bue

The stress of the job usually helped him forget. He found solace in endless lore, interviews, and hunts. They gave him something else to focus on. They also gave Dean a reason to stay by his side. Oh, and they gave him the perfect excuse to keep you close.

Sam hated himself for it. You and Dean were the two most important people in his life, and he was dangerous. The things that wanted him were dangerous. Still, the need was stronger than his conscience. He loved you and he couldn't let go.

This afternoon, however, you and the boys had wrapped up the hunt much faster than expected. It had turned out to be nothing more than a simple salt-and-burn. So Sam found himself alone in the motel bathroom, unable to quiet his thoughts.

Back when he was a kid, the bathroom had been the only place where he could find privacy. The only place where he could escape John's critical stare, where he could feel clean after long, violent days. He would take long showers and let the warm water boil away the dirt and blood until it turned cold, the chill eventually soothing his mind. Dean would often tease him when he got out, making jokes about "taking care of his little problems" and using all the hot water. It had embarrassed him at the time, but it had also confirmed just how much comfort he found inside that room. So, even now, the bathroom remained one of the places where he felt safest.

Dean had gone to some bar you had passed on the way to an interview to “gift the woman of the town with his precious talents.” You, on the other hand, had gone for a walk, as you always did when you had free time.

Sam normally would have joined you. He liked how happy those simple walks made you. He liked the casual conversations you shared and he loved watching you walk. Loved the way you seemed to breathe differently when you weren't surrounded by creatures, weapons, and the constant threat of death. He loved your easy smile, the way you talked about nothing and everything, the way your hand sometimes brushed against his when you walked beside him. It was such a small thing. Such a normal thing. And somehow, it meant so much. It was a kind of domesticity he had never known. A life that felt almost within reach. It was torture, but a very precious one.

This time, however, he hadn't gone. He had wanted to with all his heart, and being away from you had tortured him. He was always worrying about you, and missed the opportunity to see what would make you smile today.

But the hunts and their cruel rhythm, the guilt and its constant pursuit… He was exhausted. Every muscle burned and every bone ached. His head throbbed like a bitch. Unlike the headaches he'd suffered when he was having visions, this one was less sharp and more consuming. He could feel the blood pounding behind his ears and across his forehead. He wondered if it still carried traces of demonic venom. If it was spreading silently through him. If, little by little, it was consuming him until there was nothing left but a monster-

The door opened and closed with an irritating sound. Sam felt his head threaten to split apart.

“Sam?” Your voice sounded worried. So even though he barely had the energy to raise his voice, he answered.

“Bathroom. You can come in.”

“Hi, Sam. What are you doing here?” You paused when you saw him. He looked pale, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Why are the lights off? Wait, let me turn them–”

“No.” The answer came so quickly that it startled you.

“Sam, are you okay?” The words were soft and low. He loved that about you. The affection and warmth. The pure, selfless care you gave to someone as tarnished as him. It made something inside him break. He looked at you with wide, hazel puppy eyes, almost as if he were silently begging for something.

You always seemed to know what to do, even when he didn't know what he was asking for. So you stepped closer, took his head, and pulled him against your stomach. The soft sounds it made were strangely soothing. When your fingers began tracing slow patterns along the nape of his neck, he almost started purring. He held you desperately, pressing his face against your shirt. It didn't really smell like you -he wished it did- but it smelled clean, like floral detergent.

“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He could barely focus on your questions. Your nails were drawing little circles against his skin, and it felt so good.

“My head.” The words finally came out, muffled against the fabric.

“Okay. It's okay. I know just the thing that can help.” You always do, he thought. “But we have to lie you down. You can't stay here; you'll only get more uncomfortable.” He didn't answer, he simply followed you into the main room and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Come on. Lie down on your back.” You placed a pillow across your crossed legs. Sam lay down and rested his head against it. Then you took his temples between your fingers and began massaging them. “You know, I think I might have mentioned this before, but my grandmother owned a hair salon. I loved spending time there.” Your fingers moved into his hair, gently tangling through his scalp as you applied more pressure. “My father hated it because it took time away from training and helping with lore research and everything else, but I loved it. I used to clean things, handle appointments, all kinds of stuff.” Your fingers slowly moved toward the nape of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. “Sometimes, when we were about to close, my grandmother would take me to the fancy chairs. She'd wash my hair and massage my scalp.” Sam's eyes drifted shut. “I always found it fascinating that such a simple thing could mean so much. Whenever she did it, I felt every ounce of hurt, pressure, and stress disappear.” Your voice softened. “It felt intimate. I used to be jealous of her hands. I wanted to be able to make someone feel as safe and cared for as she made me feel with such a simple gesture.” Your fingers continued their slow movements through his hair. “One day, I asked her to teach me. After that, I started practicing on my mom every day.” You weren't entirely sure why you were telling him all this. You simply felt comfortable with him, and it seemed like the right thing to say. Maybe all he needed was a few soft words and something to distract him from the pain. “It's been a while since I've done this, though. Tell me if the pressure is too much.”

“It's perfect.” He answered so quickly that you couldn't help but giggle. God, he loved that sound. A small smile tugged at his lips. If Dean saw me now, I would die of embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“It's the least I can do. You're always taking care of everyone else. Saving people. Saving me and Dean when we need help on hunts.” Your fingers continued moving gently through his hair. “Who takes care of you?”

Sam's breath caught. How could someone so precious exist? He was putting you in danger every day, and here you were, saying the most beautiful things while taking his pain away without asking for anything in return. That was it. The dam broke. A couple of tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, dying into his hair. You noticed immediately and stopped.

“Hey. Are you sure it's not too much?” That only made him cry harder. You were so gentle and loving. He didn't know what to do with it. He had never been treated like this before. Sure, Dean had always taken care of him. But this was different. This was soft. There was no screaming, no sacrifice. Just your hands in his hair and your voice in the dark of the room. Your body close enough for him to feel the warmth of you. You weren't even his. That was the problem. You were his best friend. And maybe best friends could be like this. Maybe best friends could hold each other and touch each other with this kind of care.

