Smelling of poetry

“Would the owner of a red Prius with a bumper sticker that says ‘Driver Picks The Music, Shotgun Shuts His Cakehole’ please come to the customer service desk?” A nasally voice crackles over the intercom, halting the sound of “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” that plays over the loudspeaker in the supermarket. “Again, would the owner of a red Prius with the-”

The rest of the message is drowned out in the high pitched squeak of a shopping cart against terrazzo two aisles away, the smell of cinnamon and fresh bread that floats from the bakery, and the chatter that buzzes up over the towering shelves of food.

Saturday was meal prep day, which meant that you spent your morning weaving your cart in and out of the crowded grocery store one block away from your apartment buying everything you needed for the week. 

But despite how long it took, grocery shopping never felt like a chore because you believed it gave you a snap-shot into someone else’s life. 

You spent all those Saturday mornings watching other people and creating stories for them in your head. Why they bought something, who they were shopping for, noticing who they were shopping with, wondering what they would cook-

It was intimate, feeling the world slow down for just a few moments to live in the present with them.

Noticing a man on the phone in the feminine hygiene section talking to an unseen entity, watching a little girl eat an apple while her mother reaches up for a box of cheerios, waiting in line behind a guy with only a box of condoms and spearmint gum in his basket,  hearing a girl hum a little too loud and dance to the song blasting from her headphones as she shopped, and walking behind a woman  in a power suit who studied a grocery list scrawled on a scrap of paper.

They were all going somewhere, all moving forward with their day and yet you all shared this single moment of serendipity, to be in the same place at the same time.

Unfortunately, today you were not enjoying it one bit and it had everything to do with the man standing at the end of your shopping cart studying an alarming amount of avocados with a blank expression.

Something was wrong. 

You knew that the second your boyfriend, Russell, had come home. He’d been on a case with Colter a few states away, pulled from your arms in the middle of the night when he got an S.O.S from his younger brother, and because the two of you had been dating long distance comfortably for the better part of three years, you could tell that there was something seriously bothering him. 

But you didn’t know what. 

It was the first time in your entire relationship that you couldn’t tell what Russell was thinking and all it did was frustrate you further. 

He was distant, moody, and on edge. You’d never seen him like this before, not even when you brought him home to meet your family for Christmas last year. Sure, he’d been a little jittery and you’d made a joke about him being more afraid to meet your dad than he was to face a convoy of armed guards, but Russell was not like this ever. 

Your boyfriend was calm, collected, and smooth (too much sometimes, but you weren’t complaining). What he was not was jumpy and nervous. It took a lot to rattle him given what he’d been through. That’s why you were worried, because the man standing at the end of your shopping cart was not your boyfriend. 

Maybe he got body snatched while he was out of town? 

The idea that aliens had come down and taken the man you loved hostage was one of the only possible reasons why he was acting so odd. 

Russell had barely said two words to you since he’d dragged himself into the apartment last night. He had gone straight into the bathroom for a shower, not bothering the usual running joke the two of you had when he would throw you over his shoulder and bring you with him for a well deserved bit of R and R.

And when he’d come out of the shower, a vision in a small bright pink towel tied around his waist, his bare chest glistening in the dim light of your bedroom, dark hair dripping wet and hanging forward to frame his chiseled jaw, while the mist from the warm water floated behind him and framed the beautiful man that you couldn't believe was yours, it made you feel so warm it rivaled Mt. Vesuvius before it blew.

You’d wanted to demonstrate how much you’d missed him, and you’d tried whispering sweet nothings into his ear while your fingers tickled along the edge of the towel, but Russell had kissed you on your forehead, pried away the curious fingers, and said that he was “tired.”

It made your blood run cold. 

Reunion sex was the best tradition the two of you had, something you both appreciated and that fact that he’d said “no,” raised a red flag in the back of your mind the size of Texas. Russell never said no to sex, especially not after a long period of separation. 

He’d gotten stabbed a year ago while on a mission, spent two nights in the hospital following a surgery (where he complained the whole time about how he didn’t need to be there), and when you brought him home and he started to get a little friendly, you told him that you didn’t think that sex was a good idea, that he needed to rest, but he’d said that it was “just a graze” and then made love to you for an hour.

Sure, you’d done most of the work, he was in recovery for goodness sake, and you didn’t want to rip his stitches… but this was different.

Russell was avoiding your gaze, acting fidgety, and when you’d tried to kiss him, Russell had opted to shift his face away to give you a quick kiss on the forehead instead.

And as much as you liked a good forehead kiss, you hadn’t seen Russell in over a week and all you wanted was a heated kiss that made you lose feeling in your legs and forget that he was gone at all.

You didn’t know what you did wrong and you tried to think of something that you could have done to make him angry or annoyed with you, but there wasn’t a single thing. The last time that you’d spoken to Russell was late four days ago and he’d told you how excited he was to see you and that he missed you. 

But then why is he acting like this?

Russell pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps something quickly on the screen that’s angled away from you, his movements swift and to the point. But you note a small smile pulling at the end of his mouth. It was the first time you’d seen him smile since he got home. 

You felt unsettled, anxiety thrumming and prickling along your skin like pop rocks.

You wanted Russell to talk to you. It wasn’t like him to keep things inside, if something was bothering him he was upfront about it, not passive aggressive. He didn’t slam every cabinet in your apartment or leave all the drawers in the bathroom open when the two of you were in a fight, Russell would tell you what pissed him off.

Usually it was you that drove him crazy, but he’d always said he liked it, kept him “on his toes,” and made him feel like a lion tamer in a circus. 

An audible sigh comes through your lips, but Russell doesn’t look at you, instead he continues to tap something on his phone. 

It reminded you of what you’d discovered him doing early this morning.

You’d woken up at four am, call it fate or just one of those random moments your body woke up before your mind did, but when you realized that you were alone, it made you uneasy. 

