๐ฐ๐ก๐๐ซ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ซ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ซ๐ญ ๐ฅ๐ข๐๐ฌ - ๐๐๐ซ๐ซ๐๐ฅ ๐จ๐ง๐
โ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ช๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ: Oklahoma rodeo star!Dean Winchester x cowgirl!reader
โ ๐ด๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ข๐ณ๐บ: the Winchesters were well known in the professional rodeo industry. First through John, until an injury abruptly ended his career. Now, itโs Deanโs turn to make a name for himself.
Dean had spent the first twenty years of his life trying to earn the approval of a man who kept moving the finish line.
This was going to be the season where his career took off. He was sure of it.
Until he saw you. You were chasing big dreams in tiny towns dotted across the state. Serving fresh pie and coffee at a diner during the day. Then, chasing hundredths of a second under bright arena lights at night.
Dean had always had his eyes on the scoreboard. Now, his eyes were fixed on you.
โ ๐ค๐ธ: Oklahoma AU, language, childhood abuse (verbal & physical), John is a horrible father (canon), lots of rodeo talk, bar fight, alcoholism, 17 yo Sammy going to college, underage drinking (kinda not really), slow burn & yearn, reader & Dean are in their early 20s.
โ ๐ข/๐ฏ: I included hyperlinks at relevant points in the story thatโll help give you context. You definitely donโt need to know anything about rodeo events to enjoy but it can improve the immersion experience ๐ฅฐ
๐ฎ๐ข๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ญ๐ช๐ด๐ต
The lights were low, bathing the bar in a hazy yellow glow as country music spilled through the open doorway. A sea of cowboy hats, denim, and cigarette smoke stretched out before him as Dean stepped inside. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension of the day as the promise of a stiff drink drew him toward the counter.
He squeezed past cowboys and blue-collar workers eager to blow off steam after a long week before finally finding an opening to wave the bartender down. It had been a good week for him, and that meant he was dog-tired. Heโd placed first in every event that evening and was on track to make it to Oklahoma City. Then Fort Worth, if he and Blue could keep their winning streak alive.
The bartender didnโt have to ask. She set down a shot of whiskey and gave him a little wink. Whiskey was a staple for every cowboy. She was young and beautiful. Her long hair was pulled into a low, messy bun, revealing the faint sheen of sweat clinging to her skin like calloused fingers. A low-cut top that left just enough to the imagination to be interesting. Faded denim jeans that hugged her figure in all the right places. She probably collected plenty of tips and phone numbers on nights like these. Normally, heโd shoot his shot with her, and heโd probably get lucky.
Dean was still hung up, though.
He was stuck in that gravel parking lot with the image of your boyfriendโs hands and lips on you. Every shot of whiskey blurred the memory a little more, leaving him warm and cocky in its place.
His pulse quickened at the sound of your voice as he drew in a sharp breath.
He was already buzzed. More than heโd planned on being when he still had to drive back to the motel. John was going to be pissed, but that didnโt matter now that the pretty little barrel racer heโd been thinking about was standing in front of him.
Boyfriend be damned, he thought.
โWhat are you doing here?โ you hollered over the music, leaning in closer.
โSame as everyone else, I reckon.โ
He watched your eyes dart around, checking to see if heโd come with anyone.
You gestured to the bartender for a shot and settled onto the stool beside him. Feeling his warm skin brush against your shoulder made your cheeks flush. It was softer than youโd expected. A stark contrast to his rough-looking hands.
Your spine stiffened when his hand settled against the small of your back, gently guiding you out of the way of a passing patron.
โSorry,โ he mumbled when he noticed your startled expression.
The whiskey wasnโt the only thing making him more brazen. There was just something about you that softened the sharp edges that usually kept him focused and obedient.
He didnโt realize he still hadnโt moved his hand until a deep voice cut in from behind him.
โWhat do you think youโre doing?โ
You turned toward the voice and recognized David. Your tall, small-town boyfriend. You quickly downed the shot in front of you before facing him with an indifferent expression.
Deanโs eyes flicked between you and David, realizing the standoff seemed to be between the two of you. Like this wasnโt the first time.
โWhyโs he got his hands all over you?โ
David swayed slightly. Like a tall tree caught in a bad storm.
โHis hands werenโt all over me, David,โ you mocked, more cruelly than youโd intended.
