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writing dean and alice started out as kind of a silly/crackship but its actually made me love them so so so so so much and i need to ramble about them. no name is used so it can be read as an x reader (specifically fem!baker!reader) if you want 💚 gonna add my tagslist for that bc its kinda fic? half fic? idk but its a vibe

Nothing Else Matters | Dean Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester/reader (kind of) or OC (Alicia Cooper) No use of Y/N or any description of reader beyond owning a bakery and using she/her pronouns.

Summary: Dean was never meant to have friends, not with the life he lived. He's glad he broke the rules.

Warnings: mentions of John being abusive/punching Dean (I am a certified John Winchester hater sorry not sorry), a fic that's not really a fic, written on my phone and not edited, Sam mentioned but not present, abandonment issues & family drama, hurt/comfort, I got a little carried away so maybe this kind of is a fic idk, is the ending punny? I can't tell

Word count: 3.3k, much to my surprise

You DO NOT have my permission to repost or upload my fic or edit anywhere, including into an AI, tumblr, or other sites! Reblogs only!

All images for the page divider were taken from Pinterest and slapped together in Canva (if it looks terrible that's because I'm still learning and I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing ✨)

Just the idea of Dean finally making a friend and she means more to him than almost anything in the world. He's not supposed to have friends. She's a liability. She's not allowed to know the real him, the real reason his home is a car and not a building. He can't visit her as often as he'd like to, and trading texts and phone calls when no one else is looking just isn't enough for what he wants. But he'll make do and let their hours on the phone be enough until he can see her again someplace other than his dreams.

His dad really wasn't happy when he found out why Dean always wanted to stop in the same town anytime they passed through a particular state. At first, Dean was able to make it just about the pie, how he'd found this really great bakery and he just wanted to stop for a bite to eat. It totally had nothing to do with the girl behind the counter, somehow both sassy and shy, the first girl he'd ever met who seemed entirely immune to his charms. Not for lack of trying, of course; he made sure to have a new pickup line every time he came in, just to make her laugh because the flirting didn't work.

John came in the first time after a massive fight with Dean maybe eight months after they'd met. He'd tried so hard to get his son to see just how dangerous it was (for both them and for her) to be involved with her. Someone could go after her to get to them, and what would she think if she found out what you really are? was how he justified his anger. Besides, you don't get to make friends. This is just some long con to get laid. It's pathetic. Dean came in with a black eye because he dared to stand up for himself, for her, for whatever relationship they had. John didn't like that he was talking back. That shut him up pretty quickly.

She knew what had happened as soon as she saw his face. She knew him too well, and she'd seen abuse happen with people in her family. Dean always lit up when he walked into the bakery, but John had put a stop to that with his fist. She had half a mind to pull a Sweeney Todd and turn him into pie filling for it.

Getting the character right was an interesting process. She had to come off as her usual shy self, if only to make her delivery more convincing. John started off strong, immediately moving to intimidation, likely because he was still mad from whatever had gone on between him and Dean. Whether he was trying to scare her or Dean wasn't entirely clear. "My son has become entirely too enamored with you and your bakery for his own good. It's affecting his job, and that's unacceptable. He's come to say goodbye." She gave John her biggest doe eyes, her saddest look, the sweetest face of regret and apprehension... and then she turned the tables.

"Well, I am so sorry for whatever's been happening behind the scenes, but I can assure you that my relationship with your son is strictly professional. He must have gotten the wrong idea. I only let him stay for so long because he buys enough to compensate for taking up space, and I only let him flirt because he tips well. It's just business. He's a good customer, and the eye candy lures in other customers. It's purely transactional on my part, sir." She sounds so apologetic with her voice as sweet as honeysuckle nectar that Dean almost believes her for a second. She's too innocent for John to realize she's not telling the whole truth.

When in the hell did his girl learn to lie like that? And why is it so damn hot?

The best lies come from a base of truth, and most of what she said was accurate. He does make sure to buy pastries or coffee or some combination when he's in the bakery for so long because he knows she still needs to make money, even if she doesn't seem too interested in other customers while he's there. He's seen a few gaggles of women (and a couple men) point him out before they walk in just to get a closer look at this gorgeous stranger who wandered into their tiny town. He does flirt, and he tips excellently. The only lie she told was how she feels about him, and she played her character so convincingly that he almost believed her for a second when he knew damn well what she was doing.

"Why don't you stay for a slice of pie? It's on the house. Consider it my sincerest apology for the mishap." Dean has to bite his cheeks to keep from bursting out in a grin when John agrees. His dad bought every word that she said, and the pie is devilishly good. The crisis gets successfully averted. John agrees that the pie is worth stopping for if they're already in the area, and even says he'll come back a few times. Not as often as Dean will; he doesn't have as much of a sweet tooth. She's grateful for that. She thinks she'd likely drive a knife through his heart if she ever saw Dean come back with bruises like that from John again.

Dean only had one thought: Thank God he never found the burner I keep in my inside coat pocket.

