★ ₊˚⌗ 🦢 ’ ◌ ˚₊

You didn't wanna be here to begin with, house parties like these have never really been your scene, but you showed up anyway. definitely not because you heard that your favorite soccer player would be there, it's for a change of scenery.

It's too loud, the already small house was packed with drunk football players and even drunker cheerleaders, the friend you came with has long abandoned you, probably outside with some of the new arrivals, you've been stuck on this couch half-listening to some story the bubbly girl next to you has been telling for the past ten minutes. sipping on whatever's in the red plastic cup your friend handed you before disappearing.

You finally catch a glimpse of the girl you showed up for in the corner, sipping on a drink and laughing, you begin to walk over when you finally see it.

There's a girl next to her and Nat has her arm around the girl.

Your heart sinks down to your stomach, yeah, maybe she isn't yours but it doesn't feel like that. all those late nights with her, talking, kissing that eventually end up with missing clothes and sweaty bodies. she's grown on you.

The two of you had never really talked about the specifics.

You walk off to go find your friend before the tears start falling, crying at a party is not on your bucket list.

After searching the back yard, the front yard and the bedrooms, your friend is nowhere to be seen. she's your ride and you're stuck here. you eventually settle onto the kitchen floor, drinking a little too much of whatever you are handed when she walks in. she spots you on the ground and her surprise is evident.

"Hey, funny seeing you here. I didn't think this was your kinda thing." Nat says, grabbing a water bottle from the cooler by the fridge.

"Yeah, fucking hilarious." you say, admittedly a little bit snappy. taking a sip from your drink to hide your frown.

That tone isn't lost on her apparently.

"What's wrong with you, drink too much?" She asks, her tone sarcastic with a hint of bewilderment.

"Oh fuck off." you mutter as you get up and walk through the small crowds of people. heading towards the porch. she follows behind you.

You get to the porch and lean against a pillar by the stairs, as the alcohol you drank earlier begins to catch up to you. Nat stands right in front of you, an unreadable expression on her face.

"What's wrong with you, seriously?" she asks, her tone almost hurt.

"What's wrong with me? that's laughable." you respond, sarcasm lacing your tone. "You didn't seem to care this much when you were with her." you added.

"What? what are you even talking about?" she asked quickly, her hands going to your shoulders.

"That fucking girl, Nat. Who are you so comfortable with, to the point of having your arm around her?" you shoot back. blinking back tears.

"That.. Shes my teammate, drunk off her ass. I was making sure she was safe until her sister came to pick her up." Nat says, shaking her head.

You freeze a little, thinking back to the girl, her face. you'd seen her before, but she never really interacted with you or Nat in school.

"Why are you so upset about that?" Nat asks, that question just makes your heart sink deeper than it already has tonight. "I thought, you aren't with her?" you ask quietly, shame and embarrassment settling in your stomach. "No. why would that even be a possibility?" She said, shaking her head.

"Seriously, that's why you got so pissed?" She shakes her head, almost laughing. "I'm sorry, I should've.." you trail off, laughing quietly. "What are you even doing here to begin with? parties aren't your thing." Nat asks, sitting down on the top stair. "I wanted to see you." you admitted quietly, sitting next to her.

When three small towners popped up in the fucking Washington Post, Dean knew he had the next case in his hands. So naturally he drove up to middle of nowhere Maine in the middle of the night. It should be a simple one, bodies drained of blood, puncture wounds in the neck. The telltale signs of a vamp or two. Victim one and three were definitely not the best town role models as he’d come to learn. An addict wife beater and drunken broad whose hands like to travel. Nobody that would be missed. 

Victim two however, that one was out of place to say the least. A girl for starters, only months his senior. She was pretty, blonde. Well liked and on her way back to Brown with a full ride after the summers end. Why her, in a town full of unremarkable nobodies? 

That’s how he finds himself outside of your rental. Knocking with his best lawman smile and badge in pocket. “Agent Dylan with the FBI, here to ask you some questions about that neighbor of yours.” Business as usual, charm his way into your home, get the info and move on. 

Not today, not this case. He wouldn’t be so lucky.

 You were weary, expected with the sheer gruesomeness of those murders. Even after pulling every move in his book to get you to talk. It wouldn’t matter anyway, she was out the night she disappeared. You couldn’t help. Still, he kept you settled into the back of his mind. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to weasel his way into your pants, at least he was good at that. 

A day and a night passes, he starts to doubt his initial thoughts. Maybe this isn’t a vampire, maybe there’s some goth-y edge lord who’s taken it too far. Until he finally gets a good enough lead. An old warehouse just outside the town. Rumor is, the bored teenagers and drug seeking adults from nearby towns meet to party like clockwork every Saturday night. 