โSheโs with me, asshole, and weโre leavinโ.โ He slurred as he reached for your hand. You stepped back, causing him to stumble forward and bump into Dean.
The tension reached a fever pitch. The heat already had everyone on edge. The bar hummed like an angry hornetโs nest.
A playful smirk tugged at your lips as an idea crossed your mind.
Deanโs eyes stayed locked on the larger manโs in a silent staring match. He never noticed when you grabbed the abandoned whiskey glass from the bar and splashed its contents across Davidโs face.
The room seemed to go quiet for a heartbeat. A few gasps escaped from patrons nearby.
Dean registered what youโd done and knew exactly what was coming.
A big farm boy like David would never hit a woman. Heโd hit the nearest thing with a dick.
The first punch landed like a branding iron across Deanโs face.
Then the entire bar erupted into chaos.
Like a powder keg, everyone had just been looking for an excuse to let loose.
It wasnโt really a Friday night at a country bar unless there was a bar fight. In this case, a full out brawl.
The bartender, another local woman you recognized from the rodeo circuit, reached beneath the counter for her baseball bat to keep patrons from spilling behind the bar. The two of you shared another shot while smugly surveying the chaos youโd single-handedly created.
The brawl was eventually broken up, helped along by the sheriffโs office being only a few doors down. Patrons staggered away like zombies, piling into the truck beds of sober friends. Others climbed into the backs of patrol cars. Davidโs dad struck a deal with the sheriff allowing him to take him home. Theyโd played football together in high school, and apparently that still counted for something in a small Oklahoma town.
Both of them shot you a glare from across the parking lot that you ignored. Sure, youโd technically started the bar fight with a thrown drink, but David was the one getting blamed for throwing the first punch.
The real animosity was aimed at the man staggering beside you.
โYou look real proud of yourself,โ Dean groaned.
โSโnot so bad, you big baby.โ You beamed up at him, laughing when you caught his glare.
โYou know, the only thing crazier than a barrel horse is the woman ridinโ her.โ
โHeyโdonโt talk shit about my horse like that.โ
You jokingly elbowed him, earning a pained hiss.
Giving him an amused look, you peeled away from his side and headed toward a woman in a pickup giving locals rides home.
โBe seeinโ you, Dean,โ you drawled over your shoulder.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and watched you walk away, your hips swaying gently as you flagged the woman down.
To his relief, Sam had driven in from the city to pick him up. The drive back to the motel was painfully quiet. Just the quiet babble of a radio stuck somewhere between stations.
โDadโs gonna be pissed.โ Sam nodded toward Deanโs bruised knuckles.
Heโd be sore tomorrow, but being sore had never stopped him from competing.
โHell. Heโs made me ride after kicking my ass worse than this.โ
The awkward silence returned as the memories replayed in both their minds.
After their mom died, John took the boys on the road with him, chasing his dream of becoming a rodeo star. Thatโs all Dean saw when he looked at his dad.
He was a true American icon.
They grew up watching their dad compete beneath the bright lights. Hearing the cheers from the stands. Watching him parade around with shiny belt buckles and trophies. Brand-new trucks and expensive horses with names too long to remember.
At least, thatโs what Dean saw.
Sam thought the rodeo was loud and dirty. Being four years younger than his brother, he had no context for the sights and sounds. Loud buzzers, massive animals, and unfamiliar faces terrified him. More often than not, he was left with relatives for days or even weeks after word spread that John had brought a baby to a rodeo.
As he got older, he spent more time on the road with his dad and older brother. Both boys could ride a horse before they could properly reach the stirrups. They could throw a rope before they were out of diapers.
John didnโt mess with bull riding or bronc riding. It was too reckless, and careers didnโt last long. He stuck to practical, prestigious events. Roping. Reining. Skills he could sharpen working on a ranch and make even more money doing at a rodeo.
Dean took to it immediately. Watching his dad like he was taking flying lessons from Superman.
Sam was more hesitant. Constantly worried he was hurting the calf, even when his father insisted he wasnโt. John knew Sam was more sensitive than Dean, so he was patient with him.
For some reason, though, that patience never extended to Dean.
If a hoof slipped free of the tie, John was barking orders over his shoulder, explaining the importance of tying a proper knot. How mistakes cost cowboys their livelihoods. Or even their lives.
