Random Fandom FanFic

Thank you for this request! I haven’t posted a story in a long while, I forgot how fun it is (: Hope you like!

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Fandom: Supernatural

Character Requested: Sam Winchester

Prompt: 47. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

Word Count: 238

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“Well, I’ll say it if no one else will,” you said breaking the long silence between the group. “That’s not a plan, it’s a suicide mission, Sam.”

“I’m with the missus on this one, Moose,” Crowley added.“Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

Sam and Dean both looked at the King of Hell with irritation on their faces. They weren’t too happy about working with him in the first place and his constant smart-ass commentary definitely didn’t help.

“Look,” Sam started once more now facing you directly, “I know it’s risky-”

“At BEST!”, you shouted letting your frustration get the better of you. Folding your arms against your chest you let your gaze fall to the ground.

“But this is the only chance we’ve got, babe.” he finished. He paused and you knew he was waiting for you to stop avoiding his eyes.

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had.” Letting out an exaggerated sigh you finally looked up. You knew Sam well enough to know there was absolutely no talking him out of this, especially when Dean was on his side.

Sam remained silent, but his brow and the corner of his lips lifted in an apologetic yet hopeful display. Without having said a single word you knew exactly what he was asking.

For being you by @randomfandomff Sam is so completely Sam in this, I don’t know where to turn. It’s amazing.

Drunk in love by @a-little-hell-to-raise So sweet I think I might die!

Taking the angels to church by @howtobesupernatural Because who wouldn’t like to see what the arch angels would do if you took them to church, right? 

Listen closely by @leviathanslovedick One of my requests, and she did it so brilliantly. What I wouldn’t give to get to read Dean’s mind some times… 

Mixed messages by @ilostmyshoe-79 Jealousy and snuggling. What can be better. And it’s so beautifully written too.

Daddy’s little girl by @talesmaniac89 Man, I miss Bobby! And he’s so well written in this - the whole thing is gorgeous.

It is not surprising news that fanfiction writers are highly underappreciated.

There’s something wrong with the numbers: let’s take a popular fic with almost 4k hits. For let’s say 700 readers, it will get about 50 comments and 300 Kudos (those numbers are just an example, sometimes it’s worse than that). Maybe I’m being too kind, maybe not, but things stay the same; there’s something wrong here. Can you see it?

It takes us days, weeks, sometimes months to write a story for you. We write for ourselves yes, but we also write to share. We write to offer you content about your favourite characters. We write to bring our and your ships to life. It takes you a fraction of second to leave a Kudos, ten seconds to one, two or a few minutes to leave a comment.

And here lies our problem: there’s no proper sharing if there’s no proper feedback. An author not getting comments is generally a sad author. If I didn’t get feedback I’d wonder what’s the point in keeping on writing. A comment makes a writer’s day, most of the time even motivates them to write more.

Another important thing thrandythefabulous and I noticed: why on Earth do so many readers don’t comment (even kudos) if the fic has been up for a little more than a week or two? Why? Your feedback is still welcomed and much appreciated.

We write for ourselves, but also we write for you. And sadly, many readers are being quite… ungrateful, when giving feedback is the least they can do to thank the people offering them stories for free.

So, before we get started on our little day, let’s talk about comments:

It doesn’t matter if other readers already said what you wanted to say, we’ll still love reading it again in your words.

It doesn’t matter the fic has been up for weeks or months or years; comments on those ones are unexpected and so, it makes them ever better.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t have much to say, we’ll be glad anyway.

The point of this day is simple; on August 21st, writers and readers alike would go on AO3 (or any fanfiction website really), on Tumblr, and leave a comment on their favourite fics (even the fics they enjoyed!) and/or send their authors a message about their works.

It doesn’t matter if you’ve already or never commented. It doesn’t matter if the author doesn’t know about this post. It doesn’t matter if the author already knows how much you love their work.

Just let writers know you love the fics they write for you, simple as that!

Requested by lildragomir. Enjoy! XOXO

Summary: Dean and reader are exes who haven’t seen each other in fifteen years. Dean calls for help with a hunt, and gets a big surprise.

Warning: None

Word count: around 1300

Your heart was pounding, and your stomach turned somersaults at the deep voice on the other end of the phone. You’d know that voice anywhere, even if it had been fifteen years since the last time you heard it.

           “Hi.” Hi? Fifteen years and “hi” was all you could come up with?

           “It’s been a while,” Dean said. You didn’t quite know what to say to that, so you just stayed silent. “Look, I’d love to catch up, but Sam and I need help, and we don’t really have a lot of time to-”

Description: Six years after Y/n left, Dean and Sam are surprised to stumble upon her again while working a case. What she’s been hiding surprises them even more.

Part Two of my The One That Got Away series.

