#jjr100

You stretched but immediately winced at how uncomfortable it made you. Getting up to put the book away, you took a quick glance at the room and found it to be empty. You were pretty sure Sam and Dean were around somewhere, even though you thought it possible you had just slept for literal decades, judging by the heavy drowsiness still fogging your brain. In which case, both Winchesters would be long gone and the world outside the bunker had probably ended. 

On the off-chance that wasn’t true, you decided to have a look around and see where the boys were. You shuffled forward on sock-covered feet, but you had barely made your way out of the library when a loud bang sounded from the hallway, followed by a string of curse words. 

Your hands reached for your belly, covering it instinctively as if to shield your unborn child’s ears from the profanities that carried toward you down the hallway. You recognized the voice as Dean’s, all sleepiness gone in an instant at the possibility of him being in trouble. 

When you reached the door of the room you shared with Dean, you paused. Sam’s voice mixed with Dean’s but you realized they were coming from next door. 

The room next to your bedroom had been empty before you and your husband decided to turn it into a nursery. Nothing much had happened inside so far. All you did was clear out the old Men of Letters’ furniture and paint the walls a soft blue color you picked out after hours of deliberation. Stretched out wide over one of the walls was a colorful rainbow, which you had painted as well, back when you were still able to see your own feet. 

You walked over to the closed door and made a mental note to replace the numbers on it with a cute little sign once you and Dean had decided on a name for the baby. Your hand rested on the door handle and you were about to enter, when Dean’s voice sounded again. 

 “Time for plan B.” His voice was more gruff than usual, indicating he was not in a good mood. 

“We didn’t even have a plan A.” Sam’s response came quick. He sounded as annoyed with his older brother as ever. 

“Shut up, Sammy. You agreed to help me with this.” 

“And I will, once you learn how to read.” 

 “Alright, that’s it. You listen to me…” Dean started, his volume increasing. You decided this would be as good a moment as any to step in and see what was going on. 

The moment the door opened, Sam and Dean went quiet and looked up at you. Both men were sitting on the floor opposite each other. Their long legs were spread out in front of them and they were surrounded by pieces of wood, nails, and assorted tools. You even saw a dangerously sharp looking saw propped up against the wall. Next to them stood a contraption that looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t until you saw the empty box in the corner of the room and the images it had printed on the side, that you realized what the franken-creation next to Sam and Dean was supposed to be. 

“I…” You tried to think of something nice to say. Maybe it would diffuse the tense atmosphere in the room. But you couldn’t think of anything and you didn’t want to lie, so you concluded with, “…have no words.” 

Dean reached out to smack Sam’s shoulder. “I told you!” he hissed. “We did it wrong.” 

Sam rolled his eyes so hard you half expected them to pop out and land at your feet. “Of course, we did it wrong, Dean. My unborn niece or nephew can probably see we did it wrong. Does that look like a crib to you?” He pointed an accusing finger at their unfortunate end result. 

You had ordered a cradle online a few days ago. It was a perfect match with the rest you had planned for the nursery. However, at the moment it didn’t exactly look like a baby would be able to sleep in it. 

Sam looked up at you now. He saw the troubled look in your eyes and quickly got up to put a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said softly. “We’ll fix it.” Then his voice changed again. “It’s just been a challenge so far because someone doesn’t know how to properly read an instruction manual.” His gaze found his brother’s and the two men stared each other down for an unnerving moment. 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean’s voice finally boomed. “Yeah, well… Neither can you!”  

It’s a good thing you didn’t marry the man for his comebacks. 

You put up both your hands, palms forward as if to surrender yourself. “Okay, if we could all just take a breather here,” you suggested with a hopeful tone in your voice. 

Dean didn’t move, but Sam complied. His chest heaved as he breathed in through his nose. Then he turned his attention back to you. “All I’m saying is, when I offered to help with this, I thought Dean would at least have a plan of attack, but he didn’t. Instead he literally attacked and went at it like a freaking animal.” Sam shook his head. “Now we’re gonna have to start this whole thing over from scratch.” 

Dean tried to look angry at first. He clearly didn’t like being called out like this, and struggling with the different parts of the crib for as long as they had, Dean had clearly become grumpy. Then it seemed Sam’s last words finally started to dawn on him and his expression changed to one of pure terror. 

“No way,” he said almost breathlessly. "I am not starting over. Nuh-uh, not happening.” 

You took a step forward and put your hand against Dean’s cheek. It had the intended effect; he visibly relaxed and his eyes softened as he looked up at you. Your thumb gently stroked his stubbled skin. 

“Why don’t you guys take a break,” you suggested, fearing your husband’s sanity if he didn’t step away from this for a moment. “I, for one, am starving. You’re not gonna let me eat dinner all by myself, are you?” 

To your surprise, Dean’s perfect lips pulled into a smile. Behind you, Sam opened the door a little further and stepped into the hallway. 

“I’ll head out to get some grub,” he offered. “A new place opened downtown, they’re supposed to have the best burgers.” 

Your mouth started to water at the mere thought of the junk food Sam was about to get for you. Of course he knew what to suggest to make you happy. You had practically been breathing cheeseburgers. At first your cravings had been all over the place, but these past few weeks it had gotten stuck on anything fat and greasy. The other day, you had finished your burger before Dean had even started his, a miraculous turn of events, if you said so yourself. 

Sam walked ahead, already on his way to the garage. It left you alone with Dean and when the older Winchester went to pass you, your hand reached out to grab his. He stopped and turned to look at you. 

Your eyes gazed back up into his. There was an appreciative smile hanging around your lips, yet your eyebrows were pulled together slightly. 

Dean reached up and let his rough thumb smooth out the soft skin on your forehead. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping a little closer. You noticed he glanced down quickly toward your baby bump and worry flashed over his face for just a second. You shook your head as if to assure him it didn’t have anything to do with the baby. Not directly, anyway. 

“I worry about you,” you confessed to him. You reached out to take his other hand as well so you were holding both of them. 

Dean seemed genuinely surprised by that. “Me?” he asked. “Why would you be worried about me? Sweetheart, I’m good. You’re the one doing all the work here.” He got that expectant look on his face, the one he always got when he was waiting for his words to make you smile or chuckle. 

You couldn’t, though. Not yet. Instead, the frown reappeared on your face. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice now so soft you wanted to feel it against your skin. “What’s going on? You can tell me.” 

“I know,” you nodded. “It’s just… Are you sure your little outburst just now had nothing to do with you being stressed? You know, about what’s to come?” Now it was your turn to glance down at your belly. 

