Rose

Dean does love you. Dean loves you so much that he doesn’t know what to do with it, there is nothing he wouldn’t do for you, no line he wouldn’t cross, no horror he wouldn’t face. The problem is that Dean doesn’t know how to show that.

His examples of receiving and giving love stopped being normal after his mother’s death when he was only four years old. It should’ve been his father’s job to teach him after that, to give him even more love than before— to hug him, to teach him how to shave, to play football with him, but he didn’t do that. Dean became a parent to Sam, a soldier trained by his father, he wasn’t a son first after his mothers death. He didn’t get taken care of the way a child should, he didn’t get tucked into bed with a story, he didn’t get a hand pressed to his head when he was sick, he didn’t get comforted by his dad when he was scared, his dad was never there. The dad he knew and still, to this day, held onto the memories of was gone, replaced by a man overtaken by grief and obsessed with the hunt.

John wasn’t around, always leaving Sam and Dean in motels while he went off, so it became Deans sole job to look after Sam. He never got to be a normal, loved kid, he had to be a mother, a father and a brother.

“Look out for Sammy, Dean.”

“Keep Sammy safe.”

One of Deans fondest memories with his father was when he was 6 and he was taught to shoot a gun for the first time, he hit every glass bottle, he thought he did great, that his father would be proud, despite that not being a normal childhood milestone. There was no hug, or high five, just a nod.

That was the kind of love Dean knew. Yelling to show worry, quick sparking anger, love that wasn’t shown as love.

That of course left him with many deep rooted, almost impossible to change, problems.

Control is a huge thing for Dean— not for ego, but having complete control so he feels secure and knows nothing is going to go wrong. This is something that rubs off onto you often, if Dean has to steamroll over you and your ideas to keep you safe, he’ll do it without the slightest hesitance.

Lock you in the car so you can’t even chance getting hurt on a hunt?

He’s done that.

Leave the motel room while you’re asleep and get the ganking over with then?

He’s done that too.

To Dean it isn’t unfair, and it isn’t undermining, it’s him making sure that you absolutely cannot get hurt. He’d tell you that he didn’t think you could handle it, that it was too dangerous for you, that you’d slow him down but that was the furthest from the truth. He was terrified of losing you and he’d go any lengths to keep you with him.

He picks fights all the time, over anything and everything, sometimes even nothing. He doesn’t know why, sarcasm and defensiveness are just the first emotions to come to him. He’s like a dog trained to fight with sharpened teeth, it’s all he has and all he knows how to do. To him, it’s all he’s good for and it’s all he’s ever going to do. He picks fights with you and he’ll pull away, because sometimes when you show that you love him or you treat him gently he doesn’t know how to take it, and he doesn’t know how to let himself be vulnerable— so he’ll get frustrated, and he’ll get almost..scared. Scared that the love isn’t real, that it’s going to be taken away from him again. He doesn’t know how to lean into the comfort, to accept the love and the care that you do have for him, so he tries to make you doubt it to see if its really going to stay.

He’ll also pull away because he doesn’t think he deserves you, but at the same time there’s nothing more that he wants than you, it’s like he’s at a constant war with himself. One side not deserving and wanting to leave so you aren’t stuck with him and everything that comes with him, the other loving you so much-and knowing you love him- and never wanting to leave your side. The former often wins, and he’ll start a fight, but Dean will always come crawling back to you and you will always be there when he does.

He’s aware just as much as you are that he doesn’t know how to handle issues without getting angry or mean. He doesn’t mean to, and he never means the things that come out of his mouth, but if he’s hurt, or cornered, or anything of the sort, his knee jerk reaction is to make the other person feel the same way. He was raised by a man like that and so he lives like one. The things he says while lashing out hurt him just as much as they hurt you, because the last thing Dean ever wants to do is hurt you, but sometimes it feels like that’s all he’s capable of.

He drinks, and he drinks a lot. Sam makes passing jokes sometimes, soaked with an underlying worry. He doesn’t drink for fun, he doesn’t drink because he likes the taste, he drinks because sometimes it’s the only thing that helps him function. It helps him go on with his life carrying all of the weight that he does, he does it to calm himself, he needs it to help him sleep, he needs it so that he doesn’t completely break down. He drinks almost every day, it’s not a “problem” to him, it’s a way to get through everything he goes through.

One of his biggest, absolute biggest, problems is how self sacrificial he can be. He was raised to be a hunter, a fighter, a weapon in a fight against all things bad— if he’s not that, he doesn’t know what he is. It’s all he knows, and he feels it’s all the worth he has. So he’ll go the extra mile every time, he will absolutely risk his life for anyone in danger and not fear the consequences. He knows that when he does die, it’ll be at the end of a knife or a pair of sharp teeth, he sees it as a good death for him. Noble. If he dies protecting someone else, someone more deserving, maybe he’d finally feel worth something more.

That, is the one problem you don’t know how to deal with.

His anger you can work around, you can brush off every mean word and see it for what it is— fear and hurt. You can snap back at him and end up tangled in a bed together.

The constant pulling away and the picking fights never last long, he always comes back to you.

The drinking is habit by now, but sometimes if you ask him to put it down, to come and lie with you, to let you numb what he’s feeling instead of the bottle, he will.

The way he throws his life around like it’s nothing, though? Yeah. That’s the one thing you can’t stand about him. You hate how little value he sees in his own life, because while he does have his plethora of issues and problems, there is so much good to him that far outweighs the bad.

Dean remembers everything about you in a way no one else would. If you tell him something, no matter how small or insignificant, he’s going to remember it. He knows that you have to check locks twice, you overuse the word maybe when you’re tired, you always save a certain flavour of candy for last because it’s your favourite, you always choose the seat closest to the door without even knowing it, you always knock on a door in the same exact rhythm. It’s nothing necessary important or vital, but he remembers all of it.

He may not think it about himself, but he has such a big heart and he can be so kind and he cares so deeply.

He sneaks animals food despite saying he’s not an animal guy.

He softens his voice as much as possible when speaking to kids and he makes himself appear smaller around them.

He’ll always check the expiration date before handing you food, you specifically, he’d eat almost anything but he knows you wouldn’t.

If your hands are full he’s taking things from you before you can even tell him you don’t need him to, and then he’s also opening every door and holding each one for you.

Dean will always look after you before himself, and as much as sometimes you feel awful about it, he does it with so much care that you think it helps him feel better too. After a bad day, or more usually a bad hunt, the first thing Dean does now that he has you isn’t reach for a drink, that comes after when he’s alone, it’s make sure you’re okay first. He’ll tell you to sit on the bed while he goes into the bathroom, he’ll fill the sink with warm water and he’ll have the shower on while he does so to warm the entire room before guiding you in and onto the counter. With hands so gentle that sometimes it doesn’t even feel like him he’ll wipe away any dirt, or blood, or whatever the hell is on you with a damp rag with a quiet intensity that hurts. He’ll ask if you want to shower, if you say yes he’ll ask if you want him there, and if you say yes to that he’s going to do everything for you while you stand under the warm water together. He’ll wash your hair, and grin sheepishly when he accidentally gets shampoo in your eye. He’ll glide his hands all over you covered in soap, featherlight over any bruises or marks— and he won’t mention them but he’ll definitely remember them. If he thinks it’ll make you feel better he’ll let you do the same for him too, he complains the whole time but beneath that he can’t get enough of it. He’d get out first and face the cold air hitting him and grab you the one towel that was on the heater, he’d just pat down with a cold towel and get redressed in what he’s sleeping in. For the rest of the night, he’s doing whatever you need. If you just need to be close to him he’s holding you as close as he can, if you want food he’ll drive to wherever you want and get it for you. If you wanna have sex and forget about the entire day, he’s definitely down for that too.

You wish he saw what you saw, because he wasn’t just his flaws, he was so much more.

The silence between you is currently the calm before the storm, you won’t speak to him. You haven’t spoken to him in almost two days. You leave a room when he enters, you look past him like he’s not there. You speak to Sam, laugh at his jokes, you speak to castiel, but Dean? You won’t even breathe in his direction. Why? You have a reason, you have a huge reason.

The hunt that you all went on before the space between you and Dean had started had gone wrong. It was a long story, long and complicated and you didn’t even fully understand what had happened to cause it to fuck up so badly, but long story short Dean did something stupid and reckless to try and keep you safe and ended up almost dying. It was a close call, a horribly close call and you’d felt sick ever since.

If Dean was so dead set on killing himself for you, then you weren’t going to be around him. Maybe that would raise his life expectancy. Losing him like this hurt, but it was better than losing him entirely.

Your silence wasn’t malicious but it was driving Dean crazy.

He was just trying to protect you, to keep you safe.

He hated the silence. He was used to loud arguments and harsh words, storming off and slamming doors. Silence was new and somehow it was so much worse. You were right there but he missed you, he missed being in the same orbit as you because for the past two days he’d felt like a stranger. He missed you leaning on him, he missed talking to you, he missed being able to come up behind you and put his chin on your shoulder. Two days was too long, he’d been sulking since it started, snapping at everyone, staring at you and hoping your eyes would meet his, he kept leaving out an extra plate of food and hoping you’d take it. He’d hovered outside of your bedroom door more than he’d like to admit before walking away. He didn’t know what else he could do and he’d finally reached his breaking point.

He’d seen you and Sam sat in the library of the bunker going over some books and you just looked normal. You weren’t looking at Sam the way you’d been looking at him— which was hardly at all, you were sat talking as you read and shared ideas about.. whatever the hell it was, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything because you’d completely iced him out. Sam wouldn’t even tell him anything, he’d just give him these awkward “don’t put me in the middle of it” looks. He really had been trying to be patient, but he just couldn’t anymore.

Your shoulders tensed a little when you heard his gruff voice call out your name from the doorway, you shot Sam a look for not telling you that he was there before pushing up from your seat and walking out.

“Damnit-“

He called your name again but you didn’t turn around, he’d given you enough space, he wanted to fix whatever this was and he wanted to fix it now. He wasn’t doing this dancing around each other bullshit anymore. He left the room after you, catching up to you just as you turned the hallway to your bedroom. He grasped your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but just steady enough that you couldn’t pull away yet.

“Baby, come on, what’s goin’ on with you? You been acting like i don’t exist.” His voice was low and he was trying to keep it steady but you could hear the worry and the hurt underneath, and it sucked to hear that but you were still so upset with him. Of course you didn’t want to hurt Dean, but you didn’t know what else to do. You were so scared that one day one of his excessive hero moves were going to get him hurt— or worse, dead.

You couldn’t handle that, the idea of losing him.

“Nothing’s going on.” You muttered, not wanting to have this argument with him.

“Bullshit.” He butted in, his brows furrowing, taking in the way you wouldn’t even look at him.

“I mean it, i’m fine—“

“Goddamnit- quit lyin’ to me, would ya?”

His voice was a little sharper than before, his patience really wearing thin, he didn’t mean to snap but he was worried and confused, and hurt.

“You won’t talk t’me. Won’t look at me. Hell- you won’t even be in the same room as me.” He muttered, nodding towards the library you’d left as soon as he’d entered to prove his point.

It sounded crueler when he said it outloud.

“I’m goin’ crazy here.”

You felt extremely conflicted— on one hand, you really just wanted things to go back to how they were. You wanted your boyfriend and your relationship back. On the other hand you were still upset with him, and still scared that he’d lose his life over his need to play the hero.

“I’m tired, Dean.”

You pulled your wrist from his grasp and walked into your bedroom, closing the door and leaning your back against it, head dropped back and eyes closed as a sigh left you. It was exhausting being angry at him.

You half expected him to follow you, he didn’t.

He stood rooted in place, dumbfounded and staring at the door you’d walked through and closed him off with yet again. He didn’t know what the hell was happening between you and him right now, maybe he’d finally pushed you away, you’d finally realised that he was just too much to love, that he wasn’t worth it. It’s what he felt about himself all the time, and he’d thought you should too— but feeling like it now, really feeling like that could be what’s happening, it dawns on him how stupid he’d been.

How stupid the petty, unneeded fights he starts are.

How stupid his pulling away and pushing away you had been.

How close he was to ruining the best thing he’d ever had, and that scared him.

You loved him on his worst days, you loved him on the days he didn’t think you should, you loved him through everything. Through how much hell messed him up and the aftermath of it, you loved him through the end of the world— you had always been by his side.