Read Part One Here

A/N: Sorry this isn’t very long, I haven’t had much time to write, but I still wanted to get something posted. This is more like a half of a part, and I’ll be posting a longer part some time during the week to make up for it. I promise.

Six years later.

“No, Garth, it’s fine. I understand,” Dean sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m really sorry, Dean,” Garth says, sounding apologetic through the phone line. “It’s just - six years, man. That’s a long time. You can’t pick up a trail that cold.”

“I know.” Dean looks down at the note he has clutched in his hands. Your note. The ink is faded, the edges of the motel stationary torn and stained in places. It’s been folded and unfolded and folded again more times than he can count, a permanent resident in his wallet.

Dean,

I can’t stay. Not now. Staying now would make it all too complicated. Sorry it happened this way.

Y/n

Complicated, he thinks. Understatement of the century, Y/n.

“If you want I can try calling-”

“It’s alright, Garth,” Dean cuts him off. “You’re doing your best and I know it’s a long shot. Just, um, just do me a favor and keep me posted. I know there’s probably nothing to find, but-”

“If someone sees her, you’ll be the first to know,” Garth assures him.

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.” He hangs up.

Sam glances up from the lore book he’s been studying, brow furrowed in sympathy. “Any news?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Nothing,” Dean replies. “She’s still off the grid.” He doesn’t bother to look at his brother. He knows the exact expression Sam’s wearing.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean swears suddenly, smacking the table in his frustration. “How the hell did she even do that? How do you disappear for six freaking years?”

“Y/n’s smart,” Sam replies. “If she doesn’t want to be found, she’s more than capable of keeping us in the dark.”

“Yeah, but for six years?”

“Dean-”

“I know, Sam,” Dean cuts him off. “I fucked the whole thing up, I know. I pushed her when I shouldn’t have and that’s what pushed her away. I know.”

He’s regretted it ever since, how things went down with you. How he pushed you, even though he knew how upset you were. He hates himself for walking away from your room that night. He hates himself for giving you the space instead of forcing the door down and begging you to listen to him.

He should’ve wrapped you in his arms and told you how he felt from the beginning.

And now you’re gone and you think he hates you and he has no way of finding you so he can fix things.

Damn it, Y/n.

“Dean!”

Dean looks up at the sound of his name, startled. “What?”

“We’ve got a case,” Sam says, and Dean wonders how many times he’d been calling him. “Possible changeling down in Hospers, Iowa.”

Dean sits down at the table next to him, twisting the cap off of a beer. “What are the details?”

“A woman’s husband fell off of their roof and landed in their empty pool,” Sam reads, peering at his laptop screen. “Another man was run over by his lawnmower. Third victim fell on a table saw, and the fourth was a mechanic working on a truck when the vehicle fell and crushed him.”

Dean gives a low whistle. “Hell of a lot of accidents.”

“Too many to be coincidence,” Sam agrees. “Especially when each victim was married with a six year old child.”

“Alright,” Dean says with a nod. “Let’s get out there.”

But his thoughts are still on you as he packs.

#

“I’m just saying, it’s perfectly normal to be feeling this way,” Sam says from the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean’s jaw clenches, his fingertips tapping out the drum part on the steering wheel. “Can we just drop this?”

“You miss Y/n,” Sam continues, ignoring his brother. “I get it. She’s the one who got away and you’re always going to regret that. But Dean, she’s gone. She’s not coming back. And that sucks, man. I know. But you’ve got to let her go.”

“I said drop it, Sam.”

“What about Lisa?” Sam suggests.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What about Lisa?”

“You could call her. Meet up. Get to know Ben, spend some time with them. It might-”

“Sam. No.”

“It could help you move on.”

“There’s nothing to move on from!” Dean snaps, tires squealing as he whips the car into the driveway of a small, single story house. “Y/n’s gone, and yeah, I miss her like hell, but I’m fine. End of story.”

“You’re not fine,” Sam replies, climbing out of the car with Dean following suit. “You haven’t been fine for six years.”

“You know what?” Dean leans his forearms against the roof of the Impala. “You’re right. I’m not fine. But there’s jack shit I can do about it. Now let’s work this freaking case.”

He turns away before Sam can reply, striding up the walkway to knock impatiently against the front door.

The door creaks open.

“Who are you?”

Dean looks down at the small child in front of him in surprise, brow furrowed. “Who are you?” he replies.

The kid - can’t be more than six years old - folds his arms over his chest in annoyance. “You knocked on my door,” he says sternly. “You talk first.”

Dean takes a small step back. Cheeky little brat. He looks the kid up and down, noting the plaid flannel shirt and the bright green eyes. The stubborn tilt of his jaw almost reminds Dean of-

“Jonathan Dean L/n!” an exasperated woman calls. “What did I say about answering the door when I’m not there?” There are hurried footsteps as a figure comes around the corner and strides down the hallway.