Dean let go of one of your hands to gently press two fingers underneath your chin and make you look back up at him again. “Trust me when I say, I have never felt more certain about anything in my life than I feel about us and our future right now.” 

You closed your eyes, as if to savor this moment forever. Finally, you smiled. 

Dean leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “And I’ll fix that crib as soon as possible,” he promised. “Even if it’s gonna take a bunch of hocus pocus to get it done.” 

“Let’s eat first,” you reminded him while you started tugging him toward the doorway. But apparently Dean had yet to finish making his point known. 

His face dead serious all of a sudden, “If anything is to blame, it’s this furniture from hell.” 

“You mean Ikea?” 

“That’s what I said; hell.” Dean shook his head. “The damn instructions don’t even have words in them, Y/N!” He sounded outraged, as if a great injustice had been laid upon him. “You can give me a completely dismantled car and I’ll put it back together just like that, no problem. But this… No, this is pure evil. I’m telling you.” 

You laughed, amused by how deeply rooted Dean’s hate for instruction manuals apparently was. “All right, I get it,” you soothed him. “Now can we please go sit down? My feet are killing me.” 

That seemed to snap Dean out of his tirade. He hadn’t realized how long you had been standing up straight already. Though to be fair, neither had you until that point, but you were glad Dean finally started walking with you toward the kitchen. 

You promised to help out with building the cradle after dinner, and Dean accepted your offer under one condition. 

“Nothing too physical,” he said. “Sammy and I can bring one of those chairs in from the library for you to sit in while you boss us around.” 

A slap was heard as your hand came in contact with his arm. 

“I mean ‘help’!” Dean quickly tried to save himself. “While you help us.” 

With Sam gone to help out Rowena with something out west, Dean had set off on this hunt alone. He had been in town for less than two hours when you found him. There was something in the way you looked at him that gave Dean an inkling of your intentions, and they didn’t seem to be strictly case related. 

It had been a while since Dean worked with another hunter, whom he had never met before. He had been surprised at how easy it had been. Especially since both of you had not exactly been able to focus solely on the tasks at hand.  

The first couple of comments had been innocent enough. He liked how he could make you bite your bottom lip with a few simple, well-timed words. And he certainly didn’t mind the suggestive remarks you had slipped in whenever the moment allowed for them.  

Another one of those inappropriate pieces of commentary was flung right his way when Dean stepped out of the car. He saw you leaning against your own vehicle a couple of spots down, a smirk on your alluring lips as you took in the sight of the dirt-covered hunter.  

“You are one filthy man, Winchester,” you said, pushing yourself off against the side of your car before making your way over to him.  

How was it you had only a few smears of dust on your shirt and he got the full facial? Not fair.  

“You don’t know the half of it,” he heard himself respond before he could think better of it.  

The smirk on your lips only grew. “Need some help cleanin’ up?” you asked, voice airy and casual but eyes darkened with an underlying, less innocent, motive. “’Cause if so, I’d be happy to offer you my services. I’m really... thorough.”  

Dean’s eyebrows shot up for just a second. He caught himself and quickly turned his expression back to neutral. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat when it suddenly felt awfully dry. “Think I can handle it. I’m quite the expert at getting those hard to reach spots just right.”  

He shut his car door a little harder than intended and started for his motel room, leaving you behind on the parking lot to mull over his words.  

The thought of you followed him into the shower. As he rid his skin of dirt, Dean couldn’t help but imagine it was you who was touching him. Your hands, rough from hunting but skillful and efficient. He could already feel his cock beginning to harden.  

There was still a voice inside his head telling him to walk away from this, to block it all out and ban it from his mind. That voice had been there since the moment he had laid eyes on you. There was no doubt you were younger than him, and not just by a year or two. Calling Bobby to check if you were legit – as he did every time before trusting someone new to hunt alongside him – had confirmed his suspicions.  

But the chemistry was there. The constant flirting. There was no denying that damned sexual tension. It hung in the air between you and weighed down on his conscience. Still, so far, it had done jack to keep him from flirting with you and augmenting the flames.  

You were an adult. He knew there was nothing wrong with the thoughts he was having. But he also knew he had changed over the years. His days of sleeping around with whomever he could persuade with a mere look, had long since ended.  

Dean muttered a few curse words he had picked up from his dad at a very young age and turned off the meager shower stream. After taking care of his little problem, with nothing but you on his mind, he got out of the tub and grabbed a towel.  

Fifteen minutes later he was hunched over the trunk of the Impala, forcefully stuffing his duffel bag alongside his machete that still had some vamp blood on it.  

“Not leaving without saying goodbye, are you?”  

Dean turned around to see you walking over to him across the parking lot. He could tell you had taken a shower yourself; your hair was damp and you were wearing a different set of clothes. Now that the hunt was over, you seemed to have traded your practical jeans and a t-shirt for a denim skirt and a yellow top with thin straps Dean would have loved to slide off your exposed shoulders.  

“Don’t tell me you’re going to get all emotional now,” he said, trying to force his eyes to focus back on your face.  

You scoffed. “You make me feel a lot of things, Winchester, but sentiment isn’t one of them.”  

Dean closed the trunk and walked around the car. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it simply because he had finished packing up his things, or if he felt the need to put some distance in between the two of you. There was no telling what he might do if you got close enough for him to see whether you were wearing a bra underneath that top or not.  

You didn’t notice his futile attempt and just continued to slowly close the gap.  

“I was thinking,” you spoke, “maybe we could go grab a drink. You know, celebrate our win from earlier?”  

Dean watched as the space between him and you grew smaller with your slow approach. “Not sure there’s much to celebrate, sweetheart,” he said, hand already on the door of his car as if he would jump right in and speed off. “This was probably one of the easiest hunts I’ve ever been on.”  

“That’s because you had me covering your ass.” Your grin turned cocky. Dean decided he liked that look on you. “But you know what they say; it’s important to celebrate the small victories every once in a while. Besides, from what I’ve heard, you’re not usually one to shy away from a drink or two.”  

By the time your lips stopped moving, so had the rest of your body, leaving the two of you only inches apart. Dean noticed you were about to take a final step so your bodies would be touching. He took a step back in an attempt to keep that from happening, but soon felt his back pressing against the side of the Impala.  

Dean cleared his throat. Why did it have to keep feeling so dry? 

“That so?” he said, trying to keep up the casual façade just like you seemed to be doing so effortlessly. “What else have you heard about me?”  

“Not much,” you simply shrugged, “except...”  