He was close to losing that. To losing you.

Too close. You were pulling away, and he knew you were pulling away because he knew exactly what that looked like. He left to the kitchen after that and drank whatever the hell he could find.

Hours passed and you couldn’t sleep, no matter how much you tossed and you turned, no matter what side you lay on or which side your pillow was flipped over to, sleep wouldn’t come. All you could think about was Dean, he was the single, only thing on your mind.

The look on his face as you’d pulled away from him had been keeping you awake, because it’s all you could see. His face had fallen instantly into something so vulnerable in a way he never let himself be. You’d caused that, and you know that, but you were just trying to do the best thing. To look out for him for once instead of him looking out for you. If pulling away was what you had to do to stop him from getting himself killed for you then you’d take that pain on headfirst, just like he’d take it on for you.

You’re exhausted the next morning when Sam wakes you up, telling you a case had popped up and it was a good few hours out so you all had to leave pretty much straight away. You sit in the back of the impala on the way there, and the time you didn’t spend asleep was spent throwing glances Deans way. At how focused he was on the road, the way the sun shining through the window highlighted every good thing about his face— but you saw the cracks too, his hands holding onto the wheel too tightly, the strain in his jaw, the tired look in his eyes.

“You good?”

Deans voice snapped you out of your little daydream, the car was parked in a gas station and it was just you and Dean in the car. You hadn’t even noticed Sam get out.

“Huh? Yeah, fine.” You muttered, but it made your stomach twist being so cold towards him even if you thought it was the best.

“Are you? Good— I mean.”

He grunted in response, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Would be if you’d tell me what the hell is goin’ on with us.”

Sam came back then and cut off the conversation, and you saw Deans jaw tick slightly. You had a feeling it was far from over.

The rest of the drive had been tense, but Sam had been right about there being something here for the three of you. Everything was pointing towards a vamp, easy and simple, something you’ve all dealt with dozens of times. The world seemed to be against you though, because somehow you got split up and ended up with a mouthful of sharp teeth grazing your neck, your back pinned to the ground, and no idea where Sam or Dean were.

No idea until the pressure holding you down stopped and you heard the sharp swing of a blade, and the head above you was suddenly detached. Which was gross, but the sight that replaced it was far from it.

Standing above you was Dean, with a very dark look on his face as he glared down at you and the blood on your neck.

“Get up.”

He didn’t even give you chance to push yourself up before his hands were hauling you up, keeping you right infront of him with his hands on your arms.

“The hell were you thinking? Huh? I told you to stick close.” He muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes never leaving your neck.

He had told you that, he told you that every time, and that’s the problem. You didn’t want to stick close when that meant a swing meant for you would slice through him.

“I can look after myself.”

“Yea? Cus from where i was standin’ i sorta doubt that.” He scoffed, his words coming out sharp and disbelieving. “What’s going on with you? You’d rather get your throat ripped out than be around me?”

No, god no that wasn’t it, the distance you’d made between you and him was killing you.

The look on your face faltered for just a second, and you almost crumpled right there and collapsed into him like the safe space he’d always been for you— but you held out.

“Dean, just— Can we not do this here?”

He couldn’t wrap his head around why you were being so difficult, it’s like you were trying to drive him nuts, and it was working!

“Not do this here? Really? Where then, sweetheart?” The familiar nickname was like a punch to the gut, sending you another crack closer to crumpling. “Cus you ain’t talking to me no matter where we are.”

“Guys! We’ve gotta go!”

Once again, you thanked every god out there for Sam’s timing and quickly pulled away from Dean and escaped to Sam.

Back at the bunker the tension was at an all knew high point, you could literally feel Deans eyes on you like a physical weight— even Sam had picked up on it and he’d went straight to his own room wanting to get as far away from the ticking time bomb between you as possible.

“You’ve been avoiding me for days now.”

“Avoiding- i’m not avoiding you.” Was your reply, but it fell weak even to your own ears.

He raised an eyebrow at you, stood in-front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. It still took everything in you not to stare.

“Right.” He said dryly, his eyes boring into yours. “Don’t bullshit me, have i done somethin? Is that it?”

“…No, you haven’t done anything—“

He cut you off, like he couldn’t keep the words in now that you were finally alone and talking.

“Cus that’s the only thing i can think of. You’re actin’ like i don’t exist, like we don’t exist. I don’t know what t’think, i’ve seen you, you talk to Cas and you talk to Sam but you can’t even look at me.”

“It sounds worse when you’re saying it like that.” You muttered, every word from him serving as another crack in your armour.

“Like what? Like what it is? The hell am i supposed to think, baby? It’s startin’ to look like you just ain’t into me anymore— and if that’s.. yknow, if that’s what this is then just tell me because I’m going insane tryna figure this out.”

He sounded genuinely almost nervous and that finally got your eyes snapping up to his, a mix of defensiveness and almost something insulted crossing your face that he of course caught.

“Not into you? Is that— seriously?? That’s what you think this is about??”

“Tell me then! Just talk to me! I ain’t a goddamn mind reader!”

He’d wanted the dam to break, and it had finally broken. He’d wanted the shouting, and the argument, and that’s what he was getting.

“You almost died, Dean! You almost died throwing yourself infront of something meant for me, again!” You jabbed a finger into his chest, your expression finally crumbling into one of fear and frustration. It was your turn to not let him get a word in, you’d been bottling this up for too long.

“You do it everytime!— It’s like you don’t even care! Like you want to die and i can’t stand it!”

“I’m tryin’ to keep you safe!” He snapped back, his own defensiveness rising in his throat.

“I won’t be the reason you die young— if you’re gonna keep putting yourself in danger for me then i’m not gonna give you the chance to do it, Dean! Don’t you get that!? I don’t want you to die for me!”

Your voice cracked on the last word, your eyes burning with the emotions you’d kept locked away for the past 4 days.

“Goddamn it— I’m trying to keep you safe! Ain’t you seeing that?! Everything i do— i do it to keep you safe!”

“I don’t want that! I don’t want you killing yourself because of me! It’s reckless, and it’s- it’s stupid, and it’s unfair!”

“Unfair?” He scoffed sharply, running a hand harshly across his face. “You wanna know what’s unfair?” He took a small step closer, his voice lowering into something serious rather than angry. “Everyone i love, everyone i care about, dying. Never seems to matter what i do, people die!”

“So you’d rather you die?? You’d rather i lose you instead because you don’t think before you decide to play hero!?”

He was quiet for a second, really quiet. You were sort of expecting him to just walk away as you stood there with your chest rising and falling heavily and your hands clenched at your sides.

“I’d rather it be me than you.” He finally said, his voice was quiet, but firm. There was no room for argument or changing his opinion.

“Don’t matter what it is, could be a goddamn paper cut, could be gettin’ my heart ripped out, i’d rather it be me. I can handle bein’ hurt, i can deal with pain ‘nd all that but i can’t- .. i can’t handle you gettin’ hurt.”

He took another slow step closer to you, careful this time, giving you every chance to take a step back or pull away as his hands came up to cup your jaw, his eyes glued to yours.

His eyes were glassy, you hadn’t noticed it before with being so caught up in the whirlwind in your head— but with him so close you saw it now, you saw the faint redness around his eyes too, like he’d been rubbing away tears for the past 96 hours.

His thumb ran across your cheek, relishing in finally being close to you again. “Don’t do it t’scare you, or to piss you off, or because i don’t think you can handle things. Hell, i know you can. It’s me that can’t, im the one that can’t handle it.”

“I hate it.” You admitted, your voice finally breaking into something closer to a whisper.

“What should i do then?” He muttered, his eyes searching your face. “Just stand around and watch somethin’ happen to you?”

You didn’t have an answer to that, because his stunts had saved your ass multiple times, and you didn’t just expect him to watch anything happen. You knew him better than that. You just wished he’d be less.. suicidal.

“Yknow.. i really thought you jus’ had a thing for Sammy or somethin.” He muttered with a weak grin, trying to lighten the mood even a little bit. The look on your face was killing him, especially knowing he’d caused it— unintentionally, but he’d still caused it.

“Not funny.” You muttered, but you felt your chest un-tighten slightly.

“Hey, trust me, i know it ain’t funny. Was going crazy over it.”

He’d been one more cold shoulder away from locking Sam out of the bunker to see if that changed things.

Seriously.

“I mean it, Dean.” You said finally, “I don’t want you to keep throwing yourself infront of me every time something comes at me. If i get hurt that’s on me, i don’t want you getting hurt to be on me too.”

His face did something complicated for a second, he was fighting just outright saying he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t just something he could turn off, and it wasn’t something he was willing to turn off.

“I’ll be careful, yeah? I ain’t gonna clock out on you early. ..But i’m not gonna stop lookin’ out for you, i can’t do that, won’t lie and pretend i will either.”

You sighed slightly at him and frowned, he was stubborn to a fault and you knew that but sometimes you did wish that had an off switch.

He chuckled sheepishly at the displeased look on your face at his answer, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I promise baby.”

That was the best you were gonna get from him, and you really didn’t want to fight with him any longer. He didn’t want to either. He was tired of the silence just as much as you were tired of enforcing it.

“You really thought I had a thing for Sam?”

You really shouldn’t have found it funny— but you found it funny. Pretty funny, actually.

The first smile he’d seen on your face directed at him in days and you were making fun of him— great. He tried to keep his serious, annoyed look on his face but he couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips. He’d really missed seeing that smile.

“Shut up. You don’t get t’laugh at me after ignoring me for 4 days straight.”

Whatever reply you were about to spew out was cut off because Dean couldn’t wait any longer and he slid his hands to your waist and pulled you closer, finally getting his lips against yours after 4 torturous days.

It sucked to admit it but the second he pulled you in all of the frustration you’d had melted away against his mouth in an instant, leaning into him further and curling your hands into the front of his shirt.

It deepened quickly, it always did but this time was different. It was almost desperate on both ends, 4 days—for the two of you— was a long time to be completely hands off of eachother. How you ended up on Deans bed, underneath him and completely naked was a blur of bumping into things and tugging at eachother.

The first push in was slow and drawn out, relishing in the feeling for as long as you both possibly could. Your head dropped back into the pillow underneath you, and his hovering right above, his eyes glued to your face.

“So pretty, baby.” He groaned, his forehead dropping to yours as he finally pushed all the way in. He stayed there for a minute, his hands running all over you like he couldn’t get enough, grasping and squeezing wherever he could reach.

“Fuck- move Dean, please-“

“Not yet.” He tutted quietly, a small smile on his face as he admired your own, seeing the confusion and disappointment flicker across it.

“Four whole days sweetheart, don’t y’think i deserve a sorry for that?”

You gaped at him for a second— was he serious?

Seriously???

You groaned quietly and tried to bring him closer yourself but he stayed rooted exactly where he was, looking down at you with a smug little grin on his ridiculously pretty face. His hand snaked down between the two of you, his thumb finding your clit in light, cruel circles.

“I’m not movin’ until i hear a sorry, i could stay right here all night. Happily, too.”

“Please- god i’m sorry, Dean! Okay? Can you just- stop being an ass!”

He just shook his head and lowered his head to your neck, dragging open mouthed, wet kisses down everywhere he could possibly get to, his thumb still working lower down causing that familiar coil in your stomach to slowly tighten.

“Sorry for…. what, exactly? Cmon, don’t half-ass it.”

Your mouth fell open but no words came out, you were so close to the edge and—

And he pulled his hand away.

Your eyes snapped back up to his, looking utterly betrayed by the loss of his touch. It’d been 4 days without anything at all, you were wound up so tight and instead of relieving it he was making it way, way worse.

“Told ya, i wanna hear that apology first.”

He gave a very, very shallow roll, just to remind you of what he was offering, and he looked far too proud of himself. It was torture for him too, sure, he wanted nothing more than to really love on you, but he thought why not make you wait. You made him wait, for four whole days, just to speak to you.

This was just payback.

“Seriously??” Your voice cracked slightly, giving him a pleading look but still he didn’t budge. Nothing more than that barely noticeable roll of his hips.

