#code bear

[Dean]: We should wrap this hunt tomorrow, tops. You in bed yet? [You]: Yeah, can't sleep. [You]: I kinda wish it was tomorrow already… [Dean]: Me too, sweetheart. How you holding up? [You]: Meh. Brain's being a dick. [Dean]: Code? [You]: 🐻 [Dean]: ...is typing 💬 [You]: Wait - Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out! [You]: I'm fine. [You]: I swear. [Dean]: Deep breaths, baby. I'm on my way.

The bunker is dark and cold when Dean's steps echo down the stairway, steering towards the only source of life. It's been three hours since you texted. For Dean, that drive was a piece of cake. For you, though, every minute must've felt like torture.

His gait speeds up, drawn towards the light spilling into the hallway like a beacon in the night. It's a sign that you're in bed. In bed, but despite the ungodly hour, not asleep.

He cracks the bedroom door open, carefully steps inside, shuts out the rest of the world, and tunes in to you. The warm, dim light of the bedside lamp paints the curves of your figure under the blanket, face hidden, shadows pooling below where your stomach would be.

Dean does a double take at the extra large bump under the blanket, wondering whether he'd knocked you up with some kind of high speed sperm that punched nine months in seventy-two hours.

Unlikely, but the thought brings a hint of a smirk to his exhausted face. (After all, he's seen Amazons pull that off in less than twenty-four.)

Dean slips off his shoes, shrugs out of his suit jacket and tosses it on the chair in the corner, almost knocking over an old, empty beer bottle of his. He pads across the cool floor to the bed. When he speaks, his voice is soft, careful not to spook you.

"Hey, sweetheart. 'm home."

Home. His tongue almost stumbles over the unfamiliar word. He would've simply said I'm back, but you'd insisted on the specific name for what you two had built here.

He leans down, tries to coax you into his safety net by brushing a gentle hand over the additional bump of your tummy. It is soft and squishy. He pauses, frowning. Then realization hits him: Only half of the figure is actually you. The other half being your weighted, stuffed animal.

The sight is endearing, until a twinge in his chest reminds him of the plushie's purpose.

"Dean?" You turn your head, mumble his name. It sounds so small, so vulnerable. It makes him want to scoop you up into his lap and hold you there for the rest of eternity.

For now, the rest of the night will have to do.

"Hey there, sweetheart," his eyes soften, his voice husky from the lack of sleep. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya."

Dean still wears his fake FBI suit and tie when he slips into bed next to you, one leg hanging off the edge, suit pants creasing around his knees. The mattress dips. The wooden frame groans when he leans back.

You shift, instinctively pressing into his side. His familiar smell drawing you in. Your arms are still locked tightly around the brown bear's large body, like you might fall apart without it. It squeezes his heart, seeing you like this - it always does.

With a gentle touch, he smooths the hair away from your face. Next, a protective arm slips under your head, his wrist twisted for his thumb to stroke your cheek - it's still damp. Your revealed eyes red, puffy.

Dean pauses, his features tightening.

"Talk to me," he prompts, rough with worry.

He watches you shake your head no. Your face hiding from his. You feel guilty.

Dean won't have any of it.

His attention shifts away from you, instead focusing on your bear, Balu, that is squished in your arms, facing the both of you. With his free hand, he adjusts the tie of his fake FBI suite.

He clears his throat. Leans down.

"What'd you say, buddy?" Dean frowns at the cute beady eyes like he must have misheard him.

Your head perks up.

"Ah", he then drawls, turning halfway to face your confused expression like he is still mid-convo, "You seen a guy come through here? Real handsome-" he stops, glances back at Balu, then corrects himself, "- devastatingly handsome bastard. Drives too fast, listens to classic rock, 'bout yay big?" he pats the air next to his head.

Your lips curve with a small chortle.

"That a yes, ma'am?" Dean tries to look firm, as if he was interrogating you with an imaginary notepad in his hands - a sloppy imitation of Sam's gestures. The corner of his pursed lips twitch though. "Guy's a wanted man, y'know. Girl he belongs to hasn't seen'm all day."

"Silly," you giggle, break your iron grip to lightly smack his chest with the back of your hand.

"Uff- Hey, I'm serious," Dean grabs the plushie by the scruff, sits him upright in your lap and continues. "Looks like our buddy bear here witnessed it all," -his eyes dart back to the fuzzy face- "Ain't that right?"

Fingers at the back of its neck makes its head bob yes. Dean's brows arch and his free hand gestures at Balu with a 'see? told ya' look.

More cute sounds spill from your lips, mixing with Dean's chuckle. After a moment, the giggle shifts into a small sigh.

"I missed you," you admit, index finger hooking around his like a silent request for grounding.

Dean's expression sobers up instantly. His gruff voice melts into a murmur when he curls his finger around yours like a lock around its key. "I know, baby, I know."

