job, and my ex cheated on me with my best friend - you know that! No one's ever chosen me, Dean!'
As your tears broke your nonchalant façade, they carved small paths through his stubbornness, too. He wished to take you in his arms and forget all of it - but there was the distance of a year between you two now.
'I chose you,' he said. 'And you left me.'
'I was scared!' you desperately argued. 'For once, I wanted to be the one to bail before someone left me again!'
'Yeah,' he said, clipped. 'So, you broke up with me over a text.'
'I'm sorry,' you begged.
'Is that supposed to make up for everything?'
Your pounding heartbeats accelerated, as if that was even possible . . . 'Have I . . . lost you forever . . . then?'
His revengeful answer was a "yes".
He couldn't say it, though, when there was a flash in the closet again.
This time, the doors didn't wait to be opened by you two.
Dean only had enough time to push you behind him with one hand and use the other to whip out his gun.
Your jaws dropped when you two saw who came out.
'So . . . you guys just needed babysitters?' Sam asked, leaning against the table, amused as the future-you showered the baby girl with kisses.
The future-Dean had an arm slung around your waist, watching his baby fondly squeeze a plushy in your future arms.
'We had some of Jack's grace left over,' Future-Dean smirked. 'He gave it to us as a gift.'
Future-you giggled. 'And between us,' she said to you. 'We're trying again - we just needed some privacy.'
Future-Dean took the baby girl from her mother and kissed her forehead; the baby flapped her arms in excitement. It did things to your heart . . .
'And you couldn't find a babysitter?' Dean asked, annoyed beyond measure.
'Oh, Sammy was busy with his own newborn,' Future-you smiled ruefully.
Real-time Sammy blushed. 'I-I have a family?'
'Oh, big one, pal,' Future-Dean teased. 'And you all get out of hunting,' that one, he said to Dean.
'Anyway,' you clapped your hands once. 'We should get going. Thank you for tonight, you guys! Merry Christmas!'
And while the four of you still wrapped your minds around this big "what the fuck" moment, they vanished behind another closet flash.
'Guys?'
They looked at you in near unison.
'Dean and I are jerks in the future.'
Little did either of you know, the future-yous had orchestrated it to set off the time loop again.
Castiel had a more pressing question, though: 'Did you find out the baby's name?'
You had not.
'Sam and Cas are in the car,' Dean said, clearing his throat. '. . . So.'
You were standing at the threshold of your motel room, playing with your fingers as Dean came back to say goodbye, you assumed.
'I know I . . . I don't have the right to ask you to forgive me,' you admitted as tears welled up in your eyes again.
'You don't,' Dean agreed. '. . . But clearly, I forgave you anyway.'
Your eyes shot up in surprise.
Dean sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
'That baby . . . I-I want her, Y/N.'
'Oh.'
'And I want you,' he confessed. 'I know myself. And I . . . have never seen myself as happy as that douchebag looked. And I want that future.'
Your heart rate climbed, somewhere in the ballpark of his.
'So, um, would you, uh, want to hold off? . . . On the annulment?'
Dean met your gaze, and it was terrifying. He couldn't believe that he could be staring in the face of his entire future. Yet, the evidence was all there . . .
'Yeah,' he gulped. 'I'd like that.'
You nodded, mind reeling.
'What about D-David?' Dean asked, afraid of your answer. 'What are you gonna tell him?'
Your brows met. 'Dude, David is my therapist.'
'Oh!'
A small smile curved on your lips. 'He's dating my gay roommate.'
Dean breathed out shakily, the clenching in his chest easing significantly. 'Wow, uh, so you were never—?'
'No,' you replied. 'He was just helping me move on from . . . you.'
'Right,' he said. 'But . . . you didn't?'
'God, no,' you chuckled. 'My heart just . . . refused. I think that's why this marriage happened - when my brain was compromised, I couldn't think about anything but marrying you.'
His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head upwards.
'I couldn't move on, either,' he said, breath fanning your face as he searched your eyes.
When he found no objection, he leaned down to place a kiss on your lips - it was soft, warm, and sweet. It tasted to you both like the cure for homesickness.
When he parted, you were grinning mischievously.
'What?' he asked softly.
Your eyes strayed upwards to see the mistletoe on the door. His gaze followed the direction, making him snort.
'I think even fate wants us to be together,' you said. 'Would make sense why you always meet me under the mistletoe.'
'Let's make sure we really respect the tradition, huh?' he whispered against your lips, dipping down for a deeper kiss that would take your breath away.
A/N: Well, if that wasn't total chaos 😂.
This was my first time attempting crack and crack, my friends, isn't for the weak 🤣 - I'm gonna keep working on it, but for my first time, I think it was decent? What did you think?
Last, but not least, belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all! Hope 2026 is a blast!
Blurb: It's simply complicated. For starters, you're supposed to be the villian and he's supposed to be the hero. Separated as teenagers, neither of you thought you would ever see the other. But fate retwines your paths after twenty-five years as a Murderer and a Detective. You're wanted in the worst ways possible, but he still wants you because you're his Trouble. And he needs to catch you alive before someone else shoots you dead.
Tags/Trigger Warnings (18+): language, voilence, gore, flashbacks, yearning, murders, hitwoman, police/detective novel, mentions of human trafficking and selling children (not too graphic), car accidents, major character deaths (sort of, but not really), minor character deaths, mentions of glioblastoma multiform (brain tumor), headaches, dizziness, hospital visits, angst, fluff, alcohol, cigrettes, hacking, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers, tons of miscommunication and misunderstandings, mentions of cheating (doesn't happen but it's mentioned), mentions of jail and aryan brotherhood (undercover work), etc.
{ Mark Meachum Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
Series:
Author's Note.
Playlist.
Epigraph.
Prologue.
Chapter 1: Detective, Meet Trouble.
(More to be added soon!)
A/N: If you want to be on the tag list, please comment below, or you can also DM me!
Blurb: While hunters don't have a traditional high school experience, it does mark the start of something bigger for the two of you when Dean crosses paths with you at a school party.
Tags/Trigger Warnings (18+): High School AU, fluff, minor angst, language, Dean being a goddarn cutie, mentions of hunts and injuries, abuse against children? - okay, the last one you'll have to see for yourself, lmao, it's not what it sounds like 😂🫠.
Song Inspiration: Into Your Arms by Felax. (This is another one of my song fics, lol. The lyrics are mentioned under the cut, and listening while reading is highly recommended!)
A/N: This was another one of my shared challenges with the lovely Hepza from yonder at Wattpad. It included a song, a prompt, and High School AU. You can find her version of the story here. I've split this chapter into two, so the prompt comes in the next chapter 🙃.
Also, the switch between "she/her" and "you" is intentional, lol. The Reader's supposed to be messing with Dean's head . . . thought you'd like to experience it in some form too 😂😉🙃.
{ Dean Winchester Masterlist ; Main Masterlist ; Part 2 }
Traveller's Home: Part 1.
I'm out of my head, out of my mind, oh, I
If you'll let me, I'll be
Out of my dress, and into your arms tonight (oh, baby)
Yeah, I'm lost without it
Feels like I'm always waiting
I need you to come get me
Out of my dress, and into your arms tonight
Tonight
How was there a disco ball?
When he was "invited" to the party, no one told him there would be a fucking disco ball to poke his eyes out. He could barely see ahead of him one foot as it was; there was no need to add temporary vision compromise to the equation.
Is this really what he sneaked out for?
Maybe the money could make him feel better, but between how drunk the sorority girls were and how cocky the boys his age were, he was thinking it would feel like taking a lollipop from a bunch of kids.
Bunch of rich kids, a voice in his head nagged. Like he wasn't a kid.
Those obnoxious bastards that practically dragged him here as the new popular kid of his high-school-of-the-week. It was a rite of passage, apparently, to commemorate his popularity with a blast. If you asked him, these drug-addled minds just needed an excuse to act like party animals.
As bodies writhed to Sia, he escaped to the staircase to rise above this chaos. He just wanted the music to stop pounding in his head and to prevent them from paving the way to early hearing impairments. He liked to think of himself as the life of most parties, but he was just astonished that these kids were still fucking breathing.
He had to quickly side-step a smooching couple of strangers who were already pawing at each other's clothes. He grimaced when the girl's top came off - when did he become so old?
He abandoned his search for the washroom and crawled back down to the dance floor, even stepping over an unconscious body or two. He had made half a mind to exit the scene and go back to a sleeping Sammy at the motel room. He was even headed for the door when a high-pitched giggling body crashed into his side.