“I’m sorry.” You groaned, your hands going up to cup his jaw. “I’m sorry i avoided you instead of talking to you, i’m sorry i acted like you weren’t there, i’m sorry i—“

Your words fell into a broken moan as he finally pulled out and sunk right back in, your hands falling to his shoulders and digging in so hard it’d no doubt leave little crescent marks mixed in with his freckles. He wasn’t teasing this time, he repeated it again, and again, and again, finally picking up a rhythm that was undeniably tender.

“Fuck— fuck i missed you, i missed you so goddamn much-“

He was rambling, low moans and quiet groans leaving him as he made it really damn clear how much he meant those words. How vocal he was has always been one of your favourite parts of sleeping with him.

“Don’t do that t’me again- don’t shut me out, shit- please don’t shut me out again baby. Couldn’t stand it.”

He didn’t care how pathetic he sounded, he needed to get through to you how much it had killed him for you to ignore him. He wasn’t the king of communication by any means, he knew that, but he’d rather try for you than get nothing at all.

“I won’t-“ You promised, your legs hooking over his hips to pull him even closer which pulled a shuddering sound from the both of you at the new angle. “I missed- fuck, Dean— i missed you too.”

You could’ve cried from relief when his hand slid back down inbetween your bodies and found your clit again, finally giving you the pressure and attention you actually needed rather than the feather-light skims he’d given you before.

“Y’feel so goddamn good baby— give it t’me, please, i’m so close sweetheart i need it. Need to feel it.”

You’d always sworn he had some weird control over your body that you couldn’t turn off, because all he had to say was those few words and your body tightened up, that coil in your stomach finally snapping and you were clenching around him, his lips falling to yours again as he followed straight after.

He didn’t pull out straight away, instead he slumped ontop of you, his head resting right in the middle of your chest which cause a huff of a laugh to leave you as he let his whole body weight practically crush you.

You didn’t push him off, though. Your fingers threaded through his hair instead as you both slowly came back from the edge, chests heaving, breathing heavy and faces flushed.

“If you ever ignore me again,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your chest, “I’ll seriously go crazy. Hated it. Hate not bein’ close to you anyway.”

“Yeah, i know.”

“De, i’m seriously gonna slip and fall!”

A hunt in winter had steered you and the Winchesters down to Utah. It was early December, that meant cold weather, grey skies, and-Deans favourite- snow, and Christmas moods all around.

Dean, to people who didn’t really know him, could come across as this big, intimidating, dangerous guy. The perfect hunter, the guy that anything smart enough tried to avoid, someone to be wary of. That wasn’t the Dean you knew. Sure you knew that side of him, but that was such a small side of him. Like a thin outer shell of a sweet candy.

He was still just like a big kid. He carried the childishness he never got to show as a child around with him every day, you loved that side of him. That was the real Deal, not the hardass hunter he’d been moulded into.

Dean loved Christmas, he hadn’t had a real Christmas for so long after his mother’s death so as he got older and reconnected with Sam he started to try and get it going again. He loved the crappy movies, he loved the high energy, the idea of presents? Freakin awesome— oh, and the food.

Dean loved the food.

You’d never been a huge fan of Christmas or anything that came with it, the snow especially, but Christmas with Dean was different.

Christmas with Dean was him constantly having hands on you to keep warm, it was him making you try all of his favourite foods that only came out around christmas time, and it was Dean trying to inconspicuously figure out what you’d want as a gift.

It was also Dean dragging you out of the motel after shoving his thick jacket at you, leaving Sam at the motel actually working on the case, and taking you for a walk in the snow.

The cold, slippery, snow.

You’d been slipping and sliding across the path for 10 minutes already, clinging onto Dean everytime you felt your foot slip from underneath you. He was warm despite only being in a shirt and flannel-insisting that you’d need the jacket more than him- and he was laughing his ass off everytime he heard you yelp and felt your hands latch onto him for stability.

He’d brought you out of the motel room for a few simple reasons, he wanted to get some alone time with you, he’d been looking forward to getting out into the snow since it’d started, and he wanted a reason to have his hands all over you when you were cold and seeking warmth. He was a simple man with simple reasons, really.

“Christ, you gotta relax baby!” He laughed when you skidded and grabbed onto him again, his eyes crinkled and gleaming with a rare kind of happiness he didn’t feel very often. With you he felt like just a normal guy, you took that heavy weight of the entire world off of his shoulders without even realising it.

“I’m not gonna letcha fall, i’m a gentleman, remember?”

He’d been teasing you with that little grin on his face ever since you’d stepped out into the snow and lost all balance, like bambi on ice, and you knew he was finding it extremely amusing. You were pretty sure he’d taken you down a ridiculously snow filled path on purpose, but two could play at that game.

A little, wicked smirk formed across your cold lips as you saw a huge pile of snow upcoming on the side of the path. Perfect for your little idea. You kept him totally distracted as you both walked closer to it, distracting him in the best way you knew. Your cold hand sliding under his shirt and across his skin, it always worked, and this time was no different.

As soon as you were both right next to it, you stuck your foot out in front of him and gave him a light push.

“Shit!- Damnit!-“

He landed right in the pile of snow with a sharp, surprised yell, and you burst out laughing. He looked like a sad puppy, looking up at you with those bright green eyes like you’d just betrayed him in the worst way possible. His hair was covered in snow, his clothes soaked through, and his ass planted right in the middle of the built up pile. He looked adorable, and hilarious.

You laughed so hard that it was hard to get a breath in, your red, trembling hands coming up to cover your face in hopes that if you couldn’t see him you’d stop laughing but that didn’t work. Seeing you laugh like that wiped the betrayal right off of his face, it melted into something adoring and almost awestruck.

Dean loved your laugh- your real, genuine, unfiltered laugh. He loved the way your shoulders would shake, how you’d always lower your head and try to control yourself, and just the sound of it. It was one of his favourite things, and what he loved even more was being the reason for it. It made him feel all fuzzy and warm the same way a blanket would, even if it was laughing at him rather than with him.

Despite that, he couldn’t let it go on an uneven score. Your laughing had completely distracted you, and you hadn’t noticed him reaching for you until his hands were around your hips and you were being pulled down with him landing right into the cold, cushioned snow.

You landed straddling him, staring down at him with an expression that was a mix between baffled and still extremely amused. The weather might have been freezing, but the way he was looking at you made you feel warmer than a fire could.

“That was unfair, baby.” He complained with a grin, tightening his grasp on your hips before rolling you over.

Fully shoving you into the snow like you had to him.

You laughed and swatted at him, the cold, wet snow seeping into the back of you but you didn’t care, too busy play fighting with your boyfriend in the snow.

You weren’t a match for him when he already had the upper hand, so you reached your hand to the side and grabbed a handful of soft snow, smushing it into his face with a laugh. The cold stung your fingers but that didn’t matter.

Dean spluttered as he had snow shoved into his face, grasping your wrist and pulling it away. He had water dripping from his nose and snow clinging to his lashes, but that grin on his face didn’t falter at all.

“Dean! okay!” You laughed, surrendering and accepting the fact that you’d lost after a minute of trying to wrestle him off, “You win, just- get off! You’re heavy!”

He snorted but made no move to get off of you, if anything he put more of his weight on you to be an ass. You’d started it.

“Nah, i mean, i’m pretty comfy right here.”

“Cmonn!” You groaned through laughter, dropping your head back into the soft snow underneath you. “Anyone that comes past is gonna think you’re riding me.”

He just snickered and his eyes dropped down to your lips like he really couldn’t help himself. He was seriously appreciating the sight of you all sprawled out underneath him with a smile on your face, he’d take a photo if he had a camera and he’d keep it forever.

You opened your mouth to say something about him staring but he cut the words off before any sound even started, he leant down and he kissed you.

Your lips were cold against each others but your mingled breaths were warm, your arms snaked around the back of his neck pulling him down closer and his, ridiculously cold, hand slid up your shirt making you jolt and hit his shoulder, laughing against his lips.

By the time you both got back to the motel, you were looking like a pair of wet dogs. Deans hair was wet and spiky, sticking to his forehead, your hands were red and stiff, but you both still had huge smiles on your faces. Sam had gotten his own motel room this time, he was sick of hearing Deans mushy, half asleep murmurs to you when he was trying to sleep, so you had the room to yourselves.

“You cold baby?” He muttered with a mischievous grin as he ran his hands up and down your sides, a very familiar look on his face.

“A warm shower sounds real good right about now..”

You knew what he was hinting at, and you’d been about to do the same thing.

“Are you trying to get in the shower with me, casanova?”

“What? I’m bein’, uh, green. Saving water, saving the earth and all that.” He muttered, his eyes glued to your lips again.

“Please?”

You could never say no to him when he said please, and he knew it, you saw the victorious twinkle in his eyes as you gave in and dragged him into the bathroom, giving him exactly what he wanted. If he hadn’t been trying to keep his cool, he would’ve fist bumped the air.

Dean closed the door behind you both and crowded you against the counter after turning the shower on to let the water warm and the room steam up, his eyes going to yours for permission before his hands pulled your shirt over your head after he got it.

He was careful taking your clothes off despite his playful demeanour, his hands slow and gentle giving you an out at any time if you wanted it. When you were fully unclothed he did his best not to stare as he shed his own, but he was failing miserably which made you laugh again. His eyes were on you like a moth to the flame just like they always were, clothes on or not. It wasn’t your body he was staring at though, it was your face. The smile on your lips, the slight redness in your cheeks and your nose from the cold, the shine on your skin from the dampness of the snow.

Once fully undressed he didn’t waste any more time and he pulled you under the hot water with him, making sure you got the most of it.

“You got my favourite jeans wet.” He grumbled, looking down at you with an expression that was painfully fond as he tilted your head back to let the water warm you from head to toe.

“You were asking for it.”

He chucked and ducked his head down, placing lingering, open mouthed kisses down your neck, your collarbone, and down your shoulder. He may not say the word love very often, but he showed it every second of every day.

“You’re lucky i like you, shoulda buried you in the snow.” He mumbled as he lifted his head and grabbed the cheap motel shampoo, squeezing some into his hand. You saw the corner of his mouth twitch up in a suppressed laugh at the sound the half empty bottle made before his hands were in your hair. Slow, attentive, and loving as he massaged the shampoo into your hair, revelling in the soft smile on your face that was a result of him and only him.

You pulled him down into a kiss again and he groaned into it, his hands slipping down to your waist to pull you closer. The water hit you both, making everything slippery and feel much more intimate.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” He whispered into your mouth, his lips never leaving yours for longer than they needed to as the water washed the soap out of your hair. He was almost painfully hard, but the moment felt too.. sweet to ruin by doing anything about it, so he just kissed you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

The rest of the shower was exactly like that- his hands all over you and yours all over him, long drawn out kisses, the room steaming up so much that the door was hardly visible.

When you both got out you didn’t bother drying your hair or getting dressed into anything more than underwear, just eager to share a bed together and stay warm throughout the cold night. You were tangled in the sheets together, you lay on your stomach partly on his chest, him looking down his nose at you as you spoke. One of his arms was around your waist, his other hand twisting the end of a strand of your hair around his fingers.

You were talking, about the case and the weird things you guys were looking into, he was nodding along silently, listening while taking in your face in the dim lighting. He could look at you forever and never want to chance the scenery, he was always finding something new. A freckle he hadn’t noticed before, a new expression, a chance in how your hair fell across your face.

“Dean?” Your voice broke him out of his trance, you had a little curious smile on your face now. “Did you hear anything i just said?”

“Yeah, yea baby course i did.” He muttered with a grin, no, he really hadn’t.

“You were talkin’ about.. yknow, the thing.”

“Oh, the thing? I was talking about the thing.”

“Yeah!” He doubled down, a smile growing on his face, “Yknow.. that thing, the thing you were talkin’ about.”

A groan left you and you rolled your eyes at him, he hadn’t been listening at all. Not that it mattered much, you had only really been talking just to keep him awake and present with you.

“Yep, i was just talking about how you screamed like a girl when i shoved you.”

“Yea, that- wh- hey. Hey! The hell i did!”

You playfully bickered for a few minutes, Dean trying to protect his manly dignity and you having the time of your life dismissing it, it was easy between the two of you. It was always easy, like it was just meant to happen.