He then sets Balu aside. Not too far, but on top of his own pillow next to yours. Even adjusts its squished nose and gives it a quick tap to the head before his hand searches your cheek, cupping it gently.

You lean into his touch. And another soft sigh leaves your lips right before he dives down to seal them with his own. The kiss tastes like salt and whiskey. His mouth moves against yours, tender, forming the words "I missed you too". Soon his body follows his head, moving over yours, pulling you under until his knees bracket your thighs and his arms envelop your sides. He drapes himself down with only the tie left sandwiched between your chests and a strand of hair between your foreheads.

"Dean, you're crushing me," you grunt beneath him. Followed by another one of your sweet, shy laughs which always manages to let sunflowers bloom under those scorched ribs of his.

"Yeah? You sayin' you prefer Pooh Bear over me?" He nips your nose and you squeak. The smirk of his grows along the flowers. "I see how it is."

In one swift motion, he rolls you both over, for you to cover him. You squeal his name - Dean chuckles next to your ear.

"Maybe I missed my lil' koala." He grins. Hopes he can tickle more happiness out of you.

His hands slide under your top to feel the skin under his warm palms, slowly rubbing them along the slope of your back. Each stroke smoothing the winter goosebumps like summer sunlight.

He pauses. Looks up at you, your noses almost touching.

You smile – yet he can see in your eyes how the worry still clings to your mind. Circling endlessly. How, even though you had thrown a cover over it, beneath it, that bird is still wildly fluttering inside your rib cage.

The low, orange light catches in his forest glades, his eyes searching yours from below his long lashes.

"I'm here," he says, and it sounds like he knows that even though it's obvious, you need to hear it.

Your eyes squeeze when he places a chaste kiss to your forehead, while his fingers move to card through your locks.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart…" he continues to murmur against the wariness that still lingers behind that thick skull of yours, "You're okay... We're okay… yeah?" It's not a question, just a way to check in on you. To be sure whether his words really reached you or he needs to do some more soul patching.

When you don't answer right away, he swivels his chin to litter your face with more tiny affections.

Your temple.

Your cheeks.

Your nose.

The corner of your lips – until your anxiety finally gives way to another snicker.

Dean hums a coaxing "hmm?" against your now damp skin from all of his smooches. His head angled to meet your eyes.

You nod. Burrow your head next to his. It's snugly there, tingling with some strands of his hair brushing against the shell of your ear. Your fingers tangle in his shirt.

Dean's chest rises and falls against yours, calm and steady, his heartbeat thumping with your own.

When did your heart stop racing? Or did it?

It's like his strong arms keep it tucked inside your ribs no matter what pace it goes, keeps it safe and protected in this small, sheltered world he has created for you. You feel the tension ease from your muscles. The staples holding your spine rigid finally fall off. Arms are draped over his shoulders, knees glued to his hips, while your body practically melts into his.

The silence that felt deafening before, is now filled with the peaceful ba-dump of Dean's pulse against yours, his breath warm in your hair, his palms drawing slow circles.

Dean's presence wraps around you.

Safe.

Guarding.

Perfect.

Like no stuffed animal can ever imitate, no matter how much you try.

After a moment of quiet, you feel Dean's cheeky fingers inch further down until both of his large palms settle on your ass.

"Huh? What the hell-" he starts to mumble.

Then squeezes your globes - you squirm - he gasps next to you.

"Holy shit – my bear's got an ass."

You snort right into his ear. His shoulders shake beneath you. Laughter fills the bedsheets; No more words needed for the peaceful silence that follows.

Dean shifts a bit beneath you, grunts like that old man you hope he'll grow into someday, until you're both comfortable - his sternum no longer pinching your ribs, and you no longer crushing any of his sensitive parts. He nudges you further into his embrace with his hand still on your ass. His arm is slung around your waist, his palm sneaking beneath your waistband to rest on the small of your back like it belongs there, while his other hand finds the back of your neck - his familiar way of promising, "I've got you. You're safe".

Once you've settled, he guides your cheek back to his shoulder, where you sense Dean's warm breath, followed by his mouth on the shell of your ear.

"Want me to get Balu?" he murmurs, his chin tipped vaguely towards it.

Your head rolls into the crook of his neck where you shake it.

"I'm good," you smile softly. Eyes closed, nose nestled somewhere behind his ear where you can smell his shampoo. It's a faint vanilla, mixed with oak and rum. Dean's neck vibrates against yours with his low hum of appreciation.

"All right." He brushes some of your hair aside to allow more air in that burrow of yours, then he presses his lips to your crown, where they stay for the rest of the night.

"I've got ya," he murmurs into your hair, "Balu's off duty tonight. You've got me."

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES This was partially inspired by my weighted anxiety polar bear. 🐻‍❄️ I love that guy, he covers my entire torso and keeps me warm on the days I'm alone in bed. Can highly recommend it for anyone with anxiety! You are not alone, stay strong lovelies 💕

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