Before he could even stabilize himself, his hands shot up to catch the girl.
'I'm sorry,' she continued, laughing in that way that grated on his ears.
He gave her a tight smile. 'It's all right.'
She hiccupped, gaining a stance that resembled Bambi walking for the first time. She grabbed at his collarbone to remain upright. 'This is embarrassing,' she slurred, though, yelling, 'But, you're so pretty!'
He blushed when she cupped his cheek. His eyes raked over her figure; tall, blonde, and beautiful. If she weren't so intoxicated, he might've just cranked up his charms on her. Right now, he respectfully kept a foot between them and held her by her waist, hands sure not to wander. 'Thanks,' he muttered. He cleared his throat to reach a louder decibel. 'Do you want to sit somewhere? Should I drop you home?'
'No!' she shouted over the music. She laughed a little more as if she had said the funniest damn thing in the world. 'I want to play!' His eyes followed her finger to the backyard, where tables for beer pong had been set around the pool. 'They won't let me play without a partner,' she pouted, 'and all my girlfriends ditched me!'
Maybe if he were playing with a girl who didn't know what she was doing, then he wouldn't feel as guilty about "taking" money from the children who currently ran this house. Plus, she was gorgeous, it could be cool to check her out even if he wasn't going to do anything about it. He was on the edge of indecision when she pressed her warm body against his.
'Please,' she whined, giving him her doe eyes, and he almost smirked.
The night just got interesting.
After a quick narration of the House Rules, the girl next to him demanded to raise the stakes.
'I don't think that's a good idea,' he mumbled to her - he was worried for her safety, and even more worried that he would get tangled up in something he didn't ask for. He did need to go back to the motel, to Sam, that night.
She placed a sturdy hand on his chest. 'I got this,' her words came out garbled, and she was leaning heavily on Dean for support; not at all confidence-inducing. But she marched on, 'Let's play for money!'
Dean, himself, had been looking for an opportunity for that. He glanced at the guys who seemed to be considering the offer. The taller one's eyes roved over the girl's figure in a sleazy manner. She seemed to notice, and she bent slightly to flash her cleavage to the man.
'Fine,' the guy was sold. 'But what will you give us if we win?'
She returned the favour of checking the guy out. 'Whatever you want,' she flirted, meeting his gaze again.
Dean tried to hide his grimace - he was not going to be subjected to dubious consent. This girl was inebriated, for God's sake - there was no way he would even pretend to lose now so that he could hustle these guys.
He was gonna win this once and for all, for her sake, even if it meant a negative response from his fellow school goers.
Per her insistence, the money was placed at the edge of the table, as if she was afraid they would go back on their word.
There was the toss first. Dean stepped up for that one. The team that usually won the toss won the match in most games. He locked eyes with his opponent, and then lurched his game hand forward. It was almost like playing darts, but the wrist didn't need as much force behind it.
His ball dropped into the extreme right cup, and the competitor's hit the edge of the table, proceeding to roll away to the edge of the pool.
Dean smirked and straightened, only to see, the unnamed grace had removed her top right when they had been taking their shot. She was now donned in a sports bra and yoga pants, as if she planned to go jogging in the morning directly after the party.
Dean guiltily took in her curvaceous body, and he had to force himself to look away - not lose focus himself. She slipped the top around her waist and tied the long sleeves so that it hung from her hips.
If she hadn't been so drunk, Dean would have thought that that had been her strategy.
The balls were handed to them, and then the real game began.
He made his shot easily, and it was her turn. The other two had been too busy checking her below the neck . . . but Dean saw it - the subtle shift in her eyes - the sharpness they gained, and the twitch of her lips. It clicked in Dean's head: he hadn't smelled any beer on her breath when she'd leaned on him inside, or even a few seconds before - when she'd been pretending inability to stand.
His theory got confirmed when she threw her shot in the middle cup, giggling falsely. 'Oh! This is fun!' She weakened her legs on purpose and grabbed Dean's shoulder for stability. 'Can you believe I've never played?'
He couldn't.
She wasn't fooling him. But when the boys against them laughed at her cute victory dance, and brought her story, Dean knew he was playing partner to a god-honest hustler.
That little minx, he thought, and lined up for his next shot when they got their balls back - it was only allowed when both balls had been correctly put in two different glasses previously by a team. Just like last time, the balls ended up again in the red plastic glasses when both Dean and the girl made correct shots.
The guys took it in stride, and called it beginner's luck, even when they had to rearrange their rack without even getting to shoot even once, believing her stupid stunts as balls hit their mark one after another till-
'Iceland!' she pumped both her fists in the air. There were four cups left on the table. Three together, and one in the left-most corner.
Every player had one chance of calling "Iceland", after which the player who called it would have to score by throwing the ball in the stray cup. Upon success, the player could then ask for that cup and another of their choice to be removed from the table.
Normally, it would have been a hard shot. But Dean wasn't surprised when she tossed the washed ball in its rightful place. She screamed her laughter and jumped up and down.
The guys were getting wary now.
'Aw, baby girl,' one said. 'Don't you worry, soon as we get a chance . . . '
She bit her lip and loosened the arms of her top around herself enticingly, playing it off by tying it around her waist again, as if it had gotten loose. 'Of course,' she winked.
Was this another part of her act?
She shot the second-last cup perfectly.
According to the house rules, if one team had gone till the second-last cup without giving the other team a chance, then, when only one cup was left, the losing team would be given one chance to turn the game around.
As the guy was raising his glass to drink, she said pretty straightforwardly in Dean's ear. 'Make it a Deadcup.'
A Deadcup was when two balls from the same team hit the same cup before the beer in it had been finished. In case that happened, then the team that scored the Deadcup would inevitably win the game.
Apparently, this girl really didn't want to give them a chance.
'Now!' she whisper-yelled when Dean was too slow for her liking.
He took a second to aim, and the ball hit the guy's chin when the rim was an inch apart from his lips. The beer-pong ball went to the underside of his jaw and rolled to veer down into the cup before a sip could be taken.
'Yes!' she thumped his back, with a glittering clarity in her eyes. 'Deadcup! Ah-ha, I knew you were a good one!'
The second man snatched the money from under her hands before she could grab it. 'Hey, that's my money!'
He scoffed, 'I don't think so - you cheated!'
She appeared indignant. 'Excuse me - but I brought a player with me, and I followed everything else you got! As far as I know, playing on your opponent's stupidity is not against your rules!'
'You bitch!' he raised his hand to push her.
Before Dean could step in, she was already moving faster than those alcohol-soaked brains could contemplate; she sucker-punched the guy about to hit her. She caught the money his hands released, and then she slammed him against the table.
When the second guy came at her, she round-kicked him in the chest. Right before he fell into the pool, she caught his hand to break a hard fall, which could've hit his head against the pool tiles if it wasn't deep enough - and then she let go so that he was splashing gallons of water onto the shore, but safely.
Dean watched in a mesmerized fashion as the water drenched her. She huffed, untangling the sleeves from around her waist and coming back to stand next to Dean to don her t-shirt that quickly became see-through. Then, she crouched against the groaning guy at the bottom of the beer-pong table. She fished for some extra cash and waved it in front of him.
'This is for trying to be a fucking weasel,' she smiled.
When she got up, all the eyes were on her. She glanced at Dean, though, 'You coming?'
'Um, uh, yeah.'
'This is me,' she said next to her bike. She sat atop it, and there was a duffel strapped to the backseat, a sign that she travelled alone.
She started counting her money, dividing it into equal halves, and offering it to him. 'Thanks,' she said, as he took it.
'Why are you giving this to me?'
She quirked a brow. 'You helped me win it, fair and square.'
'Not the money you took from the second guy. Beating them up was all you.'
'Aw, yeah. But, you got us the Deadcup - trust me, their beer was piss. I really didn't want to drink it.'
He snorted. 'Fair enough. So, why were you pretending?'
'Pretending to be a damsel in distress or pretending to be blonde and dumb?'
'Aren't those the same things?' he asked.
'Touché,' she smiled. 'Too bad for the blondes, though. They don't deserve these stereotypes. You're a blonde, you must agree?'
He decided not to answer his question, just like she hadn't answered his previous one. He opted for another, 'How did you know if I was a good player?'
She took a second to blatantly scan his outfit. 'You don't dress rich. You're smart if you noticed I wasn't drunk. You didn't try to take advantage of me when you thought I was,' she listed. 'So, why would a guy who's not trying to brag, or be an idiot, or harm someone - carry a gun?'