"goddamn it- stupid damn- hate this freakin' thing!"

you were lay flat on your stomach on the hard mattress of the motel bed that was your current home as you and the two brothers hunted down whatever was killing people around this place deans frustrated mutters broke the comfortable silence.

you'd gotten pretty used to the on the road life, it wasn't something you think you'd be able to keep up alone but being with your boyfriend and his younger brother made it not so bad. deans off key singing in the car, the two of them bickering as siblings do about the stupidest things like who gets the first shower or who picks where to eat, being able to sleep in the same bed as dean and relax for once and melt into each other. it wasn't the safest life, but you liked your life.

"what are you huffing and puffing over?"

you shifted onto your side so you could see dean where he was stood in front of the full length mirror, all dressed up in a black suit for the common fbi ruse you all used to get yourselves into crime scenes and what not, doing what looked more like having a fight with his tie rather than successfully doing it up.

"stupid tie aint right, thing wont.. tie."

you couldn't help the little laugh that left you at seeing dean, your dean who had done things that most people would only see from heros in books, looking completely stumped by a piece of fabric. he was such a tough guy and here he was, a huge scowl on his face and a furrow in his brow over a tie.

"you need some help over there tough guy?" you couldn't help but playfully jab at him as you pushed yourself fully off of the bed and moved over to him, standing right in front of him as he huffed in frustration and threw his arms down to his sides like a moody kid as your hands took the tie instead and started undoing the knot he'd somehow made.

"not my fault, 'ts that frickin' tie…it's made wrong of somethin."

his voice was a sulkish grumble, but his expression softened instantly as he looked down at you stood in front of him fixing his tie up for him. it was strangely domestic if he didn't think about the fact you were helping him dress up to go out and impersonate an fbi agent, like you were helping him get ready for a suit and tie office job or something. He'd never had much domesticity in his life, his happy normal life ended the night his mother died, but in little moments like these with you he could pretend he was normal for a short while.

"you're so damn beautiful, pretty sure I'm the luckiest bastard alive." sure he could have, and would have, eventually gotten his tie done up, but he was glad you'd intervened- he'd much rather stare at your face.

"I'm in a shirt and shorts, Dean." you pointed out with a little amused quirk of your lips, "nothing special about that."

He huffed a short laugh with a grin slowly taking to his lips that brightened up his entire face and he brought his rough hands up to your shoulders and gently rubbed up and down the tops of your arms. He was looking at you the way he always looked at you, like you were something he never wanted to forget even the smallest part of. You weren't all dressed and suited up like he and Sam, who was already in the impala waiting, because you weren't coming along for this part. You'd taken a hit to the head the last hunt you'd been on and Dean had been absolute about wanting you to rest up. He trusted your abilities as a hunter and he didn't doubt you in the slightest but he just wanted to make damn sure you were okay. It was slightly more to ease his own worries about you being hurt than anything else and you knew that hence your easy agreement.

"Yea, and?" He replied with a pleased little grin, one of his hands sliding up from your shoulder to cradle your jaw to nudge your gaze from his tie to his face for a second. "You're still a damn nice sight." His voice was soft and playful, but still making it clear that he wasn't kidding. Dean was sure you'd look good in absolutely anything, he'd seen you covered in all sorts of gross monster crap and never once had he thought you looked anything close to bad.

"You're just trying to distract me from the fact that you couldn't tie your tie."

"Baby, i got a hundred better ways i coulda distracted you- some involving the stupid tie. I'm just tryna compliment my girl."

You laughed quietly and shook your head at him as you finished up his tie, straightening it out for him and giving him one more look over.

Maybe more just to check him out rather than look for crinkles, and who'd blame you? Dean looked like he'd been hand crafted with the utmost care going into making him perfect, and that perfect man was perfectly, very proudly, all yours inside and out.

"There, now you could really give Mulder a run for his money." You teased with a smile as you stepped back, only to be stopped short by Deans hands around your waist bringing you closer again- not tugging or yanking, just gently guiding you back to him like you were something precious.

The way he was looking at you was a bit more intense now, less playful more thoughtful as his eyes took in every part of your face almost hesitantly like he was looking for something he didn't want to find.

"You swear you're okay after that hit you took?" He murmured, his voice almost uncharacteristically soft as his raw, deep concern slipped through. His hand came up and his knuckles gently brushed across your hairline following down to the curve of your cheek. It wasn't a secret that Dean worried more than the average person and he didn't always show it in the best ways, sometimes it came out mixed up in anger that came from not being able to always be there and stop every bad thing, sometimes it showed in how he'd make you stay behind, but it always came from a place of loving someone so much that the fear of losing them physically hurt.

"I'm fine, Dean." You assured him with a small smile for what had to be the hundredth time since it'd happened, and you'd gladly do it a hundred more if it meant easing his nerves even just slightly.

"You sure? I ain't a doctor or nothin but I've watched enough shows to know that a hit to the head-"

You cut him off by leaning up and kissing him, your hands sliding to the back of his neck to pull him closer. You love him, and you love that he cares, but if you have to listen to one more rant that ends up about doctor sexy you might go insane.

Kissing him always worked and this time was no different, he reciprocated eagerly, his hold on your waist growing firmer as he pulled you even closer, tilting his head down and slightly to the side as his mind went blissfully quiet. He loved you, he loved you so much that sometimes it freaked him out, but he made sure that he poured that into everything that he did.

You eventually pulled away with a breathless laugh against his lips when you felt his hands slide down to your ass.

As much as you'd like to pull him over to the bed by his tie, and he'd like that very much too, he had somewhere to be and you had reports to go over.

A groan left him when you pulled away, his forehead dropping down to yours and his eyes still closed.

"That was mean, baby." He complained, his hands still roaming across the back of you. "Can't just kiss a man like that and then send him away."

"Sam's waiting for you outside, you've gotta go. Big scary monster to kill, remember?" You reminded him while laughing at his dramatic show of despair.

"Maybe if you get this over quick enough, we can convince Sam to go out for a drive."

He perked up straight away at your incentive, a huge grin spreading across his face again. He liked that idea, loved that idea, he liked your ideas.

"Good thinkin- no, great thinking. I'll be quick, dont you worry."

Dean hadn’t had any idea that they were hunting a freaking Djinn.

If he had, he would’ve been more careful about coming into contact with the damn thing, he wouldn’t have even given it the chance to touch him.

If he’d have known, being the key there.

He hadn’t known, it’d touched him, poisoned him, and locked his mind in a weird dream coma.

He woke up in a bed that was unfamiliar, yet felt like he knew it. Cracking his eyes open the first thing he noticed was the sun shining through the curtains of the bedroom and for a second he thought the djinn had been the dream, then he noticed the bedroom. It was tidy, cream walls, no guns or knives anywhere in reach or sight, no eyesore motel wallpaper- and then he noticed the weight on his shoulder.

More specifically, the weight of someone lying on him.

Even more specifically, you.

You asleep with your head on his shoulder, your expression completely relaxed, your breath hitting his collar bone, your hair splayed beneath you.

The sight made his breath hitch and his body tense, everything in him screamed to jolt up and get out of there but he didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare disturb you. Just stared at you with wide eyes.

His girlfriend was right next to him again.

You and Dean had dated for a while, a real long while, and with you Dean had actually felt like someone worthy of love. He hadn’t felt like a weapon, or a shield, he’d felt like exactly what he was—a boyfriend that worshiped his girl— he was away on hunts often, but when he hadn’t been every second had been spent with you. It didn’t matter what it was, whether it was just lying in bed together, or going on drives, or taking you to places you’d never been before, he spent as much time with you as he possibly could and it still wasn’t enough.

You had been one of the very, very few people that he’d willingly told about who he actually was and what he did. The family business and all. He’d braced himself for you to call him crazy, for you to tell him to get out and stay away from you. You hadn’t, you’d told him to prove it. You believed him and you didn’t leave.

You were perfect, for him and just in every sense of the word.

But it seemed like the world had it out for him, he never got to stay happy for long.

You died, you died bloody and brutal and Dean had gotten there just a second too late, instead of saving you he held you as your body went slack and your eyes closed for the last time, covered in your blood and his face soaked in tears that he couldn’t have held back no matter how much effort he put into it.

He buried you, gave you a hunters funeral so your ghost wouldn’t end up trapped on earth, and he mourned you.

He mourned you everytime he opened his eyes and you weren’t there next to him.

Of course you’d be his biggest wish, his biggest wish would always be that you’d never died. That he’d been quick enough to save you. It was his fault after all, he got you involved with him, he kept coming back to you instead of staying away, he wasn’t fast enough—

“Dean?… Baby?”

Your sleep tinged voice broke him out of his rapid fire thoughts, he blinked a few times— you weren’t real, he should get out, he should end this, but this was you. He’d missed you for so, so long. The longer he stayed, the closer he came to dying, but he couldn’t pull himself away yet.

“Yea— yea.. g’dmorning baby.”

It was surreal going through the motions of waking up with you again after so long, like hell was he gonna waste this. He wasn’t ever gonna get the chance to be with you like this again.

He lay back down fully next to you, his face so close to yours that your noses were almost brushing, your breaths mixing and grazing eachothers faces. You had a small, tired smile on your face as your bleary eyes cracked open, you hummed quietly as one of your hands slid up to rest on his chest.

He could’ve sworn it felt like his heart was being ripped out. He tried not to show it on his face, but this might’ve been worse than the original grief he’d not yet let go of, and he was gonna have to let go of you all over again if he wanted to live and get back to Sam.

That made him think, though, as his eyes slowly, thoroughly retook in every part of your face and his hand traced up and down your arm. Maybe, this was the best death he’d get. He’d always known he’d die on the job, hunting would take his life and thats just how it was gonna end for him, but maybe it didn’t have to be at the end of a knife or the bang of a gun.

Maybe it could be here, maybe it could be basked in morning sun in a normal bed, in a normal house, with you again. If this was how he died, Dean would die happy.

“How’d you sleep?”

His voice was thick with emotion but he hoped you didn’t notice it, he hoped you’d mistake it for still lingering sleep, he didn’t want the lightness of this moment to end.

“Mmh, I slept great.. considering i have the worlds twitchiest sleeper in bed with me.”

He let out a dry chuckle at your little jab, God he’d missed you. He’d missed your face, he’d missed your voice, the things you’d say, the way you’d look at him, how it felt to have your hands on him so gentle compared to the rest of his life, how it felt to have his hands on you.

He reminded himself that this wasn’t real.. Then he reminded himself that he couldn’t waste this.

He grunted in reply, burying his face into your neck and letting his hands slide down to your waist and bring you closer. He didn’t say anything, honestly he didn’t trust his voice to stay steady, he just wanted to hold you. He just wanted to hold you and not have you ripped away from him this time. He’d been angry at the world when you died, and he hadn’t let go of that anger, and he never would.

You should never have died, especially not like that, not bloody and brutal and at the hands of something that only wanted to get to him through you. If he’d have kept his distance from you—maybe even just slightly— you’d still be alive, and that’s something he thinks about everyday. It’s something he thinks about and uses to reinforce his mindset that he was poison, undeserving of love, because whenever he got it somehow it always died out. People died out.

You’d taken a piece of Dean with you when you’d died, and that was a piece of him that no one would ever see again because it was fully, and wholly with you and solely with you.

He couldn’t move on, he wouldn’t.

You were it for him. In life and in death.

“Dean?.. Are you.. baby are you crying?”

He hadn’t noticed the damn waterworks until he’d heard your voice— so soft, so gentle and so concerned for him. For him and always for him. He was a tough guy, big, intimidating, and he could kill damn near anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need love. He did need it, he needed it so bad— he needed your love. You treated him like no one else ever had, you freaked out over the smallest of cuts on him even though he’d had so much worse that hadn’t made anyone else bat an eyelid because he was Dean, and Dean could handle it. He wasn’t a big, tough hunter around you. He was just.. Dean.

The Dean that made you sit and watch scoobydoo and asked you questions like a critic, the Dean that made ridiculous food combinations with your groceries and sat with a dopey grin on his face as he stuffed his mouth, the Dean that held onto you all night because he was afraid if he didn’t something would take you from him. That was the man you brought out in him, and that was the piece of him that had died with you.

“I’m— shit, ‘m fine baby jus’.. bad dream is all.”

He pulled his face from your neck to look at you, not feeling embarrassed about the wetness of his eyes because he knew you’d never judge him or see him as weaker than for crying, he just wanted to reassure you. He wanted you to know that he really was okay because right now he was with you, real or not, and despite knowing that he was dying outside of this dream it was the most okay he’d felt since your death.

