#(dean)

The data was leaning in favor of the former. Which is why you’ve been so very careful not to reveal your feelings under any circumstances. Witches have gaped about your sheer willpower. Sam’s made passing comments about never seeing someone who could fight demonic possession so well. Everyone around you seems to think you’re some kind of mind Titan, able to simply focus and drive off any monster or force that tries to take you over.

They don’t know that there’s always on common factor. One thing that they try to force you to reveal, that makes you pry your mind back from their bare hands.

When you got possessed by a demon, Sam and Dean had you tied to a chair. You’d still been able to see through your own eyes. Still been able to think, even if the demon had been using your internal monologue as a broadcast public radio, sharing every thought you had the mistake of thinking.

“Aw.” She’d used your mouth, you voice, and it had sounded twisted in your brain. “She’s worried about you two. Isn’t that adorable.”

Sam had frowned, shooting Dean a weary look. “Is there something we need to be worried about? Or-“ He’d said your name gently. “If you’re worried we can’t take this demon, we can.”

“She batting out of her league.” Dean had muttered, glaring down at the knife in his hands. “We’ve tangoed with the bosses and come out on top, sweetheart. No one needs to be worried but the bitch inside you.”

Whatever parts of your heart were still yours—most of it, as the demon had been able to sink her claws into everything but the organ that only played one, embarrassingly loud song—had fluttered at his words. He hadn’t been looking at you since they realized you were possessed. Sam had been doing all the talking, asking questions and trying to figure out what the demon wanted, how long she’d been in your brain. Dean had just sat on the edge of the mattress, fists curled on his knees, jaw clenched so tight you were worried about his teeth. If you were in control of yourself you would’ve told him to stop doing that. It made his headaches worse, and you bought him gum specifically so he could chew on something when he got pissed.

He would’ve smile to himself, shaking his head, and given you the look that always made your knees wobble. The one that had a silent affection behind it, that came with his hand grazing your lower back and teasing about how bossy you were.

You’d think I was dying, way you talk about my health.

I’m trying to avoid you dying, Dean-

Why? Happens to everyone eventually, and I’m further down the line than I thought I’d be-

You’re not a dinosaur. Stop talking like I’m putting you in a home, I just told you to drink some water.

If I drink some water, are you gonna stop circling me like a freakin’ shark?

I am not circling you like a shark-

Yeah, you are. You wanna take a bite outta me, sweetheart, I can see it.

You’d always blink at him, your heart in your ears and your jaw slack. He’d grin, drink his water slowly and dramatically, then boop the bottle on your nose and walk away. When you’d tell him to do something later, he’d roll his eyes and give you that look again.

That was how they figured out you were possessed. The demon had asked Dean to grab the artifact you’d been investigating, and when he’d whined that he wanted to go get pie, she’d smiled and said that was fine, as long as Dean told her where the artifact was first.

You would’ve told Dean that he could have his pie after he grabbed the artifact. You would’ve stood in front of him with your arms crossed and glared until he got up with a groan and let you drag him exactly where you needed him to be. That’s what you and Dean did. He pretended to be annoyed by it, but you wouldn’t ask anything of him unless you really needed it. You got him the pie after, and he teased you about being wound up and needing to breathe for a second. He’d feed you some of his pie like you were a baby, and you’d pretend to bite his fingers off.

But the demon had just bent for him. Dean had stared at her. And you’d know he’d seen it. Right through you, and to the ugly thing inside your body.

Ugly in a different way that you were. The demon was just cruel, but you were selfish. 

Dean had told you not to go out alone, but you loved him and he’d been sitting so close. The love inside you had been threatening to pour out of you like a flood, and you’d needed to be anywhere but near him. The demon had found you while you were at the convenience store, buying Dean jerky. You’d been too slow, and now you were a burden to him and Sam again. Dean had been forced to knock you out to tie up the demon, and Sam had to burn you with holy water. You could feel it, the burn and blistering of you skin. You’d never tell them that, because the guilt would eat them alive.

You’d never tell Dean. He was already angry with you for going out as it was. You’re already more trouble than you’re worth, most of the time. Your worry hadn’t been for you.

It’s for him. That this was going to be too much for him to deal with, having to hurt another person he cared about.

The demon had plucked that thought from your head, and curved your lips into a smirk.

“Oh, she’s not worried about herself, Deanie.” It had drawled. “I know you see her as a woman of steel, but our lovely girl is just so sweet on the insides here. It’s like swimming through marshmallows. She’s just so perfectly worried about how this is going to effect you. It’s all she can think about, the pathetic little slut.”

Dean’s eyes had narrowed. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that-“

“I’ll talk about her however I want.” The demon had purred. “She’s my meat toy. But if you want to share with me, Winchester, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind both of us inside of her. She-“

The demon had cut herself off. Dean had shot to his feet, looking ready to throw a punch. Sam had blocked him with an arm, and your body had started to convulse. The demon sputtering and choking on nothing as Dean shouted your name. Sam had let him get to you when it became clear this wasn’t the demon making a play, but you hadn’t needed the help.

She’d made her mistake already. You’d been able to feel her next words, building on your own tongue. She’d been sneering in your brain about how Dean would hate you after she revealed the truth, and you’d grabbed her by the throat.

You’d pushed her out of your body, no exorcism required. Sam and Dean had stared at you in awe for about a month after. Sam had even pulled you aside and lowly asked how you did it. You’d told him you had no idea.

It would’ve been insane, to say well, Samuel. It was the power of my love for your brother.  Don’t tell him, or I’ll fucking kill you.

You would’ve been serious about that threat, too. You never wanted Dean to know. If Sam had ever found out and told him, there would’ve been a double murder suicide.

Which is why you don’t know what to do now.

Because Dean kissed you, and the world didn’t end.

Paradise didn’t come. Hell didn’t split through the Earth, and you didn’t have to go into hiding in Romania—your backup plan if Dean had ever found out and it wasn’t Sam’s fault.

The Earth had just kept spinning. Dean had gotten up the next morning and acted like nothing happened at all. Grumbling about his hangover and running a hand through his mussed hair. The same hand that had held the back of your neck last night, certain and possessive in his grip. Dean licked his lips, and you’d mirrored the motion, only able to think of that same tongue pressing into your mouth. ‘

He’d kissed you like he knew what he wanted. He’d tasted like whiskey and had a glazed expression—as if he was looking at the world through glass—but he’d kissed you. He’d lifted you off the ground with the force of it. He’d looked at you with blown out eyes, and been half-hard in his jeans, and begged you to come back to his room, and-

“You alright?” Dean asks, and you blink at him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” His lips twitch. “You look like you spent the night getting run over by a truck.”