They're more careful after that. The next time he's in alone, she gives him a full lecture (educational, not angry) on deleting his call logs and texts, not giving her a contact name (or, at the very least, changing it to something masculine so it seems like she has any business being in his phone), when to call, where to call, using his regular cell instead of a burner so there aren't any questions if and when John finds a random phone.

Dean's too sentimental for most of it. He won't give up the burner phone because he doesn't want to delete any of their texts, though that's not what he tells her. He says the burner is because his dad pays for his other phone, and racking up a bill for it would be a dead giveaway even if her name was Billy Bob Joe in his contacts. He leaves out the part that John pays for his phone because there's only a handful of people that have his number. He'll probably change her name in the burner just to be safe, though; put her down as something like Zeppelin Concert Dude to hide what he can.

He's surprised how easy it is to go back to normal and keep their friendship hidden from John. Amazingly, his dad doesn't ask any questions after that first visit, even when Dean keeps his tendency to run off on his own for a few hours any time they're in her home state. In John's mind, it's just about the pie, and the pie is pretty damn good. To Dean, though, it hasn't been about the pie—or any of the other amazing things she makes—since the first time he walked in.

He doesn't know why he still flirts up a storm every time he comes in. She's made it clear that she doesn't want to jump in bed with him anytime soon and he respects that, but he can't help himself most of the time. She's beautiful and funny and kind, and he thinks she deserves to know that. Besides, he loves seeing her smile and hearing her laugh, and a bad pickup line is the easiest way to do that. He always makes sure to come up with a new one before he finds his way back in, and they get progressively more ridiculous with each trip.

She doesn't know why she still asks questions about his life. He's made it clear that most of his life is private and she respects that, but she can't help her curiosity. He's enigmatic and adventurous and different, and she wants to find out why. He makes up a new story each time she asks him what he does that takes him all over the country, and each one sounds as plausible as the next. She wonders if he'll ever tell her what he really is, if she knows already and just doesn't believe it because he's told her so many different things. She should be concerned. It should be a red flag. Maybe he's dangerous, maybe he's a criminal, maybe she'll be his next victim. But she isn't, and it's not, and she doesn't think that's the case. She just wishes she knew what it really was.

They stay in contact over the years. She becomes his safe place. She knows more about him than anyone alive that's not a family member or a hunter, and he finds that comforting even when it should be terrifying. She's the closest thing to home he's had since his mom died. Hell, she might be the closest he's had to home ever.

They only get closer with age, every text, every call, every visit. Every time she smiles at him, his walls fall a little more. She's too inviting to bother fighting. When things are bad with him and John, she lets him stay with her, relinquishing the bed so he can rest. She won't let him take the couch, no matter how hard he tries not to be a burden. She insists it's not a problem. Within two years, she's become his go-to place for comfort, for warmth, for love.

He can't help but dream of a life outside of hunting. Waking up in her place, walking out to fresh donuts and good coffee, seeing her first thing in the morning does something to him he can't explain. It's a kind of love he's never had before, given his experience lands on either side of the extreme of platonic or sexual. This is softer, lighter, less definable, and new. It's rejuvenating in a way he's never known love to be, thanks to a lifetime of unhealthy relationships and a "tough love" approach. He doesn't know if she feels the same, though, so he stays quiet, not wanting to ruin what they have. He can't afford to lose her. He's not sure how he'd survive if he did.

The more he falls for her, the more often he finds himself at the bakery. He's memorized every stretch of road that leads to her place, every town nearby, every person in the little village she calls home—there's less than 100 of them. He finds himself constantly checking newspapers for hunts nearby, gathering any and every excuse he can to drive through or even stay while he's working a case. If he's within a two-hour drive of her place and his dad doesn't need him for a hunt, he'll drop Sammy off at school and drive over to be with her until he needs to head back for pickup. It's not a waste of gas money when it's for someone he loves—not that he ever actually pays for gas, thanks to credit card scams.

Being around her always comes with a shocking ease. She's the only place Dean allows his guard to come down, the only person he's really and truly himself around. Maybe she doesn't know about the hunting, but she knows everything else; what he likes, what he hates, what he's afraid of, what he's proud of, what he dreams to do. The vulnerability should be frightening, but he only ever finds it comforting. Finally, he understands what's meant when people say "to know me is to love me". With every tidbit she uncovers, her affection grows, especially knowing that everything she knows about him is privileged information. No one else gets to know him like this. It makes her feel special. Being let in to all his secrets is intimate on a level far beyond what he's experienced before.

She loves having him around. He brightens her day in a way that no one else can every time he walks into the bakery, and it's not long before everyone else in her village starts seeing it, too. She has a special glow around him, and even before the town comes to know him as Dean, he adopts the moniker of her stranger, her drifter, her mystery man. To the town, he belongs to her, and he returns the feeling. Oh, how lovely it is to belong to someone! And he'd rather have no one else. He's happy to give every ounce of himself to her, should she be willing to accept it. Luckily for him, she is.

After a particularly bad fight with his dad following Sam running off to college, he spends hours driving, not realizing he had a destination in mind until he ends up at her place. Of course he ended up here. It's the only place that made any sense to go. Like always, she lets him in, makes some tea to calm his nerves, gets him something to eat when he realizes he's skipped three meals driving over to get to her and he's finally hungry. She doesn't push. Doesn't demand information. Doesn't ask why he's here or why he looks like someone just died. Not yet. She knows he'll tell her when he's ready to talk, even if it isn't verbally, and she gives him the space to breathe.