“Oh. That sucks.. What about?”

Your hand grazed his temple lightly, and he melted and leaned into it embarrassingly quick, but you just smiled. Just like you always did.

“T’was, uh.. yknow, whole room fulla pissed off howler moneys. Think they were pissed at me. Freakin’ terrifying.”

You had a mix of a frown and a smile on your face, partly amused, partly knowing what he’d just said was complete bullshit. Howler monkeys were, for some reason, always his go to.

“Adorable. Don’t lie to me, talk to me Dean, what happened?”

“..You, uh, y’got hurt.” He told you, his jaw tightening slightly, but softening again as you ran the back of your fingers lightly under his eye to wipe away any fallen tears and his lashes fluttered. “Real hurt, and i— .. I couldn’t.. I wasn’t fast enough i.. I didn’t get there in time.”

It was a nightmare, and back out in the real world Dean was living in it everyday. His eyes met yours, his hands tighter on your waist than before, he was desperate for some sort of reassurance, he didn’t know what you could say to soothe him over—unbeknownst to you— your real death, but he just wanted something. Just needed you, needed you, as not real as this was, to say something to help him.

“I’m right here, alive and very not dead.” Your smile had lightened into something softer, not pity, closer to compassion or sympathy. “But even if i was, dead i mean, it’s not like id just.. be gone, yknow?”

“That’s.. thats sorta what being dead means, pretty.”

You laughed slightly and shook your head, lightly swatting his shoulder and he caught your hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing your palm as his thumb stroked over the back.

“That’s not what i meant and you know it Dean.”

“What’d y’mean then? If you’re dead, you’re gone. th‘ts sorta what makes death so suckish.”

“Quit being all broody and cynical. I’d be gone.. but i wouldn’t be, like, yknow.. gone gone. It’s not like i’d just disappear, never have existed. People would remember me, you’d remember me. You’d like… i don’t know, keep my memory alive. I’d trust you to do that.”

Dean felt his heart being twisted in his chest with every word that you spoke and he was genuinely concerned it might burst out and ruin the moment, he didn’t know if it was what you were saying or if it was whatever was happening to his actual body, but god it hurt. Keep your memory alive, that’s what he’s supposed to do. He’s supposed to keep a photo of you with him and keep showing you places you’ve never been, he’s meant to buy a stupid, useless trinket every so often because thats what you would do. Not drink himself half to death and try to walk himself into an early grave.

“What if—“ His voice cracked slightly and he closed his eyes for a second again, dropping his head slightly and holding your hand in the space between under his chin and his collar bones.

“What if i couldn’t do that? Couldn’t.. live normally, without you, did stupid crap?”

You most likely—no, definitely— had no idea why he was taking this so seriously, but you indulged him anyway. He’d never been more grateful.

“Well.. you’d be tallying up a crapload of ass kickings when you finally join me— at an old enough age. But.. i’d get it, i’d just hope you could get out of that eventually.”

That made him feel.. something. It wasn’t better, exactly, but it felt like that was what could push him into finally feeling better. Your understanding, and knowing that even now, with how he’d been living, you’d still have his back no matter what.

“I love you, i love you so damn much it hurts, you know that?”

He hoped you knew, hoped you’d always know, but he didn’t give you chance to answer. He had to get back, he had to start living the way you’d want him to live, had to take your photo to new places, he just had one more thing he wanted to do.

His hand moved across your cheek and threaded through the hair back at your head and pulled you into a kiss. It started soft, your lips more so pressing together rather than devouring eachother— but it soon deepened.

He couldn’t let you go, god knows he didn’t want to, but he knew he had to. Just not yet, not before he got to experience what it’s like to be loved by you one last time.

His hand slid down to your thigh and hooked it over his hip, his hand exploring up and down everywhere it could reach— your leg, your ass, your hip, waist, ribs— everything while his other slid around to the other side of you and with one smooth manoeuvre and without breaking the kiss once he turned onto the back and pulled you with him, leaving you straddled above him.

You pulled away slightly with a breathy laugh, your forehead pressing to his and your hands on his shoulders. His hands were still exploring, this would be the last time and he wanted to make damn sure he didn’t forget a single thing about you.

Apparently, weird freaky djinn coma or not, his body was still very fond of you. He was hard just from kissing you. He felt like a horny teenager again, but with a hell of a heavier heart.

“Seriously?” You mumbled with a small amused, fond smile as you peppered kisses all over his face and his neck, “It’s nine in the morning Dean..”

“Don’t care— y’know how my internal clock works baby, always want time with you.”

Especially when it was the last chance he had. He didn’t care about the time, or the fact that he’d been so affected by the very simple act of sleepily making out. What he did care about was loving the crap outta you, one last time.

With his hands on your hips and a grin on his face that held the deep, underlying devastation he was feeling, he flipped you both again, you on your back underneath him now, looking up at him with the eyes that he’d get tattooed just to be able to look into them whenever he needed to feel better.

The expression on your face made it clear as day that you’d noticed that he wasn’t happy, or at least not fully, but he wasn’t gonna let you linger on that nor bring it up. His head ducked down and his mouth went straight to your neck, kissing, licking, mouthing at wherever he could reach. His hands moved down, and down, purposely over your chest just to hear the hitch in your breath as he did so which made him already feel a small victory, and down to the hem of your shirt. He pulled away just enough to pull your shirt over your head and drop it onto the floor and for a second he just sat above you marvelling at you. You were,without a doubt or any competition, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen to this day, and in every following day it’d stay that way.

“Y’re so beautiful baby.. ’m so goddamn lucky, never gonna stop wanting you.” He murmured absentmindedly as he very slowly placed kisses down from your jaw, down your neck, down the very middle of his chest while his hands strayed and lightly palmed at you as his mouth went lower. When he got to your lower abdomen he stopped for a second, glancing back up at you through hooded eyes just to see you with a smile on your face. He’d do anything to see you smile, anything you wanted he’d get it for you, he didn’t care if it was the moon, he’d find a way.

He licked a line back up your abdomen and pulled away to lightly blow on it, you’d always hated that, or at least told him you did— he knew damn well you didn’t hate it. You hated that it made you laugh, and even in this dream it did. Your laugh made him feel all fuzzy.

“Dean!— quit that you ass!”

He grinned, warm and victorious and placed a kiss over where he’d previously blown.

“Sorry baby.. makes you laugh, can’t miss a chance to hear that.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your head back into the pillow calling him a sap, but he saw that smile on your face and the furthering redness spreading. He didn’t think he’d miss being called names so much.

“You gonna let me love on you? Gonna let me show you how much i love you baby?”

The grin on his face slowly turned even more adoring when he saw you nod your head, looking down at him with—thanks to him— needy eyes.

“Words, baby.. cmon, don’t go mute on me now.” He murmured, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

“Don’t— .. don’t be all mean. You started it i just— God, please, Dean?”

That was more than enough for him, much more than enough. He slid your shorts down to your ankles and discarded them in one smooth motion before settling back inbetween your legs like a king taking his throne. All of sex was great, yeah, but this part, this might be his favourite part because he’s doing something for you, and—not to toot his own horn— he does it damn well.

His hands massaged and palmed at your thighs as he grinned up at you, his green eyes glimmering with a very victorious satisfaction.

“Whatever you need baby, don’t gotta ask me twice.”

You really, really didn’t.

He lowered his head and licked a slow, appreciate stripe into you, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever done as he did so, his eyes fluttering closed and his hands tightening slightly where he had your thighs pushed open. He couldn’t see your expression with his eyes shut, but from the surprised, choked gasp you’d let out and the sound of your head dropping back into the pillow, he was guessing it was a damn vision. He repeated what he did, only this time once reaching it he kept his attention on your clit. Kissing, licking, sucking— everything he knew you liked, in exactly the way you liked it. He remembered it like it was muscle memory.

He groaned into you again when your hand threaded through his hair, not pulling or really even holding, just needing to hold onto something.

“Fuck— you’re my favourite damn thing baby, god, favourite damn thing.” He mumbled right into your clit, one of his hand releasing your leg and sliding inbetween your legs, sliding his middle finger into you. You inhaled sharply, and when he crooked his finger just slightly, just right, your mouth dropped open in a broken moan and your back arched off of the bed slightly.

He was sure as hell glad he had his eyes open for that.

He went back to working you with his mouth, only this time only focusing on your clit, keeping one finger slowly moving in and out of you, crooking at just the right time and in the right places. Only stopping when he knew you were close, not that he wanted to be cruel and deny you of it, but he wouldn’t be for long. He just.. wanted to do it together, he was gonna make this last time count. He was already close, he hadn’t noticed it, but he’d been rutting his hips against the bed to the look of you, and the sound of you, like a damn dog. He would’ve let you finish first, hell, twice, before actually fucking you, but he didn’t have the time. The longer he stayed, the closer he got to actually dying, and he’d found a reason to atleast try to live for some time longer.

“Wh— D- Dean! Oh, Cmon! Baby Dont- don’t do that to me!” You groaned as he pulled away just as you were on the brink of falling over the edge but Dean just chuckled. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and crawled back over you, taking a second to just look at you again.

“Sorry baby.. just wanna feel you, won’t do it again.. promise.” He murmured, pressing kisses along your jaw as he slid his own pants and boxers down, freeing his dick— which by now was screaming at him for something more than a twitch against the bed.

He lowered himself back over you, lining himself up just right. Your eyes were on his face, the expression on your face almost killed him. It was so full of love, your eyes were so full of love, and adoration, for him. Full of all of the things he never thought he’d get before you, and he didn’t want from any else without you.

He slid in slowly, so torturously slow but he didn’t want to rush this, any of it. He stopped his own eyes from closing as he bottomed out just so he could watch your head drop back and yours flutter closed, your expression now completely blissed out and your hands clinging to his biceps.

The first roll of his hips was tentative, hardly even moving but it drew a sound out of both of you. His forehead dropped down to yours and he finally let his eyes close, cutting himself to anything but you in that moment as he repeated his movements, again, and again, gaining more rhythm and strength with each roll and meeting of your hips. He wasn’t usually ever as vocal as he was being currently, but just this once, he let it all spill out. Every groan, every rough moan, all blending in with your own.

“God— shit- love y’so, so damn much.” He told you again through gritted teeth, his expression— if your eyes had been open to see— pathetically devastated, this time by the feeling of you, of being quite literally as close as two people could be after having no closeness at all.

“Love- oh, god— i love you too, Dean, i- more than anything.”

That was it for him, he knew he wouldn’t last as long as usual, but that’s what proved it, he almost finished right there. Even now though, he was a stubborn asshole and he wanted you to finish first, or at least at the same time.

He snaked a hand down between you, his thumb finding your clit with the pressure he knew always undid you.

“Cmon baby.. y- shit, y’know you can give it t’me.. want it, wanna feel you so bad.”

That was it for you, your eyes screwed even tighter and your back arched up off of the bed and up into him, your body tightening around him. He came straight after, spilling into you as his head fell into your heaving chest.

He stayed like that for a minute, not pulling out, not speaking, just being with you.

Until he heard your breathless laugh from above him, he lifted his head to see you looking down at him with a flushed face and a stupid soft grin, one which he mirrored without even meaning to.

“That good for you baby?”

“Mhmm, better than good, always better than good Dean.”

He’d remember that after this too but not for any smug or arrogant reasoning, because he liked knowing that he made you feel good. That he made you feel loved even if he hadn’t been great at expressing it with words a lot of the time. It was nice, to know he was genuinely good at something that wasn’t killing.

He was genuinely good at being a boyfriend, at being someone’s someone. Your someone.

He shifted so that he was lay next to you on his back and he pulled you into him, melting into the feeling of your head on his chest and your arm over his stomach.

“I’ll help y’get cleaned up in a minute just..” He trailed off, pressing a kiss to your hair.

He didn’t get the chance to finish what he was saying anyway, you beat him to it.

“I’m good here, we can do that later.. we have sleep to catch up on.”

Yeah. Sleep. Dean wouldn’t be sleeping.

He huffed a light chuckle, rubbing his hand over your back and watching you as you closed your eyes, completely comfortable and safe with him like you still should be.