Sam sat up and turned away from you, embarrassed by his reaction. “Hey, Sammy. Please. Tell me what's wrong. You're scaring me.” The nickname was what finally shattered the last of his composure.

“Why are you like this?”

“What? What do you mean, why am I like this?”

He finally turned around. His cheeks were wet, his nose red, his lips slightly swollen. They looked beautiful. Your fingers ached to touch them. Your lips yearned to kiss them to taste the salt of his tears.

Focus.

“Why are you so nice?” His voice trembled. “Why do you stick around?” He swallowed hard, hoping the tight feeling on his throat dissapeared. “Look, I'm dangerous. I'm a monster. I have this disease inside me. In my blood. This venom that's destroying every ounce of humanity I've ever had.” You couldn't speak. Sam's voice broke. “I'm begging you. I can't get away from you and Dean. I can't. I need you.” His eyes were full of fear. “So you have to leave. Because if you don't, you're going to end up dead like everyone else who ever got too close to me. Like my mom and dad, like Jess.” You stood frozen. He was standing in the center of the room, his large frame usually taking up so much space. Now, somehow, he looked small like a child trying to hide from an angry beast. You understood why he believed what he was saying. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, you just didn't know how to make him believe you. So you tried.

“Sam, listen to me.” He looked at you reluctantly. “Monsters are scary. They're cruel... ugly things.” You struggled to find the right words. “Some might look good on the outside, but inside, they're rotten. They feed on fear and power.” You took a step closer slowly, as if you were trying to talk to a wild scared animal without making it run. “Sammy, how could you possibly think you're like them? You're brave. You care about people. You work every day to make the world safer for strangers who will never even know your name.” Your voice grew softer. “You try to do the right thing every day, even when the right choice is harder than the wrong one.” You smiled faintly. God, you loved him so much. “You're kind. You're stubborn, in the best way possible...and you're beautiful.” Sam's breath caught. “Your soul is beautiful. I've seen it every time you've saved someone. I've seen it in the way you care, in the way you fight, in the way you keep going even when you're exhausted and afraid, and I see it now. Even when you're sad and angry.” Your voice trembled from the emotion of such honesty. “It's still beautiful.” Sam's eyes filled with tears again. “You are loved.” You wanted to reach for his hand. “And I need you to let me show you that.” He didn't move. “Let me take care of you. Let me stay by your side. Let me help you see how perfectly human you are.”

For a moment, Sam was speechless. He looked into your eyes and found no hesitation there, no lies nor pity. Only care. So he let his body do what it wanted.

He closed the distance between you in a few quick steps, took your face between his large hands, and kissed you. The kiss was passionate, filled with raw want and love. It tasted like salt, just what you had thought. All the things he had spent years refusing to say poured into it. All his fear and need, all his lonliness and devotion. And he worshiped you with his lips.

When you finally separated, both of you were breathless. “I love you,” he said.

“I know.” You smiled, teasing. “I love you too.” He wanted to hear those words a million more times.

You took his hand and guided him back toward the bed. He lay down, and you gently pulled his head against your chest.

“Does your head feel better?” You stroked his hair.

“So much better. Thanks.”

“Anytime you need it, just ask.” Your fingers continued their gentle movements. “It's okay to ask, Sam. I'm here for you. Always.” Warm tingles spread beneath his skin like fluttering butterflies.

Then your voice grew lighter. “I also give incredible back rubs, if you're interested…”

And that was how Dean found the two of you.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, watching television while giving a very shirtless Sam, sitting on the floor in front of you, a back rub.

Dean had spent most of his life next to Sam, and there was something comical about the way everyone insisted on reminding him that his younger brother had inherited every extra inch their father forgot to spare ! Shelves were still easy to reach, sure, but Sam always made him feel smaller one way or another.

It wasn't something that truly bothered him, but over the years he'd stopped thinking of himself as "the tall one."; that title belonged to Sam for as long as he could recall.

Then you wandered into his life; the prettiest girl he had ever seen and also the shortest.

Suddenly, he was looking down whenever you spoke to him, how you fit beneath his arms, disappeared inside some of his jackets, and tilted your head back so often that he found himself absentmindedly rubbing the back of your neck after conversations as though he could soothe away the ache you didn't even mention

At first, he barely thought about it, for him it was simply another thing that made you.. Well, you ! You're, basically, his short queen !

Not to lie, it was a bit of an ego boost, but not a feeling of being more masculine or dominant at the same time; he just thought he could make someone feel safe in his embrace for once in his life.

He ended up slowing his stride so you wouldn't have to rush to keep pace beside him if you guys went together on a hunt and holding doors open wasn't some exaggerated gentleman act to get some girl under the sheets anymore; he did it to see the grateful smile that made the gesture worthwhile. Even whenever the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder looking through old case files spread across the bunker library table, he'd angle the lamp a lil lower because you couldn't see good around the stack of books from your side.

Tiny accommodations that asked nothing of either of you, but somehow made him feel useful.

Althought there were the things you refused to let him help with— the love of his life was certainly just as stubborn as he was !

Watching you drag a chair across the kitchen just to reach a cabinet he'd opened. You'd glare if he tried to intervene, insisting you were capable, balancing carefully on your toes as your fingertips barely brushed a cereal box.

Dean would lean against the counter, hiding his smile behind a mug of coffee, waiting until you let out a defeated sigh before silently reaching over your head and placing the box in your waiting hands.

"You know," you'd grumble, refusing to look at him, "I would've gotten it eventually."

"Mhm sure, sweetheart."

"Don't look so smug." "I got the face I got !"

"You've got an annoyingly handsome face."

The poor man was handsome indeed and used his puppy face so you wouldn't get mad, but you didn’t need to sound annoyed because of it, you know ?!

Tho, the thing that seemed to frustrate you most was something a lot simpler.

For you could never kiss him however you wanted.