You frown, and Dean pauses.

“In a good way.”

“I look like I got run over by a truck in a good way?”

“Uh- Yeah?” He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m not sayin’ you look bad. You’re just all spacey and tired, and-“

He waves a hand at you sheepishly, and normally you’d keep pushing him for how exactly you could be run over by a truck in a good way.

But today, you can only look at his dumb, handsome face and think about how his stubble brushed over your skin. How your noses bumped, how he’d help you to his chest like you were a doll and he was a worried child that needed you.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” You mutter, and Dean chuckles.

“Me neither.”

“You got drunk.” You say, flat and low. “You passed out.”

“Yeah, but I had some dreams, and-“ He cuts himself off, eyes widening and grip on his mug slipping. He catches it with a curse, and looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost.

You raise your brow, not letting any emotion onto your face. Dean clears his throat, eyes dropping for the briefest second to your lips.

“Hey, uh-“ He runs a hand through his hair, shifting nervously on his feet. “If I did anything stupid while I was wasted, you’d tell me. Right?”

And maybe you should tell him. But he looks so worried, and you know, deep down.

He doesn’t really remember.  

“Yeah.” You breathe, offering him a tiny smile. “I would.”

Dean’s silent. He studies you for a second, then shakes his head with a laugh. “Good. ‘Cause I get some, uh- Some crazy dreams.”

You pretend to laugh, but it echoes in the hollow of your chest until you feel sick. You have to excuse yourself to take a shower. To help you wake up, is what you tell Dean.

Really, you just sit on the floor and cry, letting your tears wash down the drain with the water. He doesn’t remember. He kissed you, and he’s chalking it up to a crazy dream.

You have to get over him. It’s a punch in your gut, knocking wind and snot out of you, but it’s what you needed. Dean’s never going to see you like that. He’s older, he’s a hero, he could have anyone he wanted and he’s not going to chose the bossy girl who watches cartoons with him and makes him do bar trivia with her, because he’s better than he thinks he is. He’ll find someone cooler and older. Someone who likes cars as much as he does, who can actually help him with the Impala instead of just sitting on the bench in the garage and bothering him. Someone who can cook as well as he does, and doesn’t make him try all the crazy soda flavors she sees.

Someone just as resolved and perfect as he is.

Not you.

You pick yourself up, and try to set a goal. Get over Dean.

The asshole doesn’t make it easy.

He makes it impossible.

“I’m gonna work on Baby this afternoon.” He says, and you hum. You’re curled up on the couch with your laptop, and he’s been leaning over your shoulder for the past hour, watching whatever you put on the screen. You don’t understand why. He’s got his own TV right in front of him, and he has to put his arm around your shoulders to comfortably be so close.

His fingers keep brushing the bare skin of your collarbone. His warmth is wrapped around you like a blanket, and it’s all impossible to deal with.

“I bought those snacks you like.” He adds, and you hum.

“Okay.”

“They’re gonna be with me. In the garage.”

 “I’ll come get them later.”

Dean’s face twitches. You look over to find him staring at you, nostrils flaring and nose slightly wrinkled.

“I got ice cream.” He mutters, gaze locked onto yours. “’S gonna melt.”

“Put it in the freezer.” You manage to whisper, and he shakes his head.

“Too far. Gotta focus on work.”

“I’m going to distract you from work-“

“That’s different.” He shrugs, and suddenly you’re being pulled to your feet.

“Dean-“

“C’mon.” He moves you in front of  him, and all but herds you out of the Dean Cave. “I’ll even let you pick the music, alright?”

You can’t argue with him. He’s too cute, and always has a command over your body you’ve never been able to fight off. He doesn’t even know that if he asked you to walk over hot coals, you’d do it to reach his side. If he wanted to get away you’d drop everything and go with him. If he needed you to bring him the moon, you’d learn to grow taller enough to grab it in your hands, and shred yourself back down to stay at his side.

There’s no way you can get over him while being his friend. Being his friend alone is a trial that’s slowly wearing you down. Enough that soon, you think, you’ll just be crawling on your hands to lay at his feet. It’s all you’re going to be able to muster. All you’re going to want to do.

You need to get away from him.

You can’t get away from him. Because if he asks you to do something with him—which he always does—there’s no way you’re going to be able to say no.

Which leaves one solution.

Avoid Dean.

Avoid him like he’s the plague.

You wake up in the morning, and touch your lips. Touch them like you can push the feeling of his kiss further into them. Like it’s a sugar that you could gather on your fingers and taste, a tattoo you’re trying to make sure is permanent. You do it every morning now, because it’s the last thing of Dean you’re allowing yourself to have.

If you’re careful, you don’t see him through the day. You’re up before he is, you find a corner of the bunker to hide in, you go out, you stay on the move like you’re prey and Dean’s on a hunt. When you see Sam, he gives you an odd look. If you’re sloppy, and end up in the same room as Dean, you flee before he can say something. If he says something you’re going to crash right back into him. He’s gravity. And you don’t have the strength to pull away twice.

But it’s not working.

You haven’t been alone with Dean for a week, and you just miss him. You feel like you’re trying to carve out a vital artery from your chest. It just hurts. It just makes your love spill all over you, now that there’s nowhere for it to go. You watch something on your computer and hug yourself, because your body seems to think it’s missing a limb without Dean wrapped around you. You sneak out in the middle of the night to get food, and end up just staring at the pie and jerky and beer until you’re sick. You’ve started to hole up in your room with ice cream as if you’re going through a breakup.

It’s pathetic. You look in the mirror and see a husk, with tear stained cheeks and sunken features. You’re wearing one of his fucking shirts, but your skin burns every time you think about taking it off. You’d think you were cursed, if you didn’t know this was just the feeling of love dying.

Not dying.

You’re not strong enough to kill it.

This is the feeling of love being tortured.

Because you’re stupid and tired, you look up how to get over a crush. The internet says to list out all his faults, and logically you know Dean has those, but you can’t remember any right now. His teasing always makes you flush and giggle, his stupid jokes make everything feel lighter, you know he gets angry because he cares. You even miss the loud, sloppy way he chews. You’d always been able to reach over the table and wipe sauce from his cheek, and he’d smile at you after, and you miss his smile. You’d do anything to see it right now.