In the three years you’d been together, Russell couldn’t keep his hands to himself, especially when he was asleep. That meant each time you woke up, Russell was laying on top of you, his strong arms wrapped around you in a bear hug, while he nuzzled his head into your hair and murmured things in his sleep you couldn’t understand. 

It was your safe place, somewhere that felt unbreakable.

Entwined in Russell’s arms in the early morning with his warm body tensed around yours was better than a fluffy blanket on a cold day, better than a hot cup of cocoa that drove away a nightmare, and better than slipping into the gentle embrace of a familiar book. 

It was always you that had to convince Russell to let you out of bed while he begged for another five minutes, not the other way around.

However, this morning you’d woken up to an empty bed with sheets long cold and found Russell sitting on the threadbare couch in the living room of your apartment talking on his phone in a hushed whisper.

The only words that you’d been able to make out were: “No, I haven’t talked to her yet honey.” 

Your entire body had gone cold with one sentence. You had no idea who he was talking to or what Russell had to “talk” to you about, but all you could focus on was that he called whoever it was, “honey.” 

It made an uncomfortable lump settle in the back of your throat. You didn’t want to believe that your boyfriend was cheating on you, but there was a little part of you that had begun to unravel, a thread in the back of your mind unwinding as you put together all the clues that Russell had given you since he came back. 

The suspicious phone call, the fact that he didn’t want to make love, Russell acting distant and jumpy-

It didn’t bode well.

The thought of losing him made you want to throw up.

Russell was the place of refuge you went to when your world fell apart, and without him you didn’t know how to function. Before him your life was organized into neat little boxes and checklists, but Russell had shown you that you couldn’t control everything in your life, he brought a reassuring and welcome disorder that made you feel alive in the best way. He helped you embrace the chaos to make a life worth living.

The thought of going back to the mundane world you knew before Russell where all the men seemed to be carbon-cut frat boy copies of one another, or wanted a cookie cutter life with a woman who never spoke her mind, or never called back, never offered to pay for dinner, and never opened doors for you filled you with dread. 

So you decided to go grocery shopping to clear your head and to get away from Russell for a little bit. It was the first time that you’d wanted to be away from him in all the years you’d known him and it broke your heart. Unfortunately, Russell had insisted on coming with you.

It was the only normal thing he'd done since he got back. Russell liked to do things with you no matter how mundane they would have sounded to someone else. Going to pick up the dry cleaning? Sign him up! Going to get some new thread for your sewing machine? Check! When Russell was back in town, he was back and nothing stopped him from being with you.

You would have found comfort in him coming with you if he wasn't acting lost.

The drive in his car to the supermarket had been silent and awkward, every conversation you tried to start when Russell came to a stop at a light lost in the wind. And even now Russell followed behind you like a zombie there, but not quite present.

It was an even bigger red flag, because the old Russell who came with you to the grocery store  was incapable of walking down an aisle without finding one thing that he wanted. Whether it be an oversized bag of sour gummy worms or a new brand of sriracha flavored potato chips, your boyfriend was insufferable when you brought him, and you loved every second of it.

But not today. 

He hadn’t said a word since you left the apartment, he even walked past the peaches without making an obligatory butt joke, and you still couldn’t think about the joke he’d made about the eggplant the last time he came with you without blushing.

Today all Russell did was stand there, his hands in his pockets, staring at the avocados, and his muscles tense beneath his army jacket as if he was anticipating something you couldn’t see. 

Like a break up. 

The thought made you clench your jaw together so tight you worried about the possibility of TMJ. 

The urge to say something, anything was building in your chest, but you didn’t know how to start a conversation without crying or cussing him out using the colorful vocabulary you’d adopted after you met him. 

The longer you stood, the more the thought of Russell cheating on you with someone else began to stitch its way into your head. Warped images of Russell in a dingy motel room along the road with a faceless woman in bed, rolling around with her for hours, the two of them laughing at your expense flashed through your mind on a sickening reel. The sentence you heard him say into the phone bouncing around in your head like a rubber ball.

His phone buzzes in his hand again, and your boyfriend’s smile widens before he types something out. 

Before the two of you had started dating, Russell had been talking to Reenie regularly. Reenie with her perfect black hair, clear skin, tight pencil skirts, pristine power suits, and beautiful smile. Reenie who's badass lawyer skills made what you do for a living seem dull in comparison. Reenie who was so much of a grown up you felt like a little girl watching her mother get dressed for work.

The faceless woman in bed with your boyfriend at a motel adopts Reenie’s physique and a roar of jealousy vibrates in your head so loud it might as well be a swarm of angry bees.  

Frustration, hurt, heartbreak, and anger formed a hard ball in the base of your throat and before you can stop yourself, you pick up the nearest object, a potato,  and throw it as hard as you can at your boyfriend. 

It hits him between his shoulder blades, glancing off his muscular back, before landing on the concrete floor with an audible thud. 

You’d been aiming a little higher, but it does the trick, and it makes you feel a little bit better.

“What the hell?!” Russell turns to stare at you, showing more emotion than he has in the past 12 hours since he got back home. “Did you just throw a potato at me?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because I-” You hesitate. 

You didn’t want to come out and say it, it was too terrible for you to think about. The man you loved, your best friend, cheating on you, especially after how long the two of you have been together. Instead of answering you pick up another potato.

“Whoa!” Russell holds up his hands in surrender, cracking a signature half-grin that causes another fissure to open in your heart. It was the first time that he’d genuinely smiled at you since he got back. “Didn’t think potatoes were on the list today Sweetheart.” 

“They are now!” You throw it at him, but Russell ducks. The potato sails through the air past him and lands in a colorful tub of summer squash, jarring a produce clerk restocking a display of apples nearby.

You reload. 

“Baby wait!” Russell half ducks behind the cart, preparing for battle. Confusion and a little bit of humor flash in his eyes. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong before you beam me with Mr. Potato-head?”