Dean’s jaw drops.

It’s you. It’s you, looking tired and annoyed and terrified at the sight of him, but it’s still you. You’re practically the same. There are a few more lines on your face, maybe even a touch of gray in your hair - having a kid like Jonathan would probably do that to you. You’re smaller, the sharp edges and hunter’s build fading to the softer curves of - 

Motherhood?

“D-Dean?” It’s the sound of you stammering his name that breaks Dean out of his thoughts.

You’re staring at him in shock, brow furrowed over your e/c eyes, and he should say something, shouldn’t he? He should tell you about how he’s missed you. How he never stopped looking for you. How he keeps your phone charged and can spend hours in the middle of the night calling it just to listen to the sound of your voice over the voicemail. 

“Hey, Y/n.”

Not exactly the heart-wrenching speech he was going for.

His eyes drift back over to the kid, to Jonathan, going wide as he starts to piece together what that must mean. A quick glance at your left hand tells him you’re not married, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a long-term boyfriend in the picture. The father of this child.

After six years does he really have any right to feel jealous?

You say nothing, just folding your arms over your chest protectively.

As Dean stares at you, two more small forms come darting into the room, blonde hair streaming behind them in a tangle of curls. Two little girls.

You have three kids?

“Who’s here, Mommy?” one of the girls asks, pulling on the pant leg of your jeans.

“These are two of Mommy’s friends, Joellan,” you reply, smoothing your hand over the girl’s head. Joellan turns and locks eyes warily with Dean, still holding onto your leg. 

“Are they going to play with us?” the other girl asks, taking your hand.

“No, Mary.”

Mary? Joellan? What the hell?

You glance at Dean again, eyes going wide in panic at the expression on his face. “Jonathan,” you call out. “Take your sisters into the other room. Go watch TV.”

Jonathan glares up at Dean and his brother. “Don’t try anything,” he hisses over his shoulder before taking his sisters by the hand and leading them out of the room.

Dean watches him going, offering you a thin smile. “Cute kid,” he says a little drily.

“What are you doing here?” you snap.

“Shouldn’t we be asking you that?” Dean replies, ignoring the look Sam shoots him.

“We think there’s a case in the area,” Sam says apologetically. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Case?”

“Possible changeling,” Dean informs you, leaning up against the doorframe. 

“Changeling,” you mutter, looking down at your shoes. “I knew something was strange about those accidents.”

“How long has this crap been going on?” Dean asks.

“Couple of months,” you reply. “It was infrequent enough to keep suspicions low.”

“Any idea where the changeling might be hiding?” Sam asks.

“No, but I haven’t exactly been looking either.” You’re still staring at Dean, hostility plain in your gaze.

He can’t exactly blame you.

“Listen, Y/n,” Sam begins slowly. “I know we’re probably the last people you want to see, but this case isn’t going to go away and if there’s a changeling here, you and your family could be in danger.”

You hold up a hand, silencing him. “I get it, Sam. I’ll even help you with this one. Have to keep my town safe.” You offer a smile, tinged just slightly with bitterness. “Why don’t you guys come in?”

#

Dean Winchester.

Dean fucking Winchester.

You stare at him in silence, leaning against the counter as you take a sip of your coffee. He looks out of place sitting at your kitchen table. You never expected to see him here; in your house, with your kids in the next room.

Your kids. Your kids with Dean.

You wonder if he’s figured it out yet.

He’s watching them, you can tell. His eyes are constantly drifting to the open doorway and the next room. You follow his gaze, looking at your three kids sitting in front of the television.

Pregnancy had been a shock, but when the doctor told you it was triplets… You’d almost laughed at the universe’s cruel joke.

Almost.

You know you should’ve called him. You should’ve called him when you found out about the pregnancy. You definitely should’ve called when you found out there would be three kids. And you sure as hell should’ve called when they were born. When you were alone, in a hospital room, with three tiny bundles of life to look after. When you had nowhere to go and practically no money and at least a dozen demons on your ass.

But you couldn’t. Not Dean. You couldn’t drag him back into your shitty life after you’d walked away from him.

“I’ll get a list of addresses for the victims,” Sam is saying, looking closely at his laptop screen. “We can still do some interviews today.”

“Good idea, Sammy,” Dean replies, leaning back in his chair. He’s watching you now, and you’re not quite sure how to identify the expression on his face. It’s not anger. Not really. More like hurt.

Sam looks back and forth between the two of you. “Y/n, why don’t I take the kids out for some ice cream?” he suggests suddenly.

You look at him in surprise. “What?”

“Three kids, home all day,” he continues with a sympathetic smile. “Must be exhausting. Let me give you a break. We’ll grab some ice cream, maybe hit the park down the road? Just for a little while.” He looks pointedly at his brother. “I think you two should talk.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Sure, Sam,” you finally say. “That would be nice. Kids, come in here!”