Dean would be wiping down Baby after a hunt, absorbed in polishing away streaks of dirt or blood, only to feel your fingers curling around the sleeve of his flannel.

Looking over, he'd find you standing on your toes, lips pursed in hopeful expectation, your expression carrying the idea that if you stretched a little farther, you'd make it.

More often than not, you didn't. Your mouth brushed the corner of his jaw before your heels settled back onto the pavement with the tiniest sigh of defeat, one you always tried to disguise before asking sheepishly, "Can you come here for a second?"

For the love of God, sometimes he wouldn't even let you set back onto the floor at all.

Dean never could let you stay for long and he couldn't tease you with how you asked.

The second he noticed your calves beginning to strain, he'd bend without a word, meeting you halfway. Sometimes he'd cup your jaw. Sometimes his hands would get into your hair and other times he'd duck his head until your foreheads touched first, lingering there for a heartbeat because he liked looking at you, at your pretty eyes, before the kiss even happened.

His favorites were the ones where his arms wrapped around your waist and lifted your body completely off the ground.

"You know," you started one night, looking up at him with a thoughtful expression, "it's actually kind of inconvenient dating someone this tall."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? So why keep me around?"

You pretended to consider it, your lips pursing like you were weighing the pros and cons.

"...You make a very comfortable armrest." You finally said and rested your cheek against his shoulder with a satisfied little hum.

He shaked his head and kissed the top of your hair. "Good," he said. "Would've hated to find out it was my personality."

Your snort echoed through the woods, and the playful shove given to his side made him kiss your cheek as you guys started to walk once more.

And so he slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. It was simple, comfortable, and ordinary, to the extent possible in the life of a hunter.

Exactly the way Dean liked it.

♡ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

♡ 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝ 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

fixes things around you/that belong to you before you even realize theyre broken

physical touch is his default love language. hand on your knee while driving. bumping shoulders. nudging you with his foot under the table.

absentmindedly drums his fingers against your knee to the beat of a song.

instinctively reaches an arm across your chest if he brakes suddenly.

in another universe where dean went to highschool, he would’ve absolutely been that guy to do crazy embarrassing promposals

alwayssss rolls up his sleeves bro

lets you steal food of his plate

remembers which songs you skip and skips them before you do

walks half a step behind you in crowded places so he can keep an eye on you. 

always saves you the last bite if he knows it's your favorite

automatically grabs the grocery bags that look heavier. doesnt matter if youre stronger than him, or if you’re bigger than him.

likes buying you dumb little gas station gifts. plastic dinosaurs. novelty sunglasses. your favorite candy. 

⟢ sam winchester

puts his hand on the doorframe so you don't hit your head getting into the car.  

remembers little errands you mentioned and does them while he's already out. 

reaches things off the top shelf without making a joke about it, and will do it regardless of how tall you are

slows his pace to match you without realizing it

always offers you the better/comfortable option of seating

also automatically gives you the side of the booth instead of the chair

but if its a two-sided booth, he’ll sit next to you

researches things just because you mentioned being interested in them. 

quietly takes things off your plate without making a big deal out of it if he notices you not eating something, even if its a food he absolutely despises

if you have long hair, he always keeps an extra hair tie on him

gets jealous, but internalizes it first, and spends an hour wondering if he’s being irrational. 

will brush your hair out of your face or adjust your collar while you’re talking, without breaking eye contact

stays up with you if you can’t sleep, and will ask if you want to do something, go out, or if you’d rather just lay together quietly

compliments things that you chose, not just things you cant control

will do chores you hate doing for you, like laundry or dishes

⟢ castiel novak

watches you with absolute complete attention while you’re talking and will pointedly ignore anyone else that talks to him, even if they started talking first

straightens your necklace if the clasp turned around. 

learns your weaknesses and incorporates himself without you needing to ask. if you struggle with brushing your teeth, he'll place the toothbrush on the sink with the toothpaste already on it.

will argue with people over your preferences even if its miniscule  (ex. someone sits on your side of the car or uses your favourite mug)

waits for you without complaint before going anywhere, if you’re tying your shoe or if you’re going back inside to change your shirt

stands incredibly close to you and doesnt understand the concept of a personal bubble. attatched at the hip, because he realizes that he's allowed to

asks before holding your hand the first few times, then forgets to ask because now it just feels right and normal

tends to your things if he notices theyre out of place, like untangling your earbuds or putting your shoes back on the rack.

watches your footing if the ground is uneven and keeps his hand on your back 'just in case.'

stares at your face while you're talking because he likes watching expressions change, tilting his hedad like a dog.

will do things that make him uncomfortable if it makes you happy without question. sees it as his duty as your partner.

sees you in everything and thinks its a sign from heaven. thinks dean is quite odd when he tells him thats just how being in love feels

actually enjoys doing mundane thing with you, even things that other people would find boring, like cleaning up after baking

his version of flirting is solving your problems before you notice them

he does compliment you, but he thinks that its odd that humans considers such as flirting. he thinks its just matter-of-fact

The man who had once faced down demons, wrestled with werewolves, and stared into the abyss without flinching was currently hiding behind his girlfriend's leather-clad shoulder, peeking out at a small, fluffy Yorkie like it was the physical manifestation of all his darkest nightmares.

"You've got to be kidding me," Sam said, his voice trembling with barely contained laughter. His shoulders shook as he watched his older brother, the legendary Dean Winchester, scourge of the supernatural, cower behind you like a child hiding from the monster under his bed.

You bit your lip, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. Your hand had instinctively come up to rest on Dean's arm where it was wrapped around your waist, his entire body pressed against your back as if he could somehow merge with you and become invisible.

"It's not funny, Sam!" Dean's voice cracked slightly—actually cracked—and you felt his grip tighten on your jacket. "That thing has teeth. I saw them. Little, pointy, demonic teeth!"

"It's a Yorkie, Dean. It weighs about four pounds."

"That's what they want you to think!"

You finally let out the laugh you'd been holding in, the sound muffled by your hand as Dean burrowed his face into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel the slight tremble running through his body. This was the same man who had once thrown himself in front of a demon's attack for you without a second thought.

