#dean x reader

"So what are we going to do with such a rare day off?" Dean doesn't look at you, he's too focused on the intricate balancing act of cooking.

"Maybe speak to each other in daylight for once?"

"We see each other during the day all the time!"

You laugh, "5am doesn't count as the day- not really."

"Well if you're gonna put all these rules on it!" He finally glances at you, face breaking into a smile. You're in your underwear, sat at the kitchen table like it's casual, like you've always expected to see him here.

You're normally downstairs at this time, baking since the sun came up, about to open shop. Dean sometimes waves at you through the window when he leaves, though he doesn't come in- like crossing that boundary while other people are around might ruin the delicate nature of the whole thing.

He doesn't know if you tell people about him- doesn't know if he exists to you when he's not around. Of course Sam knows about you, but Dean doesn't tell him everything- doesn't tell him how he always considers running right back to you every time he leaves. Dean hasn't even told himself that, not really.

He butters the toast, places the eggs next to it, fresh coffee in your favorite mug. You're not sure if he knows it's your favorite, but it's nice either way.

"Didn't know you cooked- always thought you were a takeout and beer guy-" you watch him as he brings the plates over, resting them on the table.

"I don't get much chance to-" he shrugs.

"Maybe you should join me one day- help me bake some of those pies you love so much."

"I'd only ruin them-" he laughs, taking his own seat at the table, "-I don't know how to do something like that-"

You take a bite of the eggs- they're good- he's clearly spent time perfecting them. You wonder if he's ever cooked them for someone else- you don't ask.

"What's your favorite? Out of the pies, I mean."

"All of them, sweetheart- they're all good-"

"That's not a real answer-" you laugh, "-go on, your favorite-"

He thinks for a moment, "What was that one you made last year, you said it was too sour- but then you added honey and ice cream and it was fuckin' perfect-"

"The rhubarb?" You laugh, "That one was so bad!"

You'd reheated it, dressed only in your underwear, hair tousled and face flushed- you'd only just made it out of the bedroom after 2 straight hours of Dean dragging you back in. You'd complained about the taste before you'd even handed him the plate, promising you'd made it better with the addition of the ice cream, an act Dean would normally consider blasphemy.

That was the moment he realized that he loved you- no, not love, he won't let himself think like that. That was the moment he felt something more, at least- he'll allow himself that much. He doesn't know why- you were right, the pie wasn't particularly good- and he knows it was more than just your looks, though that certainly helped. Maybe it's the way you smiled when he took the first bite, maybe it's the way you laughed when his face twisted from the sour taste. Whatever it was, that was the moment he decided he'd keep coming back as long as you'd have him.

"I don't know- I liked it-" he shrugs.

You smile to yourself, looking back down at your food, "I'll give you the recipe- remind me- you can try it out before you see me next-"

You take a sip of his coffee, it's strong- you know that's how he likes it. Always needs to be alert. You're not sure how he does it, all this running around, chasing- or being chased more often. He doesn't tell you much about hunts, little snippets here and there. When it goes well sometimes he'll break it all down- what Sam said to the witness, how he set the trap near the faerie ring, why he had to spend all week hunting for bladderwrack. When it goes bad he doesn't tell you as much, half because he doesn't want to scare you, half because he can't imagine bringing something so horrific to a place with so much sweetness.

You wonder why he does it to himself, let's himself get so beat up. Maybe that's part of the charm of the job- that he can wreck himself until he's unrecognisable and act like it's just collateral damage. Maybe he enjoys getting hurt. Maybe that's why he won't stop.

You don't want to dwell on it- your pretty boy won't let you. He wouldn't want you imagining things like that.

He smiles at you, "Why don't I take you on a proper date- down to the lake- that'd make a change-"

"Who said this was a date?"

"Sorry- would staying here and fucking be less of a commitment?" He teases.

"Sex with you isn't a commitment-" you laugh, "-its a goddamn workout."

He rolls his eyes, "Shut up and eat your eggs-"

You look at him as you pick at your food- he looks good without a shirt, you should make sure he's topless more often. You can see the scars on his chest, the bullet wound next to his tattoo- you know he's not proud of them, but he always wears them like they mean something.

You haven't discussed what happened last time- the injuries, the fear. You haven't discussed how bad you want him to stop. The last few months seem to have treated him kinder, he's not got any fresh injuries, and he's clearly in a better mood than before. He slept through the night, last night, no signs of stirring, though you laid awake longer than you'd like to admit- watching him cautiously.

He reaches up to scratch the back of his head, his biceps shifting as he does.

"Fuck Dean- you're such a liar-"

He's clearly taken aback, confused, "What?"

"You so work out- don't act like you don't-"

"I don't!"

"You don't get muscles like that without trying."

He flexes his shoulders without realizing, "That's just my build-"

"You can lift me like it's nothing and you fuck with the stamina of a twenty-year-old."

"That's got nothing to do with working out- I'm just good at sex-"

"And you're oh so humble too!" You laugh.

"Am I not good at sex?" He raises his eyebrow.

"Didn't realize this was an interrogation."

"Well?"

You shrug, lying, "I've had better-"

He laughs, "You've had better?"

"You're not the only guy on earth to make a girl cum-"

He stands, "Open your legs."

You laugh, "I need to drink my coffee-"

"You can drink your coffee- just open your legs for me-"

You pick your mug back up with a deliberate movement, cocking your eyebrow as you part your thighs.

He grins at you, shaking his head, "You're a brat, you know that right?"

You smile, "That's why you keep coming back."

He sinks down, knees colliding with the floor in one move, body heavy as he looks up at you from between your legs. Sure he's a cocky motherfucker- but sometimes that ego gets pushed aside for pure need. That's how he's looking at you right now, like he's hungry for something only you can give him.

He kisses your knee, a light peck against bare skin that causes goosebumps to bloom out. Another kiss, higher, planted against your inner thigh. He keeps his eyes on you- you shrug, take a sip of your coffee.

