Summary: You and Dean finally have the talk you have both been avoiding, and every ugly truth he gives you pushes your exhausted body closer to shutting down.
CHAPTER 9 MASTERLIST
Story tags: Demon!Dean, Plus-Size reader, Reader is from a different reality, Action, Violence, Angst, Drama, Blood Magic, Blood play, Smut, Rough sex, Emotional strain, Moral conflict, POV Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence, Married Dean Winchester, POV Second person, POV Alternating, No use of y/n, Ordinary sequel
A/N: Okay, first things first: I’m sorry if the writing in this chapter feels a little off. I hadn’t touched writing in weeks, and I think it shows. I’ll probably come back to smooth it out a bit in a few days, but I didn’t want to leave you hanging any longer.
And now for the bigger apology. I’m sorry for going radio silent for a month. I was in a really bad place because one of the very few things keeping me sane was taken from me, brutally. It pulled me down so hard that I stopped finding joy in other things too. To the point that I couldn’t even write, and genuinely considered deleting all my work here.
But I managed to pull through, and I’m slowly rebuilding my relationship with the things that used to bring me joy.
You sat in the chair at the table, staring at the bottle of whiskey Dean had pulled from the paper bag, without really seeing it. Your mind had narrowed down to the steady sound of the hammer.
Metal against wood. Again and again. Dean was outside still working on the door he had broken, and somehow that was the part your brain chose to latch onto. The rhythm gave you something to focus on that was separate from the blood drying under your bandage, separate from the ache in your body, separate from the fact that you had just fallen apart on the floor in front of him.
You felt strangely numb. The sharp pain in your forearm was the only thing cutting through it with any real strength, and even that was starting to feel distant around the edges. The exhaustion had finally caught up with you. It was physical, sure. Lack of sleep, barely any food, hours of panic, fighting, running on fear, and now blood loss from the rushed, ugly cuts you had made with a filthy knife. All of that was more than enough.
You were done. Completely drained.
Three weeks of mourning. Three weeks of worry, searching, dead ends, burner calls, hope you were terrified to have, and fear you could not put down. Three weeks after all the dread and preparation for the mission that had taken your husband from you.
And after all that, the one thing you had always been able to rely on in danger, the only protection you had against demons, had not been enough.
Your blood had been enough. Your magic had been enough.
You had not.
You had been too slow. You hesitated, too afraid to use your own strength on a demon because the demon was still your husband. That was why you lost it when he knocked the knife from your hand. That was why it had been so easy for him to break the last thing holding you upright.
You felt weak in a way you had not felt for a long time, and the worst part was that you knew, logically, you had power here. Your magic could hurt him badly if only you stopped hesitating. You could probably kill him, if you truly wanted to.
You had the upper hand. Objectively.
But you wanted your husband back so badly that it gave the demon power over you, and you hated yourself for that more than you knew how to handle anymore.
Your eyes drifted from the bottle to your forearm, at the place where Dean had wrapped gauze around the cuts with careful, irritated hands. The bandage was already stained red in places.
You should have been embarrassed. Crying on the floor in front of him, folding in on yourself while he stood there and watched, should have made you want to crawl out of your own skin. Somehow, at this point, you did not even have the energy to care. Dean wanted fire from you, he wanted fight, attitude, the thrill of pushing until you pushed back. You knew that now. You had seen how he reacted to it. You had felt exactly how much he liked it when you jumped him in the car and threatened to burn him alive.
Too bad.
Your body had nothing left to give him.
You got so lost in the blankness that you didn’t notice the hammer stopping. The silence took a few seconds to register, and by the time your eyes focused again, Dean was already back inside. He tossed the hammer onto the couch with a dull thud and dropped into the chair opposite you, legs stretching out under the table with an exaggerated sigh.
‘So,’ he said, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘About the bloody finger-painting.’
You lifted your eyes to him.
He motioned around the room with one finger, taking in the sigils on the windows and walls.
‘Thought I told you to wipe that crap off.’
There was no teasing in his voice this time. No lazy playfulness. He looked perfectly serious, and for several long seconds, you stared at him in silence.
Then you reached for the bottle.
Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t stop you.