Now he was shaking like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm because of a dog smaller than his boot.

"Honey," you said softly, reaching back to card your fingers through his short hair. "I promise you, that dog is not going to hurt you."

"You don't know that!" Dean's voice was muffled against your neck. "It could be possessed! It could be a demon in disguise! It could be-"

"It's a dog, Dean."

"A hell dog."

"A Yorkie."

"Same thing!"

Sam had given up all pretense of trying to be professional. He was leaning against the Impala, tears streaming down his face as he laughed openly. "Oh my God. I am never going to let you live this down. The great Dean Winchester, terrified of a purse dog."

Dean's head snapped up, and you could see the indignant fire in his eyes, though it was quickly overshadowed by another wave of fear as the Yorkie yapped again. He flinched, ducking back behind you so fast you almost stumbled.

"Shut up, Sam! I'm not- I'm just being cautious! It's called being prepared."

"You literally just screamed like a little girl when that cat jumped out at the mill."

"That cat was huge!"

"It was a normal-sized cat."

"It was a not!"

You turned in Dean's arms, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes were wide, pupils contracted, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The ghost sickness was really doing a number on him, and despite the hilarity of the situation, your heart ached for him. Dean Winchester was many things—stubborn, cocky, infuriatingly handsome—but he was never afraid. Not like this.

"Hey," you said softly, stroking his cheek with your thumb. "Look at me."

His eyes met yours, and you could see the panic swirling in them. This was the man who had once told you that fear was for people who had something to lose, and you'd laughed and told him that he had plenty to lose, he just didn't want to admit it. Now here he was, terrified of everything, and you couldn't help but find it endearing in the most ridiculous way.

"I've got you," you said. "Okay? I'm right here. Nothing's gonna hurt you."

"Promise?" His voice was so small, so vulnerable, that it made your heart clench.

"Promise."

Dean nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and immediately went back to burying his face in your neck. His arms wrapped around you like you were his lifeline, and you could feel him trying to wriggle his way under your long black coat, seeking shelter like a child hiding from a storm.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"Protecting myself," came his muffled reply. "Your coat is like a shield. I want to be under it."

"It's a coat, not a force field."

"It's a coat. same logic as blankets."

You couldn't help but laugh again, shaking your head as you opened your arms to let him burrow closer. This was the same man who had once spent an entire evening making fun of you for wearing such an "ostentatious" coat, calling you Van Helsing and asking if you were expecting to fight Dracula. Now he was trying to disappear into its folds.

"This is priceless," Sam wheezed, pulling out his phone. "I need to document this. For posterity."

"If you take a picture, Sam, I swear to God-"

"What are you gonna do, Dean? Scare me with your big scary voice? Oh no, I'm so scared."

"Sammy, come on." Your tone carried a warning, as amused as it was, and Sam ended up chosing to put his phone away, wise choice, though the smirk remained firmly plastered on his face.

"You're no fun." he muttered.

"I'm the only one keeping your brother from having a heart attack. Respect the coat."

Dean made a sound of agreement against your neck, and you felt him press a small kiss to your skin. Even terrified out of his mind, he was still trying to be affectionate. It was almost enough to make you forget that this was a supernatural illness that could kill him if you didn't figure out how to stop it.

Almost.

"We need to focus," you said, gently extracting yourself from Dean's clinging grip, which was easier said than done, considering he was practically Velcroed to your side. "We still need to figure out how to stop this ghost."

"I don't wanna focus," Dean whined, he actually whined. "I wanna go back to the hotel and hide under the covers with you."

"Dean."

"I'm serious! There's a scary ghost out there, and I don't wanna fight it. I wanna cuddle."

Sam snorted. "This is the best day of my life."

"Shut up, Sam!"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to formulate a plan. This was going to be a long night.

Later that evening, you found yourself in the hotel room, Dean wrapped around you like a koala as you sat on the bed. He had refused to let go of you for even a second, following you around like a lost puppy (or rather, a frightened one) given his current fear of anything smaller than a breadbox.

"This is ridiculous," Sam said, pacing the room with a laptop in his hands. "I've never seen you like this, Dean. You're usually the one dragging us into danger, not hiding from it."

"Hiding is good," Dean mumbled into your shoulder. "Hiding is safe. Hiding is smart."

"Hiding is pathetic."

"Sam." You shot him a warning look. "He's literally sick. Cut him some slack."

"I'm just saying, this is a side of Dean I never thought I'd see. He's usually so…" Sam gestured vaguely. "..Dean-y."

"I'm right here, you know," Dean complained, his voice muffled. "I'm being… strategically cautious."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"It's what I'm calling it."

You pressed a kiss to the top of Dean's head, feeling him sigh contentedly against you. "Alright, let's focus. Sam, what did Bobby say about this ghost sickness again?"

Sam launched into an explanation, but Dean wasn't listening. He had started tracing patterns on your arm with his finger, his touch featherlight and somewhat hypnotic. His grip on you had loosened slightly, but he was still pressed against you like he was trying to become one with your body.

"You smell nice," he murmured, and you felt his nose nuzzle against your collarbone. "Like vanilla and something else. Something good."

"Dean, I'm trying to focus."

"Focusing is overrated. We should just stay here forever. Never leave this room. Just you and me and… and maybe Sam can get his own room."

"I can hear you!"

"I don't care!"

You sighed, but you couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. Even in his fear-induced state, Dean was still Dean, still trying to charm his way through the situation, still trying to make you smile.

"How about this," you said, shifting slightly so you could look him in the eyes. "We go find this ghost, we burn its remains, and then we come back here and I'll let you hide under my coat for as long as you want. Deal?"

Dean considered this for a moment, his brow furrowed. "Can I also hold your hand?"

"Sure."

"Can I hold both your hands?"

You laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "Fine. Both hands. Now let's go."