He can't deny his smile, pressing another kiss even higher, "You're the only person who acts like this- got me on my knees fuckin' worshiping you and you wanna drink coffee?"

You laugh, "Want me to say thanks? That what all your other girls do?"

"Ain't no other girls- you expect me to fuck someone else when I've got you waiting for me at home?"

He doesn't even realize he's said it- it comes out so naturally.

No other girls. Home.

You put the mug down.

He parts your legs further, scattering kisses up your thigh as he moves closer to you. He reaches up, dragging one finger along the middle of your panties. Your breath cuts, staring down at him expectantly, shivers running up your spine.

He grins up at you, "Already so wet."

You don't have any biting response- your brain's already short-circuited, and he knows it. He rubs your clit through the fabric, smiling up at you like it's casual. He leans down slowly, eyes still on you, until his lips are pressing against the same spot- you bite your lip, not willing to give him a sound.

He hooks his fingers around the side of your underwear, dragging it across as he exposes you to the cool air. He gives you one final glance- a silent moment of consideration, then he moves- diving between your thighs. He's on you like a mess, his tongue lapping at your clit, fingers pushed inside- you gasp, reaching out to grab his hair, your head falling back as you try to keep yourself upright on the chair.

His mouth wraps around your pussy, circling your clit as he wraps his free arm around your thigh to keep you still. Your legs are already twitching- he pulls back slightly to get a better look at you, movements slowing, a flat tongue pressed over you.

"Better-" he mutters under his breath, not giving you a chance to respond before he pushes another finger into you. You tug at his hair, a moan forced out of you as you fall further into him. He pushes your thighs onto his shoulders, lifting you slightly off the seat as he leans back in.

His tongue is faster now, darting over your clit in pointed movements- a frenzy he doesn't want to control. He wants to feel you- the way your legs twitch on his shoulders, the way your stomach tenses every time he grinds his mouth over you. He knows you're being facetious- you'd never say something like that to him seriously- but he still wants to prove you wrong. If not for your sake, for his own, so that he can leave here knowing you won't kick him to the curb the second another man finds his way between your thighs.

Your heel digs into his back, pulling him closer. He's right, of course, you've never had someone treat you the way he does- like being able to taste you is his own personal sacrament. No one else has even come close, from the moment you met him you knew he'd be different- and you're still kidding yourself that it's only because of the sex. No- no Dean's different in every way- no matter how much you try to ignore that.

His fingers find a steady rhythm, your arousal soaking over his chin and hand. You're doing everything you can to keep yourself upright, though he's taken most of your weight onto his shoulders. His hair's a mess, slicked back on his head by your fingers- it looks like he's slept for 12 hours straight.

He sucks on your clit, only slightly- your whole body jolts, rocking in to him for more. He breaks away looking up at you with his fingers still moving, "Oh pretty girl- tell me what I wanna hear-"

You can barely look at him, swallowing hard, "Fu- Dean- jesus-"

He grins, sing-song like, curling his fingers, "Tell me-"

You relent, "It's you!- Okay!- You're the best fuck I've ever had!-"

His eyes glimmer but he pouts, "You're just saying that..."

"Stop being an asshole and make me cum-" you laugh, looking away from him, back up to the ceiling.

You feel him grin as he lowers his mouth back on you, not bothering to tease anymore as he goes directly back to your clit- his tongue darts over it, faster, you let out another begging moan, pulling him in with your leg.

He sucks on your clit again and you break, hips lifting up, body rutting into him, mind going clear for a moment as you let the pleasure rush you. He keeps his fingers moving, fucking you through it- still smiling up at you, taking in the sight of you coming undone around him.

He pulls back, only slightly, letting your body relax again before he pulls his fingers away. He drags your panties back over you, his thumb rubbing against your clit once again, then slumps back.

He has that dazed look that tells you he got as much out of it as you did- if not more. Honestly, he looks dopey, big eyes glossed over, biting down on his bottom lip as his gaze washes over you, a loose grin across his face.

"I could die happy- right here- right now-"

You laugh, "Please don't- it'd be so much work trying to hide your dead body."

"It's actually surprisingly easy if-"

You hold up your hand to stop him, "I really don't think you should tell me this."

He nods in agreement, remembering himself.

He stands up carefully, steadying himself before he moves back towards the table. He gives you a small glance as he picks your mug up, placing it in your hands with a small shake of his head, you take it, holding back your own laugh.

He takes your empty plate, then his, walking back towards the sink. He runs the tap as you look at him, sipping your coffee as you consider.

Dean's not fucking anyone else- or at least he's giving you the decency of pretending he's not. That's something, at least, a silent shift neither of you have mentioned. He wanted to take you on a date, a half joke- sure- but a date all the same.

He's always confused you. Pretended at the start like he was a loverboy, you figured out pretty quick he was only doing it to get in your pants. You didn't mind, you wanted to get in his. But the more time you spend with him, the more you think maybe what he showed you to begin with wasn't an act. Maybe that's who he really wants to be. Maybe this playboy persona is just that- a persona.

You cough slightly, trying to sound casual, "What is this- us?

He turns the tap off, spinning round with a laugh, "Where's this coming from, huh?"

"Can't make a girl cum like that before midday and not expect her to ask questions." You shrug.

His mouth turns into an upside down smile for a moment, nodding, "It's good, right? It's casual- easy- we're easy-"

"Sure- but what does that actually mean to you-"

This isn't the strangest conversation you've ever had, but it's certainly starting to get more serious than he's used to, "It means I visit when I'm nearby and we fuck and have a laugh and you don't think about me when I'm not here-"

"What if I do think about you?"

"You shouldn't-" he looks at you, more stern than he means to, "-whole point of this is it's not supposed to be anything more-"

"You don't think about me?" You pout.

"I'm allowed to think about you-" he laughs, "-I'm not gonna get any crazy ideas."

You give a face of mock offense, "Oh? You really think I'm gonna go crazy for you?"

"Can't fault y', sweetheart, it's just impossible to resist all this charm." He gestures to his body.