“You know!” The rough skin of the potato grates against your skin as your grip tightens. 

“No, I don’t.” His gaze flicks to the projectile in your hand. “I mean, I like french fries as much as the next guy, but that’s still a little raw.”

You could feel your frustration and heartbreak swirling and beating into a wildfire in your chest, burning in the air around you as the image of Russell and Reenie writhing in bed together comes skittering back into your mind. Granted, there was a part of you that knew playing dodgeball with potatoes in the grocery store was ridiculous, but you were so upset about what you thought your boyfriend was doing that it was difficult to form the words to express it. 

And throwing potatoes at him seemed like the only option.

"Please put the potato down." Russell says, still half crouched behind the grocery cart. 

“No!” You take aim at his head, cocking up your arm for the next throw.

“Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?” Russell’s hands are still up in front of him, anticipating your throw, preparing to duck if need be, but his green eyes glint with a playful mirth. “Or are you going to show me what happens when good potatoes go bad?”

He looked like your Russell again, not some statue of the man you were in love with as he had the past few hours. It was infuriating that this was the thing that made him return to normal and not anything else that had happened in the 12 hours since he'd gotten home.

This time you find your words.

“Who is she!?” You screech so loud that everyone in the produce department stops to look over at Russell and you. 

They were probably already watching given the fact that you’d thrown two potatoes at him and were about to unleash a third at any moment. You really hoped that you didn’t end up on the internet or the news, especially because your mother watched it religiously and would call to say “I told you so” about Russell. Ever since you’d brought him home she’d call to ask if you’d broken up with him yet. He still hadn’t won her over and this wouldn’t get him any brownie points. 

“What?” Russell’s smile slips into a confused frown. 

“Who is she?!” 

By now the song “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” has begun to play again over the loudspeakers, the familiar tune echoing above the sounds of the supermarket.

“Who is who?” 

“The girl you’re cheating on me with!”

“What?” Hurt flashes in his eyes followed quickly by surprise. “You think I’m cheating on you? Really? After everything we’ve been through together baby?”

“Don’t you baby me Russell Shaw! You’ve been acting weird since you got back! Avoiding my gaze, acting twitchy, not talking to me, refusing to touch me! Saying that you’re too tired to make love!” That last part you hadn’t meant to shout as loud as you could in the middle of a grocery store on the busiest shopping day of the week. 

The elderly woman shopping for cucumbers on the opposite side of the produce display looks up to watch the two of you. Her eyes drag appreciatively over your boyfriend before picking up a large cucumber from the pile. 

“You think I’m cheating on you because I told you I was tired?” Russell huffs out a laugh. “Baby, I get tired, I’m not a machine-”

“And I heard your little conversation this morning on the phone.” You continue, not smiling, your fingernails curling into the rough skin of the potato in your hand.

You hated that he wasn’t taking any of this seriously. Russell was laid back yes, but even he knew better than to tease you when you were angry, and Russell himself understood when his care-free attitude left little to be desired when you were furious with him. 

“No, I haven’t talked to her yet honey!” You mimic his voice holding up the potato above your head, the axe over a head on a chopping block. 

Hot frustrated tears roll down your cheek, the urge to sob catching under your rib cage, but you swallow it down. 

A part of you wished that you were more calm and collected, not standing in the produce section of your local grocery store with a potato clutched in your hand like mjolnir, crying.

“Sweetheart-” He sighs and extends his hand towards you, intending to bring you some comfort. Some of his hair has fallen forward to frame his face in the commotion, and in a perfect world you would have brushed it back with a gentle smile and a kiss to the tip of his nose, but not this one. 

Heaven is most certainly not a place on earth. 

“No, don't touch me!” You flinch away from his outstretched hands, taking a shaky step backwards, tennis shoes squeaking against the floor. The image of him and Reenie was back, festering beneath your skin, followed by the sound of him whispering on the phone this morning. 

His concerned frown drops into hurt and if your heart wasn’t already broken, that would have done it, seeing Russell look at you that way. 

You’d never deprived him of your touch or the ability to touch you. Something that you’d learned early in your relationship was that deep down Russell longed for more than just one night, more than just a random fling with a woman late at night. He wanted something permanent, especially after he'd spent his entire life having the world slip between his fingers.

He’d had to learn how to be self-sufficient from an early age and deprived himself of what he really wanted for so long. But then he’d met you. 

You knew deep in your heart that Russell longed for your touch and you in more ways than one. Not just for his pleasure, but the gentle lean of your head against his arm when you watched tv or the brace of your hand against his shoulder when you needed to push past him in the small hallway of your apartment or the warm embrace you gave him in the night when he came back to you. For you to take it away from him hurt more than you could ever know. 

He’d had a handful of relationships, but none of them were as long as the one the two of you had and it made you feel proud to know that you were changing things for him, and that you were showing him what a healthy long lasting relationship looked like. 

That was until you started lobbing potatoes at him in the produce department on your favorite shopping day of the week.

“Please, listen to me.” He pleads. This time he doesn’t try to touch you, but hurt flashes through his eyes again. 

It was enough to almost make you cave. You didn’t want to believe that Russell would cheat on you, he never seemed the type for that. Sure he was flirty and spent a long time away from you, but you had trusted him because you’d believed that Russell honored your relationship the same way you did. 

“Why should I? It all makes sense. You’ve been acting distant since you got back, you won’t touch me, you won’t even kiss me-”

“Can you please listen to me for one second?” He interrupts before running his hand through his hair to give it something to do, avoiding the urge to reach out for you again.

“No, I don't want to hear any of your excuses!”

Russell says your name in a frustrated tone. “It was my sister on the phone this morning.”

“Do you always talk to your sister at 4 am? Or oh, maybe it was Jake from Statefarm!” You roll your eyes. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I’ve never thought you were stupid. It was Dory!”

