dede

His father hadn’t spoken too much to him about any of it either. Dean honestly didn’t really know what the plan for the ranch actually was. Were they going to have cattle? Horses? Did he have to develop a green thumb and figure out when exactly the apples on the east side of the ranch were ready? All he knew had been that they were keeping the bees that the old owners had left behind. There had been a few things the old owners had left behind, a list per se.

Dear Winchester family,

We’re very pleased to leave this ranch in your hands, and we apologise for any major repairs you might’ve not known about. You see, we had simply grown too old to handle such, despite our help on the ranch. We have left a few things that we encourage you to keep.

The bees — they are on the south of the house, and produce the best honey when happiest, therefore we recommend not cutting the wild flowers around the ranch. Those are their favourites. (Honey makes good money at the markets too! Make sure to always have some for Castiel, he thoroughly enjoys it, and is a regular.)

The well — despite it’s sad, run-down expression, it’s the main character of a local legend, and the local scouts would be very upset with losing their stories for camp fire.

The Schmidt family — The Schmidt family are people of the church. They are good customers, and their eldest, Robin, has worked for us since her teenage years. The pastor is a very nice man, and we have provided him with produce for the homeless and his preachings for years. They are by far our most loyal customers. They are a well loved family, so for your own good, do not cross them! Their daughter is a very hard working and stubborn young lady, and she would love to work for you as well. We have left her landline number on this document.

The old Ford F250 truck — it is all yours. Richard tinkered with it for months on end, and never got the old girl up and running again. We promised the pastor’s daughter the first ride in it when it could finally run again—we’d greatly appreciate it if you kept that promise for us.

We hope this ranch treats your family with just as much warmth and community as it has us, John Winchester. Best of luck. We really do hope you will partake on the Saturday markets, and that your business is smooth.

Pastor Schmidt’s landline: (503) 123-456

Best of wishes,

Richard and Betty Johnson

Dean had read it shortly after John had on their first full day in Oregon. John had muttered something about damn locals, and how crazy Pastor’s were. Dean was only mildly irritated with the idea of having to work with some stuck-up, spoiled girl in impractical white tops, who had probably only been kept around to bring this Betty Johnson tea, and for Richard Johnson to be a bit of a creep.

John had called the pastor’s house a few days later. He didn’t exactly sound thrilled, but he had offered the pastor’s daughter the job again either way. Dean had listened from the top of the stairs where he had been sitting, texting Sam to bring around his new girlfriend. Sam had angrily responded that Madison was not his girlfriend.

On Sam’s second day of school, February ninth, Sam had come home in a state Dean had never seen his younger brother in. He was nervous, giddy, and fiddling around. After almost thirty minutes of being circled by his younger brother without a word, watching Sam build up courage to ask something before deciding not to, and disappearing again for a few minutes, Dean finally said something.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Dean asked, opening the humming fridge in the kitchen and grabbing two beers. He sat one down on the counter, a free offer for Sam. Sam looked at him, wide eyed and with his tail between his legs.

“Nothin’.” Sam lied. Dean almost wanted to laugh at him. He opened his beer before pushing the fridge door shut with his boot clad foot, and leant against the counter.

“You were never a good liar.” Dean mused, taking the first sip of his beer. “Spill.”

The silence stretched for just a few seconds. Sam’s eyes flickered between the floor, the beer on the counter, and Dean’s face before he took a deep breath, puffing up his chest behind a well worn The Doors tee shirt.

“Madison invited me to her birthday.” Sam finally answered. Dean’s lips split around the glass opening of his bottle.

“Samuel Winchester, you dog—“

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Sam snapped at his brother, frowning at him. He didn’t like when Dean jumped to conclusions like that.

“Then what is it like?” Dean asked, dropping his arms in a disappointed confusion, though it was all teasing.

“She just—, she invited me to go out with her friends on Friday, her birthday.” Sam scrambles to defend himself, and Madison. “I just don’t want to show up empty handed, she told me that you don’t really do that stuff.”

“So she asked you to buy a gift.” Dean frowned, confused, and a little offended that this Madison girl thought she had the right to say such to a guy she had known for two days.

“No, we just talked about parties—“

“Oh yeah, you have so much experience.” Dean snorted into his beer.

“Fuck you, jerk.” Sam spat before continuing, “she just said people are usually very polite, especially with family—“

“Bitch.” Dean had muttered into his beer, though he was listening. His brother seemed geeked about going. Dean sighed loudly, throwing his head backwards for a dramatic flair before pushing himself forward. “Fine. Grab your jacket, let’s go find your little girlfriend a gift.”

Sam was already moving towards the door, glaring over his shoulder. “She is not my girlfriend.”