You roll your eyes. The washer finishes, a small chime telling you it's done. Dean wanders towards the sound as you look back down at your coffee. The conversation's steering away from your point, you give it one last attempt, "Well- I do. I do think about you when you're not here."

He keeps his voice up as he rifles around the wet clothes, "You gotta quit that, honey- nothing good can come of thinking about shit you can't control-"

He pulls his shirt out, holding it up to look at it.

"-let's just enjoy the time we do have together, yeah?"

It's spotless.

🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧

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"My Dean stopped looking at me like that years ago." Dean lowered his hand. You wiped a few tears from your face looking away.

“We’re okay, right? Future me and you?” your eyes met his again, you forced a smile.

“We’ve been through a lot, and we’ve made it, just not together” Dean’s stomach dropped.

“What? Did I--”

“I should’ve handcuffed both your hands before I left.” Future Dean walked toward the two of you, rifle slung over one shoulder. "I leave you alone for five minutes..."

You instinctively stepped toward him. “Dean you’re bleeding.” You reached for his face, gently tilting his chin to get a better look at the cut on his forehead. "It's not bad. Let me clean it."

“I’m fine” you sighed.

“Dean…”

“I said I’m fine.” He said pulling away. Your hand slowly fell back to your side. ”Can you give us a minute? Need to talk to him.” he asked, still avoiding your eyes.

You turned and walked back toward your cabin. Halfway there, you glanced over your shoulder. He was already walking away. Dean watched you disappear before turning back to his future self.

"Come on." Future Dean said walking to his cabin.

“Why’d you do that?” present Dean asked, following after him. "She was trying to help you.”

"Yeah." Future Dean didn't slow down. "She always does."

"Then why push her away?"

"Because it's easier that way." Future Dean opened the cabin door. "Get in." Dean stepped inside after him. The door shut behind them.

"She said we're not together." He crossed his arms. "What happened?"

Future Dean busied himself setting his rifle against the wall. "Life."

"Don't be an ass. Hours ago we were in the same bed, she kissed us before we went to sleep, and you're telling me we're not together anymore." Future Dean let out a humorless chuckle.

"Five years changes a lot." He crossed the cabin, setting a duffel bag on the table before unzipping it. Inside were loose rounds of ammunition, a half-empty first aid kit and a worn cleaning cloth. Without another word, he started checking every magazine one by one.

"Not that."

"You'd be surprised."

"No." Dean shook his head. "Not her.” Future Dean sighed, ejecting the bullets onto the table.

"Look—"

”Did she leave?" He slid another magazine into place.

“No”

"Did we stop loving her?" That finally made Future Dean pause. His hands rested on the table for a second before he looked up.

"I never said that."

"Then what the hell happened?"

"The world ended."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one." Future Dean grabbed a  rifle leaning against the wall, disassembled it, and started cleaning the barrel.

"You don't stop looking at someone like that because the world's ending." Future Dean didn't answer immediately. He screwed the barrel back together, checked the sight, then reached for another box of shells.

"…No" Dean waited. Future Dean kept working. "You stop because every time she looks at you..." He finally spoke, eyes fixed on the rifle instead of his younger self. "...she reminds you of the man you used to be."

Silence settled between them.

Future Dean slid the rifle into its case before speaking again. "She still patches me up. Still waits up if I'm late. Still asks if I've eaten." He swallowed. "Still believes I'm worth saving."

Dean lowered his gaze. "...So why'd you push her away?"

Future Dean tightened one of the straps on the bag. "Because every day she stays..." he said softly, "...is another day she loses a little more because of me."

Dean frowned. "That's not your choice."

"No." Future Dean finally looked at him. "But it's the only one I had left."

The cabin fell quiet.

Future Dean busied himself with the last buckle on the duffel bag, pulling it tight before tossing it onto the table.

Dean leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"So this is it?"

"This is it."

"You just... exist like this?"

Future Dean didn't answer.

Outside, the camp carried on as usual. Distant voices. Someone chopping wood. A dog barking somewhere beyond the fence.

Then Dean frowned. "...Where is she?"

Future Dean didn't even look up. "What?"

"She was here." Dean walked to the window, scanning the camp."I don't see her."

 Future Dean finally stopped pretending not to hear. "...She probably went out."

Dean turned. "Went where?"

"Patrol." Dean's expression changed immediately.

"You let her go?" Future Dean exhaled through his nose.

"I didn't 'let' her do anything." Dean was already opening the cabin door. Outside, a hunter walked past carrying supplies.

"You!" Dean called. The man stopped.

"The girl who was here a while ago—where is she?"

The hunter looked confused. "North perimeter."

"How long ago?"

"Couple hours." Dean looked toward the tree line.

"...She's been gone for hours." Future Dean stepped outside behind him.

"When was she supposed to be back?"

The hunter shrugged. "About thirty minutes ago."

Dean's head snapped toward his older self.

"You don't seem very concerned."

Future Dean stared toward the woods. "...Miller's with her."

Dean frowned.

"So?"

"So he's good."

"You keep telling yourself that."

Another hunter crossed the camp. Future Dean stopped him. "You heard from Miller?"

Dean immediately looked over.

The hunter shook his head.

"No." Future Dean nodded once.

"Let me know the second they're back."

The man walked off. Dean looked at him for a long moment.

"...Thought you didn't need her close."

Future Dean didn't answer. He kept staring toward the trees. His jaw clenched. Without saying anything, he reached for the rifle hanging beside the cabin door, getting back to what he was doing before.

Dean noticed immediately. "What are you doing?"

Future Dean checked the magazine. "Nothing."

"Dean."

“She'll be fine."

Before either of them could say another word—

A voice echoed from the distance.

"Shift change!" Both Deans turned at the exact same time.

You walked in laughing softly with Miller, carrying two backpacks over one shoulder. Mud stained your jeans. There was a scrape across your forearm.

Nothing serious.

Future Dean's shoulders dropped so subtly most people would've missed it.

Dean didn't. You smiled when you saw them.

"Took longer than expected." Future Dean's eyes lingered on the scrape.

"What happened?" You looked down.