His eyes widened a fraction. His gun was against his side, tucked into his jeans.
'For protection, obviously,' she answered her own question, straddling the bike, then, in preparation to leave. 'And if you have a gun, you know how to work one. Which means your aim is good.'
'How'd you know?'
She gives him a look. 'I didn't insult your intelligence - don't insult mine. I'm a good observer!' she spread her arms. 'Fun fact, I also see that haunted look in your eyes. You're either running from something or towards something. From my little eye, I spied that you were ready to jump into my aide . . . You're training to fight something, aren't you?'
'Do you know you talk a lot?' his jaw clenched.
She laughed. 'Aw, yeah. When you're lonely, you learn to talk to yourself.'
He was surprised by how her vulnerable comment tainted his anger. He had been expecting a more cocksure attitude from her when she said it. Then again, she did save that guy from hitting the water too hard.
'Can I drop you somewhere?' she fired up her engine and revved it. Before he could say "no", she added. 'And remember, we both might be good at fighting - but you're the one with the gun - so the only thing you need to worry about is me biting.'
There was a teasing manner to everything she said, as if life was a fucking joke to her. And all her pain was a good laugh.
'No, thanks,' he replied. 'I got my own wheels,' he produced his car keys, and nodded in the direction of Baby, which his father had gifted him for his eighteenth birthday just a couple of months ago.
She assessed the beauty with impressed eyes. 'She's sleek and gorgeous, uh, . . . .'
They both realised that they hadn't exchanged names yet.
'Dean,' he said, even if he was a bit hesitant.
She grinned. 'Nice. Gotta say . . . she takes after her owner in the looks,' she complimented.
Dean blushed against his will.
She wore her helmet, and Dean stepped aside to give her space when it occurred to him. 'Wait! What's your name?'
She paused. There was a certain look in her eyes. 'Vie,' she said. 'French for "life".'
'. . . That's not your real name, is it?'
Ironically, she seemed flattered. 'Fake as my hair!' she exclaimed. 'But I don't give out my real name to people I don't plan to keep around.' She saluted then, 'See you at school, Dean!'
And she left him in dust, as much an enigma to him as she'd always been to the world. Suddenly, he wanted to be the first one to get into your head.
'You're kidding me,' she deadpanned. Her arms automatically crossed against her chest at simply the proposition. 'I'm not raising no kid,' she scoffed. 'Especially with another stranger,' she pointed at Dean, who was as opposed to the idea as she was, only he kept mum.
For extra credits, they had been shoved into the only remaining elective that hadn't had its seats filled: Childcare Elective. Where, for extra credits, children had to pair up and raise a plastic newborn, sharing custody for two weeks.
Dean knew why he'd been put here. His results had fallen because of the constant shifting of schools, and hunting - not that he cared. But if he wanted to graduate that year, he had to at least pass. If only his brother didn't make it seem so fucking hard.
Sammy's scores had always been top-notch. Despite the fact that Dean hunted more than the younger Winchester, he never understood how Sam kept up with his studies. Here, the green-eyed man was barely passing, and there that smarty-pants was gunning for all the awards to line a shelf that their family couldn't even afford.
Dean had already decided that he was dropping out of college so that he could focus on the family business full-time. But even with that, he still needed to survive these last two months of school.
'Ms. Secret,' the middle-aged woman said, with bare-minimum patience, unlike what a childcare teacher should have. 'If you want to pass, I recommend you take up as many extra credits as you can.'
Apparently, the mystery girl who screamed trouble wasn't looking too hot herself on a marksheet. Her and him had been forced into as many extra electives as they possibly could. It was only their luck that they had entered at the time of the year, when at this school, child-rearing was part of the fucking curriculum.
It was the end of class, and most people had left with their plastic young'uns.
'It's a good practice for when you become parents.'
'So, what? A few dumb-dumbs get knocked up young, and I have to suffer?'
That did not end well.
Dean was made to wait outside the Principal's office while the "mother" of his "son" was being scolded behind the closed door. It was the end of school, and he was given the fake diaper bag, and the fake milk, and the fake baby to handle.
The baby was computerized enough to self-mark the kids - it wasn't the advanced kind where it would send audio-visual feedback of how well the "parents" were faring to the teacher. He was awkwardly holding the baby in one hand, and the plastic head was hanging without support in the air, while he replied to John's text asking where the boys were.
That was when she stormed out.
'Hey!' he called when she almost bypassed him.
She blinked furiously at Dean with an angry frown on her face - which, no matter how much Dean tried against, he found adorable.
'I am not doing this!' she uttered huffily, and then started walking away from him briskly.
'Alright, I'm not happy about it either!' he followed her out of the building. 'But everyone else is doing it!'
'Since you haven't noticed, Dean, I'm not one with the crowd!'
'What makes you think I am?!'
She abruptly turned on her heels, and he realised why - she'd reached her bike in the parking lot. Given that the principal's office was right near the entrance, the parking lot was not far away from there.
'I don't know, Dean - but you seem pretty eager to father this thing!' She gestured at the child in his arms, she did a double-take, before rolling her eyes, 'Who, by the way, is upside down.'
Dean blinked in surprise. He was lucky the child had been "sleeping", or it would have started crying by now. 'Oh, um,' he stuttered as he clumsily corrected the infant.
'See? You're doing great. You don't need me!'
'Look, I'm not keeping this thing with me, okay?' he scoffed. 'Fifty-fifty, this is a partnership!'
'What partnership? That's a stupid fucking plastic toy!'
The baby cried in response, startling both her and Dean. He looked down and unconsciously started rocking it in his arms to calm it down. He glanced at her snappily. 'How stupid can it be? It knows you're cursing at it!'
'That's not it!'
'Is too!'
'Is not!'
Dean took a deep breath so that he didn't end up throwing the plastic of contention at her head. 'The point is, you heard it cry - I'm not handling that 24/7!' He could barely tolerate crying in general; he'd be damned if he had a newborn baby to antagonize him. 'Listen to how shrill he is!'
She pursed her lips; he did have a point. But, 'I'm sorry, but I don't think-'
'Let's just cut a deal,' he negotiated. 'Alternate days, you don't even have to see me until we exchange custody.' He cajoled the boy into calmness by rocking him better. That gave her enough time to muster courage for some honest and bitter truth.
Her nostrils flared. '. . . I don't have a home.'
Dean's brows dipped in a "v", 'I know, you're staying in the motel next to mine.' He knew because that's how the babies had been assigned, to kids who were on the same block, or at least at a walking distance - even if it was asked of the children not to call each other in the middle of the night, it was still kept that way for easy transfers.
She scowled. 'They think my name is Vie Secret, do you really think they know where I live, Dean?'
He processed that with a nod. 'Well, where do you?'
She glared at him as if he was intruding, but as he cradled the baby because it won't shut up, her eyes softened. She sighed, patting the bike she was standing in front of. 'This is my bed,' she told him, 'And meet my pillow-slash-wardrobe,' she caressed her duffel.
He was shocked into silence.
Her cheeks grew warm in embarrassment. 'Can you stop staring at me like that?'
He averted his gaze in understanding. 'Wh-What about the money you won?'
'I'm not a zero figure by choice, Dean,' she pointedly looked at him. 'Everything I earn goes into food. And necessities.'
Even then, she gave him his share of hustled money the day before. He felt a measure of hurt on her behalf. 'Look, I can buy you a room-'
'I don't need your pity,' her eyes blazed with a fight and strength he'd rarely seen in anyone normal.
He hardened his expression. 'It's with the money we won yesterday,' he bargained. 'I get my allowance, the rest is extra cash. You need it more than I do, sweetheart.'
She crossed her arms defiantly. 'You earned it.'
'Consider it alimony,' he countered.
'Since when did we become a divorced couple?' She suppressed the incredulous twitch of her lips, but he could see the begrudging amusement in her eyes - and he knew he'd thawed something inside her.
'Since we share plastic,' he cheekily smiled.
Somehow, the baby took the insult to heart and started crying again. 'Huh, I guess we both aren't good at this parenting shit.'
That earned him a genuine giggle from you, not like the fake kind you'd been doing the whole of last night. This one tugged at his heartstrings.
Dean picked his brother up from the same school and led you towards the motel where he and his family were staying. He had a father, far as he'd told you. Like the perfect gentleman, he bought you a room and asked for a crib in it so that the makeshift baby could sleep in it. The room was on the opposite side of theirs.