Dean took every drop of knowledge to heart. Even when it was laced with poison.
He knew better than to let his chin quiver or his chest shake. If he cried in front of his dad, he was lucky if all he got was the belt. Usually, it was whatever happened to be closestโand looked like it would hurt the most.
John told himself he was better than his own father, and thatโs all a man could do. Raise his boys better than his daddy raised him.
At least he let them sleep inside when they made a mistake.
John knew Sam didnโt want to follow in his footsteps. But Dean did. That was why he was so hard on him.
The only event Sam competed in once they were both old enough was team roping. Dean was always the headerโthe one responsible for roping the steer around both horns. Sam was the heeler. His job was to catch both hind legs and stop the clock. It demanded complete trust. In your horse. In your partner. And in yourself.
And it had to be done quickly. Just like it would on a working ranch.
The Winchester brothers were becoming legendary in their age bracket.
John was always watching from the fence. Critiquing every hundredth of a second. Every foot placement. Every swing of the rope. Grilling them about missed opportunities and wasted motion.
All the world saw was the next generation of legendary Winchesters following in their fatherโs bootsteps.
Dean only hoped he could measure up to Johnโs definition of greatness.
Sam saw it clearly, though.
Dean could never be good enough. He could rope a runaway steer, but he couldnโt hit a moving target.
Everything changed one night when the boys were thirteen and seventeen.
John had felt something was off before he ever entered the arena. An uneasy energy buzzed through the herd of cattle. Maybe one cow was particularly stressed, and the rest picked up on it like a virus.
His horse was seasoned in cutting. Light on his feet. Sharp-minded. He didnโt need a rider telling him how to separate a cow from the herd and hold it there. Horse and rider moved as one, matching every pivot and every step.
That horse had never backed down from anything. Not even an angry mother cow whose calf was being worked nearby.
But something was different that night. Maybe it was the roaring crowd. Maybe it was the distant lightning rumbling beyond the arena. Whatever it was, it made the horse spook.
John hit the ground at the worst possible moment.
The cow saw the opening and took it.
The brothers watched their fatherโs career end in a matter of seconds. His arm was shattered, and the damage to his spine ended his competitive career.
If they thought life was rough before, nothing compared to life after Johnโs injury.
He never fully recovered. Chronic pain turned his anger into rage. Then he mixed alcohol with it. That rage always found its way home.
Heโd leave his sons bruised and shivering outside the arena while he cooled off inside. Even the horses learned to keep their distance.
Dean stayed loyal to his dad in a way Sam never understood.
Even though heโd only been five when their mom died, Dean still remembered her. He remembered how completely broken their dad had been. How hard heโd tried to keep the three of them together.
Sam never really knew her. His earliest memories were of the road.
Still, Dean remembered his motherโs final words.
โTake care of Sammy. Listen to your dad.โ
Thatโs why he never let John beat on Sam. He took the heat for his little brother every single time.
He learned to ride through the pain. Even when it hurt to sit in the saddle. Even when every step jarred another bruise or sprain.
John was pissed to see Dean drunk and bruised. The sight of Sam seemed to lessen the nuclear fallout, though. Something about the tall, shaggy-haired boy softened the sting of what John saw as abandonment. Really, Sam had simply accepted an opportunity from the university to start college early. So, at only seventeen years old, he was already a freshman living in the dorms, with his sights set on OU Law once he was old enough.
When Dean hobbled out of the shower, ready to faceplant into bed, he found John and Sam sitting at the table nursing beers. Samโs was barely touched, save for the label heโd peeled halfway off. The two of them talked as though Sam hadnโt abandoned his family for a better life.
โWell, at least ya donโt smell like shit anymore,โ John huffed, elbowing Sam in search of a laugh.
Sam just nodded awkwardly and continued picking at the beer label.
โDad, heโs not old enough to be drinkinโ.โ
โHeโs plenty old! What college kid doesnโt do a little drinkinโ?โ John said, stretching back in his chair. A cocky grin spread across his face. โWellโฆ you didnโt, I guess.โ
The brothers shared a knowing look.
This was typical of their dad.
Always comparing them. Pitting them against each other.
It was worse when he drank, which was exactly why Sam didnโt. It wasnโt that heโd never been curious about alcohol. He just knew exactly what it could do to people.