He doesn't know how to process what just happened. He shouldn't be the one that feels abandoned, not when it's Sam who got cut off instead of him, but he feels like his brother left him as much as John left Sam. He'd never realized just how close he was with Sam until he left. He hadn't felt this alone... ever, really. But he's supposed to be the good little soldier, carrying on the family business, helping his dad with the hunt. Staying or leaving is an impossible choice. Either way feels wrong. Stay and find out what happened to his mother, or leave and get the normal life he was robbed of. Both options made him realize how much he hates being alone, and he guesses that's why he drove to her place.

Even if everyone else did, she'll never leave him.

She seems to understand that without being told, well before he explains what brought him here. He guzzles down the tea so quickly that she's a little concerned and he realizes he was so focused on driving that he forgot to drink anything. He's dehydrated. The emotions haven't been helping because he definitely cried on the way here before he could stop it, which only served to make his eyes a brighter green. It's beautiful, to someone who doesn't understand why. She sees it for what it is. Without a word, she pours more tea and leaves for just a moment to get him a pitcher of water and the best (and only) food he's had in 1500 miles, even if it is just yesterday's unsold pastries.

It takes her a while to finally work up the courage to ask why he's here. After he's done eating, she can tell he wants to talk about it, but he won't volunteer the information himself. He won't even look up from the plate. He looks fragile in a way she didn't know was possible, not for him, not her Dean. For as long as she's known him, he's been the picture of resilience. Now, he looks like whatever glue held him together for so long finally let go, and he couldn't fix himself with duct tape. She doesn't want to ask. She doesn't want to be the final blow that shatters him. The way he's looking at her, though, she can tell she's the only person he trusts to put him back together once he breaks. Her breath is trembling when she finally gives in, her voice wavering when she asks.

"What's wrong, Dean?"

That's all it takes for his thin veneer of composure to break. It's such a simple question, but it means the world to him. It's the question no one asked him, the question no one seemed to care to answer, the question he drove 1500 miles just to hear. Unfortunately, even after driving for a full 24 hours, it's a question he still doesn't know entirely how to answer. Where does he even begin to unpack that one? He's glad that his mouth seems to know the answer, even if his brain doesn't.

"Everything. Everything's wrong."

He knows he can't avoid looking up forever, and slowly cranes his neck to allow her eyes to meet his. Now, more than just brighter than usual, they're watering. A few fallen tears have left tracks from the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks, and to his neck. It's the first time she's ever seen him cry, and he doesn't know if he can bear it. It's vulnerable. It's raw. It's a little ugly. It's human, and no one has considered him human since he was four years old. No one but her.

"Then I'll stay with you until it gets better."

It's a promise, and he knows that she won't break it.

It's all too easy, the way she sweeps her thumbs under his eyes and over his cheeks to collect the fallen tears. It's gentle and kind and loving, the kind of touch he only gets from her, the thing that sets her apart from everything else in his world. He's surprised with how much calmer he is from her touch alone, how the burden has shifted from unbearable to being carried by the both of them. More tears flow, if only because he's not used to being cared for, but she gives him hope. Maybe he can heal. Maybe he will be okay. Maybe change is good. Around her, it feels like anything is possible, like it's not the end of his world as he knows it. Because even if everything else ends or changes or leaves, she is his constant. She keeps him grounded when his world is upside down. That notion is all he needs to finally make a move.

She's surprised when he kisses her, but not as much as he's surprised when she kisses back. The tears feel cool against her flushed cheeks and she can taste the salt on his lips as they brush against hers. Still, she doesn't pull away, tentatively lacing her arms around his neck, gentle, like she's afraid the touch may shatter him. In contrast, he grabs at her waist with a greed and hunger she's never seen in him, pulling her into his lap and ever closer, like he's trying to meld their bodies together. He's frantic, near feverish, kissing her again and again until he runs out of breath and his body forces him to stop. When he does, they sit there with their foreheads pressed together, cheek-to-cheek on one side, catching their breath in a comfortable silence before he finds the strength to break it.

"I love you." He doesn't hesitate, doesn't waffle over how to phrase it, doesn't waste time in letting her know. Just three simple words and the brevity of pure honesty. She breathes out a laugh before responding.

"I think I got the memo." She's relieved to feel him smile and hear his soft chuckle of amusement. "I love you, too, Dean."

"Well, then at risk of sounding like a Metallica song, nothing else matters." She laughed and kissed him again.

i was not intending to write so much for these two. my hand slipped. this was literally just 3 days of sporadic ideas and rotating them in my brain like a rotisserie chicken, hopefully it isnt overcooked

also. this man. this man is so fucking pretty, it should be illegal.

none of this was inspired by the song BUT i do think it was a nice ending to the fic and the lyrics actually pair really well for them, so that worked out nicely 💚 hopefully it did a good job of setting the mood if you listened while you read!

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