That Sam kid didn't interact with you much. You got the sense that his wariness must be well-suited to their father's profession, which was hunting, if you were assuming correctly. Guns and knives in pockets, surly expressions, secretive looks that could almost be interpreted as a code language - all signs of fine-bred hunters.
You almost envied the companionship they shared.
You were putting away your research for the week in the closet when there was a knock on the door. You shut the cabinet quickly, not wishing to indulge anyone in your hard work. If you were wrong and they weren't hunters, you'd come off as a crazy person at best. But if you were right, then you feared they would steal your research.
You checked the peephole out of paranoia before you opened to let Dean in.
'Settling in okay?' he asked, inspecting the room, and his eyes landed on the lone duffel, looking sorry and slumped on the top of the sofa. It represented the scarcity of your life.
'Uh huh. Come to see if the baby is alive?'
He gave you a wry look, even though his eyes did then dart towards the crib where the piece of plastic was, in fact, intact.
Within the confines of your mind, you could reckon with the fact that this guy was hot and cute - a dangerous combination if there was any. The spark that heated your insides was undeniable, and you could honestly just devour him on the spot. However, he also had that boyish hint to his charms and smiles that made you want to melt in his arms and stay there.
You just attributed all these fantasies to the fact that you hadn't ever been in a relationship. Sure, one-night stands started a tad early for you as a child on the road, but Dean wasn't a man made to flirt with. There was a certain quality in this man that demanded that he be loved and cherished, not used.
It was a mighty shame you didn't love.
'Sammy kicked me out because apparently blasting AC/DC while he does homework is not helping,' he interrupted your reverie, with a sheepish look.
'Doesn't answer my question, but sure,' you took a seat on the single twin bed, seeing as you couldn't do anything until he left your room. He took your cue and settled on the couch.
'Speaking of not answering, can I ask you something?' To his credit, he seemed very uncomfortable to be asking it in the first place.
'If you're asking me on a date, the answer's no,' you said.
He looked stunned to a degree before he protested, 'I'm not asking you to a date!'
'Why not?' you acted offended. 'Is there something wrong with me?'
He gave you a grade-A bitch-face. 'Alright, stop messing with me!'
You cackled, 'But it's so fun!'
He narrowed his eyes. 'Why don't you have a home, sweetheart?'
You were afraid of that. 'If you don't know, you don't know,' you quickly retorted.
He wasn't pleased with your system of answering, but you knew he had a hint now. You could see the wheels turning in his pretty head.
For the first time since gaining it, you were glad when the baby started screaming its robot head off. You kept sitting on the bed while Dean was off his ass in a second, and already taking the baby in his arms. He was good at this, you noticed, when he was paying attention anyway. Like he had some experience.
'I think it's hungry,' the man said. He glanced at you for help, but your eyes were blank before you realised you had to do something - you kept forgetting your role and responsibility in this task.
'Oh!' You grabbed the bag on the table where you'd kept it, so you didn't have to think about it at all. There was a single bottle in it with fake milk that was supposed to be reused the whole time. 'Here,' you proudly presented it to Dean, who scowled at you.
'Are you not going to take care of him at all?'
You compromised, 'How about you feed him, change him, and all that. And I will name him.'
'Heck, no,' he scoffed. 'Here, take him,' he put the baby in your face.
You cringed as you took the thing in your arms. It was a weird feeling to hold something so tiny and gross that was also well on its way to tearing your eardrums. 'Is it going to do this all night?'
'Well,' Dean thought out loud, 'we did let him sleep an awful lot now, so he just might.'
'You're kidding, right?'
He had the audacity to smirk. 'Nope. Good luck!'
'Hey-' you went to plant your palms on your hips, and the baby fell in the process. On its head, and if the crying was bad before, it was horribly horrendous now. You both watched that thing on the floor, and you looked at Dean with a helpless look.
He barely restrained a laugh. 'Wow. You suck.'
Somehow, it struck a deeper chord in you. You won't stand around and let him tell you what you can and cannot do. With determination, you picked the child up by one arm.
'You want to support his head,' Dean commented. 'Not hold it like a football.'
'I would kick a football,' you snapped. 'The kid should consider itself lucky.'
'Dude, how do you not know how to interact with kids?'
'I've never been around any!' you slipped up.
'You were one yourself,' he argued, taking the child from your arm, and you violently pulled it back, so the head lolled - you were scared for a second that it would tumble out of the socket there.
'I wasn't!' you said before realising that that was information about yourself.
Something in Dean echoed your feeling, and you saw his expression transform to one of empathy. 'Why not?'
You'd already overshared, and you were starting to get antsy with this route of questioning. 'Forget it,' you turned your back to him, and took a seat at the table, plugging the bottle into the little mouth just so that it would stop screaming. You laid it out on the table where the robot weirdly squirmed.
'The table's a hard surface,' Dean said.
You huffed and took the robot back in your arms, putting a hand on its neck to support the head like Dean had said.
'Just tell me,' he insisted. 'Where's the harm?'
'Right here,' you tapped on your head, and the baby slipped again. You almost yelped before you corrected him, and it started crying again before you forced the bottle into its mouth again. You might just plug it with the bottle the whole night - who knows?
There was a long pause. 'Is it because you're a hunter?'
You flashed him the same haunted look you had seen in his eyes. As it's said, it takes one to know one. Dean caught that look, and there was a deeper understanding forming between the two of you. An unacknowledged bond of a lifestyle that deeply damaged you both.
'Point for being Mr. Smartass.'
'Who are you hunting with?' he prodded further.
'Who do you see?' you gritted out. The baby released the bottle and fussed slowly.
A heavy silence fell on you, as hefty as the implication of your rhetorical question.
'I'm sorry,' Dean whispered.
'What for? I'm not grieving,' you rolled your eyes. 'Now, if you're done, why don't you burp this thing and be gone with it - I need to do research before your dear father solves the case right under my nose.'
He frowned in contemplation. 'You don't need to be here, you know? We can take it from here-'
'Hey! I've been on this for a week!' you almost yelled. (The baby sobbed again.) 'I may not be good at this High School shit,' you forewent composure, and dangled the baby away from you, speaking over its cries because enough was fucking enough. 'But I'm good at my job, and I'll be damned if I let anyone else walk all over me. Get that?'
His jaw worked a muscle. 'I'm just trying to help-'
'Then, take this thing as far away from me as possible!' You actually threw the baby towards him, and with slightly widened eyes and insanely fast reflexes, he caught it before it hit the ground.
'What the hell-?'
But you were already collecting all the baby's stuff and hitting it into his chest. 'Get out,' there was an emotional tinge in your voice that he noted, which, if he hadn't, he would have stayed and fought with you.
He got the sense that he had crossed more lines than he could see. So, as you were pushing him out the door and slamming the wood after him, it was all he could do to let you.
He was right about this, though: you were fucking trouble.
'Where the fuck does that jerk get off?!' Your voice reverberated in the bathroom as you paced in front of the mirror, like you often did if you were lucky enough to find one. Living your life like you did, it actually took you years to remember your own face, which was pathetic enough in itself. You braced yourself on the sink, gazing at yourself.
The roots of your h/c were regrowing under all the blonde paint. Your e/c eyes were hidden under the thin layer of pigmented contact lenses. You hid your face under a hoodie whenever you could.
Nothing about you was real far as the world was concerned.
But then this man shows up, gets to know you for like a fucking day. And then what? He thinks he has the right to your life story?
'If you want to get rid of him, solve the fucking case, Y/N,' you tell yourself, blowing out a breath, as you prepare yourself for a night of research.
It was not until lunch break that he saw her. She was sneaking in past the guard, wearing a hoodie, and she walked right past his last lecture before the break began. When the bell rang, Dean left his seat as if he'd been keyed up, and all the frustration from the previous night, because the baby kept him up, needed to go somewhere.
He hunted her down under the bleachers. She was ravenously eating a half-cooked sandwich. He remembered, I'm not a zero figure by choice, Dean.
His heart took a hit for her.
'Hey,' he cautiously greeted, settling down beside her, and placing their temporary son in his lap.
She looked pissed off that he decided to show her his face. 'What do you want?'
'I'm sorry,' he offered an olive branch. 'I pushed too hard, too fast. Usually, girls like that,' he attempted to joke.
She wasn't laughing. 'Doesn't matter. I'll be gone tonight. Found the lair.'
'Okay,' he digested the news. 'Can I come?'
'So that you can hog it? Fuck, no.'
'Look, like it or not, I'm worried about you,' he said. 'I won't tell my Dad if you don't want me to. Just let me come?'