You paused and took a moment to glance up at Dean through your eyelashes in a way that made him want to groan. But he clenched his jaw and suppressed the urge.   

Dean had a few ideas of the things other hunters out there were saying about him. The Winchesters had a reputation, as a family, but also individually. Whatever it was you had heard, he had a feeling it wouldn’t surprise him. 

He coaxed, “Except?” 

You were still glancing up at him in that irresistible way when you told him, “Everyone keeps telling me I should stay away from you.”  

If Dean hadn’t been so busy staring at your lips as they moved, he would have laughed. “Everyone’s probably right.”  

“Probably?” you repeated. An eyebrow shot up, pulling at your perfect features, while you seemed to be measuring the seriousness of his words. After a moment of contemplation, you decided, “I’ll take my chances.”  

Dean felt his brain scrambling for a way to respond. If the dumbfounded look on his face wasn’t giving him away already, the strain in his jeans probably did the trick.  

But your expression changed when he remained quiet. He watched you take a step back, giving him room to breathe. You turned your head but he still managed to catch the look of hurt that flashed through your eyes. It made his insides twist painfully.  

“Right,” you spoke as if you understood. Your head bobbed in a curt nod. “I’ll let you get back to packing.”  

You were an open book in that moment. Dean could see the doubt all over your features. You were most likely wondering if you had read the signs wrong. He had to admit, he had let himself go a little when flirting with you these past few days. But it had all been so easy, felt so natural, with you.  

Dean dragged a hand over his face and took a deep breath. When he noticed you starting to turn away, he said, “Listen, kid-”  

“I’m not a kid.” Your tone was harsh and judgmental. The look of hurt on your face made way for obstinacy.  

Yet, still, Dean couldn’t help but scoff at your words.  

The thunder in your eyes told him you didn’t like his reaction. “Ten years isn’t that much, Dean. I know you know it, too.” You weren’t wrong, but damn if he was going to admit that out loud.  

“Eleven,” was all he said instead.  

Your answer came quickly, “I’m turning thirty in three months.”  

“Right, which means, as of right now, you are twenty-nine. Which makes me over a decade your senior.” Dean was still debating whether or not this argument was even worth it.  

He should have expected your response, but it still managed to catch him off guard.  

“And?” Your tone was challenging, clearly daring him to give you a good reason why any of this was an issue.  

Dean only pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He looked over your face, took in your features and stopped at your eyes. They were hard; stubborn. But there was also still that clear hint of lust he had seen every time you had looked at him during the vampire hunt. He knew that was what it was, because he felt it, too.  

“And...” he started slowly, dragging out the word. Dean was trying to buy himself some more time to think this through, even though, deep inside, he knew he had already made his decision.  

There was a spark between you two that could no longer be denied the opportunity to turn into a sea of flames. Just because this wasn’t usually his thing anymore, didn’t mean he should deny himself what he so clearly wanted. It was obvious you both wanted this, and as long as you were two consenting adults, Dean knew he shouldn’t get in his own head so much.  

You had heard about his reputation and still you wanted to get closer instead of run the other way. Who was he to dismiss your grit? There was no need for him to suppress his urges when you were so consciously drawing them out. The only need he had to listen to was the one causing the indomitable pull he felt toward you.  

“...I’ll be expecting you to get the bill since it was your idea,” he finally finished his response.  

There was nothing subtle about the way you reacted when you realized you had won the argument. “I better get my wallet, then,” you said, clearing your throat and straightening your top as if you still thought you could pull off playing it cool.  

Dean watched as you walked away, eyes on your swaying hips until they disappeared around the corner of the motel.  

Once he was alone, he let his body fall against the Impala and heaved a sigh. It took him about ten seconds to make a decision. Now that he had let go of any unnecessary thoughts holding him back, he had a clear view of what he wanted. And he wasn’t going to get it standing and waiting around.  

“Screw this,” he grumbled to himself as he started for your motel room.  

You opened the door at the same moment Dean lifted his hand to reach for the handle. A look of surprise took over your face but you quickly recovered and stepped aside. You didn’t say anything, just let him inside with a simple nod of your head.  

Dean looked around the motel room as if he was interested in the musty décor. He heard you close the door behind you but he didn’t turn around.  

“Thought we were going out for a drink.” He didn’t have to see your face to know that cocky grin was back. He could clearly hear it in the amused tone of your voice.  

“I was thinking,” he said, finally turning to look at you, “maybe we should take care of the more important business first.” He watched your face for any possible last indicator that he wasn’t supposed to be here. “I’ll take you out to dinner after.”  

That last word hung in the air between you two for a moment, until your lips caught it and you repeated it back to him in a question.  

“After?” Your grin dissolved slightly and your face grew more serious. There was that hint of lust again, only this time it started to take over in your eyes until it was all Dean could focus on.  

Instead of specifying things for you with words, he thought it best to let his actions speak for him. He was in front of you in a second. His hands grabbed your shoulders and pressed you up against the door. Rough fingers slid down to your waist and found their way underneath your top, gripping your waist tightly.  

“Which restaurant are we going to?”  

Your question was about the last thing he had expected to hear – and Dean had heard quite a few strange remarks during sex over the years.  

“Hm?” was the only reply he could give you. He was too busy pulling off your top and pressing his lips against the base of your neck to care much for conversation.  

“It’s just that I’m really picky about the things I put in my mouth.” 

Though you tried to sound serious, it was clear to Dean you were playing games, just like you had been doing these past few days. Clever, dubious words in an attempt to throw him off. It was the breathlessness with which you spoke that gave away you wouldn’t be able to keep that up much longer.  

Dean needed you to give in. He needed you. Period.  

“I’ll take you someplace nice,” he promised against your collarbone, his fingers now working your skirt, struggling to get it down with you still pressed against the door.  

You reached up and put your hands against his chest, pushing him back only slightly. Then you took your skirt and panties off in one motion, leaving you naked in front of the hungry hunter.  

“Such a gentleman,” you responded, biting your lip as you watched Dean take off his own clothes in record time.  

His hands were back on you in a flash and this time his lips found yours. They were rough, demanding, but you had no trouble keeping up. “You’ve got me all wrong,” he growled before pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth. He pulled your body against his own and he could feel his hard length trapped between the two of you, pressed against your belly. “I’ll show you.”  

Dean hooked his hands behind your thighs and lifted you up in one smooth motion. He carried you over to the bed, placing you down on the mattress before positioning himself between your legs.  

“Look at you,” he said huskily. He took his time drinking in the full sight of your naked frame. “All of this, for me.”  