“Yea, you get some more rest.. i’ll be right here.”

He had been right there, his hand drawing light patterns across your back, his other holding your head close to him right up until you fully fell asleep. Once you’d fallen asleep, he’d gotten up and went into the bathroom and found a bottle of pills.

Dean had always been selfless, but he often got that heavily mixed up with being stupidly self sacrificial. He didn’t care who it was, whether he knew them or not, Dean would never hesitate in risking his own life for anothers. He had such a low sense of self worth that his life only felt worth something if he was saving other lives with it. It was how he’d been raised, after all, to be a protector, that the job always came first.

So when you found out about what Dean had done, about the deal he’d made, it wasn’t surprising so much as devastating.

You’d known how badly Sam’s death had hit Dean, the two had just started getting close again and Dean had always felt it was his sole job to keep Sam safe, so when he died, stabbed in the back right infront of Dean, it completely tore him apart. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t sleep, he refused to salt and burn Sam’s body for days after because that’d mean he was really gone. He was a wreck. He lashed out at you and Bobby more than ever, he didn’t leave the salvage yard for 3 days straight. Just sat with Sam. He blamed himself, if he had gotten there sooner, if he’d have called out quicker, maybe Sam wouldn’t be dead with a hole in his back.

You and Bobby had no clue what to do to fix it. You’d tried everyday to comfort Dean, some days he’d let you hold him and he’d cry, others he’d stay silent, his eyes never so much as raising to meet your own. It was awful for you too, not only losing a friend, but seeing your boyfriend go through losing his brother like this. You wanted so badly to somehow fix this for him, but it just wasn’t possible, bringing people back to life wasn’t possible in any way that ended well.

“Dean… it’s been 4 days, don’t you think it’s time to.. yknow, end this properly?”

Your voice and the words you’d picked had been so carefully spoken, you weren’t trying to piss him off or upset him any further by having to bring up burning his brothers body, but it did have to be brought up. Sam was dead, and he wasn’t coming back, there was no point delaying what they knew had to happen. He knew that, or at least you’d thought he did.

“We ain’t burning him. Not yet. Not ‘til i know for sure we can’t get him back.”

“He’s- he’s gone.. there isn’t a way to bring him back.”

You’d thought you’d said it gentle enough, apparently a lot of what you thought lately was wrong.

“The hell do you know?” He’d snapped at you, his voice taut and low, thick with the grief and anger he’d been holding onto for the past few days.

“You’re hardly even a hunter, y’think just ‘cause i bring you along with me for a while you know everything now?”

You hadn’t been expecting that, and you didn’t know how to reply. Dean had his anger issues, yeah, but you’d never been on the receiving end of it before. It hurt a little, you and Dean had been dating for a while, and you’d been his hunting partner, and girlfriend, since before Sam came back into the picture, so him declaring that you’re basically just a passenger did sting. You’d blinked a few times, just staring at him before you opened your mouth to speak but he hadn’t even let you get a word in.

“Damnit!— Just drop it, alright!?”

His voice was sharper than it had been five seconds before, louder too, and the way he was looking at you was a look full of frustration and hurt. It made your eyebrows raise slightly and your chest tighten, but you’d seen the glossiness in his eyes betraying the tears he was so desperately trying to hold back. That dimmed any anger you’d had at him in that moment for being a dick to you, so you just sighed and nodded and left him alone again.

He’d left that night, early in the morning when he knew neither you or Bobby would be awake yet. He’d gotten into the impala and he’d drove, his grip on the steering wheel white knuckled and not thinking about anything at all besides Sam.

All he’d been thinking about was getting his brother back. Not the consequences, and not about who what he was about to do would hurt. All his life he’d been repeatedly told one thing by his father, look out for Sammy, and he’d be damned if when he needed him the most was when he stopped.

A crossroads deal.

Dean made a deal with a crossroads demon, Sam got brought back to life in exchange for Deans soul. Usually, these deals left the person making them 10 years left, but since Dean was Dean, the demon only offered him a year. One year, and Dean had taken it.

Sam would come back to life, and in a years time they’d come for Dean. One year before Dean would get torn to shreds by hellhounds and dragged down to hell.

He didn’t care, all he cared about was Sam.

Obviously, when Sam miraculously woke up with no memory besides being stabbed in the back, you and Bobby knew something was wrong. You’d clung onto the small shred of hope that he hadn’t done something stupid, but Bobby wasn’t buying it. He’d dragged Dean outside and you’d followed.

That’s when you found out.

Dean only had a year left.

Bobby had been angry, and devestated, but the anger prevailed. You, though? You’d felt like your whole world had just collapsed under you. You hadn’t stayed to listen to them argue after Dean had confirmed what he’d done, you couldn’t. You’d felt sick, you remember all sound fading but the growing ringing in your ears.

Dean was going to die.

Dean was going to die and there was nothing any of you could do to stop it.

The days following the revelation had been tense, Dean was trying to act like he didn’t care and like he hadn’t signed his death certificate with his own hand, but you, Sam, and Bobby didn’t see it that way. Sam was angry, and upset with Dean for doing what he’d done. Bobby couldn’t believe that he’d do something so utterly stupid, and you? You had been terrified.

You didn’t know what you’d do without him, not in an unhealthy co-dependent way, but Dean was genuinely the thing that kept you going most days. Without that, you had no idea who you’d become.

The year passed in a blur. You, Sam and Dean had carried on hunting trying to figure out a way to kill Lillith while you and Sam also tried searching for ways to fix what Dean had done. In that year, you and Dean hadn’t withdrawn from eachother, if anything it was the complete opposite. You both knew that a year was all you had left with eachother, and you’d wanted to make it count. He’d taken you on small dates whenever there was a day free, every day he’d made sure to make it damn clear just how much he loved you. With every day that passed and Dean got closer to his death, he realised more and more exactly just what he was leaving behind.

He hadn’t been scared at first, but on the very last day, he’d been terrified. On the his last night, he’d cried— really cried, he hadn’t let go of you even once, kissing, touching, holding you wherever he could reach like he could physically leave a reminder of how much you meant to him after he was gone.

“I love you baby,” He’d muttered over, and over again. “I love you so goddamn much, you gonna remember that for me, yeah? That i ain’t ever gonna stop thinking about you.”

Then it’d happened. It was brutal and bloody, and Dean had screamed and cried in pain so gutturally in a way you didn’t think you’d ever heard anyone do before. You and Sam hadn’t been able to do anything but watch as he was torn to ribbons, sliced by sharp claws and mauled by equally as sharp teeth, and as the light faded from his eyes and his expression went slack.

Deans death had hit everyone really, really hard. Bobby, who these boys were like sons to, was a shell of himself. Sam had disappeared a few days after burying Dean— insisting on not burning his body because he was positively sure he was gonna find a way to bring him back and he’d need his body when he did, he’d disappeared and gone off the deep end. You’d disappeared too, but not to sleep around or take your anger out on demons like Sam had, you’d left as to not burden anyone else with the mess you felt yourself turning into.

Bobby had enough on his plate keeping himself going, and Sam wasn’t there anymore, you didn’t want to be anything else on Bobbys plate. You’d left and just left Bobby a short note. For the next four months you were completely, and utterly alone. You’d went back to the small cabin in some thick woods that you had under your name, it wasn’t a place you stayed often but it was something you had for when the world got too much. No one knew about it besides you— and, well, Dean. Dean had been there with you numerous times, which made staying there make you feel so much worse instead of fixing anything, because you saw him in memories of every corner of that place.

In the bedroom where he’d kept both of you awake into stupid hours of the night because he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, laughing and smiling against eachothers lips like it was only you two that existed. In the kitchen where he’d sneak off to in the mornings and wake you up ridiculously with breakfast for you and a smug grin on his face, on the couch where you’d sit together and watch stupid old taped horror movies that, even if he wouldn’t admit it, made him jump.

All of that was gone now, all that was left of him were the few flannels and jackets he’d left there. For those four months, you didn’t so much as live as you did just exist. You felt hollow all of the time, you woke up every morning and turned expecting to see Dean, only to then remember that he wasn’t there anymore. You hardly ate, you didn’t leave the cabin unless it was to go and buy just enough food to be sustainable or to walk the forest trails alone. The first day alone, you’d woken up and called out his name, even got up and trudged down to the kitchen expecting to find him there only to remember that he wasn’t there, and he’d never be there again.

You’d been right to be terrified when you’d found out, you didn’t know who you were anymore.

You lived like a ghost.

Until something unthinkable happened.

Dean woke up. He woke up somewhere dark, his hands instantly flew to his chest that had been, and should still be, torn to shreds. It wasn’t. He was completely and fully intact. The next thing he noticed was that he was currently 6ft under. Great. He’d woken up literally in his own grave. He managed to dig himself out with a hell of a lot of effort, then covered in dirt and exhausted he made his way to hotwire a car and get to Bobbys place. After what down there was 40 years, 40 years of pain and torture, he was somehow back. He was fully intact, no scars— not even ones he’d had before dying. All he had to prove it was the memories. He spent the entire drive trying to figure out how the hell he was back, and he came up with nothing. It was frustrating but he forced himself to forget about that for now because he had one other big thing on his mind.

You.

He was exhausted by the time he reached Bobbys place, pulling into the familiar surroundings of broken down and scrapped cars.

His unexpected arrival was… It was sort of what he expected. Bobby didn’t believe it was Dean for a second, yelling about how he’s some sorta shifter or demon and going straight for swinging his silver knife at him.

Dean might’ve been Dead for four months, but fighting was just muscle memory.

“Easy!— Damnit Bobby! It’s me!”

“My ass it’s you!”

After a struggle Dean managed to get the knife from Bobby and sliced his own arm with a grimace to prove that it was infact him and not a shifter, and as soon as a line of blood appeared under the silver blade the older man’s expression crumpled. He pulled Dean into a tight hug that Dean reciprocated enthusiastically, hit with instant relief. He’d missed the old pain in the ass more than he’d admit.

After surprise dousing Dean with holy water, Bobby was satisfied that it really was him.

After showering and getting into clothes that weren’t dirt covered, he finally got to ask where you and Sam were since you weren’t around here.

“Sam’s alive, far as i know.”

“Good— wait, the hell d’you mean as far as you know??”

“I haven’t seen him in months. He was dead set on goin’ off on his own.”

“Bobby, you shoulda been looking for him! Damnit.. ok, what- uh, what about..” His voice wavered slightly as he said your name, a pang going through his chest as he was hit with the last memory he had of you, of your face as he was ripped apart. He couldn’t get that out of his head.

Bobby told him that, like Sam, you’d left. He didn’t know where you’d gone or what you’d been doing, all calls or texts he’d send you hadn’t gone through.

Damn it, so what the hell had you been up to.

Dean knew you well, he knew you real well, he knew where you went when everything felt like too much.

The cabin.

Dean shoved Bobby into a car with him and started on the way there, he knew you didn’t like others knowing about this place but he figured you’d believe him quicker if Bobby was with him, he knew that he was worried about you too.

They got there in an hour, and Dean found himself fixing his hair in the window of the car before they walked up to the door. 40 years in hell hadn’t changed the way he felt about you.

His heart was in his throat as he knocked and waited for the door to open, he was so excited to see you again but also scared to see what his death had done to you.

When you opened the door Deans breath caught in his throat for a solid five seconds, maybe even longer. Your eyes were red rimmed from constant crying, you were thinner than he remembered, you didn’t look as bright anymore.

That was on him.

“..Surprise.”

Your eyes widened as soon as you saw him stood there, and for a second you didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Then your eyes darted over to Bobby who just nodded, confirming that it was Dean without a word before he patted him on the shoulder and walked back to the car to give you both privacy.

For a moment, there was just silence. Just you staring at him with restless eyes that were quickly beginning to get bleary as they moved all over him, and him looking at you with a look that was almost desperation.

Desperate for you to accept this, for you to not slam that door in his face for what he put you through.

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

Dean, Dean who you’d watched get ripped apart four months ago in a gorey, bloody mess, was stood right there. Your boyfriend that you’d buried was right infront of you.

“Dean?..”

When your voice finally did come out, it was slightly hoarse and it wasn’t steady in the slightest. You didn’t want to talk too loud, just incase this was a dream and you jolted yourself awake.

“You— how you.. you’re dead— it..”