He heads there, of course. Admittedly feeling a little out of place with the addicts and youth rebellion. Asking around the crowd of sweat-slicked bodies is pretty much a shit show. Everyone is either too strung out or too drunk to even pretend to care, the blaring music doesn’t help much either.

He feels a sense of dread creep in, scanning the crowd to find the source of his unease. You, and an older man who clearly has less than pure intentions. You look scared shitless, backed against a window. “Hey bud, think she’s good with the chit chat.” Dean calls out, making the both of you turn to his direction. He walks with his head held high, chest puffed out as if that’d do anything to add to his admittedly smaller frame in comparison. 

“Don’t see how this is any of your business, boy.” The man calls back gruffly, momentarily turning his attention away from you. You take the chance to bolt, he can’t blame you. The guy looks like filth, literally. Unshaven and tattered clothes adorning him.

Words are exchanged, Dean says the wrong thing at the wrong time and is sent through the window. Broken glass sticks into his bare skin, he ignores the burning as the fight ensued. Dean didn’t stand a chance, but he never backed down from a fight. “You start it, you finish it.” Even if he didn’t technically start it, he wasn’t gonna let some perv get away without at least a few bruises. 

He’s managed to get in a few good punches, until the creep has him against the ground. He kicks and squirms for as long as he can, that is until he feels the puncture and the pressure of fangs in the skin near his collarbone. 

Fuck. This isn’t real. It can’t be. 

He groans, kicking the guy in the stomach hard before his consciousness slips away. Dean is on top of the guy now, gripping the bastard’s hair and turning his head to the side to get his pocket knife close enough to his neck. Thanking a god he never believed in that he decided to keep something on him.

It’s a slow, brutal process, slicing through skin and muscle. It stops, stuck on something hard. The man is screeching at this point, making unruly noises of agony. Dean prepares to turn his head to the other side, determined to put this to an end one way or another. 

A branch snaps in the woods, and you slowly come into view, a stone in trembling hands. 

The two of you share a look in the barley there light of the moon. He nods first, you nod too. You hesitate only for a moment before smashing the rock over his head again and again until his face is nothing but a mass of bone, blood and tissue. He stopped howling a while ago. And you gave the rock to Dean, allowing him to bring it over the mass of what used to be a face until he’s panting and trembling. 

You hesitate, placing a hand on his shoulder. He freezes up, stopping the rock mid swing. “He’s dead, look at him.. Isn’t that enough?” You whisper, voice shaking with a strike of sadness and fear. 

Dean shakes his head, determined to swing once more, the other hand of yours has found his other shoulder. He’s shaking now, well beyond caring about how he’s sobbing in front of a pretty stranger. 

“He-he fucken’ bit me. Bit me. You know what that means? All the deaths, the teeth marks, the draining of the blood…” Dean says in a brokenly angry voice. “I’m fucked!” He shouts, kicking the corpse half heartedly. You shush him quietly, seeing the punctures in his neck and the fact that the bastard was still breathing when half of his neck was being unattached from the rest of his body is enough to believe the boy in front of you. 

Dean collapsed to the ground, sobbing with his face in his hands. You don’t leave, even if you should. You slowly sink down behind him, hands resting on his shoulders. 

You stay like that for god knows how long, until it occurs to you that just hanging out near a dead body probably isn’t the best thing to do right now. You don’t have a plan, Dean probably doesn’t either. There’s at least a day or two until the cops start digging so the two of you leave. “I can’t. I refuse to be this creature.” Dean says quietly in his car. He insisted on driving even if he’s certainly in no state to. You can quite literally see the glass sticking out of his arms from the window breaking. “We can figure something out, okay? I’m in this for the long haul now.” You replied in a soft tone. He shakes his head a little at that. 

At your house, you wear him down enough to let you dig the glass out of his skin and patch up all his cuts and wounds. He makes you keep the bite wound untouched for reasons you don’t know and probably don’t understand.

“What now, hmm?” You ask as you finish plucking out a piece of glass from his hand. “You know more about this shit than I do.” You add, trying to be lighthearted. 

“There’s nothing to do. You realize that, don’t you?” He asks, finally meeting your eyes for the first time since entering your home. “There’s no cure and I refuse, refuse to be one of those things.” He says, feigning nonchalance. There’s this distant look in his eyes, fear maybe. Or even worse, acceptance. “I have to die. One way or another.” He muttered. 

“No way, not happening.” You say immediately, grabbing his hand out of compulsion. “You don’t get it. I have to die.” He says, the way he flinches away from your touch when it’s gentle only adds to your guilt. “This happened ‘cause of me, I’m not gonna let you die ‘cause you decided to be my night in shining armor against a perv.” You say firmly, voice raising slightly from the desperation slowly rising. 