“Then what was so important at 4 am that you couldn’t wait to talk to her?”

“Oh for the love of- This!” Russell thrusts his hand into the pocket of his army jacket, before he shoves something into your empty hand.

Your gaze falls to the small blue velvet box cradled in your palm, looking at it for a minute too long, the angry tornado inside making it hard to process what it is.

“Russell? What is this?”

“I called Dory because I needed her to give me a pep talk. I was too much in my head last night. And when I asked Colter the other day he didn’t help at all.” He cracks a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I wasn’t too surprised by that, my brother has never been as smooth or as smart as me.”

“To do what?” You ask hesitantly. 

Russell hesitates, measuring what he's going to say. The foreign nervous glint is back in your boyfriend's gaze, the one you'd seen since he came back. The same one that made you think your boyfriend had been abducted by aliens.

“Propose.” Russell rubs the back of his neck looking sheepish. “I was going to do this somewhere special, you know? Outside that taco truck we like or at least over dinner. Not a damn grocery store.”

You thought you were going to die of shock right there.

“You were going to propose?” Your voice comes out a little hesitant and squeaky. The potato in your other hand drops to the floor, the sound of it hitting the concrete thunderous. 

“Yeah. That’s why I had to tack on a few extra days to my trip. I wanted to talk to your dad in person, this didn’t seem like the kinda thing to ask over the phone.” 

“What?” Your mouth drops open in surprise. “You asked my dad?”

Russell nods. “I was surprised he said yes. I don’t think I’m exactly a favorite when it comes to you parents.”  He huffs out an awkward laugh, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. “I didn’t mean to be so distant, but I wanted it to be perfect. And each time I tried to think of a way to do it or try to figure out what to say I couldn’t. That’s a first for me Sweetheart, we both know that I don’t have any problems talking.” 

Oh my damn, I literally accused him of cheating. I’m a terrible person. 

“I was tired last night.” Russell continues. “But I did want to make love, fuck baby, I always want to make love to you, but I was worried that I would propose to you at the wrong time.” 

“The wrong time?” You swipe the back of your hand over your cheeks with a sniffle. 

“We both know that I’m not good at controlling what I say when you’ve got your hands all over me. Especially not when you’re in my lap riding me to high heaven.” Russell’s smirk makes your cheeks flush. 

There’s an awkward silence that fills the air between the two of you as your gaze drops to the box in your hand. 

I don’t deserve him.

“Are you sure that you still want to marry me? Even after I thought you were cheating?” The question comes out in a whisper, guilt tugging at your heart.

You hated that you’d treated him that way, assumed that he would be the kind of guy to cheat on you. Deep down in your heart you knew that Russell wasn’t the type, but it made you feel even more guilty for accusing him of that. 

Russell steps forward reaching out to you, but hesitates, his smile faltering. “Can I touch you now?”

“Yes.”

The relieved sigh that he releases when he pulls you into his tight embrace makes more tears spill from your red eyes. You hated that you’d said that to him, that you’d deprived him of the one thing he needed since the moment the two of you met. He tucks you into the little you-shaped nook between his shoulder and his throat, arms wrapping around you warm and familiar. It feels more like home than anywhere else. 

“Baby, nothing’s going to stop me from that. You could be a zombie with rotting lips infested with maggots and I’d still be the luckiest guy on the planet because I got to marry you.” His words rumble up his chest against your cheek.

“And you thought you didn’t have anything romantic to say.” You say with a giggle, squeezing him tight. 

“Zombies? That’s what does it for you?” Your boyfriend's chuckle shakes your body as his hand smoothes over your back, the motion calming your racing heart.

You sniffle out a laugh, nuzzling further into his chest. By now you were sure there were tears and snot on his t-shirt, but Russell doesn’t care, not when he has you in his arms again. 

“So is this a yes or are you just feeling really sorry for throwing potatoes at me?” He murmurs into the top of your head. 

“Say yes sweetie, or I will.” The elderly woman who was shopping for cucumbers stage whispers from your left. 

You didn’t know that she was still standing there, but all it did was bring a wave of embarrassment over you thinking of everything that you’d yelled at your boyfriend and done with the potatoes at your local grocery store. 

Damn it, I’m going to have to start shopping somewhere else.  

You pull back from Russell’s chest to stare up into the warm gaze of the man who’d always been there for you. “Yes.” You nod. 

The kiss he gives you is the one that you wanted when he came home. The rough scrape of beard against soft skin, the tangle of his tongue in your mouth, the warmth that bubbles up from the deep to swallow you whole as you lose yourself in the man you love, and the soft gasp that comes when Russell drags you further into him with a growl that rumbles through his muscular chest. 

“Now can we please go back to the apartment?” He rasps, warm hands holding on to your cheeks as if you’re going to slip away, his green eyes darkening with his words before they rake across your body. “I’d like to celebrate our engagement the old fashioned way. Unless you want to keep playing hot-potato?”

“No. We can go home.”

“Baby-” Russell rumbles once more, leaning his forehead against yours. “We’re already there.”

A/N: See happy endings all around! Thank you again @zepskies for asking me for this prompt and letting me explore another story with Russell! Daydreaming and writing about him never gets old 👀

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my general Jensen Ackles Character taglist or my Russell Shaw taglist please let me know!

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @louisanalady

Once the feeling went away, he blamed it on the hunt he had just done and moved on until more dreams found their way to him. He kept quiet, deciding to deal with them on his own. It wasn’t his first bad dream, but then he started to have them even when he was wide awake. He had one of them even while working a case and if he hadn’t snapped out of it the moment he did he would have probably lost her.

That night, once they were back, he all but hid in his room until she made her way to him. She sat down next to him without saying a word. Her small hand grabbed his, lacing their fingers together. Dean closed his eyes while the guilt came back in full force.

“Talk to me, De.”