She crossed her arms like she so often did. 'Why do you care?'
'What? I don't want my son to grow without a mother.'
Once again, his humour fell flat.
'Please?' he implored again.
'I don't fight alongside people, Dean,' she carefully said. 'If you haven't noticed, I don't like the added responsibility.'
It was true. She had been fighting, just taking care of the damn plastic. How hard was it? You feed it, burp it, change it, and sleep it. Give it back with its head attached.
But he saw the real you peeking out, struggling just with the idea that something was in your lap. It seemed like you hadn't had to take care of anyone for the long term. It wasn't that you were heartless - he'd seen you care in the smaller actions. And the fact that you were alone, and chose to hunt, spoke volumes - it meant you took care of people in a way that most people don't even know exists.
You cared for humankind by saving lives. But you didn't know how to live your own.
'I can take care of myself, sweetheart,' he smirked. But there was a promise in his eyes to have her . . . have your back.
Your stubbornness deflated just a bit. 'Let's get one thing clear. Just because we'll hunt, doesn't mean I'm going to want to magically take care of that thing,' you eyed the baby like it was the devil's spawn. And Dean laughed.
'You don't have to,' he assured.
You were limping, and every time Dean went for you, you slapped his hands away from sheer bull-headedness. Dean got away with a few cuts and scratches, while you were thrown into a wall.
Even if the coordination wasn't as well-practiced, and it had been a task in itself to set a rhythm . . . you enjoyed the company. The way he was in places you couldn't reach. The way he moved in step with you; the way your rapport, once built, only made you stronger, and left you feeling more . . . powerful.
It was way out of your comfort zone, so why the fuck had it been so comfortable?
Once Dean called to tell his father that the hunt was over, you felt a twinge of guilt in your gut.
'Won't he be mad at you?' you had asked after he hung up.
He'd shrugged. 'Better than you charging into a pack of three alone.'
And that was that.
But he was right. You had expected one werewolf, and the added help was a relief. Otherwise, you would be much more battered than you were right then. If it were an off night, you could've been dead too.
Dean sighed, lying across your couch with all due tiredness. After a morning of parenting and a night of hunting, it had taken a toll on his stamina.
He had been everywhere you needed him that day. He took care of you, which was such a foreign feeling.
When the baby started bawling shrilly, Dean groaned. You had left the baby with Sam before, but now the youngster had escaped to his own room because, quote-unquote, "the baby is a menace".
'I'll get it,' you said, half-sure that you were doing it out of gratefulness to him.
You got all the baby's material with you, and settled on the bed with it, and a first-aid kit.
Dean's lids had grown heavy already, but he still asked. 'Do you need any help? I could patch you up.'
'No. I'm fine,' you reassured.
Soon, the man's snores filled the room.
You fed the baby boy, and rocked it a little, watching it fuss in your arms, and for the first time since you had it, you let your mind wander . . . what would it be like to love?
'You're lucky, you know,' you told the plastic. 'People are being forced to care for you . . . I never had that.' Astonishingly, the baby quieted to your words, squirming less and less in your arms as you spoke. 'Do you think it was because I'm unlovable?' you enquired, but it had simmered down, shutting its eyes.
Soon, it was fast asleep.
You sighed, letting it down into its crib, and later bandaged yourself up. You even blanketed Dean before you crashed into your mattress.
It had been a weird week.
Your feelings were weird, too.
It's like . . . you had been waiting. For way too long. And out of nowhere, it was here.
When you looked at Dean again, you were terrified.
Was your wait finally over?
A/N: Lol, this was fun! High School Dean is a mood, I swear, hehe. What'd you think about their sparkling chemistry? Would they make good parents one day 😂❤️?
Blurb: While hunters don't have a traditional high school experience, it does mark the start of something bigger for the two of you when Dean crosses paths with you at a high school party.
Tags/Trigger Warnings: High School AU, fluff, minor angst, language, Dean being a goddamn cutie, mentions of hunts and injuries, abuse against children? - okay, the last one you'll have to see for yourself, lmao, it's not what it sounds like 😂🫠. Also - for this chapter, we have an ambiguous and a little sad ending, John Winchester being an okay-ish father.
Song Inspiration: Into Your Arms by Felax.
Prompt (will be in bold and italics in the story): I'm a traveler for all intents and purposes - so you can imagine my surprise when I found my home in you.
A/N: The switch between "she/her" with "you" continues, lol. In this chapter, though, the Reader isn't messing with Dean as much as she's trying to pretend that he doesn't affect her, lol. Both Dean and Reader see her real self slipping out time and again - so good luck being caught in their complicated mess, lol.
Oh, and a special shoutout to my lovely friend @bettystonewell for reviewing this chapter!
{ Dean Winchester Masterlist ; Main Masterlist ; Part 1 }
Traveler's Home: Part 2.
Dean had taken the plastic bane of your existence and told you to take a day off.
What a lovely father. But you weren't a guiltless mother either.
You'd gotten a note in Sam's lovely scrawl, slipped under the motel room door, that said: Dad is mad at Dean. He is coming home tonight.
From what you'd seen, Dean wasn't the share-and-care kind of a guy. But Sammy was also incredibly perceptive; he could especially read Dean like one of his advanced books.
You wondered what he read in you that he shared the note with you. Did he trust your sarcastic charm to calm John down? Or was he just doing it to send you on an all-expenses-paid guilt-trip?
Either way, there you sat, beside the motel door of the Winchesters. It was under their curtained window, so you weren't too worried about being spotted by the boys. You were waiting for the man, though. The myth and the legend – John Winchester.
Truth be told, you'd heard of John before meeting Dean. You probably were the youngest unsolicited hunter, but you were also the scrappiest of the bunch – or so you liked to think of yourself. Thus, money, information, killing a monster – no scrap of anything left your hands.
You had a separate notebook, a small one, with a list of hunters in it. The ones you've met and the ones everyone wants to meet. But most importantly, you had a list of the ones who no one wanted to meet. John was on that third list, put there by the wonderful things your mentor Bobby had to say about him.
You found out John's name after Sam told you about the guy, once the kid learned you were a hunter too last night. If you disliked this John character before, his image was blemished even more after hearing one or two stories about their childhood from Sam. Dean had consecutively dragged you out of the room for the hunt and apologised for the brash way his kid brother spoke about their father.
While you waited, you doodled in your sketchbook. You weren't a big fan of writing, but you could draw. In fact, when you got a bit of time, you drew a case into a few comic scenes and sold it to one of the national newspapers under one of your professional names.
Today, your inspiration was more . . . soft. Your figures curved easily, and heroism crawled over the image rather than the mockery of your brutal existence.
You sat there for hours with a can of Yoo-Hoo at your side. You received a few weird looks when the other guests passed you towards the reception area, or back, but you didn't bat an eye at them. The sky wore the robes of night, tired of the day. You stifled a few yawns but only moved twice for the washroom in your own room, and once to buy three candy bars that made your dinner.
Your drawing had been completed by three in the morning.
You were surprised yourself to see Dean's face on the body of your protagonist. He was wearing a cape and standing on a pile of wolves like a superhero, all the while holding an infant in his one free hand who was feeding on a bottle, utterly content.
Now this was a man.
You were pleased with your work, if also a bit shy about it. Your finger hovered over the face of this teenage boy, not touching to avoid smudging the sketch. You wondered what drove you to draw him. His cute, vaguely familiar face was grinning back at you. You'd tried to preserve his anonymity by not making an exact replica of him. Except you didn't bother to hide his eyes; they were perfect, and you'd chased that perfection here too.
A shadow eclipsed the dim, yellow motel light. Your eyes trekked up the height of a tall, gruff man who was frowning at you.
As if caught doing something illegal, you scrambled to your feet.
His appearance was too haggard not to be of Sam and Dean's father's. His clothes were as cheap as Sam and Dean's, his leather jacket sat heavy on his shoulders like the weight of the world had sneaked into its folds. And then there was the duffel bag, held like it contained weapons – which it probably did. His face was rough-and-tumble – he had the look of a hunter. Not to mention, he also looked like the boys – he shared Sam's hair and Dean's ears.
The man moved away from you towards the door, giving you a suspicious once-over. When his hand extended to grasp the motel room door, you raised a hand to stop him.
'Wait,' you said, a bit breathlessly. You'd been sitting here for hours, but not a word had come to you that you could offer to John.
His brows furrowed. Under all those layers of clothes, the man tensed.