Your eyes met, charging the electricity that was coursing between you. Dean bent forward and kissed you hard. It only lasted a moment before he moved down, covering your neck, your collarbone, your chest. He paused at your nipples, giving them a little extra attention. They were already hard and ready for him, but he continued to suck and pull until you were arching your back.  

His lips traveled further down, pressing sloppy kisses to your stomach. The closer he got to your core, the more impatient the noises sounded that were coming from your throat. They were like music to his ears, so Dean willed himself to go a little slower.  

Your hips bucked restlessly but he used his large hands to grab a hold of them and pin you back down.   

“Isn’t this the way you like it, sweetheart?” he spoke, lifting his head to catch your eyes. They were pleading, desperate. It made his cock twitch. “Thought you liked to play games.”  

You threw your head back and groaned. He could feel you trying to buck your hips again.  

“Dean.”  

The breathy way you moaned his name was enough to throw Dean’s will for payback out the window. He let go of your hips to spread your legs a little wider. His head found its way between your thighs.  

The sounds you made when his eager tongue entered your wet entrance were almost as sweet as the taste of you.  

That afternoon, Dean showed you exactly the kind of man he really was.   

By the time you had relieved each other of all pent-up frustration, you were too tired to go out. Instead, Dean ordered takeout. You laid next to each other in the small bed, eating and talking together.  

Once the food was halfway gone, your hands were on him again and Dean pulled you closer.  

Fortunately, since your encounter the day before, he had yet to see your face again. While entering the building and flashing his badge at the man behind the desk, Sam went over the case in his head to try and replace the thoughts of you with ones of work.  

People in town had been falling victim to vicious animal attacks – inside their homes, with the doors locked.  

A quick visit to the Medical Examiner's office had provided Sam with the knowledge that he was dealing with hellhounds. Which meant demons were involved. And so far, every victim was, or had at some point in time been, an employee of the company that resided in the office building he had made his way into.  

Someone was persuading the people that worked there to make demon deals, and Sam was going to find out who.  

He stepped into the elevator and turned around to press the button for the floor he had been told the last victim’s office was on. When he looked up, he spotted you, entering the building and making your way over to him.  

Sam’s hand reached out to press the button to close the doors. A second look in your direction told him you had quickened your pace. The black heels of your makeshift FBI uniform clicked on the marble floor. Sam pressed again.  

The doors finally started to close, but they moved way too slow for his liking. He hit the button again. Then again, and again. The interval between his clicks became faster but it was as if the doors were moving in slow-motion instead.  

Just in time, you slipped in, the doors locking the both of you in as the elevator began its ascend.  

You greeted him with an aloof tone, “Samuel.” You had been calling him by his full name since that one time he had specifically told you not to.  

Sam gritted his teeth, hating how you were already getting under his skin. “Get out,” he said flatly.  

“You want me to jump out of a moving elevator?” Before Sam could open his mouth to respond, you quickly added, “Actually, don’t answer that.”  

“I know why you’re here,” Sam said. He didn’t want to talk to you, but an insuppressible urge was making him do it anyway.  

“Oh,” you said, sounding intrigued, “and why is that?”  

From the corner of his eye, Sam could see you turning to look at him, but he kept his gaze straight ahead when he answered, “To sabotage another one of my cases.”  

Your chuckle bounced off the walls in the small space. “When are you going to let that one go?” you asked. “I didn’t sabotage your case, I solved it for you.”  

Sam turned abruptly, his jaw setting and eyes narrowing. He wasn’t in the mood to play your games. “Without keeping me in the loop,” he reminded you, even though he was certain you knew exactly what he was getting at. “You almost got me arrested. I showed up to that cemetery with my shovel, salt and lighter, and the cops were already there because someone had set fire to a bunch of remains.”  

“You gotta admit that was pretty funny,” you quipped, lips breaking into a grin. “That look on your face...” You shook your head in amusement. “Priceless.”  

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “You were watching?” he hissed through clenched teeth.  

Your shrug only infuriated him more. “What can I say?” The grin on your face grew wider. “I couldn’t resist.”  

All Sam could do was send you one of his deadliest glares. Still, you seemed to remain unfazed.  

His eyes shifted from you to the little black screen that displayed the current level you were on. His hand moved to the panel at his side and he pressed the button for the next floor.  

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the elevator stopped and a ding sounded as the doors opened to reveal an empty hallway.  

“Get out,” he said again.  

You rolled your eyes and stayed put. “I don’t do stairs,” you told him.  

For a moment, Sam considered getting out himself. At least that way he could get away from you. But taking the stairs felt like letting you win, so he watched the doors close and the number on the little screen begin to rise again as the elevator did the same.  

It inched closer to your destination. Then, the screen went dark. Before either of you could respond, the elevator jolted to a stop. You stumbled against Sam, and he reached out reflexively, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steady you.  

For a few seconds, all that could be heard were the sounds of your breathing. Then you glanced up at Sam and he quickly let go of you while clearing his throat. He took a step back and so did you, putting as much distance between the two of you as the limited space would allow.  

Sam made sure to look anywhere but directly at you. He tried all of the buttons, then tried them again. Even the emergency alert wasn’t working. Having worked countless cases that involved sudden setbacks, he doubted this was a simple coincidence.  

In his head, he could already picture the demon and his suspected buddies messing with the powerlines to buy themselves some time. The last thing Sam wanted was for them to be able to properly prepare for a fight while he was stuck in a cube with no way out.  

Your voice dragged him out of his thoughts, but it was the way it went paired with uneven breathing that finally made him look at you again.  

“This isn’t happening,” you said before breathing in sharply. “We’re stuck, aren’t we? That’s just great. We’re fucking stuck.” You moved over to the buttons and pressed them all like Sam had tried a moment ago. Still, nothing worked. Your fist slammed the emergency alert button several times but all you seemed to get for your effort was a more constricted breathing.  

“Are you...” Sam looked for the right word as he watched you move back over to the wall. “Panicking?”  

“No!” Your reply was sharp but the wheezing sound of your breath didn’t make you sound very convincing.  

“You are,” Sam spoke matter of factly. “You’re having a panic attack. Are you claustrophobic?”  

“I’m fine,” you spat. “And I am certainly not having a panic attack.”  

Sam rolled his eyes at your unwavering stubbornness. Who’d you think you were – him? “I have a brother who always tries to sell me the same crap,” he told you. “I know a panic attack when I see one, Y/N.” He looked you over and waited for your eyes to meet as if to prove a point. “You never struck me as the cliché-phobia type of person. Thought you were supposed to be this tough hunter.”  