You watch as Mary comes running, smiling faintly when Jonathan stops to help Joellan to her feet before walking into the room. You crouch down to look them in the eye. “How would you guys like some ice cream?” you ask with a grin.

They all nod their heads eagerly.

“This is my friend Sam,” you say, looking over at the younger Winchester. “He’s going to take you guys out for some ice cream and then to the park for a little while, okay? Promise me you’ll behave.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Mary and Joellan say in unison, stretching up on tiptoes to kiss your cheeks. 

“Jonathan.” You look at your son, struck for a moment by how much he resembles his father. He looks at you seriously, eyes seeing far too much for a six year old. You ruffle his hair before kissing his forehead gently. “Take care of your sisters.”

He nods solemnly. “I will.”

A few minutes later, Sam and the kids are out the door, laughing as they head for the car.

You and Dean sit in silence for a long moment, just staring at each other.

“So you’re a mom,” Dean says quietly, like he can’t quite believe it.

You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, staring at your shoes. “Yeah. I’m a mom.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, looking pointedly at your bare ring finger. “Are you-” He swallows nervously. “Who’s-” Dean sighs.

Spit it out, you think bitterly. You already know the answer.

“Who’s the father?”

It’s now or never.

You take a deep breath and then look directly into Dean’s eyes. “You.”

Much to your surprise, Dean faints.

Description: This is part one of what will be a three part series, featuring Dean and the Reader. It’s much fluffier than my normal series, and something I haven’t really tried before, so I hope you all like it!

Part One is intended to fulfill two requests. One is to base it on the song Lies by Marina and the Diamonds. The other request was sent by an Anon, where the Y/n has secret feelings for Dean and he somehow finds out.

Dean’s lips are warm as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder. Your eyes flutter open and you turn your head slightly to look at him.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, a wicked light in his bright green eyes as he kisses your collarbone.

You groan, rolling onto your side and burrowing further under the covers. “How long was I out?”

“Couple hours,” he replies. “It’s still dark.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, part of you tempted to lie in bed with him until morning, but the sensible part of you knowing you can’t.

You can’t risk saying something you’ll regret.

“I should go back to my room,” you mutter, crawling out of the bed and starting to collect your clothes from where they’ve been scattered across the floor.

Dean sighs, flopping back against the pillows and making no secret of the way he watches your movements. “You always do this,” he says, his tone almost whining. “Come on. Stay. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I could tell you I’m in love with you, you think bitterly. I could tell you this isn’t enough for me anymore.

I could lose you.

“Sam could find out and then we’d have to explain to him,” you reply immediately, your standard answer, standard excuse.

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s not like he’s clueless,” he argues. “He does notice when I disappear every night.”

“It’s just easier this way. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You’re out the door before he can reply.

You never planned on starting this with Dean. It happened by accident. A call that came a little too close for comfort. A few too many drinks. Adrenaline and heartbreak and the knowledge that you almost didn’t make it out alive that night. One big recipe for a drunken tumble into Dean’s bed.

It had been awkward the next morning, to say the least, with both of you scrambling to get dressed while you pretended nothing happened. But then after the next hunt, there’d he’d been, sitting outside your hotel room. And you’d gone to him the hunt after that.

It’s an unspoken agreement, now. No questions asked. No strings attached. Just the two of you, some blown of steam, and the knowledge that you’d rather spend the night with someone than face the nightmares being alone in the dark brings.

It was all perfect until you went and fell in love with him.

You never planned for that, either. You’re not even really sure when it happened. One day you were sitting in the backseat of the Impala, slipping in your headphones to block out his singing, and the next day you were sitting in the passenger seat fighting to keep your eyes off of him. One day you were sneaking out of his hotel room before he was even awake, and the next day you were trying to find excuses to stay longer.

It hurts more than you’re willing to admit.

“After this hunt,” you mutter under your breath as you unlock the door to your own motel room. “After this hunt, I’m going to tell him.”

Except you can’t, can you. You know that. You’ve always known that. You’ve always known that this is the one confession you can never make, the secret you’ll never tell because you’ve imagined the scenario a thousand different ways and it always ends the same. It always ends with Dean leaving you. With him telling you to leave. With the knowledge that your feelings aren’t just not reciprocated, they’re a burden. 

And you’d rather love him in secret, be close but not close enough, than to be without him entirely. Being without him, letting him go, that would be what kills you.

Even though sometimes it feels like being with him is killing you anyway.

#

“So we’ve got nothing.”

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Yes, Dean. We have nothing.”

“We have nothing. We’ve been stuck in the ass end of nowhere for two weeks and we have nothing?”

This is not the first time they’ve had this conversation.