"Oh." You brushed it off with a laugh. "Nothing. Just caught a fence."

He stepped closer. "You should've radioed."

"...I forgot."

"Don't forget next time." His tone was flat. Almost cold.

But Dean caught it. He hadn't been angry. He'd been scared.

You smiled gently. "I'll remember."

Future Dean simply nodded and walked away before either of you could say anything else.

Dean just watched him leave.

Late that night, Dean couldn't sleep.

Soft voices drifted through the camp. Curious, he stepped onto the porch.

You were sitting on the wooden steps outside Future Dean's cabin.

His duffel bag rested open beside you. Without saying a word, you folded another clean shirt and tucked it inside.

Dean watched quietly from the shadows.

A box of ammunition.

Fresh bandages.

A canteen.

Everything went into the bag exactly where you'd packed it a hundred times before.

Future Dean appeared a moment later. He stopped when he saw you.

"...You don't have to do that."

"I know." You smoothed the shirt before closing the bag. "I wanted to.” A faint smile tugged at your lips. ”You always forget your bandages."

Future Dean glanced at the bag. "I would've survived."

"You always say that." The corner of his mouth lifted, barely.

You fastened the last buckle before standing and handing him the duffel.

"You know I'm not taking you." You looked down for a moment.

"I know."

"No arguments?"

"I stopped arguing years ago."

Dean outside closed his eyes. He hated how you sounded. It wasn't resignation. It was acceptance.

Future Dean lowered his head. "...I'm sorry."

You shook you head. "No Stepping closer, you cupped his face, waiting until he finally looked at you. "I knew who you were when I fell in love with you."

His eyes softened. "I just..." he whispered, almost to himself. "I don't know how to fix this."

"You don't." Future Dean laughed bitterly. You reached for his hand. "The man I fell in love with is still here." You rested his hand over his own chest. "You just stopped believing it."

Your eyes filled with tears. Slowly, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

You didn't know if he'd hug you back. You weren't even sure he'd let himself.

You just knew you wanted to hold him one more time.

A second passed when finally, his arms came around you, pulling you in just a little tighter than either of you expected. He rested his forehead against yours for the briefest moment.

"I'll be back." You smiled through your tears.

"Yeah."

But deep down, you both knew that wasn't true.

It wasn't that you didn't believe in him, but somewhere along the way, you'd stopped believing this war could still be won.

He pulled away first, as always. “Go to sleep” you nodded turning to leave, wiping at your eyes before anyone could notice.

Only then did you see him.

Dean.

He was standing a few feet away, frozen. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

"...How is he?" he asked quietly. The question caught you off guard. You looked back toward the cabin.

"Tired." Dean gave a humorless laugh.

"I figured."

You shook your head softly. "Not physically."

"What happened to him?" You looked at Dean for a long moment.

"You know..." you said with a sad smile, "...I spent years trying to figure that out." Dean frowned. “I used to think it happened all at once." Your eyes drifted toward the cabin again. "But it didn't."

Dean listened "It happened little by little. He stopped laughing. He stopped teasing people. He stopped letting anyone worry about him." A pause. "And one day he stopped believing he deserved to come home." Dean didn't know what to say. You looked back at him. "It's strange."

"What?"

"You still smile." Dean blinked. "You still look at people like they are family." Another small smile. "I forgot he used to do that."

Dean swallowed. "I don't want to become him."

Your expression softened immediately. "I hope you don’t."

Dean looked at the cabin for a moment.

"Do you think he’ll make it?"

Your eyes filled with quiet sadness. "No." The word barely rose above a whisper. You offered him a small, tired smile. "Goodnight, Dean."

Then you turned and walked away, leaving him alone with the answer.

“At least I don’t look like a school girl.” Sam quips, still trying to swallow his laughter. Dean turns with a huff, punching Sam on the arm. “Still hit the same… so does that mean you always hit like a girl…or?”

“Be serious! I’ve gone full Lindsay Lohan early career over here and you just wanna stand around and laugh about it. You remember Reno, Sam… she’s gonna be even more pissed than she was then if she wakes up a man. You know her stance on the patriarchy. Doesn’t matter if it’s one she likes or not, I ain’t hanging around to deal with the backlash of her attitude on testosterone.”

“Really Dean, Freaky Friday?” 

But then Sam thinks it over, instinctively rubbing the scar on his left temple. Sure it may have been Dean’s fault, but yet again he would be found guilty by proxy. He shudders, earning a knowing nod of understanding from his brother.

“Fine. Leave her a note and we’ll head back to town to figure out what went wrong. Who did you piss off last night?” 

“She doesn’t mind harmless flirting, as long as nothing comes of it. She flirts as much as I do, it’s part of the business, Sammy.”

“I’m not worried about her…yet. I’m worried about the witch or some other kinda monster that you scorned last night with your puppy dog eyes and childhood trauma humor.”

“Man, I’m innocent! I can’t help it if I’m naturally charming. Jealousy is a terrible color on you.”

“Just hurry up, or I’m leaving you here and letting you figure it out yourself.”

“You wouldn’t betray your own brother!”

“You seem more like a sister now anyways.” 

It sets Sam to laughing again as Dean sneaks in to leave a note and steal a kiss. 

“I don’t know, it’s just weird to kiss yourself good morning, it goes against god.”

“Yeah, and we know first hand how weird he likes his stories.” Sam adds, parking the car outside the twenty four hour diner the three of you had visited last night.

“That’s what I’m saying here, I don’t know what kinda twisted freak finds joy in this.” Dean huffs as he climbs out of the car. 

“Your skirt’s stuck in your underwear, dude.” Sam sighs, turning away from the sight. 

“Man, don’t be a perv, this shit is already uncomfortable… I see now why she goes on and on about the inherent evilness of bras.”

“Did you have to wear a skirt though?” Sam asks, back still turned.

“My clothes didn’t fit…” 

“I didn’t even know she owned a skirt, she’s got a jean collection to rival yours.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy. I happen to like this skirt on her…uh, me…us? Come on, quit procrastinating, she’s gonna be up soon.”