โWell, Iโll see yโall in the city next weekend,โ Sam sighed as he awkwardly pushed himself away from the table.
Dean blinked at him in confusion.
โYeah,โ John drawled proudly, looking toward Sam. โLooks like your baby brotherโs gonna be your heeler again in Oklahoma City.โ
Dean raised his eyebrows.
Part of him was excited to work alongside the only other person he truly trusted.
The quieter part wished his brother would focus on building a real life for himself.
โJust Oklahoma City,โ Sam emphasized. โTurns out textbooks are really expensive.โ
โBetter come by the ranch to practice,โ Dean said as he followed Sam toward the door. โDonโt want your rusty ass costing me Fort Worth.โ
Sam laughed quietly as he stepped into the balmy summer night.
โAnd get a damn haircut.โ Dean added with a knowing grin before they finally parted ways for the evening.
The Oklahoma heat had a way of creeping into every hiding place. No matter how much shade you found. No matter how many industrial fans you had blowing. The covered arena still felt stuffy and hot. Sam was struggling to adjust to the oppressive conditions at the family ranch.
โTold ya to get a haircut, Sammy.โ
Sam shot his brother a glare from the other side of the steer pen while they waited for the steer to be turned loose. Heโd taken to pulling the garden hose out of the water trough to cool off between runs.
โIโm fine. Just focus on doing your job so I can do mine, okay?โ
Dean enjoyed getting under his brotherโs skin just as much as he had back when he was still bigger than him.
โBoth of youโfocus.โ
Johnโs voice still had a way of straightening their spines and sucking the air from every conversation.
It took a few runsโand even more heated exchangesโbefore Sam and Dean found their rhythm again. John perched himself along the arena fence, watching their every move and interjecting whenever he saw something to criticize.
There was something nostalgic about pulling into the fairgrounds with his dad and brother. Sam still wore the same disinterested expression as his chest deflated when the white tents appeared on the horizon. Johnโs eyes twinkled when he saw another shot at fame and success, even if it was only through his eldest son.
While John headed off to pay the entry fees, Sam and Dean worked on unloading the horses and tacking them up.
Dean hummed as he followed Samโs gaze.
His eyes finally settled on you beside your old trailer, going through the same routine as them. While rodeo was a sport, looking good was part of it. You were carefully braiding Ricochetโs mane to match your own. Your red lipstick and tied up flannel matched the colors of Ricochetโs competition tack. A playful smile tugged at your lips the moment he noticed you. Your eyes quickly returned to the lock of hair you were brushing smooth before finishing the braid.
He knew youโd make it to Oklahoma City after the way youโd ridden in Carnegie.
That didnโt prepare him for the way his heart skipped when he finally saw you.
Johnโs gravelly voice startled Dean from his trance.
โSome buckle bunny your brother was makinโ heart eyes with last weekend.โ
Dean felt his cheeks warm at the derogatory term. And the fact that John was using it to describe you.
Johnโs eyes darkened at the possibility that one of his sons might actually challenge him. He squared his shoulders in front of Dean.
โSheโs a barrel racerโฆ not a โbunny,โ Dean corrected quietly.
John scoffed and muttered another string of sexist remarks beneath his breath while pinning their contestant numbers to the backs of their shirts.
Dean managed a small nod in your direction while John wasnโt looking.
As the three of them walked away, John shot you a glare over his shoulder.
You answered with your sweetest smile you could manage. Followed by a middle finger once he turned back around.
After checking the schedule, you realized you had enough time to catch the Winchester boysโ team-roping.
You found a place along the arena fence as they lined up on opposite sides of the chute.
You were surprised to see the stands so full. Judging by the nervous look on Samโs face, he was, too.
Both brothersโ heads snapped toward you almost in unison at the sound of your whistle. The moment Dean spotted you, his shoulders relaxed.
He smiled and shook his head at whatever Sam was saying before flashing those earthy green eyes your way.
As soon as the announcerโs speakers crackled to life, both brothers locked back in.
โCominโ up next, weโve got the Winchester boys out of Comanche, Oklahoma! Deanโs in the header box ridinโ Blue River Drift, and little brother Samโs heeling behind him. Letโs give these boys a warm Oklahoma City welcome!โ
You smiled at the lively hum from the stands.