You unscrewed the cap slowly, lifted the bottle to your mouth, and took a long drink without breaking eye contact. The whiskey burned all the way down and landed in your empty stomach with enough force to make your eyes sting. Usually, you did not reach for alcohol when your nerves were bad. You had enough bad coping mechanisms without adding that to the list. Right now, though, the warmth spread fast through your body and left a dull tingle in your fingers almost immediately. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was your body finally switching into preservation mode.
Whatever. You took what you could get.
You lowered the bottle and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.
Dean watched every movement.
You hugged the bottle against your chest with one arm, keeping your bandaged forearm close to your body.
‘Take them down yourself,’ you said finally.
Part of you expected him to snap. Bark another order. Slam a hand on the table. Remind you exactly how badly this could go if you kept testing him. A bigger part of you had stopped caring.
Dean said nothing at first. He just looked at you, quiet and still, eyes fixed on your face. After a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
‘Fine.’
Your eyes narrowed. ‘Fine?’
He gave a low chuckle.
‘Yeah, fine. You’re clearly beat,' he said, looking you over slowly, and there was enough blunt assessment in his expression to make you feel exposed all over again. 'And I don’t need you bleeding out all over the place.’
His gaze stopped on your forearm.
You looked down too. The red had spread more through the thin layers of bandage, darker near the center where the cuts were worst.
Your chest tightened with irritated confusion.
Because why the hell was he doing this?
He was selfish now. Arrogant and cruel. A violent, possessive dick who had left you grieving for three weeks, tortured you with clues and phone calls, kidnapped you, dragged you into the woods, manhandled you, and ordered you around as if you were his property.
Then he promised not to hurt you. Gave you his flannel because you were cold. Patched up your arm.
Was that part of the game too? Another way to mess with your head? Give you scraps of care, little flickers of your husband when it suited him, just enough to see how badly you wanted to believe there was still something to hold onto?
Or was he really that desperate for your presence, your attention, your touch, that he was willing to work around the parts of you that hurt him?
You did not ask. You took another slow drink instead. This one went down easier, which was probably a bad sign.
A drop of whiskey caught on your bottom lip, and you wiped it away with your tongue before you thought about it. Dean’s arms tightened across his chest. You saw it. You saw his throat move when he swallowed.
Your teeth pressed into the inside of your cheek.
He wanted you. Badly. He had not been subtle about that from the start, sure, but maybe you had underestimated how much it was affecting him. Grinding at him. Making him impatient enough to take risks.
Good.
You needed to know what he wanted badly enough to make mistakes over.
You lifted the bottle for another sip, but Dean leaned forward and reached across the table. To your own tired surprise, you did not flinch this time. You did not pull back either.
He noticed.
A brief flash of satisfaction crossed his face before he covered it with that smug little curve of his mouth.
His hand closed around the neck of the bottle just above yours, his fingers brushing your knuckles long enough for heat to rise between you.
‘Easy there,’ he said, smirking as he pulled the bottle from your hand. ‘We’re supposed to share.’
He brought it toward his mouth, then stopped.
You frowned.
Dean looked down at the rim, his expression shifting into something thoughtful. Then he tapped the mouth of the bottle carefully against his lower lip and waited.
For a second, you had no idea what the hell he was doing. Then it clicked, and a ridiculous little breath pushed out of your chest.
He was testing it. Your saliva. The possibility that even as little as that might burn him.
The whole thing was so careful and so stupidly practical that you almost laughed, which probably meant you were closer to losing your mind than you thought.
But there was no reaction. No hiss, no sign of pain. Dean’s eyebrows lifted a fraction, and then he tipped the bottle back and took a long drink.
‘Besides,’ Dean said when he lowered the bottle, ‘you keep goin' like that, you’re gonna pass out on me.’ His smirk gained that bratty edge that made your fingers tighten around nothing. ‘And we still gotta talk.’
He took one more sip and handed the bottle back.
You reached for it and this time, you made sure your fingers closed over his hand. It was quick. Deliberate. Hard enough to make the point.
The burn snapped between your skin and his.
Dean hissed through his teeth, but his grin only widened when you gave him a pointed look and took the bottle.