Sam waits until Dean passes him, heels clacking on the pavement. “She owns heels?”

“Jealousy Sam, jealousy.”

They find a seat at the bar, the small space already packed with what appears to be every member of the community’s male senior citizen population despite the fact sunrise was still an hour away. Sam orders a vegetable omelet and Dean orders The Hog Heaven Deluxe, much to each other’s chagrin.

“Sure can put away a lot of meat for such a pretty thing.” Dean’s neighbor quips. It garners his I will kill you look, but it just makes the old man laugh, sweat jiggling down his forehead.

“Look man, I’m already having a shit day, why don’t you fuck off?” He tries, just wanting to be left alone with his bacon.

“And such language for such delicate lips.” Wrinkled hands reach out to touch his own.

“Ok, you’re asking for it. I’m gonna beat your ass.” Dean seethes as he hops off his stool, heels clicking on the linoleum. Instinctively he reaches for his gun, the soft swish of skirt bringing him back to his current reality.

“Pretty and feisty.” His tormentor says, looking through Dean to Sam. “She with you? Might want to get her some midol, seems like she’s on her period.”

“Ok, time for you to leave.” Sam says, standing up from his stool where he had been watching with a grin.

The stranger assesses Sam and nods, leaving a stack of ones before slinking out the front door.

“Shut it.” Dean warns as Sam turns with a smug grin.

“Ok, everyone that was here when we rolled through a bit ago is still here… all exhausted, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. I’m at a loss for this one. I’m afraid we may need the backup she can provide.” 

“No way, Sam. We gotta fix it before she wakes up.”

“Ok, let’s go over it again. What happened before you woke me up?”

“I told you, nothing. Woke up to go pee… pissed all over myself and the floor. Looked down to see what the problem was and found…boobies” A small grin spreads across his face despite himself. “And well, then I saw myself in bed and woke you up.”

“And last night?”

“We stopped at this diner a little after midnight, you were there, you bitched about our triple bacon burgers. I don’t even remember seeing a waitress because my eyes were burning so bad from the drive. Then I crashed in bed and woke up a beautiful bouncy baby girl.”

“And the case was a vamp, so that shouldn’t be related…” Sam muses, perplexed.

“It’s what I’m saying, it don’t make sense.”

“You know what we have to do, Dean.”

“I don’t wanna.” He whines, and it makes Sam chuckle, because it looks the same as when you do it.

“Ok, come on Polly Pocket, let’s go wake up a nightmare.” Sam sighs, leaving a tip before he stands.

“Fine, but you wake her up.”

“Why me?” Sam cries in shock.

“I’m literally just a girl, Sammy.”

“Get in the car or I swear to god.” Sam sighs, climbing into the passenger seat.

It’s a silent ride back to the motel, neither one wanting to discuss the fate that lies ahead of them. They arrive with no more information than they left with, no plan on how to handle the situation. Dean leaves Baby idling for a few confidence building minutes, before accepting his fate.

“Ok, here we go.” Dean sighs, checking his reflection in the mirror.

“Really, Dean? Now is the time to be concerned about appearances?”

“When you turn into a pretty girl we’ll discuss priorities, for now zip it.”

They sneak in, Sam first, Dean clicking behind him. They were hoping to get at least another few minutes to construct a plan before you awake. Their plan did not work out in their favor.

“Boys.” You say, seated in the shadows for dramatic affect. It works, because they both jump, and Dean slides between Sam and the wall.

“Listen, we… we tried to fix it, honest…but we couldn’t figure out what caused it.” Sam starts, spilling his words out one atop the other.

Their nervousness makes you smile, you love the fact that the winchesters fear you more than anything else.

“Come here, pretty girl.” You call, ignoring Sam. Dean whines, peeking from behind Sam with your own eyes, big and nervous. “Now.”

He obeys, confused a bit by the dynamic. Usually he has the control, but then you are him now, so why not. His mind is a confusion of emotions and it bleeds onto his face, well your face, and you get to watch him work out his next move in real time.

Sam picks up on the cards Dean is willing to play to stay in your good graces and makes an attempt to shift himself towards the door. However you catch it immediately, cutting off his movement with a glare and slow shake of your head.

“I don’t know what happened.” Dean whines, lowering himself down onto his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“How sorry?” You ask, grabbing him by his chin to lift his eyes to meet yours.

“I mean…” His mind processes what you usually do to him in order to get out of situations like this. But you are him now, at least his body, and he can’t help but frown at the thought of doing that to himself… intriguing, but wasn’t today was weird enough, but then again...

The look he wears cracks your reserve and sends you into a fit of laughter. 

“Ok, ok, get up off your knees. Sam peel yourself off the wall. We have work to do… seems like I may have fucked up the Latin last night when I was doing what I thought was some easy work.”

“I told you it wasn’t my fault, Sammy!” Dean yells, relieved, while attempting to jump up from the floor as he normally does. Instead his heels stick in the carpet and his ankles twists, leaving him in a pile on the floor.

“At least you’re pretty.” You say, stepping over him to hand a spell book to Sam.

“Can we maybe fix it tomorrow? Being a chick is kinda growing on me.” Dean asks from the floor. “ Sam, why don’t you go grab us lunch?”

“It’s literally six am, Dean.”

“ Have it your way. Leave or stay, I’m not paying for your therapy for what happens next.” Dean says, standing to grab you and pull you towards the bed.

“I’ll be back at noon.” Sam sighs, heading out the door with haste.

“Bring burgers.” Your voices call after him.

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s see what those lips do.” You manage to say with a mostly straight face.

He shivers. “Don’t say that…it’s just I thought this man at the diner was gonna eat me this morning.”

“I’d kill him.” It’s weird for Dean to hear his words with your ears, but he doesn’t mind it.

“Hey handsome.” He asks, climbing on the mattress and sinking down onto knees and ankles that don’t hurt. His voice seems even more timid since it’s yours. “You know that thing I… fuck, I mean you do…the one you.. I mean I really love?” Soft eyes peer up at you, small grin playing on his lips.