“I have to die, that’s a fact.” He says. Looking down at the damage to his arms. 

It’s pointless to argue against him, he’s set on dying tonight. 

“Just… M’ not askin’ you to do it, I just… it’s happening one way or another and- fuck I don’t wanna be alone before…” He whispered, avoiding even a glance at you. “I’ll be there, obviously.” You say. “One last good time, all I want. Watch the sunrise, all the cheesy shit.” He says. “We can watch the sunrise, but it ain’t gonna be your last.” You say. 

So that’s how he found himself in the middle of the woods, nothing around for at least a mile. He didn’t mind the hike and you seemed so eager to show him a spot. It’s admittedly pretty cool, a river flows nearby, surrounded by tall trees and one old, disintegrating tree house he doesn’t dare to climb up. 

So he sits on the ground under a big oak tree. You’re so close to him he can feel the brush of your arm against his. 

You pass around a bottle of wine, Dean would usually reject wine, it’s too girly to him but it’s the best you’ve got and he’ll take what he can get.

A slight buzz settles over him as you tell stories of sneaking into the woods as a kid and whatever comes to your equally hazy mind. 

“My dad used to take me hunting out here, but I always sobbed after shooting a buck, he stopped bringing me along.” You say, gazing up at the starry sky. 

“My old man… a story I’d tell if I was drunker.” He says with a small chuckle, you can tell it’s a touchy subject. “The short of it;” Dean begins against his better judgment. “Mom dies in an unexplainable way… Dad throws everything to the side to learn about what goes bump in the night and drags me and my baby brother along.” He says, looking away as his chest tightens. 

You find his hand for some reason. Dean doesn’t know why you seem to care so much. “I’m sorry.” You say softly, looking at his eyes as they avoid you. 

“Fuck. All this time and he still hasn’t found the damn thing.” He muttered, too far into his emotions and his bitterness and his simmering rage that has been building up since the first time he shot a gun. The first time he had to watch his brother overnight while still being a child himself. The first time he killed, the first time he looked into the mirror and could only see himself covered in blood he never wanted to spill. 

He can’t stop now, the talks about the fear of being the only caregiver for his baby brother, the hunger he’s grown accustomed to feeling when his old man didn’t leave enough money for them. You don’t flinch away, you let him actually fucking talk and just sit there, holding his hand. He’s crying again by the end of it, he can’t stop himself. 

Dean bites down on his hand to muffle his cries, after all, old habits die hard. You pull his hand away and not just that, you pull him to your chest. Letting him sob it out. And he does. Even if he hates it, even if it’s the most embarrassing moment that he’s ever let happen. 

“I never got a life, I never got to live normal.” He says through gritted teeth, his voice constricted with heaving sobs. 

“I’m so sorry, honey. It isn’t fair.” You whisper against his hair. 

He calms down gradually, your hold on him never loosens. And as he does, a question can’t leave his mind. Why? Why would you stay, why would you join him with this situation, why would you hold him like he matters? 

“Why are you bein’ so nice?” He asks in a whisper, almost afraid to know the answer. “I don’t deserve this.” He adds. 

“You deserve to feel appreciated. You took a fucking vampire bite for me, Dean. A stranger, an unremarkable townie with fifty bucks to her name. Anyone who’d do unbelievable shit like that deserves this. I wish I could do more.” You whisper, stroking his hair. 

And with that, he’s done for. Tears fall yet again as he hastily smashes his lips against yours. Because that’s the only thing that matters right now, you. Your body up against his, holding him like he matters, like he isn’t practically a stranger, like he isn’t tainted, riddled with guilt and shame miles high. 

You’re surprised at his sudden action, tensing up and pulling away. His heart drops a little. “You don’t have to give anything to receive my affection.” You whisper. 

He doesn’t get it, and tries to ignore the lingering effects those words have on him. “I know, I just want you.” He says, you nod and kiss him again. It’s gentle, you’re gentle with him. 

Tears fall from his eyes even as he’s kissing you, particularly from all of the pent up emotion but mostly due to the hunger he feels now. He swears he can hear your heart pumping blood, the blood traveling in every direction to your body. He wants to feed, he knows that’s what it is. He refuses to do it, to complete the transition. 

His hips move against your thigh as a distraction at first, trying to get his body focused on anything besides your jugular. Until it feels too good and he can’t stop himself. You don’t stop him either, you encourage it, moving a hand to his lower back to guide his unstable movements. 

He can’t help himself, he’s never been good with self control. Especially when it matters. He breaks the kiss to move to your neck, leaving purplish bruises, he prepares to bite before even realizing it, but you notice. “No, don’t bite. You don’t want me to move my leg, do you?” You ask, voice still soft even as you chastise him. “No, no… i won’t bite, promise. Don’t stop.” He whispers, moving back to your lips. 