The whiskey really was starting to work now. Mostly on the pain, which had dimmed from sharp stinging into heavy pressure under the bandage. Your limbs felt looser than they had any right to feel. The warmth spread fast through your bloodstream. Weeks of barely sleeping and barely eating were doing you no favors, and you knew that. You also did not stop yourself from taking another drink.
You were still watching Dean carefully, but with the panic dulled and the immediate fight over, curiosity pushed its way in.
He looked unfairly good, which was a big fucking problem. The black T-shirt clung to him in all the wrong places, and when he settled back with his arms across his chest again, the muscle in his forearms and biceps shifted in a way you were almost certain he did on purpose.
You dragged your gaze back to his face.
The smug grin told you he knew exactly where your eyes had gone.
His eyes were green. There was a spark in them that looked close enough to the boyish one you missed so much it made your chest hurt. For one stupid moment, you could almost pretend it was just Dean. Your Dean. Sitting with you on some random night, sharing a bottle, irritating you on purpose because he liked the reaction.
Then he opened his mouth.
‘Now,’ Dean said, voice low in the quiet room, ‘you good to finally talk? Like an adult this time? Or do I gotta pin you down again?’
You hated how your body reacted to that, so you rolled your eyes as hard as you could to cover it.
‘Weren’t you supposed to be scrubbing off the sigils right about now?’
The corners of Dean’s eyes tightened as he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip.
‘You always did look good with an attitude.’
Memories hit before you could do anything about it. All the times he had fixed that attitude, using that exact tone in your bedroom, against a wall, in the Impala, everywhere your mind should not have gone while this version of him sat across from you.
Heat rose in your cheeks.
Goddamnit.
You took another sip because it was easier than letting him see your teeth clench.
But Dean saw it anyway. His grin told you enough.
‘I’ll get to it,’ he said, leaning back lazily. ‘Eventually. Right now, I wanna have a drink with my lovely wife.’
The mocking edge in his tone hit exactly where he meant it to. You flinched before you could stop yourself.
Dean’s smirk faltered, but you doubted guilt had anything to do with it. He was probably adjusting, choosing the next angle.
‘Alright,’ he said, straightening in the chair. ‘Let’s get one thing straight.’
You kept the bottle close, fingers wrapped tight around the glass.
‘I already told you. I’m not gonna hurt you. I don’t wanna hurt you.’ His eyes dropped to your bandaged arm. ‘So quit bein' stupid.’
You pressed your lips together.
‘No, seriously,’ he went on, leaning forward now. ‘What the hell were you thinkin'? Huh? You were gonna turn this place into Fort Knox, sit on the couch, and wait me out?’
You said nothing.
Dean’s smile came back, slower this time.
‘Or was that the plan? Sit tight until Sammy comes charging in? Maybe Cas?’
Your stomach pulled tight.
Dean laughed under his breath and leaned back again.
‘Yeah. About that.’ He glanced around the cabin, eyes moving over the useless sigils. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but you’re not the only one who knows what these little smudges can do. Whole damn radius is angel-proofed.'
Fuck.
You kept staring at him.
‘So don’t waste your energy thinkin' Feathers is gonna swoop in and save the day.’
You should have expected that.
Of course he wouldn’t leave you somewhere Cas could simply appear and grab you. Of course he had chosen the place carefully. He was still Dean. Some part of him, at least. He knew you. He knew the first three desperate options your brain would reach for and had already taken them off the table.
The wards had been your one pathetic attempt at changing the rules, and you couldn't even finish them.
Dean scanned your face while the realization settled. He looked pleased with himself.
You watched him as he pulled the bottle from your hands and took another drink. Watched the amber liquid slosh inside the bottle as he set it back on the table and pushed it toward you with two fingers.
You grabbed it, drank, swallowed, and finally found your voice again.
‘Do you really think keeping me here against my will is going to make me cooperate?’
You wanted it steady. It came out close enough.
Dean looked at you for a moment, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
‘Of course not.’ He shrugged. ‘I knew you were gonna put up a fight. Kinda looking forward to that part, actually.’
You scoffed, disgusted despite the exhaustion dragging at your limbs.