“Oh, that’s rich…that’s what you think I look and sound like when I’m asking for it?” You laugh, but you close the space between you two. It’s not everyday you’re presented with an opportunity like this so why waste it.

A tiny pout, true to him regardless of the body he’s in, appears and you lean in to kiss it away.

“Anything for you sweetheart.” You murmur against your own lips.

The End

“Ben, no!” You said, surging forward and grabbing onto his arm. 

He smirked up at you. “Worried about me, doll?” His voice was softer towards you but it held a teasing tone. “I’ll be fine. I’ve seen worse. Hell, I’ve been inside a lot worse fuckin’ places.”

You still had a hold of his arm. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what’s down there,” you tried to reason.

Ben gently peeled your hand off of him. “Don’t worry, doll. I’m the most durable one here.” 

With that he began to climb down the ladder. At the bottom, he found a string of mine lights and flipped them on. The hole was actually a dirt tunnel that stretched out before him. Ben disappeared from sight. 

As you raised your gaze you met Dean’s eyes. They were watching you intently, dark and unreadable, catching every single detail of how your hand had lingered on Ben’s arm—and how quickly you’d rushed to stop him.

He didn't say a word. He just held your gaze for a long, heavy second, his jaw working as he swallowed down whatever bitter comment was clawing its way up his throat. Then, with a cold, dismissive jerk of his chin, he stepped right past you toward the opening of the hatch.

“I’m going down,” Dean grunted, his voice clipped and flat as he grabbed the top rung of the ladder.

“Dean, wait—” you started, reaching out for him out of instinct, but your fingers only caught air. Again.

“Someone’s gotta make sure Rambo doesn’t blow us all to hell,” Dean cut in without looking back at you, swinging his boots onto the rungs and starting his descent into the pale, yellow glare of the tunnel lights below.

You stood at the edge, the knot in your stomach tightening so hard it made you nauseous.

A heavy, warm hand settled gently against the back of your shoulder. You turned to see Beau standing right behind you, his face etched with quiet concern. He wasn't glaring, and he wasn't posturing—he just looked at you with those steady jade eyes, offering a subtle, grounding presence amidst the storm.

“Hey,” Beau said softly, his voice a low rumble meant only for you. “Take a breath, darlin’. We’re right here.”

“He’s pissed at me,” you whispered, staring down into the glowing hole where Dean’s footsteps were fading into the dirt tunnel.

Beau let out a slow, quiet sigh, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle against your shoulder before he slowly withdrew his hand, stepping up to the ladder himself. “Dean’s hurt,” Beau corrected gently, looking down into the hole before meeting your eyes one last time. “And when men like us get hurt, we get stupid. Stay close behind me, alright? I’m right in front of you.”

Beau swung himself onto the ladder and began to climb down into the dim, earth-scented tunnel, leaving you alone on the grass for just a fraction of a second before you forced your feet to follow him down into the dark.

You followed Beau until the tunnel opened up into a medium sized “room” with dirt walls and ceiling, as if someone had just dug it out by hand. You were actually surprised it was as big as it was. On the far wall there was another tunnel, but that one wasn’t lit. Off to the right was what looked like an occult altar. There were lots of candles, bones of small animals from the looks of it, and a large, ancient looking book. There was also a pair of antlers  hung above it. They didn’t look like they were from a deer. Dean was standing there with a piece of paper in his hand. Ben was across the room trying to look down the other tunnel.  

The hanging lights illuminated the room well and as soon as you and Beau stepped in Dean turned and let out a frustrated huff. “Are you fucking stupid, Sheriff?” he snapped. “Why the hell would you bring her down here? We don’t know what the hell’s down here!”

Ben turned and glared at Beau. “The hunter is right. And you left the hatch unattended. Are you trying to get us locked in here to starve? Get her out of here. Right fucking now,” he barked, his tone possessive like Beau was risking his most prized possession. 

Beau glared right back at both of them. “Fine,” he gritted out. “We’ll be right at the top if you need us.”

He turned and led you back the way you came. As you both reached the ladder, the sunlight shone down through the opening brightly. Once you were back up top you paced around the yard near the hatch. You couldn’t calm your nerves— for both the current situation and the fact that Dean was so upset with you.

You kicked at small tufts of grass as you paced back and forth, your breathing shallow and uneven. Every time you glanced at the dark opening of the hatch, a fresh spike of anxiety shot through your chest.

Dean’s furious, snap-jawed tone was still ringing in your ears. He’d looked right through you—like you were a liability, or worse, just someone who’d stomped all over him. And Ben... Ben’s terrifying, possessive authority in that room had set every alarm off in your head, especially after the way he’d laid claim to you in the dark just hours ago.

Beau stepped out of the shadow of the large oak tree he had been leaning against in the yard, letting out a heavy, tired breath. He didn’t try to stop your frantic pacing; he just stood a few feet away, keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding tree line while giving you the space to let off steam.

“He’s not actually mad at you for coming down,” Beau said softly, his deep voice slicing through the frantic loop in your head.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to look at him. “What?”

Beau offered a faint smile, leaning back against the oak tree again and jamming his hands into his pockets. “Dean. He threw a fit at me, but it wasn’t about the hatch or safety. He lashed out because he’s bleeding on the inside, darlin’. A man like that—he doesn’t know how to handle seeing you pull toward someone else. So he turns it into anger. It’s easier for him to be pissed than to be hurt.”

Your stomach twisted into a tight, agonizing knot. “Beau, I didn’t mean to–”

“I know,” Beau interrupted gently, his jade eyes holding yours with zero judgment, only a steady, unwavering warmth. “You’re trapped in a place that doesn’t make sense, without your memories, surrounded by three men who are all trying to pull you in different directions. You’re just trying to survive the night.” He took a slow step toward you, stopping just close enough to offer comfort without crowding you. “Don’t tear yourself apart over Dean’s pride. When he comes back up, he’ll cool down eventually.”

