#ontheboundmp4

colour: purple season: autumn chosen word: caring

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ your weapon of choice is a protective bracelet with small enchanted charms. each piecce holds a purpose to help ground and protect you, especially the ones you made yourself.

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ you're the person people rely on without even realising it. you check in and stay, and notice when something's off before anyone even says anything. because you're always there. care always shows up in your presence.

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ dean doesn't comment on it at first. the way you sit behind him after a hunt. the way you hand him things before he asks. you don't mean to push, but you don't leave either. he calls you sweetheart like it's normal, but it slips softer when it's just the two of you.

The realisation doesn’t hit all at once. It’s small things. After hunts, you’re just… there. Hardly asking questions—just sitting close enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s carrying it alone. Dean never comments on it. He just lets it happen. Tonight’s no different. He’s at the map table, pretending to read something he’s already looked over twice. Shoulders tight. Jaw set. You don’t say anything. You just walk in, set a beer down beside him, and lean back against the table like you’ve got nowhere else to be. He glances at it. Then at you. “Didn’t ask for that.” “I know.” A beat. He takes it anyway. Silence settles in lightly. Dean exhales slowly, some of the tension easing out of him without him really meaning it to. “You always do this,” he mutters. “Do what?” “Just show up.” You shrug lightly. “Someone’s gotta.” He huffs, but there’s no bite to it. His fingers tap against the bottle, slower now. Another pause. “What if I didn’t want you to?” You glance at him, not thrown off. “Then I wouldn’t stay.” That makes him look at you properly. “Yeah?” he asks. “Yeah.” Because it’s not obligation. It’s choice. Dean studies you for a second, something shifting behind his eyes—something he doesn’t quite have words for. “…sweetheart,” he says, softer than usual, “what if I need you around, even if I don't say it?” You tilt your head. “You just said you didn’t want it.” He shakes his head, a small, almost embarrassed laugh slipping out. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Guess I’m wrong sometimes.” You smile, just a little. Dean doesn’t look away. Because he’s starting to realise that it’s not just that you’re always there. It’s that he doesn’t want you to stop.