Words felt like they were stuck in your throat, and the tears in your eyes had begun to sting as they dropped down your face but you didn’t wipe them, you didn’t want to look away and risk the chance that he’d disappear.

Seeing you cry made Deans chest tighten, he’d never liked seeing you cry. He’d always been quick to try and fix it, making a stupid joke or distracting you in whatever way he could, but right now didn’t feel like the time for any of that.

“Hey baby,” He uttered, his voice thick and his throat working as he spoke. “Cmon.. don’t cry, yknow i hate it when you cry.”

His voice was a soothing murmur as he slowly stepped closer, giving you every chance to stop him or move away as his hands came up to cup your face and his thumbs wiped at under your eyes.

The contact was what broke something for you. Maybe it was the final push you needed to realise it wasn’t a dream, or maybe it was because it was the first touch you’d had in four months. Your face completely crumpled and you all but collapsed into his chest. He caught you and held you up with hardly any effort compared to how hard he was trying to hold his own tears back, but hearing you cry the way you were wasn’t making it any easier on him.

One of his hands went to the back of your head, threading through your hair like he could get closer to you through it and the other stayed firmly around the middle of your back keeping you both upright and close to him.

“Shh.. don’t- cmon.. don’t cry.” He muttered, his voice strained as he tried to follow his own advice.

Your hands were curled into the front of his shirt and your body was tense, shoulders shaking slightly as you tried not to sob— which didn’t work very well. You’d missed him, you’d missed him so, so much that it had been driving you insane. Everything reminded you of him, songs on the radio, certain smells, diner food, everything around you had some sort of memory of him attached to it and for four months that was all you had of him. Memories.

For a minute, you both just stood there. You crying so hard that you hiccuped, which you would’ve been embarrassed about if you were able to think about anything but him, and Dean holding you like he was scared this was all a trick. He wasn’t crying like you, but the slight tremor in his hands betrayed how he was feeling. He had his cheek rested on your head, muttering soothing words and promises.

“I’m here, i’m back, ‘m not leavin’ you ever again, i promise baby.”

You pulled back slightly after what felt like an eternity, but not by much, only enough to look back up at his face.

“You— you’re really?..”

“Yea, really back. Got no idea how yet, but i’m here.”

That was convincing enough for you.

Deans eyes kept dropping down to your mouth, his expression a complicated mix of relief and desperation. Could he kiss you? Was that too soon? He didn’t want to rush you into anything, but god he’d missed you so much and he wanted to show you that. Wanted to show you that he was really back, that he was back and feeling okay.

You noticed where his eyes were falling to, and despite the tears in your own, yours were doing the same. For a second, neither of you moved, and then his lips were on yours. Warm, insistent, and needy.

It wasn’t clear who had moved in first, but that didn’t matter. Not when his hands slid back up to the side of your face and pulled you deeper into it, not when your hands were pulling him closer by the front of his shirt.

Dean crowded you back into the cabin and kicked the door shut behind him without once taking his lips off or hands of you, he walked you backwards and further into the space towards the couch as his mouth trailed across to your jaw, and everywhere he could reach on your neck. His hands trailed over your shoulders, your ribs, your hips, quite literally anywhere that was within his reach.

“Shit- god, you got no idea how much i missed you. ‘m gonna show you, gonna show you how much i missed you baby.” He blabbed mindlessly as he gently lowered you down onto the couch before finally pulling away to stand over you for just a second.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit instead of being lay on your back and your hands slid up his stomach over his shirt, up to his chest.

“Need to see- i need.. please.”

He knew what you meant, and without any hesitation he deftly peeled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground.

He really was a sight for sore eyes, all hard, toned muscle and smooth freckled skin— and that’s what you’d been looking for. His skin was smooth, not a scar in sight. No claw marks, no deep gashes, nothing. That finally brought a small smile to your face.

“There y’go.. missed that smile.” He muttered with his own little grin, leaning back down to kiss you again.

It was deeper this time, less like he was trying to convince you it was real and more like he was trying to relearn every part of you. He lowered himself down over you, one of his hands sliding down your waist to your thigh to hitch your leg over his hip.

Your hands were all over him as you leant up into the kiss, using your leg to pull him closer, hands sliding over the hard muscle of his chest, down to his toned stomach, back up to his shoulders and down his arms, your nails dragging slightly causing a soft grunt to leave his lips against yours which made your lips twitch up into a slight smile against his and in retaliation he pressed his hips closer into you.

Dean pulled away then, and youd tried to chase after the kiss only to hear a quiet, chesty laugh leave him. You opened your eyes to see him staring down at you, his eyes glimmering and his expression soft.

“Never stopped thinking about you.” He told you in a rough murmur, “Not even for a day.”

After 40 years in hell he was back with you, and despite the memories and the pain that he still had, he felt happy. He had no idea how he’d came back, but he pushed that aside for later, for now all he wanted to focus on was you and making sure you knew that he was back and not leaving you again.

Dean really did think he was cursed. It seemed like everyone that he cared about died, that as soon as someone came into his life they were suddenly fated to a cruel death. His mom, his dad, Sam, Jo, Ellen, Ash. He had a list about a mile long of people who had died because they’d been involved with him.

He was poison.

He’d made peace with it over time, he’d never have anything truly good in his life. Besides, the men in his family didn’t seem to have good luck with love— his father losing his mother, Sam losing Jess, he had no doubt they were all a curse. He’d accepted that he’d never be able to be truly loved or seen, he’d never wake up to someone’s head on his chest with light seeping in from the window of a shared bedroom, he’d never have someone that understands and sees every crevice of him.

He wanted that.

He may not voice it often, and everyone that knew him thought he preferred the one night stands and the flings with no strings attached. Which he did— like them, he did, it was fun, but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t the love that he so desperately craved, but had realised he’d never get.

That was, until he met you. When Dean met you he thought that maybe he could have something good after all.

You had just been normal, you hadn’t had a clue about the monsters that lurked in the dark until you’d been face to face with the vengeful spirit that had been killing people in your town, luckily Dean and Sam had already figured out who it was and who it was going after next— you.

They’d split up, Sam going to find and burn the bones, Dean rushing to your house to try and keep you alive until Sam had finished it.

Dean had gotten there and kicked the front door in just in time to see you— oh. Oh you were… really, really pretty. He’d seen alot of pretty women, but you? You’d made him stop for a split second. Not for very long though, because you had a very murderous spirit moving towards you. He’d shot at it with a rock salt shotgun pellet and temporarily dispelled it, he hadn’t had time to explain to you, who was stood there staring at his unfamiliar face with wide eyes looking a mix of absolutely terrified and convinced you were going crazy, that there was a killer ghost after you and he was there to save you and he wasn’t just some maniac with a shotgun.

Instead he’d rushed over and grabbed you by the hand, his grip as gentle as it could be while also being insistent. You hadn’t said anything as he’d pulled you towards the front door of the house to try and get you away from danger, but that hadn’t worked. The door was locked, so was the back door, so were all of the windows. That spirit didn’t want you to get out of there. Dean had asked you if you had any salt, he remembered you’d opened your mouth to try and speak but nothing but a weak croak had left your lips, so instead you’d just nodded and pointed with a shaky hand to the kitchen.

He drew a salt circle in the living room, ushered you into it and explained to you that as long as you stayed in the salt circle, you couldn’t be hurt.

“Listen t’me,” He’d said while making the circle, “I know you’re probably confused as hell and i’ll explain everything t’you, but for now do not— under any circumstance, step outta this circle, you got that? It can’t get you in here.”

When he’d stood back up and looked at you again, you hadn’t been looking at him like he was just some psycho anymore. He didn’t know how to explain how you were looking at him, just knew he hadn’t been looked at like that before.

The ghost seemed to still be gone, so he took that as his chance to quickly message Sam to tell him to hurry up and then explain to you what was happening. You didn’t react loudly, you didn’t even call him crazy and say that monsters being real was insane and not possible. Which was a nice change for once.

You’d decided to trust him, and that right there had been the start of something Dean would’ve never guessed would happen.

Sam did eventually find the bones and burn them, but not before Dean got an ass kicking from a pissed off dead chick. She’d been mid choking the living crap outta him when Sam finally burnt the bones and she burst into flames, dropping him to the ground coughing as air flooded his lungs. You’d ran over to him then, still scared and confused but you’d still ran over to him and knelt down to his side, fussing over him and insisting to help him.

That was something he found himself really liking, someone who didn’t know that he’d had much worse showing so much concern for him when anyone that did know him better would’ve brushed it off after a simple “are you okay?”

He’d learnt your name after that, and you’d learnt his. He’d also got your number, but he didn’t find himself just wanting to sleep with you and spend one fleeting night sharing a bed like he usually did, sex was something that to Dean was extremely casual. He’d treated it as a pass time, something to do and something just.. ordinary.

He stayed in that town an extra day longer than he usually would of, he’d told Sam that he just wanted to check on you after what’d happened, truth was he just really wanted to be around you for a little longer. He’d gone to your house again and knocked instead of kicking the door open, and you’d opened the door looking happy to see him instead of looking terrified out of your mind. You asked him questions, and he’d answered. Questions about his life at first, mainly his job, which was understandable and he’d explained it. Explained that monsters were real, that he and his brother travelled around putting them down to stop them from killing any more than they already had.

You’d called it brave, but lonely. Not cool, not crazy, lonely, and you were right, it was lonely.

Then you asked questions that he didn’t think he’d ever been asked by a woman, and he’d given honest answers which also wasn’t a common occurrence. You asked about what he’d want to do if he didn’t chase around monsters, he’d said a mechanic or a fire fighter. You asked about what seemed like anything that came to mind, and despite himself he’d answered every single one. Not only did he answer, he asked his own questions. Not out of feeling obligated to, or to keep the conversation flowing, but he’d asked because he genuinely wanted to know more about the woman whose couch he was sat on.

He was there for hours, and before he’d left you’d ran off into your kitchen and came back out with a pie. Homebaked and smelling like heaven and you’d made it to thank him for saving you the day before, and you’d kissed him on the cheek just before he walked out of the door.

That made him realise that he was completely screwed.

He kept finding himself always coming back to you over the next couple of months, whenever him and Sam were near for a hunt he’d disappeared in the time Sam was doing research in the motel room and Dean would end up at your house again. After hunts too, when he was sore and aching, when the guilt of the job and not being able to save everyone weighed down on him, he always found himself drawn straight back to you.

To the way you let him inside like he was meant to be there with you, to the way you’d look at him and listen as he ranted, or he yelled, or he spoke with his voice strained by the effort it was taking him not to break down infront of you. He sought out everything about you. He started doing things differently too, the flirting with random women in bars and diners continued but he never went further than flirting anymore. He didn’t rush into things like his life was only worth what he could save by risking it anymore. He didn’t drink as much. Everything added up and Sam started to get curious, he’d asked, but Dean had brushed it off and made some stupid excuse. Not because he was embarrassed of what he was starting to feel, but because he didn’t want to jinx anything by saying it outloud.

When Dean finally did ask you to be his girlfriend, officially, it was unplanned and it was an in the moment thing. He’d stumbled onto your doorstep, beaten up and dirty after a hunt, you’d taken him inside and you’d sat him down without looking at him like he was a wreck or a mess that needed to be fixed. You wiped the blood off of his face with a kind of care he didn’t think had ever been directed at him and instead of asking questions and demanding answers you’d told him that it was okay, that whatever happened it was over now and he could let it go.

He’d kissed you before saying anything. He’d always been better with actions rather than words, words weren’t his strong suit but after you’d kissed him back and ended up breathless with your forehead rested against his, and your eyes searching his trying to figure out if he’d meant to do that he knew he had to try.

He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but he could remember a rough summary of it.

“I don’t.. i ain’t exactly good at.. this,” he’d muttered, your faces so close together that he could feel your breathing across his skin and vice versa. “but I know that, uh, i care about you. A lot. It scares the crap outta me, and ‘m not used to it, but i like it. Like caring about you, and… having you, i mean. ‘nd i do, want you. Want you so bad it drives me crazy.”

You’d been quiet for a second and his heart had almost dropped out of his ass, but then he saw you smile. He saw you smile and it felt like a physical weight off of his shoulders.

“I know, you don’t hide it very well.” Had been your reply, and then you’d kissed him again before he got the chance to scoff or say something stupid.