The drive to the location was… interesting. Dean had insisted on sitting in the backseat with you, pressed against your side like he was trying to merge with you. His hands were wrapped around one of yours, his grip almost painfully tight, and he kept looking over his shoulder as if expecting something to jump out at any moment.

"You know," Sam said from the front seat, his voice carefully neutral, "I never thought I'd see the day when Dean Winchester would be more scared of a ghost than I am."

"I'm not scared," Dean said, his voice wavering. "I'm… cautiously concerned."

"That's not a thing."

"It's a thing."

"Is it?"

"Yes, Sam, it's a thing. It's the thing I'm feeling right now. Which is caution. And concern."

"Uh-huh. And the fact that you're literally hiding behind your girlfriend?"

"My girlfriend's an excellent shield."

You snorted, squeezing Dean's hand. "Gee, thanks. I think."

"Any time, baby. Any time."

When you arrived at the location, Dean practically glued himself to your back, his hands gripping your shoulders as he peered over them. Sam had to physically stop himself from laughing when Dean jumped at a sudden gust of wind.

"This is really sweet," Sam said, grinning. "Really. I've never seen you two so… attached."

"Sam, I swear to God-"

"Don't worry, Dean. I'm sure if you scream loud enough, your hunter girlfriend will protect you."

"That's it, I'm going to punch you-" Dean started, but he was interrupted by a sudden noise from inside the building, and he immediately squeaked and pressed himself closer to you.

"Okay, okay, we're going." you said, patting his hand soothingly. "We're going. Stay close to me."

"I was planning on it."

The hunt was… eventful, to say the least. Dean spent most of it with his face buried in your back while you and Sam did the actual work. At one point, you had to physically drag him away from a corner he'd backed himself into, and he'd ended up so tangled in your coat that it had taken both you and Sam to extricate him.

By the time the ghost was dealt with and the sickness was cured, you were exhausted, covered in dirt and ready to collapse. Dean, on the other hand, was suddenly back to his old self—cocky, confident, and absolutely refusing to acknowledge that the past two days had ever happened.

"So," Sam said, leaning against the Impala with a smirk. "About that Yorkie…"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"And that cat…"

"My memory is fuzzy."

"And the fact that you literally hid under your darling's coat—"

"THAT WAS A STRATEGIC DECISION."

You laughed, wrapping your arms around Dean's waist from behind and pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. "It was adorable, Dean. You were adorable."

"I was not adorable. I was terrifying. I was a vision of masculine strength."

"You almost cried over a Yorkie."

"I did almost not!"

"Dean, it was just a Yorkie. With a bow."

"A VERY SCARY YORKIE."

Sam was practically wheezing with laughter, and even you couldn't keep a straight face. Dean's face had gone an interesting shade of red, and he was looking anywhere but at either of you.

"I hate you both." he muttered. "I hate you both so much."

"No, you don't," you said, pressing another kiss to his back. "You love us."

"Correction: I love you, I tolerate him."

"ouch."

12:43 am

Glancing away from your dashboard and back on the road, you let out a long and drawn out sigh. You’ve been driving through the winding backroads and rolling mountains of South Dakota for nearly four hours now. Driving by yourself for this long is no easy or super entertaining feat in the dead of night like this. Thumbing through your old playlists and listening to podcasts was all you could do to entertain yourself for so long.

The sun had long been set. The headlights on your old beater of a car were trying their best but the soft yellow lights only allowed you so much vision of the dark road ahead.

After trying to entertain your thoughts for so long while staying focused enough for such a tedious drive, the exhaustion started to tug at your eyelids. You had reached the point of boredom where you caught yourself yawning once every few minutes. The steering wheel occasionally veering your car over the lines of the road.

Shaking your head, as if that will brush off your growing tiredness, you decide to call and check in with some of your friends to kill time. Also, because you really can't give in to the sleepiness when you only have like, what, forty five minutes left till you reach the hotel? Pshhh , that's nothing. You've made it this far. What's another few minutes?

You're in the middle of listening to your closest friend recounting an argument that she and her boyfriend had earlier that day when the accelerator of your car lurches forward just a touch. Frowning, you look down at your the dashboard to see if any warning lights are on (other than the check engine light that has mysteriously been on and off for months now). You slip out an "Uh huh" to let your friend know you're still listening to her rant.

She continues, "And then he had the nerve to tell me that I don't respect his relationship wi-"

Your foot continues to press the accelerator only to lurch forward again and then show resistance. And although you're trying to press the gas harder in hopes that it’ll pick back up in speed, the car only seems to slow down with each press of your foot. The harder you press, the car continues to lurch forward just to not go above 15 mph.

Two warning lights pop up around the speedometer and you see one of them is a flashing triangle with an exclamation mark.

“Oh, come the fuck on.” You huff, hitting the steering wheel with your palms, you pull off to the side and turn on your hazard lights.

Your friend, still on the phone, thinks you’re just agreeing with whatever she was ranting about. “I know right? He’s a class act-“ She goes to continue before you cut her off, mid sentence.

“Hey, I’m gonna have to call you back. My car just shit the bed and i’ve still got a ways to go before I can get to the hotel. I gotta call my dad or something.” You say, trying not to let your frustration seep into your tone.

You both say your goodbyes, her wishing you good luck with the car and hoping you get home safe. You hang up and rest your head against the steering wheel, once again huffing a long sigh. In hopes that she might have just needed a break: you try cutting the engine, giving it a few moments, and then restarting..... the warning and check engine lights are still staring back at you.

This is not the first or even second time your beater of a car has left you stranded. The last time you found yourself stuck with that hunk of junk on the side of the road was when you’d paid a weekend trip to the nearest body of water. You’d made it all the way there just for the starter to completely give up on you once you tried to leave. Your dad had to drive two and a half hours to the beach just to come fix it for you.

Thankfully, you knew that you could count on him in this moment to tell you what to do and who to call.

Your dad picks up your facetime call after the first ring. His glasses hanging on the tip of his nose and his smile lights up his entire face upon seeing you. The angle of his phone fully showing off his double chin. You can’t help but smile seeing his sweet face. "Hey, sweetie. The drive going okay? You can't be too far from the hotel by now."