You flop down on one of the beds, watching the ceiling fan spin lazy circles above your head.

“Well maybe instead of complaining about it,” Sam begins.

Uh oh. Here we go.

“You should pick up a book and do something useful.”

“That’s why I bring nerds like you, Sammy,” Dean says cheerfully.

“Alright, knock it off guys,” you say, sitting up quickly and getting to your feet. Grabbing Dean’s arm, you start to tug him toward the door. “We’ll go find something to eat and get out of your hair for a while, Sam.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

“We wouldn’t have to leave if Sam would stop being such a-” Dean cuts off when you shut the door firmly, folding your arms over your chest to glare at him. “What?” he says defensively.

You roll your eyes. “Let’s just go.”

You lead the way out to the Impala, sliding easily into the passenger seat and trying not to think about how natural it feels to be sitting next to him.

“Where to, drill sergeant?” he mutters, turning the key in the ignition.

You just shrug. “I don’t know. Let’s find food or something. I’m just trying to keep you two from killing each other. Maybe we’ll find something about this freaking witch while we’re out there.” 

You lean your head against the window, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, overwhelmed with how screwed up your life is. Normal people can go out to a restaurant without getting attacked. Normal people don’t live inside of a car and a string of shabby motel rooms.

Normal people don’t have to deal with freaking witches. 

Dean studies you for a long moment, brow furrowed. 

“What?” you ask without looking at him, feeling the weight of those green eyes trained on you.

“We’re not going to a restaurant,” he says suddenly, hitting the gas. “No fast food, not tonight.”

“Dean-”

“We’re not,” he cuts you off, glancing at you briefly as he steers the car into town. 

“Then what are we doing?”

“Something normal,” he replies. “We’re doing something boring as hell and one hundred percent normal. No monsters, no witches, just normal.”

Shit. You can feel yourself getting caught up in him, caught up in his mood. There’s something contagious about the childlike excitement in his gaze, the mischievous glint to his eye. Something strangely beautiful about living a life that isn’t yours for just one night.

“What are we going to do?” you ask, instead of agreeing because you can’t say yes. You can’t let him sway you. You can’t get caught up in that smile. “We’re literally in the middle of nowhere.”

“True,” he answers with a grin, and then he tugs on the steering wheel, pulling off the road and into a parking place in front of a small building on the corner. “But the middle of nowhere has a movie theater.”

“Do you even know what movies are here?” you ask with a laugh as he clambers out of the Impala.

“No,” he replies gleefully, sticking his head through the open door. “That’s what makes it fun. Now get out of the car before I come over there and make you.”

Rolling your eyes, you follow him into the theater. He’s already buying tickets when you step through the door, breathing in the familiar scent of melted butter, and then he’s grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the snack bar.

“I’m getting popcorn. You want popcorn?” he asks, digging into his wallet. You’re struck, for a moment, by how excited he is by all of this. You’re struck by how much he must’ve needed this. How much he wants to be able to be normal.

And you’re still acutely aware of the ways his fingers are twined with yours, his palm a warm rough presence against your hand.

“Sure, Dean.”

He squeezes your hand, turning back to the counter. “Large popcorn,” he says quickly. “Extra butter. And give me two of those giant slushies things, too.” He glances back at you, eyes bright. “If we’re doing this, we’re going all out.”

And then he’s pressing a cool plastic glass into your hand and tucking a massive bucket of popcorn under his arm and he’s still holding your hand as he leads you into the dimly lit theater. 

You make it just in time for the opening credits. There are only three other people there, but Dean leads you to the very back row anyway, pulling you along so quickly you almost stumble on the stairs.

“Come on,” he whispers with a laugh, tugging you to the very center of the row.

“Seriously?” you protest, but you’re laughing too.

“Best seats in the house,” he says, flopping down with a grin.

You sit down next to him, both of you propping your feet up on the seats in front of you. Dean nudges your foot playfully with the toe of his boot and you throw a handful of popcorn at him in response, laughing when he catches a piece in his mouth and then shoots his straw wrapper at you.

You don’t pay much attention to the movie. How can you? How can you focus on a movie when Dean’s knee is resting against yours? How can you pay attention to the story when he casually reaches out and takes your hand again? How can anything else in the world matter when his laughter sends warmth flooding through you and the thumb drawing circles across the back of your hand feels like tiny electric shocks?

It’s moments like these where you’re afraid you’ll slip up. He doesn’t know what it does to you, this casual affection. He doesn’t know the weight of the words just sitting on the tip of your tongue, waiting for a chance to tumble out and bring your undoing. And you’re terrified because if Dean gets too close he might be able to feel the way your heart races and then where will you be?