'Who are you?' his gravelly voice was new for you. They carried a heavy bass that neither of his boys had yet achieved.
At least the question he asked was easy.
'The girl you hate,' you claimed.
It took the intelligent man less than a second to clock who you were. 'You're the one who took my son to the monster's lair last night?' his near-snarl would've been scary if you cared about authority. There was a dangerous rage in his features, though, that made you cautious.
'Be mad at me,' you encouraged, crossing your arms. 'Leave Dean alone, all right? It wasn't his fault.'
'How dare you try to teach me—?'
'Old man, I've had a long week,' you interrupted him. 'But I'm not about to let you go punish your son for something I did.'
His jaw clenched. He took a step closer to you. Despite feeling claustrophobic, you stood your ground.
'Leave this town immediately,' he warned you, threat tolling like alarm bells in his voice. 'If your shadow so much as falls on either of my sons, monsters would be the least of your worries.'
He chose to leave you with that.
But you weren't done.
'Is Dean off the hook then?' you demanded.
He looked at you with the hint of disbelieving exasperation before anger took over again. 'I said, leave, child,' his voice raised a notch. 'If you don't want me to turn you over to the fucking juvie for stealing money from my son and living off it at this motel, walk away right now!'
Technically, Dean gave you the money you'd both won. But you didn't want to tell John that in case Dean hadn't informed him about his night out.
You gave him an unimpressed look. 'Nice. Threaten an unaccompanied minor who's been living in a shady motel on your money,' you said, smiling condescendingly. 'That'll go over well with the police.'
He seemed surprised that you turned it around on him like that, as if he'd underestimated you. Then his face twitched with anger. His hand raised—you'd never find out for what, because in that moment the motel door swung in.
'Dad?' That was Dean's confused voice. Your gaze flickered to his behind John, and his eyes widened. 'What's going on here?' the edge of panic was clear in his voice.
'Get inside, son,' the man ordered.
You nodded. 'It's alright. Your father doesn't scare me.'
Dean's hackles shivered.
'You—'
'Dad!' Dean exclaimed, rushing to insert himself between his father and you. (His mild sprain had nearly healed itself in the last twenty-four hours.)
You released a subtle breath. Somehow, it didn't bother you that Dean had taken his father's place in your personal space.
'I thought I told you to get inside!' If John had been angry before, he was downright livid now.
Dean seemed like he'd fulfilled his life's quota of rebellion by stepping in between the two of you. His fear-stricken look was enough to bow your ego; you couldn't believe that even in trouble, this man was trying to help you. The least you could do is not make it worse, right?
'I don't have a family,' you blurted, cutting through the terse silence with the sharp knife of your vulnerability. You refused to meet Dean's widened eyes that had turned to search your face. 'I'm all alone,' you told John calmly. 'I don't even know who my parents are, or were.' You shrugged. 'I was given to an orphanage. Spent my years being bounced around foster homes. Until a monster got my horrible warden.'
You couldn't read John's face very well. But you had a feeling that if he was still angry, it would've been made obvious.
'Dean didn't have to help me,' you continued. 'But he did anyway. And I know you're scared for your son,' you added. 'Trust me,' you laughed a little dryly, 'I wish I had a father who could worry about me like that.' You took a beat to look down at the floor, allowing your hurt to fleet away before you raised your chin to stare at John square in the eye again. 'Please don't punish your son for his kindness,' your voice was more raw than you would've liked. 'It's so rare to meet someone like him,' you snorted, your voice tumbling over an emotional speed-breaker. You shook your head. 'I'm sorry,' your vision got a bit blurry, 'for interfering, but it would just be a shame if Dean never saved anyone again because you scolded him for it . . . Even if I'm a plain, nobody girl that no one would miss.' You permitted yourself to stay for the duration of a sniffle before you moved away from the father-son duo.
You didn't look back as you calmly accessed your room, saying one last thing over your shoulder: 'I'll be gone in the morning, Mr Winchester, Sir. Have a good night.'
It hadn't even been an hour before there was a knock on your door. You opened it to reveal Dean Winchester.
You pocketed your nervously trembling fingers. After all of John's warnings, you didn't think you'd ever see this guy's face again. You blinked a few times to make sure.
'Hey,' he nearly whispered.
'H-Hey,' you said unsurely. You checked over his shoulder. 'You're not breaking any rules, are you?'
He snorted, shaking his head. A bright smile pooled on his face that lifted your worry-soaked heart.
'You get off Scott-free, Winchester?' you confirmed, a small grin curving on your lips too.
'Thanks to you,' he chuckled, scratching his neck in the shy way he had. 'Although my Dad pretty much hates your face now.'
You snickered with him. 'Good thing then,' you said, 'I'm taking my face to do what your father told me to: skip town.'
His face fell at that reminder. 'So . . . You're all ready to leave, huh?'
'Yep. You?'
'Actually,' he licked his bottom lip in trepidation. 'I . . . talked to my Dad. He found a case nearby, so . . . he said that I could stay, if I wanted to. . . . Complete my graduation, . . . and he could keep finding cases nearby.' He looked hopeful.
'Oh. Good for you!'
Dean swallowed a thickness in his throat.
He took a step forward and then brought your hands in his with a certain amount of courage. But he was feeling invincible that night – he'd talked to his father and asked for something for the first time in his life.
'What are you doing?' you asked. You didn't sound like you wanted to punch him in the face.
'I'm probably outta my mind,' he said in a low timbre. 'But do you want to graduate with me?'
Your lips parted in shock. 'Dean . . .'
'Before you say no,' he rushed a bit to add, 'this doesn't have to mean anything.' His eyes skirted yours, 'To be honest, I've never had a friend who'd look out for me.'
Your lips pursed at that. You understood that some people were lonely despite having a whole-ass family to look after them. You were lonely enough to understand all types of loneliness-es.
'That was nice,' Dean said, nodding back at his room's door. 'What you did for me.'
'So were you saving my life,' you tried to play it off. 'Dean, I, um,' you took your hands from his because prolonged touch had never been your forté, 'I-I don't know. Isn't it a bit strange?'
'Sweetheart—'
'And what about your father?' you questioned. 'He literally told me I'd regret being around you.'
'He came around,' Dean replied.
You gave him a "get real" look. 'Dean.'
'Seriously,' he raised his hands in surrender. 'You can ask him if you want.'
You winced. 'God, no.'
He smiled a little sadly. 'Look, sweetheart, let's just spend some time together,' he offered. 'It'd be nice not to lie to somebody about every fucking detail of my life, okay?'
You couldn't fucking believe that you were actually considering staying.
What's the worst that can happen?
Did you seriously just ask yourself that question? For a boy?
Jesus, do I have a fever?
But Dean's earnestness was dismantling your sky-high borders faster than you wanted to make them.
You were so tired of being the responsible one in a relationship - the smart girl who left.
And then . . . Dean was so nice to you.
Was it a crime to want to experience a bit of kindness for once?
Just this once?
'. . . What about the money?' At last, you found a problem. 'I can't keep scamming the locals for eight weeks until our graduation.'
'Then I'll drive us out of town once a week,' he provided. 'You don't even have to spend on gas.'
You had one last arrow in your quiver. 'What . . . What if we get attached?'
Kindness was one thing. Attachment another. Even if kindness left, attachment would stay - and everybody knows that clinging to safety is pretty damn harmful in its own right.
He tilted his head, taking in the way your throat bobbed and your eyes turned shifty. He slid a finger under your chin so you would meet his gaze.
'I don't know about you, sweetheart, but I don't make it a habit of hurting the people I care about. That means you can't get rid of me. You'll have a friend in me as long as you want.'
With his ironclad arguments in place, you got swayed into staying.
Maybe you were curious to see what would happen to you if you stayed with a guy who crossed more boundaries of your life in four days than anyone had in your entire existence. Maybe you felt mesmerized that someone was taking an interest in you. Maybe you knew you were setting yourself up for hurt, but another part of you was thrilled to finally know what hurt feels like.
As in, hurt from actual living beings, and not the ghosts of your pasts, who you can't even see.
Once John was gone, and the meter on your room was up, in the spirit of saving money, you shifted in with Sam and Dean. Dean was gracious enough to give up his bed.
To show your gratitude, you cooked breakfast the first morning over. A simple meal – eggs and bacon with hand-squeezed orange juice and toast. Little Sammy was up before Dean and way too thrilled to have something on the table besides sugary cereal.
'What's this?' Dean asked, covering his yawning mouth.
'I made breakfast,' she beamed at him.