You hold his face so fucking carefully, like he’s some precious antique. It’s mind altering to say the least. 

“Please… I’ve never needed somethin’ as much as this.” He’s almost panting now, so pent up. “Yeah?” You ask, pulling your top off. He nods, his mouth going dry. 

Sex and hunting monsters, the two things that Dean felt he could actually do correctly. He’s never failed at pleasing a woman, rarely fucked up a hunt to the point of not being able to salvage it. Until today, until he met you. He’s lost all of his control, in every way of the word. 

So when the two of you settle onto the forest ground, even if he’s on top, he doesn’t push it. He doesn’t try to take quicker than he receives, he lets you set the pace. 

He’s never felt so close to someone, not just physically close, spiritually close, like his very being is tangling into yours and he can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

And you just… fucking cherish him. You’ve been so careful with him, speaking softly, calling him sweet names that makes him tremble even more. He can’t begin to understand, not with the time he has left anyway. 

It doesn’t feel rushed when the two of you undress more, any other time, any other woman — he’d be frantic trying to keep up, give her whatever she needed the moment she needed him. That’s what he does. 

This time, it’s just a deep understanding. Something he can’t describe. 

He hesitates about a hundred times before slipping inside of you. He doesn’t wanna fuck this moment up, he feels so seen, so cared for. “S’ okay. I want it to happen.” You whisper, a hand cupping the side of his face. He nods, going for your lips again as he fully bottoms out inside of you. He makes a choked noise, a mix of pleasure and sadness. He knows his time is running thin, the urge to feed, to bite is strong. 

He moves his hips in slow, barely there thrusts. His mind a mess of repression and pleasure and fear. Focused on you, almost too much. He hears the blood rushing throughout your body, it’s like a fucked up ocean. 

“What’s wrong?” You whisper, trying to gauge his feelings with just a look. “I can’t fuckin’ take it… S’ all so loud.” He whimpered, shaking his head. “I’ve got it, love. I won’t let you bite.” You whisper to him, coaxing him to lay on the ground now. 

He complies, hesitantly. When you’re finally on top, you begin to move quicker, enough for the feeling to temporarily overtake his hunger. 

“I can’t- I can’t.” He whimpers, holding onto your shoulders. “Can’t what, do you want to stop?” You whisper, slowing down to a near stop. He shakes his head. “If you don’t want to stop, then you can take it.” You say softly, he nods, words failing him yet again. “Say it, love. You can take it.” you say, meeting his eyes. “I can take it.” He whispered, nodding. 

“I can take it, I can take it.” He whispers to himself multiple times. Until everything gets too loud again and he bites down on his wrist out of fear. 

You stroke the side of his face, trail your hands up and down his torso as you add speed, watching the tears fill his pretty eyes in the dim moonlight. 

It’s like that for a while, with him trembling and whimpering and resting the urge to sink his teeth into your neck. Until the speed is too much for the both of you. 

“Where do I—“ he begins before you interrupt him. “Inside.” He doesn’t argue that. He lets his bloodied arm fall to your hips as he finishes, a whimpering, crying mess. You don’t focus on your own pleasure, too wrapped up in him to even notice that you’ve came. 

You kiss his cheeks, his nose, his jaw as he rides it out, letting his breathing come to a steady rhythm before getting off of him. 

You pull your pants back up and bring him to your chest again, stroking his hair and whispering praises. “So good for me.” You say quietly. 

You settle like that for a while, each of you dozing as the sun rises. 

When he’s fully awake, he genuinely can’t think straight. All he can do is peel away from your arms and get dressed. Walking down to the nearby river to sit and watch the rest of the sunrise. You aren’t too far behind him. You sit down beside him, not speaking yet. 

“It’s time, I can’t… when I look at you all I can think about is the blood pumping.” He whispered, avoiding your eyes. 

“We can figure something out, Dean. Just hold on.” You whisper, knowing deep down that he’s right. This is the end, even if you don’t want to admit it. 

“I want you to do it, I’m still human, no rocks, just the knife and my throat.” He whispered. 

“How can you ask that of me?” You murmured, voice crackling. 

“Because being with you is the closest thing I’ve felt to being normal ever.” He says plainly. “I can’t do it myself, sweetheart. It has to be you.” He whispers, taking your hand into his own. 

“I don’t wanna.” You mumbled, tears streaming even if you try to force them back. “I can’t be the one to end your life.” 

“It’s the kindest thing, the simplest thing you can do for me. Don’t let me become the monster my father hunts.” He whispers, pulling you closer. 