He sighed hearing her pleading tone, knowing full well he couldn’t keep to himself what was happening, not anymore.

“I’m having these dreams. I don’t even know if I can call them that anymore.”

Y/N looked up at him, confusion was written all over her face. He bit down on his lip, trying to figure out how to explain what was happening to him when he wasn’t really sure himself.

“They started like dreams, but now I’m having them even when I’m not sleeping.”

“And you were having one of those while we were hunting?”

Dean nodded his head, feeling his eyes sting a bit. She got a bit closer then, holding his hand a bit tighter.

“What are they like?”

“They feel so real, like pieces – missing pieces.”

“Of what?”

“Someone’s story.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

“No, please. I don’t want them anymore. Please –”

Dean whimpered, trying to push himself against the wall as much as he could to get away from them.

“No more, please.”

One of the nurses bent on his knees, sighing in defeat.

“Don’t make it even harder, man.”

Dean backed away a bit more when the door of his room opened, and the doctor came in. He signaled the two nurses to leave them alone, and Dean waited for them to get out before glancing toward the doctor.

“Did you take your pills, Dean?”

He looked down then, shaking his head while he hugged his legs closer to his chest.

“They’re for your own good.”

“But I don’t want them.”

“Alright, we’re going to worry about that later. For now, you have a visit.”

Dean's interests peeked up at that, so he glanced at the doctor again before shifting his eyes towards the door. A few seconds later two figures came into the room, making Dean’s eyes go wide with surprise.

“Hey, son.”

His dad tried to smile, but Dean’s attention was already focused on the other person who waved at him, unsure.

“Sammy?”

“Hey, Dean.”

“You’re back?”

“For a little while, yeah.”

The doctor waved to John, signaling to both go outside.

“Why don’t we give them some time, uhm?”

Y/N moved on the bed to face him this time. He was worried and, somehow, that wasn’t even the right definition to describe him, but she knew to have never seen him that upset.

“What happens in these dreams?”

Dean swallowed, trying to avoid her eyes as best as he could, which ended up worrying her even more. He closed his eyelids for a few seconds, not sure he had in him the courage to tell her. 

“It’s bad, Y/N.”

“Nothing of what you’re going to tell me will make me look at you differently.”

He raised his eyes and the moment they landed on her he knew that she was telling the truth. So, he nodded, and taking a deep breath he let her know.

“I’m in this place – a hospital.”

Y/N tightened her grip on his hand. Fear was starting to creep on her, but she kept her mouth shut giving him all the time he needed to speak on his terms, even though all that wait was going to kill her.

“I’m there to be treated because I –” he paused to take a deep breath.

“I think I’m sick.”

Why was her heart beating so fast for a stupid dream? Maybe if he wasn’t so terrified then maybe she could have relaxed a bit.

“But they’re treating you, so that’s a good thing, right?”

Y/N desperately searched his eyes, trying to find reassurance but the moment Dean looked at her she knew it was worse than she was picturing it.

“The hospital –”

“Yeah?”

“– it’s a mental hospital, Y/N.”

They were sitting on the floor with their backs on the wall, and suddenly it seemed to be back to when they were just kids, and they spent their summer nights talking to each other about their future.

“Are you here to take me home?”

Sam’s heart cracked a bit under the weight of his big brother's question. To be honest, he couldn’t tell what hurt more between his words and the lost look on his face.

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have to get better first.”

Dean frowned, glancing down at his pale gown. He tried to process his little brother's words but sometimes it was so hard to concentrate on something.

“But I don’t like it here.”

“I know you don’t.”

“What if – what if I take my medicine and promise to be good, will you let me come back to the bunker, then?”

Dean looked at his brother, while Sam seemed to be confused by the question.

“The bunker?”

“Yeah, home.”

Sam frown deepened, not sure what he was talking about let alone know what to say to him.

“Dean, there’s no bunker.”

“Yes, there is. That’s where we live, me and you.”

Dean shook his head with force while slowly getting up. Sam sighed, getting up too but smart enough to not get too close to him to not upset him even more.

“No, we’re not, Dean. you’ve been here for a few years now, remember? While I live in California where I went to college.”

“No, no, you left college after Jessica died and we – we –”

Sam took a step forward; hands raised in surrender to let him know he didn’t want to hurt him in any way.

“Jessica is not dead; she lives with me in California. I already told you that last time we saw each other.”

Dean shook his head, pacing inside the small room trying to make sense of his foggy thoughts.

“No, no, you’re lying. I thought you were on my side.”

“And I’m, Dean.”

“Then why are you lying?”

He shouted, stopping in the middle of the room to look at Sam, who stood still watching him helplessly. Dean stared at him with teary eyes, waiting for him to say that it was just a stupid mistake.

“Say something, damn it!”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just like everybody else. You’re just trying to find a new reason to leave me again.”

He was about to take a step forward when two strong arms took hold of him. The nurse tried to calm him down, leading him towards the bed.

“Alright, calm down now.”

“No! Leave me alone!”

Sam got a bit closer, wanting to do something to help him but not knowing what he was supposed to do in a situation like that.

“Please, let him go. We were just talking. We just – I – please.”

But the nurse ignored him, taking a syringe from one of his pockets and pushing the needle inside Dean’s arm.

“No! No! Please, no! Sammy, please. Tell them it’s not a lie, please. She can’t be a lie – she can’t!”

“Who?”

Dean slowed down his movements while the nurse secured him to the bed. He stood still, staring at the ceiling. A small tear rolled down his cheek.

“Y/N –”

Y/N tried to push down the lump in her throat but the scared look on Dean’s face made her panic rise.

“We have had worst nightmares, why is this one having such an effect on you?”

Dean glanced in her direction, gnawing the inside of his cheek. He sighed, knowing she had the right to know.

“Because it feels real – too real.”

Y/N frowned at his words. All their nightmares felt real, she knew that well enough. So, she also knew there was more to it than he was telling her.