The drive into town was short. John had lent the brothers the Chevrolet Impala, the only car the boys had ever known. After almost three trips around town, Dean found a parking spot where he didn’t feel like the car was in danger of getting hit by a reckless teen behind the wheel. John would’ve killed him if anything happened to the car. Dean still remembered the first time someone rear ended him back in Lawrence. He was still in High School, and some freshman had been too focused on changing CD’s to realise they had to break.

Dean had gone hungry for a few days while he worked to fix Baby up. It was, in reality, just a scratch in the paint job and a new taillight, but John was angry.

“Alright, Sammy,” Dean said, climbing out of the car, closing the door with practiced ease. “What’s this Madison girl into?”

Sam closed the door with a sense of care, looking at Dean across the roof. He frowned, trying to figure out exactly what to buy Madison. He had no idea.

“I—, I don’t know, actually—“

“What the fuck, Sam.” Dean interruptred, frowning at his little brother as the two stepped onto the sidewalk.

“It’s not like you listened to the girls you went out with in High School!” Sam defended himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Well, they weren’t my girlfriends, I didn’t actually like them.” Dean snapped back.

“Madison isn’t my girlfriend.” Sam insisted angrily.

“But you like her.”

“I’ve known her for 48 hours.”

“Well,” Dean shrugged his shoulders, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket, pulling it tighter around him, “love at first sight, Sammy.”

“Dean.” Sam complained, stopping abruptly to punctuate his words. Dean kept walking, eyeing a store before walking in. Sam reluctantly followed.

The store, called Pete’s Antiques, had a warm feel to it compared to the colder, bluer weather of Nehalem. A bell chimed above their heads, and Dean gave the store clerk a tight smile before wandering off, eyeing the stacked shelves. Sam tensed, scared of knocking anything off the dark wood.

“Jesus…” Dean muttered quietly, turning to look at Sam. “Think you’ll find somethin’ in here?” He asked, quietly,—almost a whisper. Sam chewed at his lip, looking around. He looked unsure. “I saw there’s a record store right beside this one—“ Dean said, pointing his thumb vaguely in that direction.

“No!” Sam whispered, shaking his head quickly, “that’s where Madison works, I can’t buy her something from her workplace.”

Dean raised his brows at Sam, his signature smile twitching; “no shit? Think she could give me some discount? Brother-in-law y’know—“

“Fuck you, jerk.” Sam snapped, rolling his eyes and landing a hit on Dean’s arm. Dean snickered, fighting off Sam’s hands before rounding a corner.

“Bitch.” Dean snickered in return.

The brothers parted, deciding to cover more space that way. There were some seriously weird bibs and bobs, anything from weird, vintage perfume bottles, to glass spheres, to old umbrellas with wooden carved animal heads as handles.

Occasionally, one of them would whistle for the others attention and hold up something completely absurd. Usually, it was Dean. After almost fifteen minutes of browsing and Dean being incredibly unserious considering his age, Sam found something.

A ceramic container, a burnt orangey brown, shaped like a pumpkin. It looked well loved, but not overly dusty.

“Dean,” Sam said, lifting the lid and peeking inside. It was empty, and fit in Sam’s hand. “Think I found it.”

Dean’s boots scuffed against the floor as he stopped beside Sam, looking down at the ceramic in his brothers hand.

“That? Why?” Dean asked, not even attempting to hide his confusion, or minor disgust at its grandma-like vibe.

“She likes pumpkins. Maddi.”

“Oh, Maddi? Upgraded now, huh?” Dean teased, grabbing the pumpkin from Sam’s hand, turning it over to read the price.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, scoffed before looking at Dean. Neither of the boys had a job yet, not one that actually paid. Sam needed to send out applications, and Dean worked for their dad, and John thought a roof over his head and food on the table was enough payment.

“How’d you know the girl likes pumpkins?” Dean asked, handing over the pumpkin before digging through his pocket. The bills in his hands were crumbled and greasy. Sam followed Dean to the counter, zig zagging through tall shelves and mirrors propped against dressers and chairs.

“She smells like them.” Sam responded, smiling shyly. He liked how Madison smelled. Pumpkin, vanilla,—coconut, sometimes, but that was the handcreme she used.

Dean grimaced, scrunching his nose at Sam before grabbing the pumpkin. “Gross, dude.”

“No, not like that—“ Sam scrambled before going quiet as Dean set the pumpkin ceramic on the counter. He paid the 1.50 dollars, telling the clerk behind the glass top counter to have a good day before he handed over the pumpkin to Sam again.

Sam had spent the next many minutes trying to explain that he wasn’t a creep. Dean, trying to prove his point, and hopefully embarrass his brother, drove painfully slowly by the record store next door. Sam had hidden his face in his hands, curling together and sinking into the seat. He didn’t even know if Madison was working, but he wasn’t going to take chances.

By the time Dean parked the Chevrolet Impala outside the ranch, there was another car in the driveway. An old Toyota truck, the pale, old, yellow paint chipped and dirtied with grime and mud.

Dean stepped out of the car, not recognising it from the town. Sam followed, the brothers closing the Impala doors in sync.