You hold him for a while, and as the first beams of warmth and real daylight hits, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a switchblade. The same one he slit that bastards neck with. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” You whisper. “All you’ve known is pain. I can’t let that be your last moments.” 

“If it’s you, the pain won’t matter. If your face is the last one I see, I’ll die a happy man.” He whispered, cleaning the knife in the river. “Just do this one thing for me, you’ve done so much in this short time, I wish I had longer to repay you.” 

“Don’t say that, you don’t repay this… this was perfect.” You whisper, sliding in behind him as he hands you the knife again. Your hand shakes uncontrollably. 

“I’d love you if we had more time, Dean.” You whispered shakily. “That’s okay, I love you regardless.” He mumbled, leaning back against your shoulder to look at you one last time. 

Tears fall freely down your face, he wipes them away with shaky hands. “Do it, bury me under the oak.” He whispered, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” You whispered over and over, hands shaking so much you almost drop the knife. 

You kiss his forehead one last time before pressing the blade against his throat and dragging it quickly across his neck. He gasps and makes this horrible gurgling sound, you toss the knife away in horror of your own actions. “I’m so sorry, sweet boy. Please rest now, I’m so sorry.” You whisper as his gasping softens and his face grows paler. The blood leaks in astonishing amounts over your clothes, over him. You kiss his forehead over and over. Stroking his hair long after he’s grown still and the gasping has stopped. 

You can’t move yet, just stay there sobbing with his corpse in your arms. You know soon enough you’ll have to dig his grave, make him a nice memorial under that oak. It all feels so distant now, and all you can do is stay put and hold him. 

Your phone ringing stirs you from sleep, even in your groggy state you had a feeling you knew who it was, however you look at the contact name anyway. who else would it be besides Dean? you answer the phone and take a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand, 2:30 am. "Hello?" your voice is a little rough with sleep. "Can I come over?" the voice on the other end sounds upset, you think he's been crying. "Mhm, i'll see you soon honey." the call ends after that. you switch the lamp on and wake up fully in the meantime.

There's a knock at your motel room's door about half an hour later, you answer it quickly. on the other side of the door is none other than Dean. you let him in and he goes straight to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. as you guessed, he had been crying. you sit next to him and wrap your arm around his shoulders. "What's wrong, Dean?" you murmured. "I don't wanna talk about it, I just needed to see you." he replied in a similar tone. you nod, if he doesn't want to talk about it, prying only makes things worse.

He kicks his boots off before you begin to rub your hand up and down his back, slowly but surely he relaxes a bit and his head finds its spot in the crook of your neck. he eventually presses little soft and lazy kisses to the skin he can reach. as the last few tears fall down his cheeks, you wipe them away gently.

Slowly, those soft kisses turn into something a little more. they last longer and he's sucking ever so slightly at the skin, there's a need behind them, you can tell. whether you wanted to or not, after all the time spent with bare skin on skin and entangled limbs you've gotten very good at reading Dean by his body language. he pulls his head back just enough to look at you, after seeing those teary green eyes, all you want to do is take care of him.

You test the waters by kissing him properly, nothing more than a quick kiss. when it breaks, his lips are back on yours in a matter of seconds. It's soft, yes. however you can practically taste the need, the hunger in his mouth. your hands go to his shoulders and one of his goes to your waist.

As the kissing continues, it gradually becomes less soft and more of a mess consisting of teeth, tongue and breath. It's a fog of how you got here, maybe he started moving or maybe you did but now you both are fully on the bed. he's on his back and you're nearly straddling him. "Please?" he muttered in a small voice between kisses. "Please what baby?" you respond gently. he frowns a little, you always make him do this. "Need you." he muttered. you sigh quietly, knowing that was probably the best you were gonna get from him.

"Gonna take good care of you, baby." you muttered as you went in to kiss his neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. his head tilts back to give you better access as soft but heavy breaths fall from his lips. you feel his hips purposely rubbing against your thigh, seeking some kind of friction. you pause to look him in the eyes. "You want these off?" you question, hovering your hand by the waistband of his jeans. he nods adamantly. "Use your words, Dean." your voice firm but sickeningly sweet. "Yes, please." he mumbled. you move to unbutton his jeans and he lifts his hips so you can pull them off, dropping them forgotten on the floor.

In the time it takes for you to strip your own pants and shirt off. his shirt is long gone and he's preparing to drag his boxers off. you bite back a smile at how eager he is. he's back on his back by the time you discarded your panties. you make your way back to straddling him, its torturous really, at least to him.