You scroll to the next step. Think about it logically. If they’d even be a good match. You skip that one. Dean’s always been the one thing you don’t bother to think about logically. Something about him makes all the common sense in your head go down the drain. Which is the same issue the next step—ask yourself why you have a crush on them—fails as well. Of course you have a crush on Dean. You could list out every reason, but they’d all just circle back to he’s Dean. And everything that he is demands that you love him.

Force yourself to move on, is the final step. Go out with someone else. Even if they’re not your soulmate, it will help you realize there are plenty of other fish in the sea.

There are many other fish. The world is filled with men.

That’s part of the problem.

None of them are Dean Winchester.

But this is the most actionable step. The only one you can try to take, even if it doesn’t work. So you get cleaned up, put on a nice dress, and do your makeup a little bit like a slut. The goal of this is to get laid, through, and it’s not like anyone you know is going to see-

“Where the hell are you going?”

You freeze, squeezing your eyes shut. He’s up. Why the fuck is he up. “Nowhere?”

“You’re going nowhere.” Dean drawls. “At eleven. Dressed like… That.”

“Mhm.” You turn slowly, trying to offer a winning smile.

He doesn’t look amused.

You haven’t seen him in person in a month. He kind of looks… awful.

He’s still handsome. You don’t think he’s capable of being anything else but amazing and desirable. But his hair is longer than he usually lets it grow, and there are heavy bags under his eyes. His shoulders are hunched, there’s a stain on his flannel, and when he rubs his jaw you can see grease stains on his hands.   

“Were you in the garage?” You blurt, and he grunts.

“Maybe.”

“But-“ His gaze is lidded, his features pale in a way that only happens when he’s awake for too long. “Have you slept?”

His brow furrows. “Napped.”

“For how long.”

“Long enough.”

“That’s not an answer-“

“Where are you going.” He raises his voice over yours, and you swallow.

“Out.”

“Out where.”

You look down at your heels, fidgeting with the folds of your dress. “To a bar.”

Dean doesn’t respond. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you think you might be leaning forward. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You haven’t even been able to build up a flimsy wall against your feelings, and now they’re all crashing through you like an asteroid, slamming through your world.

He’s right there, and if you took a step forward you’d be able to touch him. Wipe the grease off his hands, pull off the flannel and order him to change into something clean. He needs a haircut, but you kind of like it longer. You could run your fingers through it, like this. Soothe the spots where it’s sticking out, help him wash it if he’d let you.

But you don’t think he will.

Because when you look up under your lashes, he’s staring at you with a pained, exhausted expression that makes you want to cry.

“You goin’ to meet someone?” He finally says, and you shake your head.

“N- No.”

“We got drinks here-“

“I know.”

He grunts. “It’s not safe for you to be out by yourself.”

“I’m bringing pepper spray.” You mumble. “And my gun.”

Dean’s silent for a long moment, and you think he’s going to give up and walk away. Everything will be easier, if he just leaves for you. It will splatter your heart all over the floor, but at least you won’t have the weight of holding onto it anymore. At least it won’t churn like something rotten, when a stranger who isn’t Dean lays his hands all over you.

But Dean doesn’t leave.

He takes a step forward, and suddenly the air is so hot it’s hard to breathe.

“I’m goin’ with you.”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide. “Dean-“

“You said you’re not meetin’ anyone.” He challenges, glaring down at you. “I need a drink. You come with me, or you don’t go at all.”

A scoff slips from your lips. “And how the fuck would you stop me-“

“I’d toss you over my shoulder and carry you back to your room.”

Oh.

He says it so casually. His voice a deep rumble as he stares at you. An ache demands attention between your thighs, and your cheeks burn as you laugh nervously, looking to the side.

Dean doesn’t even crack a grin.

So there’s nothing you can do, but let him walk with you to the car. You try to get in the backseat, but Dean snaps his fingers and points at shotgun with a scowl.

“I’m not a fuckin’ taxi. You sit up here, or we walk.”

You flush, and silently slide into the front bench. Dean drops behind the wheel, his gaze fixed firmly ahead as he starts the engine. You forgot how dangerous being close to him is. He’d grabbed his coat on the way out, tossing his dirty flannel to the side. He smells like leather and pine tree, and even across the bench you can feel the heat radiating from his body. He rolls up his sleeves, and you want to nuzzle close to him and have him put you in a headlock. His hand runs over his inner thigh, and you press your own together.

You’re staring at him. You can’t help it.

Dean must feel it, because he shoots you a look from the corner of his eye. You look away, and hear him let out a heavy breath.

And the game begins. Dean pulls out of the garage, and you’re both perfectly silent, daring the other to break first. You stare out the window, stealing glances whenever you think you can get away with it. Sometimes Dean catches your eye, and you curl further into yourself, twisting away. Once, Dean opens his mouth. He closes it just as fast.

You’ve been driving for thirty minutes, when you realize he’s not taking you to a bar. You’ve passed three bars, and he didn’t even slow down to check them out. You grab all the thin courage you posses, rooted deep in your stomach and sticky with nerves, and drag it to the surface.

“Dean, where are we-“

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He says, blatant and flat. “Past month. Don’t think I haven’t fuckin’ noticed.”

You swallow, pulling your knees to your chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Didn’t even say why.” He mutters, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Thought you were sick at first, but you’ve been talkin’ to Sammy.”

“It’s-“

“And you run outta every room I walk into. Like I got cooties or something.” He’s scowling at the road, and you feel like the smallest thing in the world. “Didn’t even bother to tell me why. Just… Fuckin’ vanished.”

There’s a lump in your throat, and unearned tears stinging at your eyes. He sounds broken, and it’s your fault. You and your stupid, useless love for him. “Dean, it’s not like that-“

“So what’s it like, huh?” His words are harsh. You flinch back. “You start acting like I’m the goddamn devil and I’m supposed to take your word that it’s just not like that? There ain’t anything for it to be like, sweetheart-“

“No, I- I just-“ You lean forward, then curl back. You’d wanted to grab him. You don’t think you’re allowed. “I just needed- I needed-“

“Space?” He spits the word like it’s poison. “Go on. Tell me you just needed space from me.”

“Dean-“

“The hell did I do to you?” He sneers. “I know I ain’t perfect, but I- I thought you- I was so fuckin’ careful, and you promised you’d tell me if I did something stupid.”