He knew that wasn’t fair of him to say, but the words had left his lips before he could stop himself. It was simply the way he was used to conversing with you. Usually, you had a snarky reply ready, but obviously now was not the right time.   

Sam was about to mutter an apology of sorts when the glare you sent his way made him pause. Not because he was fazed by your hatred for him, he had dealt with that before. But because he saw something else in your eyes. Fear.  

“Maybe...” you puffed between short, fast-paced breaths. You were still trying to act as if nothing was wrong, but your hand had moved to grab a hold of the steel railing attached to the wall and your body was slumped over slightly. “Maybe I’m not freaking out because I’m trapped, but because of who I’m trapped with. Of all the people to get trapped in an elevator with, it had to be you. It just had to be you, didn’t it? Damn it!”  

It was clear getting agitated took a lot out of you. Sam could see your knuckles turning white as you gripped the railing tighter.   

Despite your obvious distress, something was still keeping a hold of Sam’s own stubbornness. It stopped him from tapping into his sympathetic side and instead made him say, “So, you admit you’re freaking out, then?”  

You rolled your eyes so hard your head tipped to the side. Or maybe the movement was caused by your brain not getting enough oxygen, because Sam could see your eyelids beginning to droop as well. Had your knees been shaking this badly the entire time?  

Your body toppled forward and, in a split second, Sam was there to catch you. His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you against him, before slowly lowering the both of you to the floor.  

“Woah, hey, easy there,” he spoke softly.  

Your head was resting against his chest, causing a flutter to erupt in Sam’s stomach. He swallowed hard before gently reaching for your face. Cradling your head in his hands as if it was the most fragile thing he had ever touched, Sam pulled you back so he could look at you.  

“Just concentrate,” he said. “Eyes on me.” He pulled one hand away to point two fingers at his own eyes. Though your gaze was glazed over, he was happy to see you obliged.  

“Good,” Sam spoke, trying to be heard over the sharp wheezing of your panicked breaths. He could feel your body shake in his arms. “Now we’re gonna breathe, slowly. You and me, together. Think you can do that?”  

The shake of your head made him purse his lips. “As always, I disagree with you,” he said. He thought he caught the faintest of smiles on your lips. “Just follow my lead, all right?”  

Sam began taking in deep breaths through his nose, releasing them slowly through his mouth. He told you to try it, then breathed with you, counting the seconds for each inhale and exhale to help you focus.  

“Good,” he said again, “you got it.”  

When he was convinced you had mastered the rhythm, he allowed himself to assess the situation. To his surprise, his own heartbeat had picked up its pace as well. But his breathing exercise hadn’t helped to calm it down. Something told him that wouldn’t be possible for as long as your body was so close to his.  

Your cheeks regained their color and your gaze seemed to be able to focus again. After another slow exhale pressed through your lips, you leaned back. “Thank you,” you said. There wasn’t a hint of hostility left in your voice. For the first time since he met you, you sounded genuine.  

Sam blinked a few times before shaking his head to make himself focus. “Any time,” he grinned at you.  

Instead of having time to evaluate the sudden change in dynamic that was clearly felt by the both of you, you were forced back into the reality of the demon hunt when the elevator suddenly started to move again. Sam was back on his feet in an instant, reaching out his hand to help you up.  

“You good?” he said, eyeing your legs, half expecting them to start wobbling again.  

You nodded, and only then did you seem to notice your hand had yet to let go of his. Sam didn’t mind the few seconds you waited before pulling it free.  

“You know,” Sam said, “once this thing stops moving again and those doors open, there’s gonna be a bunch of demons waiting to kill us.”  

The grin on your face washed away the last bits of worry he felt toward your current state. “I say, let ‘em try.”  

You both turned to face the steel doors when the elevator came to a halt. Sam reached for the demon knife he had hidden in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, you widened your stance and balled your fists.  

You wanted to tell him to stop being such a brat, but you knew he would just say you needed to check your own attitude first. That had been the general idea of your arguments, for the most part, from the moment you both woke up that morning. Both of you still pissed off from the night before.  

“Back off, Sam,” you warned. Your back was turned to him, but you could hear his soft tread bringing him closer to you despite your request.  

“Dean left us alone because he wants us to talk,” you said, turning to face him. “Will you?”  

He didn’t reply, simply kept moving closer.  

In response, you started walking backwards. When your back was against one of the pillars in the room, Sam still didn’t stop. You eyed him suspiciously. If he thought he could just solve this by-  

His hands were on you at the same moment his lips crashed to yours, momentarily seizing all agitated thoughts. The kiss was demanding, leaving you breathless when he pulled back to take off your shirt.  

You stopped him. “No one’s taking off any clothes,” you informed him. “I’m still pissed at you.”  

The sigh Sam let out blew a strand of your hair out of your face. You had a hard time concentrating on the point you were trying to make with him standing so close to you. His lips only inches from yours, looking incredibly enticing.  

“You’re insufferable,” Sam said. His hands left your waist and he took a step back to give you some space. “I already told you what you wanted to hear.”  

“What? ‘I didn’t like the look on his face, so I offered to wipe it off’?” you quoted him from the night before. “You think that’s what I want to hear? I want to know why, Sam.”  

You looked into his eyes, as if the answer would be somewhere in that gorgeous pool of hazel. To your surprise, you saw a twinkle of something you recognized. Though it was only there for a second, you knew with full certainty what it had been.  

“You were jealous.” It wasn’t a question. You weren’t asking for his confirmation; you were letting him know you had figured it out without his help.  

It made sense now, everything that had happened the night before, at the bar you went to for a celebratory drink after successfully finishing a hunt. The way Sam had glared at you when you were chatting with that guy who had approached you. The way he stepped in when you were about to leave with the handsome stranger. Sam had barely been able to look at you when he pulled the man aside.  

You had been standing too far away, and the music had been too loud, for you to understand what they were saying, but you had been able to tell from the guy’s face that Sam wasn’t exactly being polite.  

Moments later, without giving you another look, your potential hookup had left the bar, leaving you alone with Sam at the door. Any attempt of getting an answer for what had just happened, had been waved off by Sam as if he hadn’t just ruined your entire night.  

It should have dawned on you sooner what his motives had been. But you weren’t a couple, there was nothing serious between you two. Just the occasional night of heated, but meaningless, sex. It worked well for both of you. No strings attached, you had both agreed.  

Despite your best efforts, there seemed to have been some strings put in place after all. Though Sam didn’t appear ready to admit it yet.  