“That was great,” he says when the ending credits roll and the lights come up. His hand falls away from yours as he gets to his feet. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, pulling out your cell phone just to give yourself something to do. There are half a dozen missed calls from Sam, as well as a few text messages. “Shit.”

“What is it?” Dean peers over your shoulder, laughing when he sees the screen.

“Dean, this isn’t funny!” you protest, leading the way back out to the car. “I told him we were just grabbing something to eat, he’s probably worried.”

“He’s probably pissed,” Dean agrees as you dial Sam’s number.

“Y/n, where the hell are you?” Sam picks up on the first ring.

“Sam-”

Dean snatches the phone out of your grip, pressing it to his ear. “Sammy, we’re fine. Just blowing off a little steam. We’ll be back later.” Then he hangs up.

You study him for a long moment. “What was that?”

“You ever been bowling?” he asks, turning in his seat to look at you.

“Yes,” you say slowly. “I’ve gone bowling.”

He nods. “I’ve never been.”

“You’ve never gone bowling?”

“Nope. Never.” He grins, turning on the engine. “So we’re going bowling. Right now.”

And you do.

#

The rest of the night passes in similar fashion. You and Dean spend hours together. After bowling you stop at a little diner for ice-cream, and then he drags you on a walk through the park. It’s almost like he’s glowing, in the orange light from the street lamps. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him happier.

“Alright, truth or dare,” Dean says suddenly.

You shake your head. “No. No way.”

He reaches out and takes your hand again. “What? Why not?”

“Because that game is dangerous!” you reply, grateful for the darkness to hide the blush in your cheeks.

He eyes you critically. “We’re hunters,” he says drily. “Everything we do is dangerous.”

“Fine,” you reply, setting your jaw. “Truth or dare, Dean.”

“No fair, I asked first,” he says with a laugh.

“Truth or dare,” you repeat.

“Dare.”

You roll your eyes. “Figures. I dare you to…. let me drive Baby back to the motel.”

“No freaking way,” he says immediately.

You grin. “I guess you lose the game.”

“Truth or dare,” he replies.

You think for a long moment, heart hammering against your chest. “Truth.”

Dean tugs gently on your hand, drawing you to a stop as he turns to face you. He studies you for a long moment, expression unreadable. “You falling in love with me?”

You force out a humorless laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What kind of question is that?”

Dean says nothing.

You look up into his eyes, setting your hand lightly on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, a warm pulse through the fabric of his shirt.

Tell him, you think. He’s giving you the chance.

Tell him.

“No,” you murmur. “I’m not falling in love with you.”

You’re already there.

But sometimes the lie is worth keeping.

#

“I’ve got something,” Sam says when the two of you make it back to the motel room.

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean asks, tossing him the paper bag with the dinner you got him.

“The witch,” he replies. “I know where she is.”

Exchanging a glance with Dean, you boost yourself onto one of the tables. “Let’s hear it.”

You listen patiently with your hands clasped between your knees as Sam explains what he found, what the plan is. Dean is nodding slowly, glancing at you every few moments.

“So what do you guys think?” Sam asks when he finishes. 

“It sounds like a solid plan,” Dean says slowly. He locks eyes with you. “But only if Y/n agrees. She’s most at risk.”

You shrug, offering them a grin full of confidence you don’t feel. “Like I’d ever miss out on a chance to be bait.”

“Then we move tomorrow,” Sam replies.

You slide off of the table, heading for the door. “I’m gonna get some sleep.”

“Hey, Y/n.” Dean follows you into the hallway.

“Yeah?” you reply without turning around as you walk down the hall to your room.

“There’s something I should…” He trails off, scratching the back of his head.

You turn around to face him, brow furrowed. “Dean, what’s wrong?” you ask, taking in his expression.

He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again. “Nothing,” he says finally. “Nothing. I just-” Dean steps forward, tugging you gruffly into his arms.

You’re frozen for a long moment, not sure how to react. What is this, Dean? you think as you loop your arms tentatively around his back. What’s wrong?

“You’re important,” he says without letting you go, holding you in place so you can’t see his face. “You know that, right? You’re - you’re a good friend.”

You try not to flinch at his words. “Thanks, Dean,” you reply quietly. “You are, too.” You slowly disentangle yourself from his arms. “But I should really get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

But you lie awake thinking about him for far longer than you should.

#

“Dean! Coming your way!” you shout into your phone, racing through the dimly lit back alley. “There is a witch on my ass, and she is freaking pissed.”

“We’ll be ready, Y/n,” Dean replies. “The trap’s all set, we just need-”

But you don’t hear the rest because something solid slams into your back and then you’re falling.

You hit the ground, hands and knees scraping painfully against the rough pavement, head slamming against the stone. The cell phone goes skittering into the darkness, out of your reach. Something wet is trickling down your forehead, and when you touch a hand to your temple, your fingers come away red with blood.