You frown, not fully understanding what he means. “Dean, you- You didn’t do anything-“

“Don’t bullshit me!” He shouts, and you don’t think you can breathe anymore. “You promised me, you said you’d tell me, and the goddamn least you coulda done was tell me what the fuck I did-“

“Please- Please stop yelling.” You whisper, not even sure if he’s going to hear you.

But he does.

Dean cuts himself off with that clench of his jaw, and pulls over to the side of the road. You hug yourself tight, trying to shrink back into the seats. This is your fault. He’s angry because of you, and you stupidity. You’re barely a schoolgirl with a crush, and you let it hurt him, and there’s no possible world where he’d ever want you now.

You hide your face in your knees. Tears burn on your cheeks, and when you try to take a deep breath, it’s ragged and aching.

Dean’s silent. The whole car is silent. He’d turned off the radio, and the only sound hanging in the air is your sniffling. You think about climbing out of the car, but he’d just chase after you. It’s started to rain, and you don’t want him to catch a cold.

You wrap your coat tighter around you. Your dress feels too tight on your skin. Feels wrong. You think you’re going to be sick. When you risk a look at Dean, he’s still holding the wheel with white knuckles. Staring at you with a pained expression, eyes even heavier than before.

He leans forward like he’s going to reach for you. Your breath hitches. He pulls back.

For a second, you just watch each other. You wipe your cheeks with your palm, and it feels like a raw, open wound.

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it, and looks back to the road like he’s searching for something.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to yell.” He mutters, voice hoarse. “I just- I’m sorry.”

You nod—you didn’t blame him  in the first place—but when he looks to you for a response, you can’t find one. Everything is lodged in your throat, behind a quiet confession you’ve worked far too hard to shove down.

“I’ll fix it.” Dean rasps, and you blink.

“What?”

“Whatever I did.” He’s staring at you, his voice cracking. “Whatever pissed you off or- Or hurt you. I’ll work on it, alright? You don’t have to do anything, I’ll fix me, and then you can stay.”

“I- I can stay?”

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut. As if the words hurt to stay. “If you can’t, I get it. I do. But you gotta give me a chance to set it right, before you give up. Just one chance, and if I screw it up a second time you can run off, but- One shot, it’s all I need. Don’t- Don’t leave.” His voice cracks, eyes shining in the dark. “Please.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open. He looks broken. Lone tears stain his cheeks, and he’s not even wiping them away. When you shake your head—just trying to make sense of what he said—he cowers away like a kicked dog, and you split down the middle.

“I wasn’t going to leave, Dean.” Horror leaks through your voice. You couldn’t leave him if you tried. “I’d never leave you.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, like I didn’t just fuckin’ catch you-“

“I was going to the bar.”

“Without telling anyone?”

“No, because I knew you’d try to do this!” You wave around you, and Dean’s throat bobs. “No, I didn’t mean-“

“You didn’t wanna see me.” He mutters, looking back to the wheel. “’S alright. I get it.”

He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. And you can see him trying to drag himself back together, still refusing to wipe his tears and breathing through his nose. He’s just sitting there, hollow and angry, and he doesn’t understand.

“You kissed me.”

You say it without thinking, soft and weak. Dean goes rigid. He looks at you with bloodless, horrified features. You wrap your hand around your own throat, trying to hold yourself in one piece.

He shakes his head. You’re going to throw up.

“No, I- I’d remember that-“

“You were drunk.” You breathe. “I- I picked you up from the bar. And you kissed me.”

Dean looks like someone punched him in the face. He’s pallid, looking around the car like there’s a way out, fisting and unfisting his hands.

“That’s- That’s why you’ve been avoiding me.” He rasps, and you nod, fixing your gaze on his chest.

If you have to watch his face while he rejects you, there’s a chance you’ll just die.

Dean says your name, slow and broken, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Bracing for the knife about to be driven into your chest.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

That makes you look up. And it’s not rejection you find in Dean’s eyes.

It’s guilt.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, and- Being drunk’s no damn excuse.”

“Dean-“

“If you want nothing to do with me, I- I understand.” He’s too lost in himself to hear you. “Hell, I’ll move out so you can stick with Sammy. You won’t have to deal with me anymore, you’re- It’s not your fault-“

“Dean-“

“I shouldn’t have forced you on that, my own- My own shit is mine to deal with, and you never gave me any kinda go and I damn well knew it- I’m so fuckin’ sorry-“

“Dean!” You shout, and he falls silent. Squeezes his jaw shut, gaze mournful and completely shattered.

You’re not entirety sure what’s happening. You say the only thing you can think.

“Stop grinding your teeth.”

Dean blinks, but his jaw loosens. He mutters your name, and you shake your head. You don’t think you can stand another apology.

“I- I’m not mad about you kissing me.” You whisper, and he snorts, empty and humorless.

“It’s not your job to make me feel better about hurting you, sweetheart-“

“You didn’t hurt me.” You snap, and Dean stills completely.

He opens his mouth, but you’re faster. Flushing furiously and too tired to fight the words.

“I- I liked it.” You whisper. “A lot.”

Dean sits a little taller, words low and cautious. “You didn’t tell me in the morning. Why wouldn’t you tell me, if-“

“You were drunk. I- I thought-“ You take a deep breath, face burning with shame. “I thought you didn’t mean it.”

“Ah.” He’s silent for a moment. “But- Why the hell would you avoid me-“

“I kissed you back.”

“Did you mean it?”

His question feels like the barrel of a gun, loaded and pressed to your temple. You nod weakly. Dean lets out a sharp breath, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“You thought I didn’t mean it.” He finally echoes, and you nod again. “So you just-“

“That hurt.” Tears are falling again. Everything blurring except for Dean. “That’s the part that hurt, Dean, I just- I had to try and move on. And the internet said that’s how you do it.”

“The internet?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean huffs a low laugh.

“Sweetheart, why the hell would you check the internet for advice-“

“None of my ideas were working.” You hiss. “And I- I didn’t like avoiding you, it felt really bad-“

“You didn’t have to avoid me, you coulda just told me-“

“And you would’ve what, confessed your love and kissed me again-“

“Yeah!” He shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “I would’ve, if you’d just fuckin’ told me!”

Your heart stops, for a full second. You don’t think you heard him right. “What?” You whisper, and Dean sighs.

“I meant it, okay?” He mutters, looking up to the sky. As if he was praying. “Everything I do with you, I mean it.”