You rock your hips, grinding slowly against his throbbing cock just to enjoy the look on his face as he bites back a whine. "no more- no more teasin' me please." he managed to grit out, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

You sink down on him slowly, taking him inch by inch. he half sighs and half moans in relief. you remain still for a few moments, purely out of the need to tease him even more. you move just an inch, sliding him out of you just a little bit before sinking back down. he grits his teeth to bite back the moan, even after all this time of hooking up or whatever the hell this is, he still feels the need to suppress himself like you haven't heard him whining before about a million times.

It escalates quick, what you had originally intended to be slow and soft rapidly becomes rough, culminating into riding him with reckless abandon. the noises he makes are sinful, you engrave them in your mind. "So good for me sweet boy, so perfect." you murmur, he whines softly in response. you being the first and probably last person to call him that.

He grips your hips like you are the last solid thing in a crumbling world. "Fuck- cant.. S' good." he babbles, tears welling up in his eyes. he's getting close, you pickup the pace a little. "just let go. S' okay." you mumble in his ear through moans and gritted teeth. he obeys, obviously.

He was a piece of art at that moment, his eyes now screwed shut and his eyebrows all scrunched up. you stare unintentionally, hoping to burn this scene to your very bones. he cums with a whine, mixed with about every sound he could make. its pathetic, but so so perfect. you didn't finish, and you're okay with that. tonight was about him anyways. he pulls you flush to his chest before you can react, you don't mind it, reaching up to stroke his hair.

After a while of just laying like that, he slides his softening cock out of you. he reaches up to turn the lamp off. he falls asleep after a while, the only noises being his soft breathing.

Even as he clings to you, you know in the morning you'll wake up alone. you're okay with a lot of things when it comes to Dean, but not that. you stay up for a little while longer, yearning for this to be something more than just a means of comfort for him. it'll never happen, but you'd rather have some of him rather than none of him.

He knew even without confirmation, of course he did. Dean was observant like that, especially with you. he just didn't want to admit it. if he admitted the truth, that would make this whole situation real, far too real. how could he not notice everything that had been going on with you? mood shifts that could give him whiplash, stomach bug symptoms that went on just a bit too long to simply be a stomach bug.

Hunting life aside, Dean didn't do long term commitments, ever. maybe he'd stick to the same girl for the duration of a case but the ending was always the same, he'd leave. until you came along and disrupted the cycle he had lived by for as long as he could remember, a hunter yourself, Dean found himself growing more and more infatuated with you every time your paths crossed. how could he not? besides the fact you basically saved both he and Sam's life when a simple vampire nest hunt had gone south, you were damn good at your job and it didn't help that you were fucking beautiful. he had tried to shoot his shot with you multiple times the only way he knew worked, shitty pickup lines and copious amounts of alcohol. you were different, you never took his bait and God help him, that just made him want you more.

It became almost a not so funny running joke. every time you found yourselves on the same case (an event that seemed to happen far too often), he'd flirt shamelessly and you blocked his attempt every. single. time. it was all fun and games until a vamps nest case, you nearly died. ironic, he met you and almost lost you the same way. while that filthy thing was beating you to all hell, something in Dean snapped at that moment. he decapitated it with such strength that Hercules himself probably felt a little jealous.

Needless to say after that, Dean was forced to acknowledge something he spent most of his life running from, feelings. that car ride back to the motel was spent arguing. you had practically thrown yourself at danger, something you always had the tendency to do. when the drive was over, poor Sam scrambled to get himself out of the silent observer position he never wanted to be in. you two however, stayed arguing. the moment you had him caught, pointing out the hypocrisy in his argument. he was forced to confess. that argument was the first of many that ended with sex in the back of the Impala.

Ever since then, you were officially unofficial. you still went on cases without one another, however slowly but surely those became less frequent. damn it and damn him but he was happy, feeling a little more fulfilled than he had in realistically his whole life. everything without the title of course. he should've been more careful with this. maybe everything wouldn't have happened if he had just stopped for a minute to think.

It started small, those subtle changes in you. the puking, the sensitivity to certain smells. you knew what it was too, that cheap plastic test which you took in secret only confirmed it. for the first couple of days after burying that test deep into the shitty motels outside dumpster, you were numb. you thought if you ignored the problem maybe, just maybe it would go away. you wouldn't be so lucky. after the bleak feeling wore off, you were terrified. you couldn't tell him this, it would destroy you, Dean and the relationship so fragile it could break apart like glass with a small gust of wind. you would rather do this willingly alone, than deal with the possibility of knowing you weren't alone by choice.

You weren't sure when but you made the choice to do this alone, one way or another. in those last few weeks with him, you picked a fight over anything. a comment that rubbed you the wrong way, a small disagreement, even breathing too loud. you felt horrible, at first Dean took it like a kicked puppy. trying his hardest to make it up to you. eventually, that ended and he'd argue back just as bad. it all culminated in one last enormous fight. pointing out things that should've been left alone and calling each other every name under the sun. neither of you were proud of that night that ended with silent tears on your end and bitterness on his.