You’re flipped onto your back, and you find yourself staring up at the smiling witch, her flaming red hair glinting in the dim lighting. Your hand drifts to the knife strapped to your belt.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she chides, wiggling one finger like a chastising parent. “Non movent.” 

Your entire body goes rigid, like it’s frozen solid.

She crouches over you, eyes gleaming wickedly as she studies you.

“Y/n!” That’s Dean’s voice. You hear footsteps, heavy as they pound toward you.

The witch glances up, grinning. “Let’s see. What would cause the most chaos, hm?” She grasps your chin, tilting your head back and forth. “Loqui voster mens.” There’s a blue flash, light seeming to pour from her outstretched hands, and then she stands up, still smiling. “Good luck, Y/n.”

The moment she’s gone, you regain control of your movement.

“Y/n!” Suddenly Dean is there, leaning over you, brow furrowed in worry as he slips an arm behind your shoulders to help you sit up. “Son of a bitch, you okay? What happened?”

“Don’t touch me,” you groan, clutching your head. “She - she did something to me. I don’t know what, I could be dangerous.”

“Y/n-”

“Damn it, could you not argue with me on this?” you snap.

Dean raises an eyebrow, stepping back.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a long moment. “Sorry. Sorry, I just - I’m just worried.”

He nods. “I know. Come on, let’s get you back to the motel.”

You accept his proffered hand and let him pull you to your feet. He keeps an eye on you as you walk, but he doesn’t try to touch you again.

“What, not gonna hold my hand?” you mutter.

“Is now really the time?” he asks, shooting you a glare.

Your brow furrows. “How did you-”

“Dean! Y/n!” You’re cut off when Sam comes racing toward you. “Are you two alright?” he asks worriedly. “What happened?”

“Witch hit Y/n with some kind of spell,” Dean explains. “We don’t know what the effect is.”

“What did she say?” Sam asks immediately. “Do you remember the incantation? Have you noticed any immediate effects?”

“If I knew what it did, I’d probably have told you by now,” you reply. That came out harsher than you intended. “Let’s just get off the street. She’s still out there somewhere.”

Once you make it back to the motel, the three of you gather in the boys’ room. Sam grabs his laptop and a couple of lore books off of the desk, asking you question after question about what happened. You answer as best you can, but your mind is elsewhere. 

“Y/n, I need you to focus,” Sam says at one point.

“How the hell am I supposed to focus with Dean in the room?” you blurt out.

They both turn to stare at you, eyes wide.

“What?” Sam asks incredulously.

You feel your face flushing. Did I say that out loud?

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “You did.”

Oh shit.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asks.

“Oh shit.” You clutch your head, heart pounding with panic. “I know what the spell does.”

“What is it?” You feel Dean’s hand on your shoulder as he asks.

“Don’t touch me,” you say immediately. “Don’t touch me, if you touch me I can’t-” You choke off, biting down on your tongue in an effort to keep quiet.

“Y/n, what the hell is going on with you?” Dean demands.

“It’s the spell,” you say hurriedly. “It’s the spell. It’s making me say whatever I’m thinking. I can’t control it.”

Dean and Sam exchange glances.

“Why the hell do you look relieved?” you hiss.

“Well, honestly, I’m glad it’s not something worse,” Sam replies. “This is something we can manage. And most spells wear off after a while. We can just wait this out.”

“Wait this out? We can’t just wait this out! No! This is bad! This is really really bad!” You leap to your feet and start to pace around the room in agitation.

“Hey, Y/n, come on, calm down,” Dean says soothingly. “Yeah, you might say something embarrassing, but that’s better than the alternative. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could-” You clap a hand over your mouth, biting down hard on your index finger. Your eyes clench tightly against the pain, and you’re not sure if it’s the biting or the feeling of burning inside your stomach that hurts the worst.

“You could what, Y/n?” Dean stares at you in scrutiny.

“Stop asking me questions.”

“Maybe we should play Truth or Dare,” he says with a mischievous grin. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, come on.”

“What?” Dean holds up his hands. “This is a golden opportunity, Sammy. We can ask Y/n anything-”

“Don’t you dare.” You jab a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

“What are you afraid of?” he counters. “What do you have to hide from us?”

You cover your mouth again, fighting the urge to scream. “I mean it, Dean, stop.”

“Come on, Y/n,” he continues. “It must be pretty big if you can’t even tell us. What is it? What don’t you want me to know?”

“I don’t want you to know that I’m in love with you!”

Dean’s jaw drops.

“Shit.” You grab fistfuls of your hair in agitation. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

“Y/n-”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, looking anywhere but at him. “I’m sorry.” You run out of the room.

“Y/n, wait!”

You hear him chasing after you, calling your name, but before he can catch you you’re slamming the door shut behind you and slamming the deadbolt into place. You crumple to the floor, fighting back tears.