Suddenly, the lights went out in the tunnel. You rushed over to the edge. “Dean! Ben!” you yelled into the darkness. 

Silence. 

You looked up at Beau, your eyes full of panic. Before he had a chance to respond, you heard a curse. Ben. You dropped to your knees at the top of the ladder as if getting closer to the opening would allow you to see anything in the black hole. Finally, Dean called out “We’re fine. We’re coming up.”

A few moments later, Dean emerged, with Ben right behind him. You had taken a step back to allow them to climb out of the hole. You wanted to throw your arms around both of them but Dean had already avoided your touch twice and you didn’t want to hurt him even more by hugging Ben and not him. 

I hate this place! And whoever the hell took my goddamn memories! 

You finally let out the breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “What happened?” you asked, looking between them. 

“Dunno,” Dean muttered, eyes not meeting yours. “Lights just went out.”

“Sun’s about to go down. Why don’t we get some dinner and pick this back up in the morning?” Beau offered. 

Ben didn’t say anything, he just slammed the hatch closed and then stalked towards the house. 

“Yeah. Dinner,” Dean said flatly and then he turned and followed Ben inside. 

You looked at Beau and he gave you a sympathetic little nod, before he held his hand out, gesturing that he’d follow you in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner had been tense. Dean grabbed his plate and took it up to his room. Ben had showered and then came down and grabbed a plate and stood at the counter eating, like he couldn’t be bothered to sit at the table with you and Beau. He didn’t look mad necessarily, just on edge. 

Beau on the other hand was steady as ever. He had helped get the food together and offered conversation during dinner even though he could tell your mind was elsewhere. When you were done he took your plate from the table with his own. 

Ben didn’t say much during dinner but his eyes were sharp and always on you and Beau. You wondered if Dean had said something to him. The way Dean was acting you would have thought he caught you fucking Beau in the middle of the kitchen. That thought was short-lived. 

This is your doing. You don’t get to turn it around on him. You chastised yourself. 

You finally excused yourself and went to your bedroom. This time you locked the door and shoved a chair up against it. You didn’t want any visitors tonight. You were exhausted and your chest ached. You curled up in the heavy warm blanket and passed out almost immediately.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You squinted against the stripe of sunlight hitting you right in the eyes. You groaned and turned your back to the window. The clock on the nightstand read 8:17 a.m. You laid there for another ten minutes, waking up and trying not to think about Dean but you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still mad. 

You finally forced yourself to your feet. As you moved the chair away from the door you thought about how none of them had tried to come to your room last night. Not even Ben who refused to leave the night before. You were a little surprised. A locked door and a chair couldn’t have kept Ben out if he wanted in. You wondered again if Dean had said something to him about Beau’s embrace in the kitchen. 

You shook your head as if that could clear your thoughts. You padded to the bathroom, completely distracted and wrapped up in your own thoughts; your own little pity party. You opened the door and stepped in before you realized that Beau was in there. He immediately turned his head when you walked in. 

Beau’s wet hair was pushed back. He had a towel slung loosely around his hips, dipping a little lower on one side. The steam clung to his muscular chest and rigid abs. Your breath caught in your throat. After a moment you realized you were staring, mouth slightly agape. “I’m sorry!” you blurted out, turning away. 

“Well, mornin’ to you too, darlin’,” he said and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Hey,” he said, reaching for your shoulder. “It’s okay, really.”

“No. Uh, I’m sorry,” you said again. “I’ll wait in the hall,” you said before quickly stepping out of the room before he could even reply. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest. 

God, he’s so fucking sexy. 

You shook your head and let out a small snort at yourself.

They all are. They’re the same fucking man, physically. Get a grip!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After your shower and drying your hair, you stepped back into your bedroom, towel wrapped tightly around you. You opened the dresser and your expression turned to one of pure confusion. There was only one pair of underwear now, it was a thong with lacy sides and a satin crotch. You don’t recall seeing anything that sexy in there before. You opened the other drawers and they were all empty. No shirts, no shorts. Nothing but the single thong. 

What the hell?

You strode over to the closet and it was completely empty too except for a single dress hanging up. It was a cute little yellow sundress with small white flowers on it. The straps tied at the top of the shoulders and the bust had a cute ruching. You frowned. This closet had been full of random clothes since you woke up here. Now, instead of a tshirt the only option you had was a little dress that covered much less and would surely draw extra attention from the guys. 

Goddamn, magic house! 

You glared at the ceiling. “This isn’t funny!” you hissed outloud, hoping that whoever was behind this could hear you. 

There was no response, of course—just the quiet, uncanny hum of the house settling around you.

With a frustrated huff, you grabbed the thong and the sundress. Leaving a towel wrapped around you wasn’t an option with three overly attentive men roaming the hallways, so you didn’t really have a choice. You pulled the lacy fabric on, the smooth silk feeling entirely too delicate against your skin, before slipping the dress over your head.

You reached up to tie the thin straps over your shoulders, trying to pull them tight enough so the ruched bust felt secure, but there was no denying it: the dress fit like it had been tailor-made to highlight every curve. It clung to your waist, exposed a soft curve of cleavage, and flared out softly around your thighs, ending well above your knees. It was bright, airy, and undeniably eye-catching—a complete 180 from yesterday’s t-shirt and jeans.

You grabbed the only other thing out of the closet which was a pair of sandals that had a small white flower on the top to match the dress. They were your size. Of course they were. 

You gave the mirror a bitter glare. The “house” wasn’t just feeding you; it was stirring the damn pot.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you opened your bedroom door and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen.

The moment your feet hit the hardwood at the bottom of the stairs, the low murmur of conversation in the kitchen cut out completely.

All three of them were in there.

Beau was leaning against the counter, a mug halfway to his lips, fully dressed now in a fitted gray shirt. His jade eyes darkened the second they landed on you, sweeping down the length of the yellow dress before snapping back up to your face. A slow, heavy beat passed before a faint, admiring smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though he kept his mouth shut.