It was over, effectively. neither of you having uttered a word about the truth, the reason it all fell apart that you both knew. Dean threw himself into the life, drinking and hunting like a carefully constructed machine in a poor attempted to forget you and the fact you most likely had his child. some nights, either spent alone or in the company of a woman whose name he couldn't remember, he found himself wondering about it. how you were, where you were, if you went through with it. on especially rough nights after even rougher days. he let himself imagine a different outcome. one that didn't end like that. he'd never admit this to anyone, let alone out loud but for a while he used to have dreams about it, a normal, safe life with you.

You on the other hand, you quit hunting. got a normal, shitty job in a big city and threw everything into raising your child. a bubbly and incredibly smart little girl. it was hard, of course it was but with all the guilt you never let yourself feel bad for yourself, it was mostly if not entirely your fault after all. you just tried to move on, but you never really could. those old photos in a little box tucked away under your bed serving as an everlasting reminder of what was probably your biggest regret and mistake, leaving him.

Hearing about those two mutilated bodies found in town scared more than you'd like to admit, this was supposed to be safe. you debate doing something about it but the moment it hit the papers, you knew something would be done soon. you just never anticipated who would be handling it.

You had taken your daughter out to the park today of all places. it was dangerous, sure but it had been raining for nearly three straight and today was the first nice day in a while. the park was down the street from a small diner and after non stop asking for ice cream by Charlotte, you caved and had lunch there. you had just gotten your food when they walked in. the ringing of the bell was simply background noise as Charlotte rambled on about her day at the park rather than eating, then, after almost three years. you see him. you must have blinked four times in utter shock. there he is, a mere ten feet away from you.

You weren't expecting this day to ever come, or at least happen today. you have about a minute to decide what to do, you settle on taking whatever happens. the first shared look is a quick passing glance, you watch as Dean takes another step past you, looks back, blinks at least twice and stops dead in his tracks. a confused Sam follows his eye line and now they're both staring. Sam is surprised but evidently way less than Dean.

This was supposed to be just another case, the last thing Dean expected was the sight in front of his own eyes. you. with a little girl the spitting image of you rambling on happily. he walks over, never blinking as if you'd disappear if he did. his mind is blank on what to say, he just kinda stares. you beat him to it. "Hi, Dean." you spoke softly. it takes him a moment to respond "Hey..hi." he mentally curses himself at how stupid he sounded.

You both kind of just stare for a moment. even Charlotte notices the awkwardness to this exchange and practically stares Dean down. you'd laugh if you weren't so nervous. "Who's this?" he mumbled nervously after what felt like forever, looking down at Charlotte. "That's Charlotte." you respond in a similar tone of voice. "Is she.. shes yours?" he asked, you nodded in confirmation. "Wow.." he muttered. Sam has put two and two together by now and walks away to a different table.

Now that he has had the chance to properly look at the girl, he sees little pieces of himself in her, his nose, his eye shape. God, even the way shes glaring at him. he feels sick. "Can we.. can we talk? alone." he questioned. "Later today, if that works for you." you respond. "Yeah, yeah okay." he responded quickly. "I'll call you, same number?" you ask. "No, uhm.." he begins, you unintentionally cut him off, just eager to get out of this awkward encounter. "I have the same once, call me later." you said. "Okay." he muttered before walking to Sam. you were about to prepare to leave, you weren't gonna eat here with the awkwardness of being across the room from one another. Dean beats you to it, he's bickering with Sam for a moment before they leave.

After you and Charlotte eat, you go home quickly. trying to continue your day without showing how nervous you were after that encounter. knowing you'll receive a call later.

Dean feels like he had been hit by a bus after that encounter. you were literally a phone call away this whole time. so many questions and guilt could have been nearly solved if he wasn't so stubborn. what if you had tried to call him in that time? he felt sick, needless to say he didn't do much work that day. he mostly sits up in he and Sam's motel room, watching the hours tick by with a little more liquor than he'd like to admit. he calls you around seven, wanting to at least wait until after the kid was asleep. you answer, the conversation was brief. he wanted to do this in person. he got your address and left quickly.

You were waiting on the porch for him, knowing exactly what this "conversation" would lead, arguing. you heard the familiar rumbling of an engine before you saw him. you took a deep breath to prepare yourself. Dean got out as soon as he parked, the awkward and forced pleasantries from earlier were gone, you could just tell. "Were you ever gonna tell me?" he asked, his tone somewhere between anger and hurt. "Tell you what exactly?" you asked, hoping in some way he didn't know. "That I had a kid, we have a kid!" he practically yelled. he knew, deep down you always knew he did too. "don't yell, you'll wake her and the whole damn neighborhood up." you said, trying to keep the tension from boiling over, he glares at you like you maimed his car.