“Y/n, open the door!”

You bury your face in your hands. “Leave me alone, Dean!”

“Is that really what you want? Come on, Y/n, talk to me.”

“Dean, please, just-” You choke off, biting your lower lip. “Wait until this wears off. It’s - it’s not fair when I can’t - when I can’t control this.”

There’s a long silence.

“Alright,” he finally says. “Alright. I’ll wait. But we’re going to talk about this.”

“No, we’re not,” you whisper, the words barely more than a breath. 

He doesn’t hear you. “Get some sleep. I’ll check back in the morning.” You hear his footsteps retreating.

It’s when you hear the door to their room closing that you start to move. You fly around your room, tossing your belongings carelessly into your bag. You grab clothes, weapons, anything that might be useful, stuffing the duffel to bursting before forcing it shut. You take just enough time to scrawl out a note. You know there’s nothing you can say. There aren’t enough words in the world. But you have to try, you owe him that much.

Dean,

I can’t stay. Not now. Staying now would make it all too complicated. Sorry it happened this way.

Y/n

You set the note on your pillow, where you’re sure they’ll see it. You leave your cell phone, too. No point in leaving him a way to track you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, staring at the note for a long time, your thoughts tumbling unbidden from your lips. “I wish it could’ve been different.”

Then you slip out of your room and down the hall. You decide to wait on finding a car until you’re further out of town, choosing instead to flag down one of the vehicles passing down the highway.

A worn pickup truck is the first to stop, the driver a burly looking man with red hair and a beard. “Need a ride?” he asks, leaning toward the open passenger window.

“Yeah.” You readjust the way your bag hangs from your shoulder.

“Where you going?”

“Anywhere,” you reply. “As long as it’s away from here.”

He nods. “Hop in.”

You climb into the truck, one hand resting on the handle of your knife because you can never be too careful. 

You stare into the rearview mirror long after the motel fades from view.

Goodbye, Dean.

#

Three weeks later.

You stare into the sink in shock, still not quite daring to believe it.

It’s not possible, is it? Out of everything you’ve planned for, every horrible outcome you envisioned, this is what you’re left with?

You grab the second pregnancy test off of the counter, fingers fumbling a little with the box. It’s a fluke. It has to be.

But one agonizing wait later, the only thing that’s changed is that there are now two little blue plus signs staring up at you.

Pregnant.

You’re pregnant.

And you don’t need a paternity test to tell you who the father is. There’s only one person it can be.

Dean.

It’s taken me a while to finish this one. It took me like four rewrites and half a notebook, but I’m really happy with how it turned out. Will post the full fic tonight! 

-Random

*************

“What were you doing before I walked in?” Sam asked, obviously noticing your guilty expression.

“Research,” you replied a little too quickly.

Lifting his chin, Sam stared down his nose at you. Seeing his authoritative expression reminded you of the story you had been reading just moments before and only made your cheeks flush a deeper red.

“Research, huh?” he scoffed, a knowing smile on his lips. “Why don’t you show me? I’d love to help with that ‘research’.” His perfect brows lifted at the last word.

*************

Fandom: Supernatural

Character: Dean

Word Count: 275

Prompt: (44.) “If you die I’m going to kill you.”

           Hearing the sickening thud of Dean’s body as it collided with the wall then the floor made something inside you snap. You pushed the vampire hard knocking him off-balance. Before he could get back on his feet you dropped to one knee letting your blade slice directly across his snarling mouth.

           You looked up and saw his mate run at you shrieking. She pushed you against the wall knocking the breath out of your lungs and pinning your arm and blade behind your own body. She let her fangs slide out, hissing, “You’re going to pay for that, you hunter bitch!”

           Using your free arm you kept her mouth away, just a few inches from your neck. You knew there was a syringe of dead man’s blood in your jeans pocket, but –.

           “Y/N…,” Dean’s voice called out weakly followed by a fit of wet, gurgling coughs.

You made your choice.

           Letting go of her neck you reached down to your pocket and felt the vamp pierce your skin. You both let out a scream of pain as you plunged the syringe deep into her neck causing her to yank her fangs out of your neck. She dropped to her knees and you forcefully swung the blade under her chin.

           You ran over to Dean feeling the sting of tears in your eyes at the sight of him. There was so much blood. On his mouth, from his nose, under his head. Cas, you prayed fervently, we need you!

http://www.theguardian.com/law/live/2015/jun/26/supreme-court-rules-same-sex-marriage

http://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/same-sex-marraige-legal-nationwide-supreme-court-rules-n375551

http://www.freep.com/story/news/local/michigan/2015/06/26/gay-marriage-supreme-court-decision/29245521/

http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/supreme-court-ends-sex-marriage-ban-nationwide/story?id=31924524