“I beg your pardon?” he huffed, taking another step back. The way his voice sounded a little higher than normal was more confirmation for your claim.  

“Oh, I’ll get you begging for much more.” You grinned at him, clearly amused by the current situation. This might have been a little more complicated than you had hoped for when you first shared a bed with Sam, but you could handle yourself. And you could handle him.  

Sam’s eyes darkened once more as they took you in. He seemed to be assessing the situation, considering his options. He could either add to the discussion and continue pretending he didn’t know what you were talking about, or he could take advantage of the fact that you weren’t mad at him anymore.  

After a moment, he spoke, “You shouldn’t say things like that, Y/N.” He began slowly closing the distance between you again, like a predator stalking its prey. “Not right now, not to me.”  

You swallowed thickly, feeling your body shiver with excitement. “And why is that?” you asked.  

“Because it sounds like you’re challenging me,” Sam said, “and we both know that’s a mistake.” He was back in front of you, and his hands gripped your waist. You expected him to press you up against the pillar but instead he pulled you into him firmly.  

Your breath hitched and you had to take a moment to steady your heartbeat before you could think of a reply. “Because you think you’ll win?”  

Sam leaned forward to press his lips against your ear. His voice was nothing but a stern, lustful growl. “Because I know you’ll lose.”  

He pulled you over to one of the tables in the middle of the room, and without missing a beat, you propped yourself up onto the edge. Sam’s long fingers locked around your knees as he spread your legs so he could stand in between them.  

“What about Dean?” you asked, breathlessly, with Sam’s lips already attacking your neck in all the right places. You could feel them curl up and heard him chuckle, seemingly unbothered by your concern. Still, your eyes darted around the room as if they would find the older Winchester peeking from behind one of the bookcases.  

“He’s way too annoyed to come out of his room for the rest of the day,” Sam assured you. “Or at least not until dinner.”  

You decided Sam was right, though you weren’t quite sure if that was because you actually believed him, or because you didn’t think you would be able to make it all the way to either one of your bedrooms.  

Sam’s hands moved up your thighs and disappeared underneath your shirt. You arched your back for him, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.  

Instead, Sam pulled back. He stared at your face, all of a sudden looking serious. Then his lips pulled into a smirk and he dipped his head to press them to yours.  

Which was why his frown grew deeper the second you approached ‘Mr. Gregory’s Costume Shop’ and – seeing as your hand was still tightly holding on to his – by extent forced him to enter the store with you.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this,” he muttered, quietly enough for you to pretend you hadn’t heard him. His eyes roamed around the space before landing on a mannequin that was wearing a pirate costume with about every matching accessory one could think of, right down to the fake parrot on its shoulder. He looked it over a couple of times with a slightly disgusted look on his face.

You gave a tug on Sam’s hand to bring his focus back to the task at hand. “Stop flirting with the pirate, Sam. Let’s start at the back of the store and work our way to the front.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but when they landed on you, his face softened and he even showed somewhat of a smile. “I can’t promise you I’ll be any good at pretending to care about what you pick out,” he informed you. It wasn’t a snarky comment, he was simply leveling your expectations to his reality.

“Come on, look around you!” you said, letting go of his hand to make wide gestures at the costume-packed clothing racks. “There has to be at least one thing in this entire store that you’ll like. Look alive, Sammy!”

“If you wanted me to look alive you shouldn’t have dragged me out of bed so early,” Sam was quick to strike back.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. Usually, he was the one having to wake you up because you were the queen of snoozing your alarm and being late to all of your early classes. You had a feeling he had hoped the same thing would happen today with your shopping trip. But you were too excited about this all to let your bad habits ruin any of it. You wanted to have enough time to try on different costume options and pick the perfect one while still being able to make it back to campus in time for your 11:00 AM lecture.

“What about this one?” you asked as you held up one of the more colorful options that had immediately caught your eye.

Sam just raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, waiting for you to catch on.

“All right, I get it. You don’t care,” you sighed as you put the costume back. “At least you know I’m not getting anything ‘slutty’ just like ninety-nine percent of the other girls at the party will probably be wearing.”

You weren't against those kinds of outfits, you just weren’t really into it yourself. Before you met Sam, when you went to what would become your last Halloween party until now, you had dressed as a knight, with your best friend as the damsel. Your impressive armor had given you full coverage, along with a huge struggle whenever you had to use the bathroom.

Two months later, you started dating Sam, and from that moment on he had always been able to somehow persuade you to stay home during Halloween. Until this year, that was. You had finally won the battle of never-ending nagging, and you were planning to celebrate your victory by showing him how much fun this was truly going to be.

Sam was letting his fingers graze the black fabric of a Zorro costume, and for a second, you could have sworn it seemed as if he was actually considering picking it off the rack. Then he cleared his throat and turned back to you.

"You know I don't care about that kind of stuff," he reminded you. "It's your body, no one else but you should have a say in the way you dress." A grin crept up on his lips when he had a thought. He stepped his large body closer and leaned down so his lips were at your ear. "As long as I get to be the one helping you out of your costume when we get home."

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and pretended to mull it over. “That depends, Winchester.” Your hands pressed against his chest to make him step back and look at you. “Will you behave during the party?”

“You mean, will I act normal and avoid standing in a corner somewhere with a long face the entire evening?” he scoffed. “I told you, the only reason I’m doing this is for you.” He grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “In other words; yes, I shall behave, my love.”

You chuckled at the theatrical manner in which he concluded his promise. “Why, thank you, my kind sir,” you responded before picking up the invisible skirt of your invisible dress and bending your jean-clad legs in a small bow.

That seemed to help Sam’s mood brighten up a little. He grinned and pulled you into his side to tuck you under one of his arms. “All right, let’s do this,” he said with an unforeseen tone of determination in his voice.

Ever since Cas died and Mary and Jack were pulled into an alternate universe with the devil himself, Sam had been working hard to find a way to get them back. Dean helped where he could, though he mostly remained at your bedside. Which was where you had to stay for a while; in bed. More doctor's orders.

"Breakfast first," Dean said sternly as he helped you sit up. He made sure you were comfortable, propping a pillow up between your back and the bed's headboard. "Other stuff later."

Stuff. This wasn't just one of their normal setbacks. Part of their family was gone. And they had no idea how to get them back. Did he just not care?

But you knew that wasn't fair. Dean was worried just as much as you were, probably even more. He had even more on his mind. You.