“What are you trying to tell me?”

He rubbed at his tired eyes with his fingertips, hanging low his head.

“It’s starting to become hard to say what’s real and what’s not.”

“When did all of this start?”

“It started after the last witch hunt.”

Y/N got up from the bed, pacing the room trying to think of the best way to deal with this new situation. She stopped in her tracks after a few seconds before heading to the door.

“Alright, I’m going to wake up Sam and we’re going to figure out what’s happening.”

“Y/N –”

She turned around at the sound of her name, trying to pretend she was keeping it cool but his next words made her waver.

“Yeah?”

“I feel like I’m already slipping.”

Dean stood still staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. His wrists and ankles were still secured to the bed, and yet he could feel Sam’s presence next to him, but he hadn’t had the strength to do much more than stare at the wall and think of her.

How could people think she was a lie?

Something is mind created?

Something not real?

She felt so real to him.

Even now, watching a damn wall, he could remember every single detail of her, from the sound of her voice to the colors of her eyes or the dimples on her cheeks. He could still remember how it felt to kiss her and be kissed by her, the softness of her skin under his hands, the weight of her body pressed against his, her warmth welcoming him.

And her smile – oh, that damn smile of hers.

He could still remember the way she made him feel every time he laid between her arms. She made him feel wanted.

So, how could all of that have been just a trick of his mind?

“She cannot be just a dream –”

Sam shifted in his seat at the sound of his brother's voice. For a minute he got really scared there, so he spent the last hour watching over him, just in case. He moved forward just a bit, being careful to not startle him.

“Tell me about her.”

At that question Dean’s lips curved upwards before his eyes went in search of his little brother, finding him right where he had left him.

“Y/N is – she is smart, like really smart. And loyal, one hell of a hunter, and a real pain in my ass sometimes.”

Sam chuckled at that, making Dean smile too.

“She’s also the kindest person I’ve ever known.”

“How did you two meet?”

“You know that story, Sam. You were there.”

Sam smiled sadly, nodding his head in approval. Of course, he was there, he should have known. It warmed Sam’s heart to know that he was in every one of Dean’s stories, even though they didn’t really spend that much time together anymore. So, it made sense for him to be there too. Sam patted Dean’s knees, trying to play along if that meant he could have his brother back for five more minutes.

“Yeah, I know, but I want to hear it anyway.”

“It was during a hunt. Bobby sent her as a backup, and I might have tried some of my moves on her once the job was done.”

“Did they work?”

“Hell no!”

They ended up laughing at that, with Sam studying Dean’s face who seemed to be lost miles away from where they were.

“So, how did you two end up together?”

Dean went back to stare at the ceiling, hoping he could see her again between all that white.

“It’s stupid.”

Sam smiled, thinking that surely couldn’t have been more stupid than talking with his brother about an imaginary girl. At that point, stupid was overestimated.

“I’ll decide that.”

“She held my hand when I was at my worst, and she never did let go ever since then.”

Y/N and Sam were looking for an explanation for what was happening to Dean, but they were going blind, which made everything even harder.

She rubbed her heavy eyes, feeling the tiredness catching up with her. Sighing she closed the tenth book of the last hours before getting up.

“I’m going to check on Dean.” She announced Sam, who simply nodded his head without stopping to read the page ha was focusing on. She couldn’t really blame him. They were running out of time, and of books for that matter.

She walked along the corridor until she reached Dean’s room. He was where she left him a few hours prior, on his lap a bunch of photos. Y/N closed the door behind her, leaning against it.

“None of the things that happened here had happened there, except for mom. That happened there too, and I think it was the first crack in my – in his mind. Then Sam went away, and I think he just – he just let go.”

Dean trailed off, gazing at one of the pictures he had in his hand while Y/N remained silent, not sure what to say to make him feel better, which hurt her more than she was ready to admit.

“Dad is still alive, and so does Jessica. Sam is close to becoming a lawyer. Cass apparently is my doctor and Benny’s one of the nurses at the hospital. The only one who’s nice enough.”

“So, no demons or angels, or any kind of monsters?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“And every person you’ve met here is there too?”

Dean sighed, putting aside the photos he was still holding.

“Everyone, but one –”

Y/N frowned, tilting her head to the side like that would have helped her to understand better. They stared at each other for a few seconds when finally she understood.

“Everyone but me.”

Dean nodded, watching her lowering her gaze to try to hide her teary eyes from him like she always did.

“Didn’t I tell you that you’ll be lost without me?”

She looked up at him then, trying to joke about it even though her smile didn’t reach her eyes, not really anyway.

“Yeah – yeah, you did tell me that.”

Dean whispered, a lopsided smile on his lips. He cleared his throat, turning to his nightstand to watch the picture of the two of them together.

“He’s scared. The other me, I mean.”

“Why is that?”

“He’s afraid to lose you.”

“But you said –”

“According to the doctors, he created this whole world in his head where he takes shelter from reality. The world looks a lot like my life, and he really believes that that’s real, which is why dad – John – I mean, his dad took him to the hospital in the first place.”

Y/N walked the few steps dividing them, going to sit on the edge of the bed.

“So, I’m for him what I’m for you, even if I’m not really in that world?”

“You’re real.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but –”

Dean sighed, throwing his head back against the headboard. She looked at him in silence, watching him gnawn on his bottom lip until he finally spoke again.

“I share his same fear.”

“Dean, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” she said while grabbing his hand that she squeezed to reassure him.

“But I might go to a place where you’re not there, and then what? It’s bad enough to end up chained to a mental hospital bed, but being without you? Hell, no!”

Y/N widened her eyes at his words. Did he just say –? No, she must have heard him wrong.

“You are chained where, now?”

“Not the point.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but then she decided against it. So, instead, she crawled in his lap, lacing her arms around his neck.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“But what if –”

“I’ll find my way to you then.”