“Well, I was about forty five minutes out from the hotel… but look at this shit.” You flip the camera to show him your lit up dashboard and pause for dramatic effect.

You see your dad squinting his eyes through your screen, adjusting his glasses on his nose to see better.

You continue, “It started doing that thing where it lurches when I press the gas, then just stopped going altogether. I can’t get my speed above 15 miles per hour and these two service lights popped up.”

He pauses, “Alright…… well, can you make it to the hotel?” As if getting to your destination with your car like that was still in the realm of possibility.

“Dad, what? I just told you, I can’t get any speed. The harder I pressed on the gas, the more it slowed down. I can’t get anywhere like this. ”

Another pause. “Did you try cuttin’ it off and back on?”

“Yep.” You’re starting to get frustrated with him. Just because you’re a young woman, doesn’t mean that you’re completely clueless. Even if you’re starting to feel that way. Being stranded in the dark, on the side of a back road, by yourself, and so far from home has the feeling of helplessness clawing its way up your throat.

“Where are you right now? Try seeing if that worked and if it’ll let you drive any further.” He asks, in hopes that the car will somehow, miraculously, fix itself.

Checking your review and side mirrors to make sure it’s clear, putting the car in drive. You try creeping the car forward, only for it to make a god awful crunching noise soon as you press the gas pedal.

Your dad grimaces at the noise and says, “Woah woah. Okay, kid. Just pull off to the side. Send me your location. I have a friend in Sioux Falls that might be able to tow you, god willin’. ”

You let out a sigh of relief, tilting your head back towards the ceiling. You could always count on him to help you out of tough situations like this one. And while you’re so far away from home, he still finds a way to look out for you, even if he can't physically be there. “Thank you.”

He nods his head. “Let me give him a call for you. Please, be careful and keep me updated when you're somewhere safe, hon.”

Dean was currently in the middle of kicking ass in a game of pool at a bar called 'Local Waterin Hole' when he got the call from Bobby. After a long day of working out in the heat of the summer, he had needed to let off some steam with a nice cold drink. Maybe he would even meet a pretty girl while he was there. He deserved it, after putting in so many hours at the shop this past week.

Pulling his phone out the back pocket of his jeans, he sees Bobby's name light up across the screen. Bobby doesn't call him this late on a Saturday night unless it's something important. With a frown, he answers. Short and sweet, straight to the point. "You good?"

He hears Bobby chuckle on the other end. "M' alright, son. I do need to ask a favor from you, though."

Dean turns away from the pool tables and starts to head towards the door, game already forgotten. He steps out into the warm night air and responds. "Depends on what that favor is."

It really doesn't depend , because he's already starting to cross the parking lot and headed towards his work truck. There's not many favors he wouldn't do for Bobby. The old man may be ornery, but he's done a lot for Dean. More than his real father ever did.

"You remember when we restored the Impala... we got the new wheels from a guy in Kansas? I believe you've met him a few times now. He and I go way back." He mentions your fathers name and Dean cracks a grin, nodding his head. He had indeed met your father a few times. Big car guy with a good sense of humor and kind eyes.

"What about him?" He urges Bobby to continue. Once he reaches the truck, he pulls out a cigarette and takes a long, drawn out puff, mentally preparing himself for whatever this favor might be.

"Well, he's got a car broke down about an hour out from town. Says he's got precious cargo and needs a tow.... said he'd pay more, if need be. I know it's late but I don't have any other drivers out right now. Figured you wouldn't mind making a little extra money."

Dean takes another drag, mulling it over. It's late and the last thing he wants to do after a long day of working is add on another one to two hours of work. But he knows he'll do it. Because it's the right thing to do and if he doesn't, who will? Bobby? Nah, he wouldn't make the old man do that, he cared about him too much. And Bobby did have a point: Dean does not at all mind having a little extra money in his pocket.

He drops the cigarette and puts it out with the heel of his boot. "Alright, send me the location and make of the car. Good thing I'm still in the work truck and not the Impala. I'll head that way now."

He can feel Bobby's appreciation through the phone. "I knew I could always count on you, boy."

"Yeah yeah, but don't expect me to come into work on time tomorrow. I'm still gonna need my eight hours of beauty sleep after bein’ out so late."

And with that, Dean climbs into the old pickup truck and peels out of the parking lot, back to work.

Dean drove for about an hour on the backroads just outside of Sioux Falls before he finally pulled up on the old Honda accord with its hazard lights on.

Pulling off the side of the road in front of the car, he puts the truck in park and goes to hop out. Taking a few steps towards the Honda, he sees through its windshield that while the car is still running, the driver is nowhere in sight.

He swivels his head around, looking for anyone. It’s hard for him to tell though, surrounded by a long dark road and forests. The headlights from his truck and the stranded car are the only thing helping him see.

“Hellooo, anybody here?” He says, rather loudly. Thinking that the man couldn’t have gotten far. The nearest store is at least a thirty minute walk and he can’t imagine anyone abandoning their car- while it’s still running, mind you- in the middle of the night.

So Dean stands there, hands on his hips, staring at the open road, then looking back toward the car. He won't say it out loud, but he kind of hates these late night tow's. Especially right now. He can't help but think back to his past- about what horrors could be lurking in the dark. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he peers inside the window of the car and sees a big suitcase, several travel bags, and stuffed animals in the back seat. Is this the precious cargo he was told about? It just looks to him like a bunch of travel stuff. Who considers a bunch of clothes and stuffies 'precioius cargo'? He thought to himself.

Rustling sounds come from the tree line behind him, and quickly he spins around, worried that it might be some kind of animal- or worse. Now, he's really wishing his pistol wasn’t at least 10 feet away, locked up inside the glovebox of his work truck. His right hand is itching to hold some sort of self defense.

Suddenly, he sees a figure stumble out of the tree line, using what looks to be a cellphone flashlight. He instinctually takes a single step back towards the truck, inching closer to safety. "Uh... Hello?" He says, feeling uneasy.