Applause. Whistles. Cheers.
Clearly these boys had built quite the reputation despite their young age.
Plenty of girls swooned over them, despite the fact that John had almost certainly fudged Samโs age to put him in Deanโs division. For a kid already pushing six-foot, it wasnโt exactly a hard lie to sell.
โDeanโs been breakinโ records all over the state this summer! Letโs see if these boys punch their ticket to Fort Worth!โ
The brothers settled into position as the steer gate rattled.
Both horsesโ ears flicked forward. Time to work.
โThereโs the barrierโฆ here comes the steer!โ
The chute flew open. The steer exploded into the arena.
Dean and Sam were moving almost before it had taken its second stride.
โSamโs waitinโ on Dean to catch two horns!โ
Deanโs loop sailed through the air.
The rope kissed the tips of the steerโs horns. For a split second your heart lurched.
Then Dean shifted his weight.
Blue planted hard, pivoting left as Dean pulled the loop down and back into place.
A grin spread across your face.
โWaitinโ on two back legs!โ
His loop settled cleanly around both hind legs.The ropes snapped tight.
โAnd weโve got โem! Thatโs how itโs done!โ
The electronic buzzer sounded.
โFive point four-two! What a run! Letโs hear it for these boys!โ
The crowd erupted. You joined them.
Out of hundreds of cheering voices, Dean heard yours the loudest.
The only one who didnโt celebrate was John.
You hurried toward the arena to congratulate them as they dismounted.
Your pace slowed when you saw Sam and Dean standing in front of their father. His arms were folded tightly across his chest. Even from a distance, it was obvious he was laying into Dean.
Your jaw tightened. You knew it wasnโt your place to say anything. Your feet carried you forward anyway.
โYou got lucky, son. Remember that next time you let yourself get distracted by some dizzy broad.โ
Dean stayed quiet for a beat.
He considered responding the way he always did. A stoic yes, sir. He disagreed with his father all the time.He just never dared to say so.
โDadโฆ donโt.โ He swallowed. โDonโt say shit like that about her.โ
Johnโs expression went blank.
Deanโs fists clenched at his sides, but he wasnโt quick enough to stop the right hook that cracked against his jaw.
Dean stumbled, nearly losing his footing before Blue steadied him with his shoulder. The gelding never even flinched. Like heโd grown used to Johnโs temper, too.
โDonโt you ever talk to me like that again, boy.โ
You found him beside his trailer getting Blue ready for tie-down roping.
His jaw was already turning deep red, the swelling making your chest ache.
โHell of a save out there.โ
He looked up to find you fidgeting with a cup of ice and a washcloth youโd turned into a makeshift ice pack.
A small smile tugged at his lips.He tossed the brush aside and turned to face you.
โNah.โ He gave Blue a few affectionate pats along the neck. โJust Blue coverinโ for my dumb ass again.โ
You worried your bottom lip as you wrapped the ice cubes inside the cloth.
Dean watched you gather your courage with each careful fold before taking a few hesitant steps toward him. His expression softened with every one.
He winced as the cold touched his swollen jaw. The relief came almost immediately.
โIโm sorry, Dean,โ you said softly.
His brow furrowed and he gently shook his head.
โSโnot your fault, darlinโ,โ he murmured, leaning ever so slightly into your touch.
Your gaze shifted over his shoulder. Sam was leading his horse back toward the trailer. He blushed when he realized youโd noticed him and suddenly found something very interesting to look at across the parking lot.
Dean followed your gaze before greeting his brother with a smug grin.
โDadโs lookinโ for you.โ
Dean groaned under his breath before looking back at you. He wasnโt ready for the moment to end. It was the best one heโd had since the last time heโd seen you.
Before heโd gotten punched in the face then, too.
Back when youโd let his hand linger against the small of your back just a little longer than necessary.
โGood luck, hot stuff,โ you whispered, low enough that only he could hear.
โCome find me after my run.โ
He watched you disappear into a sea of horse trailers and pickup trucks while Johnโs voice echoed across the fairgrounds, calling his name from somewhere near the arena.
Deanโs eyes remained fixed on the place where youโd disappeared long after you were gone.
@youre-djoking , @staley83 , @winchesterfields67 , @ferncloud0191 , @mylpsl1kesugar , @ackleskisser-mp4 , @ashlizshack