Dean smiled at that, wrapping his arms around her middle dragging her closer and hugging her a bit harder.

“What if the other Sam is right and all of this isn’t real? What if you’re no – you’re not –”

Dean’s voice died down while his eyes filled with warm, fat tears. Y/N’s heart shattered under the weight of his words, so she let her hands travel along his arms first, then his shoulders to finally reach his face. She cupped his cheeks with her hands, grazing his skin with his thumbs.

“Can you feel this?”

Dean nodded, which was enough for her to keep going. She let her lips wander to his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, and then his mouth.

“And this?”

“Yeah.”

He rasped out, letting their breaths mingle together until she deepened the kiss. Dean kissed her back, granting her access and letting their tongues graze together. Y/N let her hands travel under his shirt, pushing it back bit by bit. Dean took the hint and helped her remove the piece of clothing.

Y/N let go of him just long enough to get rid of her shirt. She grabbed his hands then, guiding them towards her naked skin. Dean put them on her hips and slowly let them travel up her body along her ribcage.

“I can feel your warmth under my fingers.”

His hand traveled up some more, reaching her covered breasts that he gently squeezed. Y/N unhooked her bra, letting it fall between their laps before feeling his hands on her again.

“Let me show you how real I’m.”

They were all gathered in his room with Doctor Novak trying to explain to them – to him – what was going to happen. He wanted Dean to get rid of his other world like it meant nothing. And maybe for the doctor it didn’t but for Dean...

According to Doctor Novak, they had to increase the dosage of Dean’s medicine, promising that once they started to work, he would be able to go back home.

Dean, though, stopped to listen to him after a few words, knowing that speech by heart. He glanced at his dad a few times before deciding to focus on Sam instead.

Was that hope in his eyes?

Dean felt a lump in his throat while he grabbed Sam’s hand in his. Sam squeezed it back, glancing up to his brother with a weak smile on his lips.

“Come here –”

Sam saw Dean pleading him with his eyes, so he scooted closer, sitting on the edge of the small bed.

“I’m so proud of you Sam. Do you know that? So damn smart – you’re stronger than me, you always have been.”

“Dean –”

“I – I can try to accept not being right in my head –”

“Dean, please.”

“No, no, listen. I can come to terms with the fact that all the things I thought I lived and felt, the monsters, the people I’ve met, were just a trick of my mind, but I can’t – I can’t survive at the mere thought of her not being real.”

“Don’t leave me – I can’t do it alone.”

Everything around them felt silent, while the eyes of the other people in the room focused on the two of them, John and doctor Novak sharing a worried look.

“Dean?”

“Sam, what’s going on, son?”

The brothers simply ignored the two other men too focused on their own conversation.

“Yes, you can.”

“Well, I don’t want to.”

“Hey, I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right here, and you can come to visit me every time you want. I’ll be here listening to you. No, I can’t promise to answer you back, but I’ll hear you no matter what, alright?”

Sam nodded his head while his eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t be sad. I’m just not cut out for this world, but you – oh you – you’ll do great. So, go live for me too, yeah?”

“Tell her to take care of you for me, would you?”

Dean’s teary eyes lit up at Sam’s words while a smile crept on his lips. Sam smiled back before he leaned forward to hug him. Dean hugged him back even tighter, while the tears fell down both their cheeks.

“I love you so much. My baby brother.”

And little bit by little bit, Dean’s mind faded away.

The last few days had weight on all of them, but thankfully Sam has managed to find a solution with a little help from Rowena. After that, they all went back to their lives with a sigh of relief for avoiding finding out what would have happened otherwise.

Dean’s nightmares had stopped altogether after Rowena’s spell, and yet sometimes he could still hear a faint whisper in the distance. Rowena had told him that he could still have some side effects for a few days, so he hadn’t worried much about it and simply moved on.

He was in the kitchen, a few months later grabbing some food, when he heard it again. He turned to Sam, bread in hand and with a raised eyebrow.

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You sure?”

“Uhm – yeah?”

Dean shrugged, going back to prepare his sandwich.

“Weird, for a minute I really thought you had said something to me.”

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Dean/Jensen Tags:

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

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Once Dean gets past the initial shock, and the inevitable "how did this happen??!", he remembers just how he could've gotten you pregnant. Part of him wants to smile at the memory.

Good times.

He slowly realizes that he's...he's happy.

He never thought that he'd have any piece of "normal" after the way things ended with Lisa. Hell, he never thought he'd find what he had with you, let alone have a kid.

He hasn't told you this, because he's locked it deep within himself and hasn't allowed himself to open that door, but the part of Dean that considered what he would leave behind on this earth if he died--the part of him that wanted a family, is still there, beating in his heart. Maybe now he's finally getting his chance.

But he focuses on you.

He gauges your reaction, and his urge to smile falls away when he realizes you're more nervous and freaked out than excited.

Dean sits down with you, taking your hands to calm you down. He suppresses his own feelings on this for a moment, and he asks you the important question.

"What do you wanna do?"

You look up into his eyes, and you really don't know. The hunting lifestyle you both lead, how can you bring a child into this? Would that be right? Are you even ready to be a mom? Are you even capable?

"I don't know if I can..." you confess. "Dean, I don't know if I'm ready."

It breaks Dean's heart, though he tries not to show it.

For once, he thinks hard about what he's going to say next.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and squeezes your hands.

"I get it," he says. "Whatever you want to do here, I'll back you up. But for the record, I'm right here with you. I might be screwed to hell in ways that I can't even...but I got no doubts about you, sweetheart. And I know we could do this together..."

If that's what you want. The rest is implied through his eyes. You read it there, clear as day.

You try blinking your tears away. When that fails, you sink into Dean's warm embrace and let him hold you. You press a lingering kiss against his prickly cheek in a wordless thank you. And I love you.