The figure shines their phone light towards his face so he puts a hand up to block the light from nearly blind him. "Oh thank god, finally." You say, sighing in relief.

"Could you uh.... get the light out my face? Can’t see." He says, still holding his palm up awkwardly. His patience thinning by the second.

You quickly turn the light off and place the phone in your sweatshirt pocket. Giving him a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that. I've been stuck here a while and uh..... had to pee."

Now that the light wasn't there to make it so difficult to see, his eyes took a moment to adjust. He blinked up at the woman in front of him, feeling a tad bit confused. He was expecting to pick up a fifty to sixty something grown man- not the girl in front of him. You wore on a pair of black sleep shorts with pink hearts, very fuzzy pink slippers, and an oversized sweatshirt with your hair messily tucked into the collar. Cute.

She has to be, what, mid twenties? He can't help but wonder how a pretty young thing like you wound up so far from home, alone at that.

"S'no problem. Just caught me off guard. You uh... out here all by yourself? I thought I was gonna be picking up a friend of Bobby's." He mentions your dad's name.

"Yes, sir. It's just me. My dad called y'all for me since I'm not super familiar with the area. I was driving up to come spend some of the summer with my Aunt, she stays in Madison. The car kinda just..... stopped going out of nowhere."

Dean makes his way back over to his truck to quickly grab his bag of tools from the passenger floorboard. "Can you pop the hood f'me? I wanna see if it's something I can fix real quick or if I need to tow it to the shop."

You silently do as he says, sitting in the drivers seat of your car with the door open, waiting to be told what to do next.

Dean digs through his bag, then curses. He tilts his body so you can see his head from behind the car hood. "Do you mind comin' over here and bringing that light back out? Think I forgot mine at the shop."

You mumble out a 'yes sir', the politeness your parents raised you with always shining through. Closing the car door and moving to stand next to the open hood, you shine the phone light for him.

He looks down at the engine and then back up at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You don't need to call me sir, by the way. Usually makes me feel old when people say that. My name's Dean."

You tell him your name with a small bashful smile again, "Sorry, force of habit."

He continues poking around in the engine, clearly knowing what to look for, then asks you what the car was doing. You recount everything that happened with the car, leading up to now.

Dean lets out a "hmmm" to himself, clearly focused on finding out the problem. You stared, admiring his side profile with only the dim phone light allowing you to see. He held his bottom lip between his teeth and his brows were scrunched together in concentration. Boy, was he a sight for sore eyes. Even in the dark of night, shadows covering half his face, you could see just how handsome he is.

He glances back up to you, green eyes catching your stare. The light you were holding wasn't even shining under the hood anymore, but towards the ground. You clear your throat, moving the light back to the car, feeling a tad flustered and very distracted.

When your dad said he had someone on the way to pick you up, you were under the impression that it would be his old friend, Bobby, whom you'd briefly met a time or two. Sometimes he and your father would attend car shows together. So needless to say that you were thoroughly (and somewhat pleasantly) surprised when a very handsome Dean Winchester came to save the day instead. Had you'd known a hunk like this would pull up, you probably would have worn something a bit more presentable. Hell, you would've at least brushed your hair or sprayed some perfume, or popped in a mint. Something, anything to not feel so out of your element right now.

Dean breaks the awkward silence first, "So I'm thinking, with what you described.... Its either a bad coil pack issue or a transmission issue." He pauses making a clicking noise with his tongue. "Which means, it'll either be a easy fix or you might need to consider a whole new transmission."

At that, your brows raise and you run your hand down the front of your face, letting out an exaggerated groan.

"This car is not worth buying a new transmission. I mean, look at it." You gesture towards the beater, lightly kicking the front tire.

He lets out a soft chuckle, "Yeah, I was gonna say it but didn't wanna come off rude. Either way, you're gonna need a tow so I can look it over at the shop. Grab the stuff you need, go ahead n' put it in the truck. I'll load your car up. There's a motel near the shop I can drop you off at."

He closes the hood of your car and watches as you grab all of your bags from the back seat, as well as a dinosaur shaped stuffed animal, which immediately falls to the ground as you adjust a tote on your shoulder. You have so much stuff that once the first thing falls, two other bags start to slide down your shoulder. You can't remember the last time you felt this flustered in front of a stranger.

Deans brows raise so high, he feels like they could be touching his hairline. "Jesus, sweetheart. Here, give me somethin' to carry."

He moves to grab your stuffy from the ground and relieving you of the bag falling from your shoulder. You feel a blush creep up your neck at the pet name.

You follow him to the passenger side of the truck, he opens the door for you.

"M'not sure if I have enough room for all these bags, hon. When I said 'stuff you need', I didn't think you'd bring everything but the kitchen sink." He smirks, looking you over as you start put all your stuff in the floorboard.

The Singer Auto Salvage work truck is clearly on the older side. You can tell by the bench seat and the worn down 8 ball gear shifter. The radio was also a clear giveaway, no bluetooth or CD player in sight, just tapes. The ceiling has some sort of.... drawing? It looks like some sort of symbol, but you can't really tell.

Pushing the thoughts of weird sigils aside, you get to work with the bags. You're practically playing a game of Tetris, trying to find a way to fit all your stuff in the small cab of the truck. You still respond to him cheerfully, "It's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it! I like to be prepared."

Dean shakes his head once, still standing behind you, stupidly holding the stuffed dinosaur until you're ready to take it off his hands. He watches as you stand up on your tip toes to move the bags around. His head tilts and eyes catch the hem of your shorts lifting higher up your ass as you reach up. He can feel his mouth starting to water at the sight and really wishes it wasn't so dark outside so he could see you better.

He finds himself staring until you turn around to take the stuffy from his arms. Your eyes flicker from his eyes to his mouth. He's biting his lip again.

Jesus, I need to calm down. He thinks to himself. She's way too young for you, dude.