It made you feel even worse. If you had just been more careful, if you hadn't rushed to where the others were so recklessly, you would have actually made it there and maybe you could have helped. Instead, you crashed the car and got taken to the nearest hospital. By the time you woke up in the sterile white room, Dean was at your bedside with a heap of bad news to fill you in on.

He didn't tell you right away, though. First he tried to tell you something which was even worse. He tried apologizing. 

Apparently, because of everything that happened, Dean hadn't checked his phone until a couple hours after you were admitted to the hospital. He was listed as your emergency contact in your burner phone and the hospital staff had tried calling him multiple times.

You didn't see the big deal. Worse things had happened and you hadn't even woken up before he finally managed to get to you. Still, he hadn't been able to stop apologizing. Despite your numerous attempts to explain to him how it was anything but his fault, you could tell Dean still continued to beat himself up about it.

"Didn't you hear me?" Dean's voice replaced the memory with reality and you were back in your room at the bunker. "Eat your breakfast, Y/N." He was now sitting in that same chair next to your bed where he had spent more hours than you could bear to count.

"I heard you," you mumbled as you pushed the tray back a bit. "I just don't agree. Tell me what's been going on. Has Sam found anything we can use?"

Dean let out a deep sigh, dragging it out a little longer than necessary for dramatic effect. "Should've asked the doctor for pills to help with your stubbornness," you heard him mumble under his breath as he shifted in his seat.

"Dean," you pleaded, pushing yourself up some more in an attempt to look stronger than you felt. "I'm just trying to help."

"You can help..."

"...by resting up and getting better," you sighed. "I know, I know. So you've said about a million times already."

"Then quit asking and eat your damn breakfast!" As soon as the words had left his lips, you could see the regret wash over Dean's face. It seemed he was surprised by him snapping at you just as much as you were.

You pursed your lips and inhaled through your nose, trying not to take the easy way out and send a few sharp words of your own flying his way. That wouldn't help anyone. You were both exhausted, physically but mostly emotionally. There was no denying the gap you felt in your makeshift family with three members beyond your reach.

But there was something else. You could see it in Dean's eyes. Beyond the grief, regret and every inch of guilt the Winchester was so familiar with, there was something in there you couldn't quite place. It surprised you. The two of you had never had secrets for each other.

Dean sensed you staring and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "What?" he asked, his hand moving up to scratch the back of his neck. You wondered if he was trying to scratch at an itch or an urge.

"You tell me," you said with a simple shrug. "What's on your mind, Winchester?" Your eyes immediately raised at his silent response. "Is that... Is that a blush I see on your cheeks?"

"Shut up," he grumbled, shifting his head to hide at least part of his face. "You don't want to know."

The scoff that followed sent some waves of pain through your bruised rib cage but you tried to ignore it. This ought to be good. And you weren't giving up so easily. "I'd like to decide that for myself, if you don't mind."

"And what if I do mind?" He turned his head back, but only a little, raising an eyebrow.

"Then you might want to go back to that doctor and ask for those sturbbornness-reducing pills, or else I'm never going to give it a rest." Your grin was wide, challenging. It only grew when Dean fully turned toward you, giving in.

His hand reached over as if he was about to grab yours but then he seemed to change his mind and let it rest on the mattress next to you instead. "I can't stop thinking about how I almost lost you."

The words were a stab to the heart but they filled you with warmth at the same time. "You didn't, Dean. I'm right here."

"I know," Dean responded. His voice was a lot softer now, as were his eyes. He looked up at you and finally reached for your hand. You squeezed it tight. "But all I could think about was how I might never get to tell you the truth."

There it was again, that obvious implication that there was something Dean knew and you didn't. It had to be one hell of a secret if he didn't tell you before. Your stomach turned itself into a knot, tightening as the seconds passed in silence.

"What truth?" you whispered as if you were afraid you would scare this vulnerable moment away if you spoke any louder.

Dean shook his head, clearly struggling to get the right words out. Open, heartful conversations had never been his strong suit. You appreciated him trying and you squeezed his hand a second time to let him know.

"I've thought about telling you," he continued. "I almost did, so many times. And then I suddenly had a nurse on the phone, telling me about how you..." He swallowed the rest of the sentence, shaking his head once again. "My point is, I don't care anymore. If there ever was a right time to tell you, I know this is it."

You didn't dare speak. Your job in that moment was to listen, to let Dean get out whatever had been plaguing his mind for so long.

"I love you," he finally breathed. A weight visibly fell off his broad shoulders. "I'm in love with you, Y/N. Hell, I love you so much it scares me. Maybe it's selfish of me but I just had to tell you. You don't have to say anything. I know it's complicated in our line of work to just be so much as friends, and you didn't ask for any of this, but-"

"You're right." You couldn't help yourself, you had to interrupt. Or else his rambling would most likely be the death of both of you. To your surprise, he did stop and waited for you to continue.

"You're absolutely right," you said again. "It is extremely selfish of you." His face fell as his eyes searched yours for any sort of indicator that perhaps he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life by telling you all this.

Your hand was still in his. A third squeeze from you helped him visibly relax. "I'm selfish, too," you said softly. "I think that's why we're so good together."

If this hadn't been such a serious moment, you would have laughed at the way Dean was looking at you. His mouth agape, eyes rapidly blinking to somehow grasp what was happening. "You... You think we're good together?" he stammered. "You and me? The two of us, together?"

A snicker left your lips nonetheless. "Yes, Dean," you spoke slowly, as if he wouldn't understand otherwise. "That is where you hoped this was going, isn't it?"

Dean smiled in a way you had never seen on him before. It was shy, a trait you didn't recognize in the guy you thought you knew so well. "To be honest, I didn't really plan ahead that far," he confided in you. "I'm just glad I finally told you. And that you seem to be okay with this."

"I am," you assured him. "I'm okay with it because I love you, too. But..."

"Please, don't let there be a 'but'."

You let go of Dean's hand to playfully punched his arm. "Shut up. I'm trying here, Winchester." He sat up a bit straighter but held his full focus on you as you continued. "We both know this is a difficult time. A lot is happening, and we don't seem to be any closer to figuring it out so far. I just think it'd be a good idea for us to take things... slow. One step at a time, you know?"

Dean was bobbing his head in a nod of agreement so fast you were sure it was giving him a headache. You doubted he cared at all. "All right," he said. His voice was all business but the spark in his eyes betrayed how happy he was. In the midst of all this chaos, you were thankful that you had been able to give him something to hold on to. "How about we have that first step be breakfast?"

"Dean..."