“And- And the love-“

“I mean that too.” He gives you a sad, tired smile. “I know I shouldn’t. God knows I tried not to, you’re- You’re young and you got a future and I’m just me-“

“I love you.” You blurt, and Dean’s jaw falls. “I love you just like… you. And-“ You bow your head shyly. He won’t stop staring. “If you- If you feel something too-“

Dean moves before you can think.

One second you’re rambling, trying to figure out how to say it. The next  his lips are pressed against yours, kissing you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Like you’ll die.

You grab his wrist when he cups your face, he turns you to deepen the kiss, and you’re both moving like you’re trying to breathe the other in. Your nails dig into his skin and he grunts, the sound vibrating against you. You roll onto your knees, moving over him without breaking the kiss, and he grabs you by the waist. Tight enough to bruise. To leave a mark.

It’s just a kiss. A hungry, hot kiss that’s making your head spin. It’s better than anyone else touching you. Better than being fucked, just because it’s Dean.

He picks you up, pulling you into his lap forcing you to straddle. You grab his shoulders for balance, letting out a sharp breath, and Dean chuckles. Sucks your lower lip with a tiny smirk, rubbing your hips as your finger brush the back of his neck. You let out a shuddering breath, sinking fully against his chest. One of his massive hands drags up your spine, callouses and teasing fingers dancing over bare skin and you arch, chasing the fuzzy, addictive sensation of Dean’s hands.

Your core presses against his bulge. He’s hard, twitching inside his jeans. You roll your hips once, unable to stop yourself, and Dean hisses against your lips.

“Careful.” 

You don’t want to be careful. You want to be ruined. You grind down again, kissing him while you move, and he groans.

“Hey- Woah-“ He wraps his arm fully around your waist and pins you down. Forcing the outline of his cock against the thin panties you’d worn to go out.

There’s not a single regret in your head. You can feel him better like this. The thick curve, almost pushed between your pussy lips. Your underwear is bunched up, offering extra pressure, but Dean is holding you down so hard there’s not even space to wiggle. You almost whine, pouting at him under wet, fluttering lashes.

He just stares up at you like a man who’s lived underground his whole life, finally seeing the stars. You drag your nails down his chest, trying to spur him into action, but he just keeps staring. He even laughs under his breath, like something’s fucking funny.

You scowl, but don’t even get to provoke him before he’s rising back up.

Dean brushes hair from your face, and kisses you slowly. Sweetly. A confusing, sharp contrast to how his erection is angled right against your heat. Your body doesn’t seem to know what to do with it, and just settles for going limp with overwhelmed, happily dizzy confusion. Dean chuckles again. If your body could listen to any whims but his right now, you’d punch him in the face.

“Stop laughing.” You manage to grumble, but that just makes him laugh again. “Dean-“

“Sorry.” He grins against your lips, rubbing your hips in soothing circles. “You’re just- You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re unbelievable-“

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.” He mutters, dragging his hand up your side. As if he’s marveling in just the shape of you. “Never thought I’d get to have you like this, and- Look at you.” He draws back, whistling with a smug smirk. “They should let people touch the art, baby. You get even prettier.”

There’s nothing coherent you have to respond to that. Your brain is mostly a confusing garble of Dean and touch and more.

He kisses just under your jaw, and you gasp. Your eyes flutter as your head lolls to the side, and Dean chuckles.

“You-“ You bite back a moan as he sucks on a pulse point. “You’re pretty too.”

“Hm.” He nips at the sensitive skin, before flicking his tongue against the hurt. “Pretty, huh.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck until he’s almost in a headlock. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, moving onto another, somehow more sensitive spot. You try to move against his clothed dick, your pussy starting to throb, but he’s holding you too tight. Dean hums against your skin, and you moan, right in his ear. It makes his cock jump, and you almost cry from the fleeting offer of friction.

“Come- Come on-“ You whine, wiggling uselessly in his arms. “You’re being an asshole- Dean-“

He pushes his lips back over yours, right as he grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes. It loosens his grip, letting your hips freely move against him, but you’re so pent up from making out that you can’t even work out what you want to do. You’re grabbing at his shirt and kissing him with spit and teeth, and he’s barely giving you anything in return.

“Dean- Just-“ You claw at his shirt. “Off, get it off-“

“That’s not a very polite way to ask, sweetheart-“

“Fuck you.” You breathe out, moaning when you get the thickest part of him to drag over your clit. “Take your shirt off, Dean, now-“

 A strong hand wraps around your throat, pulling you back down into a mind numbing kiss. You’re still fucking down onto his crotch, but their angle offers less pressure. You might’ve burst into tears, if it wasn’t for the magnitude of Dean’s attention. His hands all over your body, one fisted in your hair while the other started to map every inch of you he can reach.

“De- Dean-“

“Not polite.” He mutters, kissing you between every word. “Not patient. What am I gonna do with you?”

Your heart stumbles, still a little bit bare from the fight and confused from the gentle way he’s suddenly touching you. No more grabbing or marking. Just soft, possessive but careful fingers, tracing your curves like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

“Can I tell you what I’ve wanted to do?” He rasps in your ear. “Since I first fuckin’ saw you?”

“Yes.” You breath, trying to just feel him. His strength all around you, his voice rolling through your chest.

Dean’s words are deep and rough in your ear, and you cling to every one like gospel.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since before you even said your name. Wanted to fuck you when you stood in front of me and threatened to shoot if I didn’t back off and leave you be. Decided I’d marry you when you called me a chicken butt ‘cause I told you to stay behind me. Then I thought I was insane, told myself I just needed to get laid. But I got laid. And you wanna know the only thing I could think about, the whole damn time?”

You nod, and Dean pulls back, dropping his brow tight against yours.

“You.” He rasps. “Closed my eyes and saw you under me. Got kicked outta bed for calling your name, felt sick after ‘cause some stupid thing in my head kept telling me I’d betrayed you. Then Sammy came and told me you’d be coming with us, and I knew I was a goner. If it wasn’t such a selfish freakin’ masochist I would’ve told him that I didn’t want you around.”

Your lip wobbles. “You didn’t want me-“

“I wanted you so much.” He grabs the back of your neck, the words a low growl. “Drove me out of my damn mind, how much I wanted you. Thought I’d need to be put down, like one of those dogs that humps every damn thing it sees.”

“You- You never-“

“What? Thought you’d be into something like me?” He laughs, and you frown.

You plant your hands, flat on his chest, and push up a little taller. Demanding he listen to every word you say.