Ben was sitting on one of the barstools, a plate of eggs in front of him. He froze mid-chew, his dark eyes locking onto the bare stretch of your legs, then tracing up the ruched top to the exposed skin of your collarbones. A low, dark rumble vibrated in his chest as his gaze narrowed, instantly possessive. He set his fork down with an aggressive clack.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Ben growled, his gravelly voice slicing through the thick silence.

Before you could defend yourself, Dean—who had been standing by the sink with his back turned—swiveled around. His green eyes hit you like a physical force. He choked on his coffee. For a fraction of a second, the cold, distant mask he’d been wearing since yesterday completely shattered, replaced by an intense, heated flare of pure desire that made your skin prickle. But just as fast as his reaction had appeared it vanished, his jaw set into a hard, rigid line. He looked away, turning his back to you again to stare out the kitchen window, his knuckles white against the rim of his coffee mug. Ben glared at his back. 

“The closet was cleared out,” you said quickly, feeling the heat rising all the way up your neck as you stepped into the room. “The dress and a pair of underwear were the only things left in the room. Unless one of you is playing a prank then the house did it.”

Ben let out a harsh, bitter huff, pushing himself up from the barstool and towering over the counter. “So the magic house wants you to parade around in something that barely covers your ass? Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Ben,” Beau interjected smoothly, though his voice had lost its usual laid-back ease, carrying a sharp, protective edge as he stepped slightly between Ben and your path. “You saw the groceries appear yesterday out of nowhere. Whatever’s running this place is playing games.” Beau’s eyes flicked back to you, softening just a fraction, though the tension in his broad shoulders remained coiled tight. “And I think this one is aimed at me.”

Beau’s eyes met yours. “Darlin’, that is the sundress I mentioned when we were trying to jog your memory. My favorite one that drives me crazy every time you wear it.”

Your breath hitched audibly. 

Dean turned back around again and looked a little longer this time. “Shit,” he muttered. 

Everyone’s eyes shot to him. 

“What?” Beau asked. 

Dean dragged his hand over his stubbled jaw. “That dress. It’s one you have back home. You wore it last time we went to Jody’s lakehouse,” he said, his eyes raking over you before he could stop them. 

Your mouth dropped open but before you could even think, Ben took a step forward. He was still across the kitchen but his glare lightened slightly as he looked at you closer. 

“Fuckin’ Christ. Yeah. It is.”

“It is what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“You had one in New York too. I remember it because we got into a fight over it,” Ben muttered. 

“Because you were trying to tell me what I can and can’t wear?” you guessed, raising a brow and challenging him. 

“No.”

You waited.

Silence.

Finally you said, “Well, what then?”

His piercing green eyes locked onto yours. “Because I ripped it off of you and you had to throw it away. After I ruined you just the way you like, you had the nerve to take one look at the dress and get all pissed off at me. Didn’t talk to me for a whole fucking day over that goddamn dress,” he said, voice gravelly.

A shiver ran down your spine at the dark, raw edge in Ben’s voice, the memory—or his version of it—hanging heavily in the air between you. The sheer impossibility of what was happening made your head spin. Three completely different men from three different lives, all recognizing the exact same dress down to the threads.

Beau’s fists clenched at his side, his jaw went rigid, his eyes narrowing at Ben with a dangerous, lethal quiet that proved he wasn’t nearly as passive as he liked to pretend. Beside him, Dean let out a harsh, bitter huff, setting his coffee mug down on the counter with a heavy thud.

“Right,” Dean muttered, his voice dripping with venom as his green eyes swept over you one last time before hardening into steel. “So the house isn’t just giving us food. It’s custom-ordering psychological torture.”

“It’s trying to provoke us,” Beau said firmly, though his voice was tight as he stepped fully into your line of sight, blocking Ben’s intense, possessive stare. He kept his tone steady, looking right at you with gentle, grounded concern. “It knows what pushes our buttons, darlin’. It’s picking at the scab on purpose.”

“Provoke us or not,” Ben growled, taking a slow, heavy step around the kitchen island, his eyes locked onto Beau’s back, “I don’t give a shit. What happened in New York happened. I don’t need a magic house to remind me.”

“Back off, Ben,” Dean barked, his patience finally snapping as he stepped right into the space between Ben and Beau. His chest was heaving, the cold mask completely gone now, replaced by the sheer, volatile frustration of a man at his absolute limit. “We’ve got a hatch sitting out there in the backyard and a house that’s literally dressing her up to turn us against each other. If you want to fall for the bait like an idiot, go right ahead, but I’m not doing this today.”

“Who’s falling for bait, Winchester?” Ben sneered, completely ignoring Dean’s warning as he took another aggressive stride forward, his massive frame towering over the space. “You’re the one sulking around like a kicked dog because she didn’t run to you. And the Sheriff here?” Ben let out a dark, mocking laugh, his eyes fixing on Beau. “He’s just waiting for a turn.”

That was it. The quiet, calm front Beau had maintained all morning vanished in an instant.

Beau spun around, his jade eyes blazing with a sudden, lethal intensity. Before Ben could even finish his smirk, Beau stepped straight into his space, grabbing Ben by the front of his shirt and shoving him back against the kitchen counter with enough force to make the dishes rattle.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Beau growled, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying rasp you’d never heard from him before.

Ben didn’t even flinch. A dark, dangerous grin spread across his face as his hands slammed onto Beau’s forearms, his knuckles going white as he gripped Beau’s wrists, his posture going rock-hard as he prepared to throw Beau clear across the room. “Touch me again, Sheriff, and I’ll break your arms.”

“Hey! Both of you, knock it the fuck off!” Dean yelled, surging forward to grab Beau’s shoulder and shove himself between the two men before a fist could connect.

“Guys, stop!” you screamed, taking a step back as the raw, suffocating violence in the room peaked.

Before Ben could hurl Beau into the island or Beau could throw a punch, a sharp, heavy metallic CLANG echoed from the back of the house—loud enough to vibrate straight through the floorboards under your feet.

The hatch in the backyard had just slammed shut. Which meant it had been reopened. 

Part 5