'It's something a person can do when they're not up late blasting rock music,' Sam quipped, munching happily on his toast.
He got cuffed on the head for that one. But Dean did his signature shy move and scratched his neck. 'You didn't have to do all this, sweetheart.'
'Oh, please,' she waved it off. 'It was no bother. Besides, you'll be surprised how well I can cook with the minimal amount of ingredients.'
Any comment Dean had was cut short when the aroma of your food hit him. His stomach growled appreciatively, and he dug in like he was a man from the desert. He would swear for the rest of his life that those were the best scrambled eggs he'd ever tasted in his life.
But what really touched the boys was when you placed two paper bags in their hands once you joined them in the car.
'Um, is this a lunch bag?' Dean asked, eyeing the thing as if it might have a jar of eyeballs in it instead.
She chuckled, buckling herself into the shotgun, the plastic baby in your lap. Dean had insisted that Sam be polite and take the backseat. If Sam had been upset before, all his qualms flew out the window as he accepted his bag with the most excited smile of his life.
'A proper breakfast and lunch?' he said, leaning forward to look at her, then Dean, then back at her. 'Can we keep you, please?' And forth came the arsenal puppy-dog eyes.
She laughed harder. 'Jeez, kid, you tryna kill me with that look?'
A sly grin spread on Dean's face as he set the car in drive. He wouldn't mind if Sam convinced you to stay for longer.
'Hey, sweetheart, whatcha doin'?' Dean asked, plopping down onto the bed in front of her. He lay down, his legs dangling from the side of the twin bed, his hands under his head.
He'd just finished making dinner after cleaning the guns from his car. He was still deciding if he wanted to take a walk in the garden across the street with you, or tune up his Baby after dinner.
Speaking of babies.
The plastic child was strewn across the bed in little bits and pieces. Normally, Dean would've freaked, but after he saw you fix their room's heater and the television set (all before he could get to them himself; he hadn't before because he didn't think they would stay for as long), he wasn't questioning if you could put the thing back together or not.
'Well, tomorrow we give this back,' she mumbled, tongue poking out from between her teeth as she concentrated on her screwdriver. 'So, I thought I'd upgrade our grade.'
A bemused smile spread on Dean's face. 'Why don't you just admit that you got tired of his crying?' he teased.
'Hey,' she pointed the pointy end of her driver at Dean's face. 'Watch it, Winchester. Or I'll manipulate our son into thinking you're a bad father.'
He mocked her with a gasp. 'And I thought we were a team!'
'Yeah, a team of losers,' she snorted. You sighed as you placed the doll upside down. 'Do you think we'll be just as awful parents when we have real children?'
'Speak for yourself,' Dean joked. 'I practiced on Sammy.'
'It's Sam,' groused the young man from his table, where he was doing his homework. 'And you annoy him too much,' the child spoke in third person without looking up once.
Dean didn't seem fazed by it. But she quietly played with another screw.
'Maybe I'm being silly,' she murmured. Then you scoffed, 'I mean, I probably won't even find a guy to settle down with, right?'
That's when Dean really noticed your thread of insecurity. He put one of his hands on yours, stopping your work so you would meet his eyes. Your fear was shining in your features, and it bothered Dean.
'You, sweetheart, are a guy magnet,' Dean said with a soft, yet confident smirk. 'Trust me, any guy would be lucky to have you.'
You laughed like he was joking. 'It's alright, Dean. You don't have to lie to me.'
'I'm not lying,' he insisted, sitting up so he could scoot closer to you. He was a foot apart from you that way. 'You are awesome. Anyone who says otherwise is quite the idiot.' He held your eyes with his until the air between the two of you was sparkling.
He wondered if he could add that he wanted to be with you, too.
'He isn't wrong,' Sam chirped up.
Dean released your hand and set himself back a few inches – he'd forgotten that Sam was in the room too. Fortunately, you seemed as flustered as Dean.
'That Clarkson guy tried to give me his lunch if I could set you up with him,' Sam said, rolling his eyes before resuming his homework.
Dean's lips weighed down. 'What'd you tell him?' He was trying to sound like it wouldn't ruin his young life if you dated someone else.
'That I already had lunch,' the kid quipped.
Your laugh broke the tension of the room. 'Oh, my . . . I love you, kid!'
Sam seemed pretty proud of himself.
Dean's two favourite people were getting along.
You forged a new routine with the Winchesters as easily as you formed your bond with them. Breakfast and lunch, you insisted on doing every day, allowing Dean to sleep in a little. But Dean had dinner and the dishes.
It saved money, you said, and it was always fun to cook for someone – not that you'd had many opportunities since your time in your foster homes and orphanages.
There was the compulsory homework time - allotted during the day by Sam. You weren't much help in that department, but you had Dean's company, and it made you try to be more academic. Every Saturday night, you and Dean left to earn some money. You both made an unbelievable team, leaving the joints with a buttload or two you could spend.
You used your share to buy the groceries every Sunday morning. Dean, in turn, kept the room with his share. It was the money John gave that went to school, gas, etc. With the extra money, you two would buy movies for Friday nights on pay-per-view.
On one such night, you three were collected on one bed. Sam's face was the closest to the screen, and his legs were in your lap and Dean's. He claimed that he wasn't interested, but he would occasionally look up from his book to watch the horror slasher Dean had selected. His arm was around your shoulders in a friendly cuddle – you found that you didn't mind sidling up to a person you trusted once in a while.
The first Friday he'd done it, it had taken you over an hour to stop overthinking and melt into his side. He'd asked you, once Sam had slept, if he'd crossed a line, and you surprised yourself when you answered him that you enjoyed being that close to him.
'Vie?' Sam called as the end credits rolled on the film. He sat up, careful not to kick the popcorn bowl out of bed like last Friday. 'Can I ask you a personal question?'
She raised a sceptical brow. Dean glanced at her to see if you were getting uncomfortable.
'Whadya wanna know, kiddo?' she said, however.
'Who told you how to hunt monsters?' he asked curiously.
Her face eased with a smile. That wasn't too nosy a question, in your opinion.
'Do you guys know of a Robert Singer?'
'Wait, you know Bobby?' Dean asked, turning to face her better, too. In that process, his hand left your shoulders, and you felt a twinge of sadness you vehemently ignored.
'Yeah. Man killed the poltergeist that slaughtered my warden.'
'So, why didn't you stay with him?' Sam asked innocently. 'Bobby's nice.'
'I didn't wanna be a burden,' you shrugged.
'Does he know where you are?' Dean wondered.
'Meh,' she said. 'I contact him when I'm in a fix, so the man probably has some tabs on me. But I . . . well. Again,' you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, 'I try not to be a burden on anyone. He knows that. So he might be giving me space. Besides, I'd've a screaming fit if someone tried to take charge of me,' you snickered.
Sam crawled up the bed and hugged you. It startled her enough to freeze completely.
'You're not a burden on us,' he stated, way too innocently for something that moved you as much.
Your wide eyes met Dean's, who was smiling. 'He's not wrong,' Dean smirked.
You didn't know what to do with the swell of affection that flooded your heart for these boys.
She told Dean that she received five Promposals. It was the last week, and people were getting desperate. She was one of the last fish in the pond, and she was magnificent. She'd said she didn't know any of the guys well enough to go for them. Sam said that she was waiting for Dean to stop being a nervous weirdo and ask her out already. Dean had received a few offers himself, but he knew exactly who he wanted to take to his first and last prom.
He thought long and hard until he knew how he wanted to ask. He took another two days to actually fix his Promposal – what a stupid name, in his opinion, but it was apparently a new trend.
He allowed Sam to take a sleepover at one of his friends. And he made an amazing dinner. He felt extremely awkward about the candle he placed in the centre of it, but he forced himself based on Sam's advice (why he was listening to his brother for romantic advice was beyond him). At least he was wearing his regular clothes, so he didn't feel like a complete idiot.
'Honey, I'm home,' you said jokingly as you shut the main door behind yourself. Sam had requested you to take him over on your bike, helping Dean with some time for set-up.
'In here,' Dean said nervously.
'It smells nice—' You entered the kitchen and did a double-take. 'What's all this?'
Dean scratched his neck. 'Thought I could treat you to a nice dinner,' he bit his lip, gauging your reaction. 'I made us mac and cheese.' He picked something simple he wouldn't screw up.
A wide grin spread on your face. You pointed at the single flower next to the stove. 'Is that rose for me?'
Dean had bought a long-stemmed single rose for you. He grimaced now, though: 'You can throw it away if you want.'