For now, you know that he's with you, and he's not going to let you go.

Beau Arlen

Like Dean, Beau would go through similar rounds of Oh, dear sweet Lord, and holy shit.

He thought you and him had been careful, damn it! But, apparently he's more potent than he thought he was.

For a few moments, it's just pure unadulterated silence between you two...until he looks over at you and tries to figure out what you're thinking.

He's got a half-grown daughter, sixteen going on seventeen. He's approaching his mid-40s. He hadn't even been thinking about the possibility of another kid...at least not yet.

Though he can admit, the thought of having kids with you makes him smile.

"So, uh..." he trails, earning your teary-eyed expression. He softens. "Aw, darlin'. Come 'ere."

He wraps you up in his arms and holds you close. You bury your face into his neck and sniffle, holding onto him tightly.

You love Beau. You truly, truly do, but you don't know if you're ready for this. You had plans, things you wanted to do, things you feel you have to do.

"I don't know, Beau. I don't know what to do," you admit. You don't want to hurt him, even though you know that you are. You can see it in his eyes when you pull back to look at him, though he tries to hide it.

"I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right?" he says. His voice is low and steady. He rubs your back to try and calm you down.

It starts to work. You nod and heave a shaky sigh.

Then you steel yourself, and you work past the fear making your chest tight to ask him an important question.

"What if I tell you that I'm not ready?" you ask.

For once in his life, Beau is quiet. He takes a long beat. So long that your heart begins to break.

But he does answer.

"Then I'd tell you...that I love you," he says. "That I'm with you. That I'll be with you, come whatever. But I gotta tell you...I got no problem being an old-ass dad. If I've got double-knee replacements in my future, then that's just what I gotta do. I'll break my hand building the crib and the porch swing. Hell, I'll build a whole damn tree house."

You can't help but break into giggles through your tears, in the way only Beau manages to accomplish. You stroke his cheek and rest easier against him.

Your heart eases quite a lot just being in Beau's supportive embrace.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Ben isn't all that shocked when you tell him that you're pregnant.

His surprise quickly fades into a pleased grin, and he pulls you into his lap to kiss you. Fucking finally...

But he stops short, realizing that you're not as happy as he expected you to be. Actually, you look anxious, and even scared.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice deep and direct.

You hesitate to meet his gaze, but you gain the courage to do so, resting a hand on his chest.

"Ben, I wanted to be honest with you, and so I am. I'm just...I'm not sure about this."

His brows furrow. "What's not to be sure about?"

Your gaze drops from his, making him frown. Upset begin to rise in his chest, disguised as anger. When you rise to get off his lap, he grasps your hand to stop you from walking away from him.

"Hey..." But then it hits him. The realization dawns, and deep inside, it hurts him. "You better not be saying what I think you're fucking saying."

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your heart clenches tight in pain just watching him work it out in his mind. You try to tug your hand out of his.

"Ben, please. Don't make this harder for me--"

He stands, but doesn't let go of you.

"What, you think I won't take care of you? You think I wouldn't take care of my own kid?" he says angrily.

"That's not it!" you say, shaking your head. "I just need some time to think, for Christ's sake!"

"What's there to think about? If you give a shit about us, about what we have? All that ain't fucking good enough for you?" Ben says incredulously, gesturing at the home you two live in, and the life he thought you were happy with. "What the fuck is the problem?"

You look up at him in frustration with tears in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. You shake your head at him.

This," you say. "This is the problem."

This time, when you tug sharply against his hold, Ben actually lets you go. You walk away from him and slam the door to your bedroom.

Ben just stands there for a while. The silence is only broken when he can hear you in the bedroom, trying to muffle your weeping.

Something unsavory churns in Ben's chest, squeezing tight around his heart. It's the sting of regret, both unfamiliar and irritating.

Blowing out a sigh, Ben cards his fingers through his hair. He can either stand here like an idiot, or he can do something worthwhile.

He goes to you. You haven't locked the door (not that that would matter), so he opens it. He sees you burrowed under the covers, laying on your side away from him. You turn away from him again when he approaches.

Almost hesitantly, he sits down beside you, smoothing a hand over your hair.

"Sweetheart, you're gonna have everything you need. You don't need to worry about anything," he says.

"I told you, it's not about that," you say sharply. "It's not about money, or being comfortable."

Ben endeavors to be calm. He counts to five in his mind, then he squeezes your shoulder, taking pains to be gentle.

"Then what's it about?"

After a beat, you finally turn around to face him.

"I just don't know if I'm ready for this," you admit. "We haven't been together that long, and I..."

Ben shakes his head. He strokes your cheek with his thumb.

"Don't worry about that," he says. He hesitates to say anything more.

The truth is, he cares about you more than he's been willing to express. The thought of you leaving him, or even not going through with this pregnancy--both cut him down to the bone.

Is it that you don't trust him? Do you not trust yourself? He doesn't understand all of what's in your head, but if the reason you're not sure about having his kid really is because of him, then...

His curled fingers brush along your jaw and prop under your chin, until your eyes meet his.

"Look, whatever reservations you have about me, just know this," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

You sigh softly. You know how how long Ben has wanted to be a father. You know he wants a family. You don't want to take that away from him, but you also need to protect yourself.

You consider his words carefully, as well as his face, and you see that he actually means it. You believe him.

It doesn't take away other concerns you have, but it's a start.

You sit up in bed, letting the sheets slip away from you. You reach up a hand to cup his bearded cheek.

He lets you guide him down to kiss you, his arm wrapping around you strong, but noticeably gentle. Tears sting behind your closed eyelids.

Maybe he is ready to be a father, and a better man.

AN: 😮‍💨 This one was angsty, huh? I think Ben's part was the one that held me up the most. It still assumes he's had some character growth from having a "real," actually caring relationship, but I tried not to sugarcoat what I think his reaction would be.

Let me know what you think! 💜

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