“I’m into you.” You snap, and Dean’s sarcastic smile falters, slipping back into that awe. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“No.” He answers without thought. “You’re perfect.”

Dean kisses you, slow and deliberate. Everything is suddenly controlled and delicate, like he’s weaving together a song.

You think you’re supposed to be the instrument. You don’t realize, though, until he’s already playing you as if you’re a toy.

Dean’s mouth trails down, leaving wet, open kisses over your neck and collarbone. The beard scrapes and tickles against you. You decide you like it. He’s not allowed to shave later.

You shiver, moving your hands to rest on his stomach. His abdomen flexes under your fingers, and you start to grind back down onto his crotch. When you press further forward, you can get that perfect friction from before. The one you needed so bad you almost screamed. Dean nips at your throat and you pick up your pace.

He grunts, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You squirm like animal, even as he handles you well. You’re moved backwards, your knees still knocked apart as Dean’s spreads his own legs. He pushes you back until your elbows are resting on the horn, and heat prickles over your skin when you realize the position he’s put you in.

Your barely clothed pussy, wet and on full display to Dean’s lust-blown expression. He traces over your inner thigh, teasing and teasing until you’re almost thrusting up to meet him.

“Remember what I said about patience?” He drawls, eyes sparkling on yours.

You just pant, making to grab his wrist and move it where you want. But he’s too strong, and you don’t even get a budge.

“I- I’ve been patient-“

 “Nah. Not enough. But,” he lifts up your skirt, exposing you further. “Look at her. Just begging for some attention.”

Dean presses a single knuckle against your pussy, running it up until it hits your clit, and your elbow slips. Baby’s horn startles you, making you almost scramble back over Dean, and he just laughs. Kisses you sweetly while you pant in his ear, even nipping under the lobe as you try to control your heartbeat.

“Fuck- Fuck-“ Your eyes roll back as you realize what happened.

You’d trapped Dean’s hand between your bodies, and he’s taken full advantage of the situation. For every honeyed and light kiss he presses over your cheeks and lips, he rubs your pussy with light, deft touches. A graze of your clit, then his thumb teasing over your entrance. It’s torture, the touches too light to do anything but make you feel insane, but you’re certain if you move away he’s just going to remove his hand altogether. Leaving you no other choice but to whimper, take it, and plead for mercy.

“More- There-” You bury your face in Dean’s neck, when he rubs your clit back and forth in a frenzy, then simply moves away. “Dean- I- I need to come, please, just, up- No-“

You tremble when he moves away again, humping against his hand. It doesn’t do anything—he’s too good at this—but you don’t think you could stop if you wanted to.

“Please, please, please-”

“You’re real good at begging, sweetheart.” Dean kisses the side of your head, and you nod weakly. “You think I’m not give you what you need?”

“I- I don’t think you’re showing any signs of it.” You breathe, and he laughs.

“Can’t argue with that. But you’re kinda restricting my movements.” He splits his two fingers, placing them around your pussy lips and rubbing slowly up down. “And trust, I’d love to play with your wet little pussy until you were coming all over my hand, but you started something on my pants. Think you should finish it.”

You lean back in slow confusion, and Dean nods between your bodies. You flush when you see it.

The faint dark spot, on his still hard crotch. You can’t look away from it.

Dean pulls your panties forward, then snaps them back against your pussy. Your hips jerk, wild eyes flying up to his, and he grins.

“Keep them on.” He smirks, dragging you back to sit on his crotch. “And take what you want.”

You nod breathlessly, grabbing the bench behind his head and starting to fuck down against Dean’s bulge. You’re more deliberate than before, gaze locked onto Dean’s, knowing exactly where to move to get the best friction. Dean watches you as if you’re sent from Heaven, licking his lips and rubbing your ass. He’s hiked up your skirt, giving him full access to whatever he wants. You expect handprints, maybe more teasing touches to keep you on the edge.

Instead, he grabs the back of your neck, and just watches you move on him. His mouth falls open, and when you lean a little down, he doesn’t hesitate to close the space.

Your speed picks up. The ruined fabric of your panties only adds to the friction, almost completely letting you feel the rough, tantalizing sensation of the denim. When you get your clit, it’s like being rolled between two pinched fingers, and you start to hump that one spot.

Dean groans, and when you catch against something, you realize you’re hitting the head of his cock.

You reach between your bodies, grabbing for something of him to hold onto, and find what has to be his balls. They’re big, heavy even when you’re not really holding them, and when you squeeze softly Dean’s whole body jerks.

“Fuck- Son of a bitch, you can’t just-“ Dean’s words turn into a long moan of your name, when you squeeze again.

You smile to yourself, riding him faster and faster. Dean’s eyes flutter, his fingers weaving into your hair. You throw your head back, and he chases. Starts to bite and suck on your neck again, pushing further and further up until you can no longer get a grip on his balls.

For a second, you try to push back, but Dean’s a solid wall of muscle. You’re using all your energy to keep yourself moving against him, and every thought empties from your head as his lips travel down.

Dean rips the top of your dress open. You hadn’t been wearing a bra. It would’ve ruined the outfit.

He has a clear, direct line to wrap his lips around your peeked nipple, and start to suck.

A loud, uncontrollable sound escapes your lips. You don’t know how he can be so good at that. His tongue flicks and swirls, teeth grazing against the bud, and all you can think of is what he’d do between your legs.

You movements are becoming shorter. More desperate. You press your breasts up, trying to demand more attention. Dean obliges, giving a harshsuckle before a series of kitten licks. He lazily kisses over the valley of your breasts, taking the neglected bud between his lips and sucking even harder than before.

“Oh- Oh my god.” You pull at the short, soft hair on the nape of his neck. He moans, mouth wet and warm wrapped around you. “Yes, Dean- Oh- Oh fuck-“

Your eyes roll back in your head, the pressure in your lower tummy just needing a little more to snap. You’re barely even humping him anymore, just thrashing around and trying to find the right position to get you there.

“I- I can’t-“ You scratch Dean’s back, pressing your cheek to the side of his head as you almost sob. “Dean, I need to cum, need to cum so fucking bad, Deeaan-“

His hand shoves between you, shoving one finger into your dripping pussy. Even with how wet you are there’s a slight stretch, and it’s just the one finger. You slam down onto him, your clit getting plenty of attention against his jeans, and you’re getting lightheaded with the need to find release.