You take another deep breath, you owed him an explanation at least. "I was scared, alright. Terrified out of my mind. It never would have worked out well for any of us. I did what I thought was right at the time." he chuckled a humorless and bitter sound at that. "What you thought was right? What about me damn it? I would have been there for you, for both of you!" "You say that now, Dean. what would you have done three years ago?" you asked. he'd like to say that even then, he would have the same answer, you both knew that would be a lie.

"You still shoulda told me. In all this time did you even think of me?" he asked. "Of course I did! how could I not?" you respond. "I wasn't gonna raise that girl in the life we were living, dingy motels, no money. She deserved to be a kid." you added, like so many times before, you had him beat. you were right, at least about that. "I know better know, I wanna be there for her." he says, sounding a little too defeated. "Are you ready for that? I'm not gonna have her in that life. Shes never gonna know what's out there if I can help it." you responded. once again, you had him beat. hunting was one of if not the only constant thing in Dean's life, you both knew that. "you can't expect me to throw my whole life away for this." he says. "Throw it away? That's your daughter in that house. Know her or not, it doesn't change the fact shes yours." he sighs at that, your right, once again. "Just stop, take a break and at least try." you say. "Yeah, okay." he said. "Call me, meet her properly." you spoke quietly.

After staring at each other for a moment longer, he gets back in the Impala and leaves. you weren't sure if he'd actually try. you hoped for Charlotte's sake, he'd change the endings he always did, leave.

it was the fourth day of a frustrating case, the whole team felt like they were missing something right in front of them, but no one could find the break they needed to crack the case. it was about an hour until midnight before anyone left the police station, being sent back to your crappy motel rooms by your boss telling everyone to get some sleep.

you had just gotten comfortable when you heard a knock at the door, you were pretty sure who it was before you got up. but regardless you unlocked the door to see Spencer. you take in his appearance,semi wet hair and in pajama pants and a t-shirt. you have had a friends with benefits agreement with Spencer for about 3 months now. agreeing that the cases were too much and needing to relax a bit with someone.

"hey, did I wake you up?" he asks sheepishly. "no, I was just laying down. come in." you say, moving out of the way, you look around in the hallway and close the door. Spencer was standing next to the bed. no matter how many times you have done this together, he never initiates the first contact, yes he's usually the one knocking at the door, however he never kisses you first. you get in bed next to where he's standing you motion for him to come here, he does. you lean over and kiss him slow, letting the pace quicken naturally.

by the time your pulling away for air, hes moved on top of you. you help him get your shirt off, he tosses it aside and trails light kisses down you. stopping at the hem of your shorts "can I?" he asks. you nod your head. "need your words." "yes, please." you lift your hips up and he tugs your shorts off. tossing them in the general direction of your shirt. leaving you completely naked.he kisses your inner thigh, then slides his tongue over your clit, making you whimper. he starts slow, sucking slightly. he keeps up the agonizingly slow pace, "Spencer, please," you say breathlessly. he rubs your thigh affectionately. he speeds up his pace slightly, still too slow for your liking.

you moan, probably too loud due to the fact you are in a motel, you cover your mouth with one hand, the other reaching down to Spencer's hair grabbing at the curls. he speeds up his pace again, just enough to where the knot in your stomach starts to unravel. "fuck I'm gonna cum." you tell him, he keeps the pace. you moan into your hand as you come.he helps ride you through it. on the brink of overstimulation, he lifts his head up, and moves to kiss you. you groan tasting yourself on his mouth.

you tug at his shirt, signaling that you want it off. he complies tugging it up over his head and tossing it somewhere in the room. he tugs his pajama pants off a long with his boxers. he runs the head of his cock over your sensitive clit. making you whimper. he slips inside little by little slowly, letting you get used to the feeling of him. you let out a whine at the feeling of him filling you. "I know. your alright," he says sympathetically. "I need a second." you say breathlessly. he nods and rubs your cheek with his thumb. and kisses you softly.

after a minute he hears your breath steady, he pulls out just a bit, and pushes back in. you moan and nod. he thrusts again, pulling out a little more than before. he groans as he fucks you, starting slow but gradually picking up pace. you kiss him, and moan into the kiss.

"I'm not gonna last." he groans "can i-fuck, can I come inside? you nod "words baby." it takes you a second to string together your answer. "yes,please.please" you moan "I'm gonna come." he says out of breath. and as you feel him filling you. up you finish after him. his thrusts become sloppy as you both ride out your highs. "such a good job baby.so good" he says. making you whine. you both lay there as you catch your breath. you reach your hand up to stroke his hair.