Taking the ridiculously sized dinosaur stuffy from him, you give him a awkward toothless smile, and climb into the truck. Dean being the gentleman that he is, closes the door for you. He proceeds to take a few minutes loading your car up onto the truck before climbing in next to you. The entire passenger side floorboard has been stuffed full with your things, giving you no leg room, so you're forced to sit with your legs criss crossed. He can't help but find his eyes trailing over your smooth thighs, and it takes some serious effort to keep his eyes on the road.

The car ride is quiet for the first few minutes, apart from Metallica playing quietly on the radio, both of you not really knowing what to say. You fiddle with the dinosaur on your lap and stare out the window, even though it's too dark to really see the world beyond.

Dean is the one who breaks the silence first. One hand on the wheel, he spares a glance at you, that killer smirk tugging at one side of his mouth. "So, daddy might have to buy you a new car now, huh?"

He doesn't know why he said it. He thought it might make you laugh. He just needed to say something, anything to break the awkward silence.

You immediately whip your head to look over to him with a grimace. "Absolutely not, I can pay for my own car. I don't need daddy or any man to pay for anything." Your sweet 'yes sir' tone has completely turned to ice after that comment.

But the sound of the word 'daddy' coming from your mouth sends a wave of heat over Dean's neck.

He tries to play off the fumble and gives you nonchalant shrug, "I dunno, I just figured your dad was a car guy. He called Bobby for you and said he had 'precious cargo'" Lifting his hand to make air quotes, "Which- I now know... was referring to you. I just figured you're probably a daddy's girl or somethin'."

You scrunch your nose up at the term. Modern day media has completely ruined it for you. You haven't called your dad that since you were, like, ten years old. And while he isn't wrong- you are a daddy's girl- something about being called that just rubs you the wrong way. Makes you feel like people think you're spoiled or dependent on your father for everything.

"Don't call me that." You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

Putting on his most charismatic smile, Dean says, "Easy there, darlin'. Didn't mean to offend. Was honestly just tryin' to make conversation..... we got at least another forty minutes before I can get you to a motel."

You roll your eyes, "You afraid of silence or something?"

He scoffs incredulously. "What? No." His brows scrunch together, surprised at your accusation. "Sweetheart, it's nearly 2am and I'm just tryin' to stay awake. I don't usually take calls this late."

You stay quiet, regretting catching an attitude with him over something so small. He lets the silence linger in the air before letting out an exaggerated yawn. He sits up higher and blinks a few times to try and push away the tiredness, tapping the steering wheel along to the music.

His yawn makes you yawn. It is pretty late. And who can blame him for wanting to strike up conversation? Not only to kill the awkward quiet, which actually does bother him, but keep his energy up.

You throw him a question just to appease him, "So.... how long have you been working for Bobby?"

"Boy, is that a loaded question." He mutters.

"I'm... sorry?" You're confused by his answer.

He seems to think very carefully about what he says next. "Well... we used to work together before he opened the company. He was....hunting buddies with my dad- which is how I know him. I started working at the auto salvage about 5 or 6 years ago, now?"

"What did you do before?" You ask. The way he answered the previous question has you more and more curious about him.

"Uhh, I was big into huntin'...for work. Family business." Now he won't look away from the road.

He's very clearly dancing around the topic, for whatever reason. You don't want to push so you just say, "Okay..."

"What about you? Are you visiting for work or pleasure?" He's trying to change the subject. You don't bring any attention to it.

"Both, I guess? I just needed to get away this summer and my aunt offered a free place to stay. I'm thinking about finding something part time though, for extra spending money." You continue to rub at the eyes of your stuffy, needing to do something with your hands.

Dean notices. "Do you really sleep with that thing or?"

"Who, him?" You ask, propping the dino upright on your lap. "Yeah, I like having something to hold onto when I sleep. He's cute, right?"

He looks back over to you and grimaces. The dinosaur stuffy is tired, to say the least. The fabric looks like it's faded in color, probably much brighter when it was still new. One of the plastic eyeballs is literally hanging on by a thread and there's multiple stitching spots that he can only assume came from wear and tear.

"Ehh I wouldn't go that far.... cute ain't the word I'd use. Your boyfriend doesn't get jealous of that thing?" He asks, really just trying to know more about you. He can't help himself.

"Actually, yeah..."

Dean feels disappointment and jealousy seep through him at the thought of you having a boyfriend. Why isn't the guy here on this trip with you then? He can't help but wonder what kind of loser lets his girl go on a trip so far, driving by herself, without a reliable means of transportation. He would never.

You continue. Laughing as you recall the memory, "My ex used to get weirdly jealous about it. One time, he tried to throw this cutie away and then acted like he didn't know what I was talking about when I found him in the trash. Can you believe that?"

He cracks the biggest grin yet, stealing another glace at you from the corner of his eye. "So... no boyfriend?"

You feel the redness creeping across your cheeks at that, suddenly feeling shy. "Nope."

Dean feels his heart sore with satisfaction at the thought of you being single. An idea pops into his head.

"Ya know.... there's a diner right across from the shop that might be hiring. We get lunch there jus' about every day..... I could always put in a good word for you. And if that doesn't work out, Bobby could always use some help with the book keeping." He shrugs, trying to play it cool. Nonchalant.

"Since you mentioned needin’ a job," He adds hastily.

The last thing he wants right now is to come off too eager or interested in helping a girl clearly too young for him. Bobby would give him hell for fooling around with his friends daughter. But he can't deny- especially with you in the passenger seat, wearing those tiny shorts- that the idea is mighty tempting.

You perk up in your seat, eyes filled with excitement. "Really? That would be great, actually. Thank you."

"Of course, ‘m happy to help. Might ask you to slide me a slice of pie or two..... ya know, for repayment." He says, mostly kidding.

"If you help me find a job this summer, I'll bring you all the pie you want. It'd take a big weight off my shoulders." You say, a grateful grin taking up your entire face.

Dean looks over to you again, your dazzling smile stealing his breath. It takes all his power to pull his eyes back to the road.

Boy, is he in for it now.