Dean finger crooks inside you. Right against your g-spot. He wiggles it, rubbing fast and firm. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, swirling as he moans, and your shriek with delight.

You cum, shaking and moaning right into Dean’s ear. His finger slowly fucks you through it, but the moment you make a broken sound of his name, his lips are back over yours to swallow it. You don’t think you’ve ever cum that hard before. You can feel it all the way to the tips of your fingers, electric on your tongue as Dean kisses you.

Your pussy is clenching around his finger, and he grunts, angling his head to kiss you deeper. He pulls out slowly, rubbing your cunt until your wetness is smeared all over your thighs.

“The back.” He grunts, words thick and strained. “Get in the back.”

You feel bubbly. You’ve never felt bubbly before. There’s a rough command in Dean’s words that’s probably going to make you melt in a matter of minutes. But right now, you just giggle.

Dean leans back, looking at you like you’re insane.

“Sweetheart.” He wipes the hair stuck to your brow, and you can feel the tension in his voice. He’s trying to be patient. “What’re you laughing at?”

You shake your head, beaming as you press back over him. Dean grunts when you kiss him, but kisses back immediately.

“I just came on your pants.” You breathe.

He hums, leaning back to give you an exasperated look. “And that’s funny?”

“Last week I was crying about how I was never going to hold your hand.”

“Ah.” That makes him smile. He kisses your cheek, squeezing his hold on you. “We can do that later.” He mutters. “After we get in the back.”

You hum, going back in to kiss him again. Dean gives you five seconds, before you’re being picked up like a sack of potatoes and tosses over the bench. You land with a squeal, scrambling up to your palms, and Dean laughs.

“What the fuck-“

“Told you.” He shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head. “But don’t worry. Was counting on you not giving a damn what I told you to do.”

You gape at him. “I- I do what you tell me-“

“No, you don’t.”

“What about when you told me to go grocery shopping, I did that-“

“You got everything wrong.” He gives you an amused look, and you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Your list was confusing. And when I tried to call, you didn’t pick up.”

“List works for Sammy.”

“I’m not Sam, I need you to make a list for me-“

“I did make a list for you.” Dean crawls over the bench, grinning down at you. “And you still bought that fuckin’ turkey meat.”

You swallow, unable to stop yourself from drinking him in. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but it’s always been quick glimpses you forced yourself to look away from, or in the context of a wound. But this, here, the car is filled with steam from your fun before, there’s only to golden halo of the streetlamp, and Dean is all yours to stare at, as much as you want.

His chest is broad, softer in some places than he’s probably been in his youth, but perfect. You’re going to be completely smothered in him, you could shove your face between his pecs, feel his thick biceps wrap tight around you as he fucks you like you’ve always dreamed. He’s covered in jagged scars and freckles. You want to touch every single one.

“Sam gave me twenty dollars not to get red meat.” You breathe.

Dean chuckles, pulling at his belt. “And you chose him over me?”

You meet his gaze again, sure you must look like a lost doe under all of him. You’re not sure what to do with yourself at all. “You didn’t give  me twenty dollars.”

“And if I gave you twenty bucks?” He grins, pulling down his pants.

That’s your queue to say something smart. You can’t think anything smart.

Dean’s cock stands proud above you, and it’s pretty. Prettier than a porn cock, and those things look like they’re plastic. Dean’s thick and veiny. He’s well groomed, his balls heavier than they felt before—they could fit in your mouth, and you might choke, but would that really be so bad—and the tip of him nice and curved. Just the sight of him makes your pussy clench around nothing. Your legs spread wider.

Dean’s throat bobs, as he follows the movement. He’s slowly stroking himself, and you watch his grip get white knuckled as you spread your legs wider.

You need to touch him. He touched you. It’s only fair.

But you reach for him, and Dean catches your wrist. Pins your arm over your head, forcing him to lower down. He settles between your legs, giving you a stern look that makes your breath hitch.

“No.” He chastises, and you pout.

“I wanna put you in my mouth.”

“You- Jesus, woman.” He lets out a sharp breath, closing his eyes. “You can’t freakin’ say that-“

“Why not-“

“I ain’t as young as I used to be, alright?”

You frown. “I know that.”

He shakes his head. “No, I mean-“ He sighs, dropping his brow against yours.

You pull your hand carefully out of his hold, running your fingers through his hair. He lets out a low rumbling sound, almost like a purr, so you keep going. He makes nice sounds. You’d like to collect all of them, and keep them in little jars on your shelf you can listen to whenever you want.

“I like the hair.” You say, soft and casual. Like his cock isn’t pressed right against your cunt. “And the beard?”

Dean huffs a low laugh. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Makes you look your age.”

“I am my age-“

“In a sexy way.” You blurt, and he sits up, brows raised.

“A sexy way?”

“Yeah.” You nod, suddenly wanting to hide your face. “I mean, you’re- You’re always sexy- I’ve always wanted to have sex with you, but- But I also think, if it’s- If you’re going to be kissing me all the time- I’d like this-“

Dean shuts you up with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. You hum, thankful for the mercy, and shiver when you feel him peeling away the scraps of your underwear and dress. You don’t think you’re going to haver anything to ride home in.

Something to worry about later. When Dean’s not rubbing his dick against your pussy. The large head of his presses against your clit, Dean’s beard tickling your neck as he kisses everywhere his mouth can find, and you feel the pressure starting to build again.

“Dean…” You mumble. “Oh- Oh-“

He sucks on a hickey from before, and the previous orgasm had already made you more sensitive. Your back arches, forcing your swollen button to rub against his shaft, and your mouth falls open in a loud, lewd moan.

“Easy,” he mutters, dropping his weight. Forcing you back down. “Tryin’ to tell you, sweetheart. I’m barely fuckin’ holding it together, and if I blow before I get inside of you, I’m gonna drive myself off a cliff.”

You giggle despite yourself, letting your body relax into his touch. You trust him, and the idea of him just having you is enough to make your pussy ache. “Aw.” You turn, smiling at him. “You care.”

He snorts. “You always a brat? Or just when I’m fuckin’ you.”

“Do you want the real answer to that?”

“Hm.” Dean tilts his head, gaze raking over your body. Over every mark he’s left, to the point that you’re mostly a map of his hands and lips.

A smirk curve on his lips, and you feel one strong hand grab under your knee, moving it up to your chest. Putting you on full, naked display.

“Nah.” He drawls. “I think I’m good.”