The two of you had ended up in a bed for the first time together that night, and for once it felt special. It didn’t feel like a way to pass the time, or a way to make himself feel good just for a little while. It was good— hell it was amazing, but in a completely different way. When he woke up that next morning, he woke up to what he’d only ever let himself daydream about having. A bed that was warm in a home that he was fully welcomed in, the orange hue of the sun leaking in through the windows splaying over the woman that was lay on his chest. For once there was no expectation for him to quietly get up, dressed, and leave. There was no waking up to someone saying that last night was fun, and then giving a goodbye.

He woke up somewhere that he knew he was allowed to stay, with someone that wanted him to do exactly that.

Obviously, a relationship with Dean was different to the typical relationships of people that were normal. He had to leave all the time to go and kill things, he was hurt a lot, he was bad with feelings and he clammed up, but it was good. It was so, so good. Dean did his best to make it feel as close to normal as they’d get, he introduced you properly to Sam, as his girlfriend. You met bobby, he let you in to his life fully and completely.

He’d never had the kind of happiness that he’d had when he’d had you.

But good things never seemed to last for people in that family.

Following Dean coming back from hell before meeting you, being yanked out by an angel, Sam and Dean were being hunted down by demons, and Lillith. They wanted them dead, Lillith wanted to raise lucifer. Demons were nasty sonsofbitches, they hurt just to hurt, it didn’t matter if the person they hurt had nothing to do with any of it. It was just what they did.

Dean had been away from you for a couple of days spending time at Bobbys place as him, Sam, and Bobby— Castiel too, all searched for ways to try and stop the mess that was happening, when he got a call from your phone. It didn’t alarm him, you called often and he liked it when you called to check on him— but this wasn’t that. It wasn’t your voice that he heard when he accepted the phone call, it was a voice that was cruel and full of malice. It made his heart drop, Dean thought he knew fear better than anyone but he’d never felt fear like that.

“Pretty girlfriend you have Dean, such a shame you dragged her into your mess of a life.”

He was a fast driver normally, but that drive to your house after that call was a kind of speed that only came from sheer terror. Sam was sat in the car flinching at every sharp turn Dean made.

It took him 40 minutes to get there, he’d thought that was quick, he’d thought he’d been fast enough. He kicked the door down again, just like he had the first time he met you, but this time was so much different.

He hadn’t gotten there in time and what he saw through that door was something that haunted him everytime he closed his eyes.

He’d kicked the door down just in time to watch as you had a knife plunged into your stomach, just in time to see all of the colour drain from your face as the pain exploded making your knees buckle and you drop to the ground. The demon hadn’t stuck around, it’d expelled itself as soon as the job was done in a haze of black smoke flowing out of the window but Dean didn’t care about that. His gun dropped from his hands but he hardly heard the loud clatter it made because all of his attention was on you.

You, on the ground, your face pale and tear stained, your hands pressing over the growing red patch on your shirt.

“No!—“ He’d yelled your name, his eyes widening and he didn’t bother to try and hide the devastation written all across his face.

He’d been by your side in an instant, dropping down to his knees next to you and pulling your head onto his lap, his own larger hands pressing down onto the wound but despite how hard he held down it wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“Dean..” You’d said quietly, your voice weaker than he’d ever heard it, and it was like you knew that you weren’t getting out of there.

He’d shook his head, his expression tight as he blinked back the tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.

“No— no, damnit don’t- don’t you dare. Don’t you dare do that. You’re not dyin’, you’re not.” His voice had cracked more times than he’d like to admit, and his voice was thick with a kind of agony he didn’t think he’d ever felt. He didn’t know what Sam was doing, right then he didn’t even remember that Sam was there, all he could see was you, bleeding out in his arms.

“It’s okay.. It- it doesn’t hurt.” You’d said to him, trying to console him even while dying, even as blood stained the inside of your mouth leaving a coppery taste. You hadn’t been scared to die, you’d been scared of what it was going to do to him.

He held you until your eyes closed from something they’d never open from and your chest stopped the rise and fall of breathing, but he didn’t let go. He’d held you, he’d held you and he cried in a way Dean never let himself cry.

You may have been the one to die that day, but a part of Dean died with you too. A part of himself he’d never get back. So two things had died that day, you, and the chance of Dean ever feeling whole again because with you went so much of him.

He was a wreck after your death, he drank like he had a few livers to spare, he was reckless on hunts in a way that he’d never been, he hardly ate, he didn’t make stupid goofy jokes anymore, he refused to go anywhere near your town, and he made it his mission to find the demon that’d done it. To find the thing that’d taken away from him what he had always wanted and finally had the chance to have, Lillith and the seals being broken didn’t come before you, nothing did. Sam was worried about him, and so was Bobby— even Castiel had noticed something was wrong with Dean, but bringing it up only pissed Dean off. He’d gotten angrier after her death, worse at keeping it in. He lashed out more, said things he didn’t mean but would never apologise for. He was a shell of himself, full of anger and loss.

Then he found it, he found the demon that’d killed the love of his life, and he’d given it right back. It’d taunted him, said things to him about you that he’d never forget. There was no hesitation when it came to it, he didn’t even spare a thought for the vessel the thing was occupying, he just killed it. Just like that, watched as it fizzled and died.

After that, the anger fizzled out too and just left a deep ache. Revenge never really fixed anything after all, it just gave a temporary motivation.

Then it’d happened, Dean had died- again. That might’ve sounded crazy to other people, dying more than once, but it seemed like dying was something that never stuck for him and Sam. So he didn’t expect it to this time.

He didn’t know where he was when he woke up, he just knew he was dead or at least on the brink of it, now he was just waiting to inevitably be brought back by Castiel, or maybe this time he really was dead. He didn’t know, he couldn’t find it in him to care either.

“Hey stranger.”

Dean froze, he fully froze. He knew that voice, he’d never forget that voice, he mourned that voice. He couldn’t believe it- no, he could, but he didn’t want to because he didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he slowly turned his head to the voice and there you were.

You. Stood there with a little smile on your face, pale and.. dead, but you. You weren’t crying, you weren’t bloody, and you weren’t in pain like you had been the last time Dean had seen you.

“..You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If he had a beating heart in him as a spirit, it would’ve flipped in his chest. He just stared at you for a second, wide eyes blinking like he was expecting you to disappear everytime they reopened, but you didn’t. You were there. Dead, and a ghost, but you were there.

His legs moved before his mind even had a chance to catch up with them, once second he was standing looking around the space he was in, the next he was stood right infront of you, looking down at you and his hand hovering near your cheek— too scared to actually reach out to your face incase his hand went right through and you disappeared.

You’d smiled, a smile that was a mix of happy to see him again and sad that they were meeting like this. You placed your hand over his and he felt it, he felt it and it didn’t phase through, and you’d brought his own hand to your cheek where he’d been too afraid to actually touch. His hand didn’t phase through, and you didn’t disappear.

That did it for him, something snapped like a taught string being snipped. His hand that was on your cheek slid into the hair at the back of your head and he pulled you into him, his other arm wrapping around your shoulders to keep you as close as you could possibly be. He’d never thought he’d get that again, and he’d never thought he’d feel your hands on his back hugging him again, or your chin on his shoulder, but here he was— feeling exactly that.

“I missed you— god i missed you so much.” He’d choked out, feeling that stinging in his eyes that had become really familiar to him in the last few months.

“I got it,” He told you, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of everything, “I got— i got the bastard that killed you, sent it straight back down to hell.”

He didn’t even really realise what was coming out of his mouth, he just couldn’t stop the words from coming because it’d been so long since he’d gotten to talk to you. He’d missed you, he’d missed you more than he thought it was possible to miss someone.

“I’m- shit, i’m so fucking sorry. God, baby i’m so sorry i wasn’t- i wasn’t fast enough I couldn’t- i couldn’t save you.” His voice was a rough whisper, thick with the guilt and the grief he’d been carrying like rocks on his back since your death. Dean blamed himself for what had happened, he may not have been the one to hold the knife but he hadn’t been there quick enough. He hadn’t been able to get there and stop it from happening to you, and that was something that he’d carry with him forever.

“Dean..” You murmured quietly, pulling away just enough to look at his face, pressing one hand to his freckled cheek. “It’s not your fault, none of it is your fault. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

He had a habit of taking on the guilt for everything that happened around him, you wished he wouldn’t, but that was just how he is.

“Can’t?” A rough laugh escaped him as he looked you in the eyes, taking in your face while he still could, his hands stayed on your shoulders needing to keep some sort of contact. “Course I can, i should’ve been faster. Shoulda- hell, i shoulda never left you alone when all this started. I should’ve.. i could’ve saved you i..” His voice broke off and he felt like a kid again, crying over stuff he couldn’t fix.

He missed you, he missed you so badly it hurt. You and him should’ve had more time, deserved more time. It wasn’t fair. He should still be waking up with a numb arm from where your head had been, he should still be able to introduce you to people as his girlfriend, he should still be able to talk to you without having to sit near a headstone to do so.

“You’re.. You’re dead, Dean.” You frowned, “Aren’t you scared? Or.. sad? Anything?”

He shouldve been. He knew that, he should be sad, he should be worried that he was dead for good, should be worried about the world ending if he couldn’t stop it. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t scared, and he wasn’t sad, and he wasn’t angry— because if being dead meant he got to see you again, and stay with you, Dean would choose to stay dead. For once he didn’t feel like he had to go back, he didn’t feel like if he chose peace he’d be betraying everyone around him.

“Not scared.”

He told you, one of his hands leaving your shoulder to cup your face.

“I’m with you again baby.. That’s all i want, don’t need a beating heart t’get all fuzzy around you.”

He smiled slightly, partly at his own joke, partly at how it felt to be with you again.

“Dean.. you’re not ready to die, not yet.”

You murmured.

“You’re still young, and way too pretty to be dead. You still have the world to save, people to save.” You told him, taking in his face just the way he was doing to you.

“There’s always gonna be people t’save.. monsters ain’t going away any time soon.”

You frowned at him again, a small chiding little tug of your lips.

“It’s just not your time Dean.”

Not his time.

Not his time to what, to die, or to finally find peace, because right now the two were sounding pretty damn similar.

You didn’t want him dead, fine, he didn’t want you dead either. If he gets to come back, you should get to come back. You were better than he was, he was broken, and damaged, but you? You were the kind of person that made the world good. He didn’t care about what he’d have to do, he’d get you back.

“Then i’m g’nna get you back. I’ll find a way, swear t’god i’m gonna find a way to get you breathing again.” He declared, his throat working and his jaw clenched tight. He hadn’t realised he’d been crying, and you hadn’t pointed it out.

It was a big promise to make, a dangerous thing to set his mind to, but he didn’t care. It’d been 7 months without you, and it hadn’t gotten easier, Dean was losing his mind and he needed you back. Bringing people back from the dead was something only idiots tried, but Dean had never claimed to be smart. There were ways, there was a way for anything if you looked hard enough, and Dean would look.

“Dean…”

You frowned at him a little, he’d always said that the dead should stay dead.

“No, nah, it’s.. it can’t stay like this. Shouldn’t be like this anyway. You shoulda never died.. i’ll fix it.”

You’d wanted to argue, to protest and tell him not to do anything stupid, but you didn’t have the time. Dean started to feel himself being pulled away, their time was up once again, and he was being dragged back to his body and away from you.

He didn’t waste another second, with his hands on her jaw he pulled you closer and pressed his lips to yours. It was rushed, and it was clumsy, and his nose bumped yours but it was genuine and full of so much grief.

“Gonna fix this.” He muttered against your lips, “gonna,” another kiss, “get you back.”

You didn’t reply, or maybe you did, it wouldn’t have mattered. He woke up. He jolted upright, gasping for air and coughing as it rentered his lungs. He was back at a motel, Sam stood at one side of the bed with a tense expression and Castiel at the other side, pulling his hand back from where he’d just placed it over Deans heart to restart it and fix the injuries he’d gotten.

“Jesus!- ..Dean? You- you okay man?..”

Sam had been worried, obviously with an angel around them dying didn’t stick, but that didnt make finding his brother dead any easier.

Dean just grunted with a nod, rubbing a hand over his face.

You were gone again, but he’d fix that.

He was gonna get you back.