"You have to eat," he argued in a more kinder tone than usual. "Here, I'll reheat your pancakes for you." Dean got up and grabbed your plate. He winked at you before leaving the room.

Upset wasn't quite the right word for what you were feeling in that moment. 'Mortified' would be more like it. Or perhaps 'utterly embarrassed'. From the moment you saw the stain, your heart had sunk to your stomach and it had yet to find its way back up to your chest.

It had been such a great night. You were in good spirits, driving back to the motel after having gone to a local bar to celebrate another successfully finished hunt. Sam had left early, mumbling something about how he hadn't slept in days. Which left you and Dean to entertain each other by telling crazy stories and buying more rounds.

Things were great between the two of you. At first, your friends-to-lovers cliché had been a bit of a challenge. You tested the waters, took it slow in case either of you wanted to go back to the way things used to be. Soon, however, you both realized you were meant to be together, so that's where you stayed.

Looking back at what happened in the car, you figured the alcohol in your blood was probably to blame for you not noticing what was happening sooner. It wasn't until you got out of the car and turned around to grab your bag that you saw it.

Right in the middle of the passenger seat of Dean's most beloved possession, bright red on the smooth leather, was your blood. It wasn't a small stain either.

The time it took Dean to catch up on what was going on had been enough to give you the opportunity to make a run for the motel room you shared with him. Now, you were locked inside. But unfortunately, despite the fact that that simultaneously locked Dean out, it couldn't keep the shame you felt away as well.

"Can you just leave?" Your voice was hesitant. Probably because you knew it wasn't fair for you to deny Dean access. It was his room too. Yet, you had already taken the liberty of deciding for him that he could take the couch in Sam's room until your cheeks had stopped burning and you were ready to face him.

Dean, however, seemed more than ready to face you right now. "I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."

You let out a groan and resisted the urge to slam your head against the door. "Just leave," you pleaded again. "I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. Can we talk in the morning? Please?"

"Y/N, come on, I-"

"Goodnight, Dean," you cut him off. "I'm sorry." You grabbed your pajamas from your duffel and headed for the bathroom. With every step you took, you felt the sticky wetness in your panties and jeans. It made you want nothing more than a nice long hot shower.

Unfortunately, the motel shower was crap. There was barely any water pressure and the temperature never seemed quite right, until it just turned ice cold all together. You were still shivering when you left the bathroom, wearing your most comfortable fluffy pajamas that usually made you feel a bit better. Tonight, it did little to calm your nerves.

Because you were still drying your hair while entering the room, the towel blocked your view from the figure sitting on the bed. Dean cleared his throat, making you jump.

"A double lock, really?" he said while raising an eyebrow. "Who exactly do you think I am? Some kind of amateur?" He was right, of course. All you knew about lock picking, you had learned from this guy.

"Dean, I... I'm sorry." The words had left your lips before you even really knew what you were apologizing for.

"No, I'm sorry." Dean got up from the bed and walked over to you. His eyes stood wary, as if he expected you to bolt again at any moment. You were definitely thinking about it. Sometimes you hated how he knew you better than you knew yourself.

"Why are you apologizing?" you asked, clearly confused. You had lowered the towel and was now fumbling with it between your fingers.

Dean shook his head and he suddenly looked angry. Disappointed. "Because apparently I have said or done something that made you think you have to be embarrassed about this kind of stuff.”

That’s when you understood. You were beating yourself up about this, and Dean was doing the same to himself. Maybe he knew you this well because the two of you were so much alike.

“Dean, it’s not that you’ve…” You sighed, trying to think of the best way to explain your thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just that we never really talk about this kind of stuff. Lady stuff. Sam, he has experience, but you-“

“Sam menstruates? I knew it!” He looked at you with a blank expression but you knew he was joking. He had to be.

It wasn’t until you heard yourself laugh that you realized what he was doing. Because as soon as your laugh sounded through the room, Dean was grinning from ear to ear, looking extremely proud and content while he sat back down on the bed.

“You know what I mean,” you said, walking closer to him. “He’s been in a long-term serious relationship before, but you…” You bit your lip as you searched for the right words.

Dean decided to help you out a little. “I took a little longer to find the perfect fit,” he finished for you. “And now that I have found the woman who can find it in her heart to love an idiot like me back almost as much as I love her, I’m not gonna let her push me away for wrongfully feeling embarrassed about the natural way her body works. Not even for one night.”

You were stunned by the words coming out of Dean’s mouth. This wasn’t like him at all. He always steered clear of what he called these ‘chick flick moments’.

The towel you were holding now completely dropped to the floor when you moved into his lap. You straddled him, wrapping your arms around him to pull him close. He immediately wrapped you up in his strong arms as well, taking in a deep breath of your shampoo while he buried his face in your hair.

“Do you think the stain’s gonna wash out?” you whispered carefully. You didn’t want to ruin the moment but you knew how much that car meant to Dean.

“Nope,” Dean responded immediately, popping his ‘p’. “Gonna have to get rid of the whole thing.”

You froze in his arms. If Dean hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you would have jolted upright.

“I’m kidding,” he grinned, nuzzling your cheek, his lips at your ear. “Don’t you think Baby’s had her fair share of bloodstains over the years with Sammy and I going on so many hunts? I got this. And if not, we’ll see. Those seats are replaceable. That beautiful smile of yours is not. I don’t like it being washed away by unnecessary worries.”

You inhaled a deep breath yourself and decided to take Dean’s words to heart. It wasn’t long until you felt your worries fade. That was the effect Dean’s touch and presence always seemed to have on you.

The two of you sat there in silence for a while, just listening to each other’s breathing. Until you suddenly pulled back to look at Dean with a serious look on your face.

“Not ‘almost’,” you said with a tone of voice that made it sound like the matter was life or death.

Dean frowned, looking a little worried again. “Huh?”

“You said that I love you almost as much as you love me,” you explained. “That’s not true. I love you just as much, if not more.”

Dean’s frown disappeared and instead a look of adoration popped up within a millisecond. “Of course, sweetheart. You’re right. My apologies.”

A satisfied grin rested on your lips as you nestled yourself into his arms again. “You were right about the idiot part, though,” you teasingly mumbled under your breath.

Your body shook when, beneath you, Dean’s chest rumbled with laughter. “All right, off to bed with you.” He stood up, easily holding you against him with one hand underneath you as your legs firmly wrapped around his waist.

Before he pulled the covers back, he made sure to grab your towel from the floor and place it on your side of the mattress. Once you were lying down, he made quick work of discarding his clothes and climbing into bed with you.