The air is knocked from your lungs, as he presses forward. His cock slides slowly into you, filling the car with the hottest, wettest sound you’ve ever heard. You grab his forearm, just trying to ground yourself, and he goes for your other knee.

Dean bends you in half under him, folding you into a pressed little ball. You can see yourself swallowing his cock. See every inch disappear into your pussy, every vein right before it bumps inside your gooey walls. Dean’s chest is heaving, his features open and slack.

“Fuck.” He grunts. Reverent and as wrecked as you feel. “Son of a bitch, you fit me like a goddamn glove. Takin’ me like a champ, sweetheart, c’mon- Just a little more-“

He spits on where you’re meeting, on your clit, and you try to arch up. He grunts, pushing the last few inches fully in.

You throw your head back, trying to adjust to the feeling of being so full. He feels even bigger than he looked, and you’d forget to breathe if he didn’t wrap his hand around your ribcage, and squeeze gently.

“Good?” Dean’s voice cracks, and you can almost see his chest rippling with the restraint to hold still.

You nod, opening your mouth, then closing it when words fail you. He’s just- He’s so big and everywhere. He’s pushed over your g-spot, and it’s making you feel like you’re being dragged through a pool of pleasure. There’s nothing else to think about.

Dean’s brow furrows. “Baby, I need you to talk to me-“

“Good.” You breathe out. “So- So good, Deaaaan-“

You tug on his wrist, trying to bring him down to your level. He immediately understands, bending over for a kiss. You relax as his lips move against yours, pushing your hips a little up to take in more of him. You might be able to cum just like this. Impaled on Dean’s cock. Usually you’d need something more, but you’re hypersensitive, and it’s like he was made to be inside you.

You smile at him, when he pulls back up. He swallows, slowly reaching up to grab your jaw.

“I’m gonna move, alright?”

You hum, still smiling, and Dean takes in a slow breath.

“Can you keep lookin’ at me?”

You nod, and his lips twitch.

“You really can’t talk right now, huh?”

Head shake. Dean’s eyes glint, and your mouth falls open as he thrusts. Once, harsh and short against your g-spot.

“So fuckin’ cockdrunk you can’t speak.” He drawls, grinding slowly into your pussy. Still too shallow to be anything. Just working your g-spot until tears prick at your eyes. “You think you can at least say my name, baby?”

“Deeean-“ You mewl out, gasping as he finally gives a full, deep thrust. “Dean- Dean-“

“That’s it.” He grunts, pulling almost fully out before slamming back in. “That’s my girl. Nice and dumb on this cock. Just letting it happen, aren’t you sweetheart.”

“Mmmm.” Is all you can manage, but it’s Dean’s fault.

He’s fucking you like a man possessed. Cock slipping in and out of your channel, drilling into your g-spot and cervix. You can see it, see the vein in his brow as he moans your name, see the mess forming around your pussy as you soak his dick.

“Dean.” You babble, a strange, tight heat forming deep inside you. “Deaan, ‘s- ‘s big-“

“I know.” He coos. “I know, baby, but- Shit- You’re takin’ it so well. Best thing I’ve ever fuckin’ felt-“

He grunts, balls slapping against your ass. His body is sticky and shining with sweat, and you can’t stop yourself from staring at how he moves as he fucks you. Each motion is so powerful, and there’s an impossibly good, perverted feeling you get from watching where you meet, and-

“Look.” He grunts, tapping your chin with his thumb. “Look at me, sweetheart, come on-“

You blink up at him, and he groans, bending over as he slams inside.

You don’t think. Your mouth opens, and you take his thumb between your lips, sucking softly. It’s nice to have something to do, when you’re too fucked out to even remember your own name.

And it does something to Dean. His thrusts stutter, and a deep, growling sound comes from his chest. You hum, blinking up at him from glossy eyes. He groans, chest heaving, and something snaps in his expression.

Dean fucks you so hard you could swear the car was shaking. His thumb pushes further between your lips, and you take it happily. You can feel the sensation between your legs building, a little different than your usual orgasm, but it’s good. Tingly and hot, almost like you’re being shot up with direct euphoria. Your lashes flutter, and you moan around Dean’s thumb as he starts to give sharp, abusing thrusts to your g-spot.

He bends like he’s trying to get his mouth on your pussy, only just remembering his body can’t move like that and pulling his hand away from your mouth. You’re about to whine in frustration, but then Dean finds your clit.

He gives it tight, back and forth rubs that make your hips buck up. He uses his cock to bully them back down, rubbing even harder, and the sensation explodes like fireworks. 

 It’s wet and messy, spilling out of your pussy with Dean still seated deep inside you. He moans, dropping over you as you milk his cock, dragging him into orgasm with you. You’re shaking, cumming and cumming harder than you can keep up with. You can feel the release—yours or Dean’s, doesn’t really matter—sticking inside of you and dribbling down your ass.

Dean kisses you, and you barely manage to kiss him back. You’re boneless and floaty again, your body so washed with pleasure you might be shaking from it. Like he’d struck you with lightning.

“You did so good.” Dean murmurs, pulling slowly out. “That was- Fuck, that was awesome.”

You smile in a dazed agreement, beaming up at him, and everything in Dean seems to soften. He presses a gentle kiss to your brow and pulls you upright, helping you settle in the bench before getting himself to work.

He tries to clean up the seats, but gives up fast and mumbles something about doing it back home. You were right in assuming your clothing was ruined, so Dean just gives you his shirt and wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you against him for the drive home.

When you pull in to the garage, he doesn’t give you a chance to try and walk. You’re hauled into his arms like a princess and marched inside, Dean only pausing to wipe the back bench and stop a smell.

First stop is the bathroom. Then Dean offers to bring you to your bed—the words weighted and reluctant—but you shove your face into his neck and shake you head.

Dean. You need to be near Dean.

He carries you to his bed with a tall pride, and somehow manages to keep a hand on you as he changes into his own sweats. You cuddle into him, smiling when he presses a kiss to your brow.

“If I forget this,” he murmurs. “Remind me in the morning.”

You laugh softly, voice quiet but returned. “If you forget, I’m going to kill you.”

“And I woulda earned that.”

“Mh.” You curl further into his arms, and—unable to help it—whisper. “Don’t forget.”

Dean kisses the top of your head, words a lullaby as you drift off to slip.

“Never. I’m yours now, sweetheart. Like it or not.”

You like it.

You don’t think you could like it more if you tried.  

✦End note: deeply unfair that he isn't real. we gotta talk to someone about that.✦

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