“Who’s here?” Sam asked curiously, hesitantly approaching the car. The trucks bed had various things,—rope, plastic buckets, duffle bags, and a folded, dusty blanket.

“I dunno,” Dean answered quietly, curiously frowning as he stalked towards the front door. The front door was open, and there was a scraping sound, wood against wood. Outside the front door, scattered over the porch and immediate ground around it, stood various furniture. Sam’s bed, a desk Dean recognised as John’s, and a few dining chairs stacked clumsily together.

The brothers stepped inside, both peeking around the corner of the broad but short entranceway. In the living room stood John, grimacing and grunting something, his hands hooked beneath one end of an old piano. On the other end opposite of John stood a girl. Late teens, maybe early twenties. Quite tall, but still shorter than the brothers. Her hair was short, only reaching around her shoulders, the strands a mousy brown, and messy around her ears. She was panting, frowning at John with a sassy scrunch at the corner of her eyes. Her glasses, big and square, were sliding down her nose.

“John, you are not lifting your weight right now!” The girl accused, grunting as she dragged at the piano, the legs groaning against the flooring.

“Don’t you get sassy with me, missy.” John spoke harshly, his tone hard, but it didn’t seem to bother the girl.

“Dad.” Dean spoke up, taking a step into the room. John looked up, slightly out of breath. He sat the piano down, the girl letting out a huff, left with the weight before she slowly sat it down.

“Dean.” John said with a nod before looking at Sam. “Sam. This is the pastor's daughter,” he said, his tone lightly irritated as he gestured towards her. She straightened up, still catching her own breath. “Robin.”

Robin was wearing a pair of cowboy boots, which felt a little ironic to Dean,—he had a pair just like them. She had a leather jacket on, and beneath it a band tee shirt he couldn’t make out. Her belt buckle was silver, scratched, and shaped like a running horse.

“Hey,” Robin smiled, taking a few easy steps forward before offering up her hand. Dean swallowed, shaking her hand. Rough and firm. Both of them.

“Dean Winchester.”

Robin let go with a squeeze before shaking Sam’s hand. When pulling away, Robin smiled, pointing at the pumpkin ceramic in Sam’s hands.

“Oh that’s cute. I have a friend who’d absolutely love that.” She said, proudly. “Maddi’s mad for pumpkins.”

“You know Maddi?” Sam blurted, barely realising he how he had perked up, and his voice jumped.

“Yeah!” Robin smiled, glancing at Dean, who quickly looked away, walking to his father. “I showed her around in her Freshman year, we’ve been friends since! How’d you know her?”

“She bumped into me on my first day.” Sam admitted, his smile shy and cheeks reddening.

“No shit!” Robin grinned, tilting her head slightly. “Is the pumpkin for her?” Sam nodded, handing over the pumpkin to Robin. She held it, turning it over in her hand, taking off the lid.

“For her birthday, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to help my father set up for a big Church thing, but you tell her happy birthday from me, okay?” Robin said, handing over the ceramic again. Sam nodded, closing the ceramic pumpkin again.

“I’ll see you around Sam.” Robin said, reaching out and giving the younger brother’s arm a pat before she turned, returning to the piano.

Dean watched his brother awkwardly retreat back up the stairs, the wood creaking beneath his feet. He turned, watching as Robin resumed her position by the end of the piano.

“Alright, Johnny, where’d we want it?” She asked casually, a playful glint in her eyes. Dean felt his stomach churn. How could she talk like that to his father?

John snorted, his eyes hardening at Robin before he resumed his position opposite of her. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t necessarily fight back, but that was a shock to Dean’s system regardless. Dean watched as the two lifted the old wooden piano, moving it to the center of the wall. Dean watched, frowning lightly.

This was the pastor's daughter. The spoiled, holy, and lacy girl he had imagined,—she was nothing like it.

Second chapter guys, how’re we liking it?! Already working on chapter three, but I’m returning to work tomorrow morning, and going on vacation for a week following that, so I won’t be as quick to push out the chapters after this. Thank you all so much on the support so far, it means a ton <33

As always, let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list xx

taglist. @pumpkineataaa , @dean-winchesters-cherry-pie

Welcome to my most recent fic, and one I will hopefully actually finish. This is made in collaboration with my beloved mutual and friend, @pumpkineataaa — she has helped me with mood boards, ideas, the overall vibe, and inspiration in general,—she is the biggest supporter of the whole fic.

Chapters

0/unknown amount

coming soon…

tags: friends to lovers ( s. winchester x female oc), frenemies to lovers ( d. winchester x female oc ), there will be added to this throughout the fic

Character introduction boards

In case you’d like to get to know our characters a little better, here they are,—and this is also your reminder that this is a fan fiction, and everything is therefore not necessarily 100% true to canon, TV or book. Thank you x

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Madison Conner

Robin Schmidt