'And why would I do that?' you chuckled, going around the table, squeezing his shoulder on the way to grab the flower yourself. You smelled it.
'Roses are usually scentless,' Dean said. 'I didn't know if you liked them.'
'I don't know,' you said, turning to lean on the counter with a museful glint in your eye. 'I've never had anyone to give me any flowers.'
Dean flinched a little. 'Sorry.'
You waived his sympathies off with a hand. You helped him serve two plates and lit the candle with a cute thank you – Dean didn't feel so awkward about it then. You two started talking about the assignments and finals. Until you circled to the topic of Prom yourself.
'So,' you said, putting your fork down on the half-eaten dish. 'Am I to assume you're wooing me for Prom?' you said with playfully narrowed eyes.
Dean chortled. 'I don't know about wooing . . .'
'Because yes,' you said with a big smile.
Dean's eyes fluttered up in surprise. 'I haven't even asked you yet,' he said with a disbelieving laugh. 'You'd go with me?'
'Well, I'm graduating with you,' you said. 'Because of you.' You lifted a shoulder. 'You're like my best friend. Was wondering if you'd ever ask.'
Dean was so relieved that you didn't shoot him down cold that his disappointment was dwarfed. 'I had a little more planned,' he said, raising a finger as he left the table mid-meal.
He went into the bedroom and came back with his hands behind his back. His face was split in two with a huge dorky grin. He genuinely got down on one knee, which made your face burn, both with a blush and slight awkwardness. Your heart picked up – little did you know, his was racing too.
'Whatever your name is,' he began, and all the weirdness fled from the room when your laugh cut the tension, 'someone very special would like to ask you a question on my behalf.'
Your brows furrowed when he produced the plastic baby from behind his back.
'Did you steal that?' you gasped.
'I prefer borrowed,' he amended. He handed you the child. 'Sweetheart—'
'Go to Prom with Dean!'
You yelped when the squeaky voice of the baby uttered that line. Then you laughed on a gasp, 'You did not—'
'Oh, I did,' Dean smirked like he'd won you over with the moon. 'I found out how to reprogramme this thing, fit in a new voice box and . . .'
'I cannot believe this!' you giggled. 'You changed its trigger word, too!' The original trigger word had been "plastic" – whenever someone called it that, it would start to cry. Dean changed it so it would ask the question instead; you were assuming that the trigger word of this was "sweetheart".
'Well, the baby brought us together,' he said. 'I thought he should be a part of the proposal,' he winked.
You left the child in your lap and grasped Dean by both his shoulders. 'You, Winchester, are a genius!'
'I try,' he said smugly. 'But that's not all I did.'
'Okay . . .'
'Try rejecting me,' Dean urged.
'Okay . . . Um. No?'
Immediately, the baby started crying.
And you couldn't stop laughing. You slapped his shoulder lightly, like he was too much. He held you by the wrist, just happy to see you so happy. His fingers laced with yours, and you didn't pull away.
For the first time in his life, Dean was experiencing this form of infatuation for a girl. He wanted to make you happy, he wanted to be there for you, and he wanted to keep you . . . He was astonished at himself that he hadn't done anything to sabotage it yet.
By the time you could stop laughing, you had your free hand on your stomach over that imaginary stitch and tears in your eyes.
The baby was still crying.
'How do I make it stop?' you asked over a wheeze.
'What's the opposite of no?'
'Yes!'
The crying transformed into peals of baby laughter, and it set glee in your heart.
'Oh, my God,' you shook your head. 'Where have you been all my life?'
He didn't say it, but he did wonder if he'd been waiting for you.
You hadn't tried to hide from Dean in some time now. Your mask slipped so often that you just put it aside when it was just the two of you.
Like tonight, for Prom.
Despite being in a crowded room, you could only see Dean. The perfect gentleman who picked you up from his motel room, drove you over in his mighty car, and checked all the boxes for a successful Prom diligently.
Like he kept refilling your glass and twirling you on the dance floor. He took a picture with you. He would listen to your every word like they were made of gold, and he spoke animatedly to you like he was excited that you were listening. His eyes didn't stray once to the other girls who were wearing much prettier dresses – hell, yours was bought from a thrift shop two towns over with a fake credit card: not even half as mesmerizing; yet, he decorated you with compliments.
You didn't think you'd find a day in your life that you wouldn't want to end. But through the last few weeks, Dean had surprised you more times than you could count.
Right now, your heart jackhammered against your ribs because Dean's lips were inches away from yours. You'd never spent more time thinking about a boy's lips, never more prayed that you could taste them. There was a heat in his gaze that made shivers lick up and down your spine. You knew he wanted it too whenever his eyes would stray down.
You both slowly spun to the last song of the night. All evening, you two had been closing the distance between the two of you.
You felt so vulnerable and so strong. Could that be right?
Your invisibility, your boon and curse, disappeared in front of him. For better or for worse. But the fact was, you didn't care about it anymore.
Not in front of him.
'Dean?' A whisper.
'Yeah?' his warm breath tickled your face.
'Y/N L/N,' you uttered.
Dean hadn't called you by your fake name even once. Unlike Sam and the rest of the school, he waited for you to drop the last dredge of mystery.
'What?'
Although his eyes had widened and his throat had dried up, Dean didn't want to assume that he could interpret the nakedness in your eyes.
'You can call me Y/N,' you whispered, smiling sweetly.
There was a wet sheen to your e/c eyes since you had removed your coloured lens from them, and you'd also let your h/c hair grow so that at least some of the natural colour was visible to Dean.
Dean's heart leaped in exhilaration, having gained your full acceptance. 'That's your real name,' he said, more of a statement than a question.
'I've never told it to anyone before,' you added with a tinge of emotion.
'Fuck, it's beautiful,' his voice wobbled, with a small laugh.
You were happy enough that you went on your toes to seal your lips against his. His response was instant and unstoppable. His arms secured you in his, and he kissed you sweetly. A prelude to that night, when you two checked the last box on the Prom list in the backseat of his Impala, in a secluded location, surrounded by stars and trees - where young love could've been in the air.
The graduation had been seamless. John had come back for it. In spite of his initial disdain for you, he clapped when you received your degree – you would blame it on Sam's enthusiastic clapping for you and his brother, which made their father copy him.
John took the boys out for a nice dinner.
Dean had wanted to bring you, but before he could ask John, you shot him down, telling him to revel in his family time. You understood his reluctance about leaving you alone because this was your last night together.
The last three weeks since Prom might've been a dream, but you could see that reality was waiting for you two impatiently. Neither you nor Dean could stay forever, and that was a fact. You had been tiptoeing around it, just like Dean.
You knew he had a special night planned for you two. Perhaps a special goodbye, or a bid for you to stay with them forever. You would never know.
Because that's the thing . . . You'd never done a goodbye in your life.
You didn't think you could take one now.
You packed your bag while the boys were still out with John. You only kept one book out – your sketchbook. You'd removed your previous sketches from it. But you'd kept the rest, starting from the one you made of Dean the day you talked to John, right up to the end: the one you made of him yesterday. In that, his face was sketched within a heart, and under it, you'd written a note for him: one you'd thought about hard and long - very long. You kept it in his bag so his father or brother wouldn't see it.
You placed a smaller set of drawings for Sam, much more PG and sisterly, in his own duffel bag. His note was very small: Thank you for being the brother I never had. Love you, kid. Take the world by storm!
And then, with a heavy heart, you left. If you had to swipe a few tears under your helmet, Dean would never know.
I hope you can forgive me for leaving without a goodbye. To be honest: I'm a traveler for all intents and purposes - so you can imagine my surprise when I found my home in you, Dean. And I don't think I could ever say goodbye to that.
You're right. I'm a coward. But please don't hate me for it. Because this coward fell for you.
I love you, Dean Winchester.
And I hope I can see you again one day. When I'm not afraid of having a home anymore. When you're not afraid of breaking your father's home, hopes, or expectations.
Until then, I hope you hold onto a few of my most treasured drawings.
Good luck, sweetheart.
Yours,
Y/N L/N.
And Dean would save them.
He would keep your memories alive in his mind right until he crossed paths with you again. Seven years later.
A/N: Ahhh, sorry for the delay! I couldn't bring the chapter where I wanted for a long time, lol. (Seriously, thank you, Beth!)
Anyhoo, lemme know what you thought of the adorkable high-schoolers . . . and the ending (I wanted to make her stay, I swear, but she wouldn't allow me🫠).