‘But you keep forgetting something, baby,’ he said, voice dropping lower. ‘I know you. I know everything about you. Every soft spot. Every button.'
Your fingers tightened around the bottle. Dean’s eyes stayed on yours.
'And eventually, you’re gonna be a real good girl and give me what I want.’
The arrogant certainty nearly pushed you over the edge again.
You twitched in your seat, ready to reach across the table and burn that smug face until the smile finally disappeared. But your body refused to follow through. Everything hurt. Your limbs felt heavy. Your head had started to buzz at the edges. You were too tired to make the movement worth it, so you pulled in a slow breath and held your ground from the chair.
‘And why the hell would I do that?’
You set the bottle down and crossed your arms over your chest. Then immediately regretted it when the movement shifted your badly buttoned shirt. Dean’s attention dropped fast. A muscle in his jaw ticked. The look on his face was pure hunger, and you yanked his flannel tighter around yourself.
Dean rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed. ‘Oh, come on.’
You straightened as much as you could and forced every word to come out clear.
‘I. Don’t. Want you.’ You glared at him. ‘I want my husband back. My Dean. And you know damn well that’s the only reason I’m not burning the fuck out of you right now.’
Dean reached for the bottle again, smiling.
‘Sure. Yeah. Right.’ He took a sip and leaned back. ‘Looked real convincing when you were bawling your eyes out on the floor.’
The words landed low. You went still.
That was dirty and you knew he meant it to be.
You deserved it, maybe. You had shown weakness in front of him, and now he had it in his hands. You wanted to tell him to fuck off. You wanted to tell him he had no right using that against you when he was the reason you had been coming apart for three weeks. You wanted to remind him that you had watched him die, that you had held him, that every second since then had felt like a knife being twisted in your heart again and again.
You did none of it. You said nothing.
Dean tilted his head, studying you.
‘You really do want him back, don’t you?’ He huffed and shook his head. ‘Well, sweetheart, I’m right here. Still me. Just without the guilt hangover.’
‘No, you are not him,’ you shot back, swallowing against the anger in your throat. ‘You’re not even close.’
Dean's brow lifted. ‘And what makes you so damn sure?’
There was actual curiosity in the question. Real enough that it pulled the answer out of you before you had time to think it through.
‘You hurt people. You killed people.’
Dean just shrugged. 'Killed people before.’
Your fingers found the bottle again because this conversation needed something to dull it. ‘Not like this.’
He rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, already irritated.
'Oh, come on. Don’t get all cute and naive on me now. Those guys were all assholes.’ He leaned forward slightly, voice sharp with conviction. ‘Couple of scumbags who thought they were better than everyone else. I did the world a favor.’
You took a drink and winced when the whiskey burned down your throat. Then you set the bottle back on the table harder than you meant to. The sound cracked through the cabin.
You were getting angry again. Which was good, because anger was easier than the rest of it.
The worst part was how normal this kept trying to feel. Sitting across from him. Talking to him, arguing with him, hearing his voice answer yours. Watching his hands move when he reached for the bottle. After three weeks of silence and waking up to nothing beside you, he was finally here, close enough that you could see every flicker in his expression.
You were relieved. Scared. Excited. Furious. Drunk enough to admit it out loud if he asked.
You missed him so much. And now you were so overwhelmed you were pretty sure you would cry again if your body had anything left.
So you used the anger.
Because for whatever reason, you seemed to be the one person in the world still allowed to push Demon Dean’s buttons and live.
‘Oh, right,’ you said, letting every bit of snark you had left into your voice. ‘You’re a real damn hero.’
Dean’s mouth kicked up as he grabbed the bottle from your hand.
‘You know what this is really about?’ he asked.
You stared at him.
He drank quickly, then set it down with a soft thud. It was almost empty now. You felt the missing whiskey in the heaviness of your eyelids and the way the pain in your arm had dulled completely.
‘Please,’ you said flatly. ‘Enlighten me.’
Dean’s smile widened.
‘It pisses you off because you know this was underneath the whole time.’
The sentence hit hard enough to take your breath for a second.
Because you had thought that before. Of course you had. You had seen the darkness in Dean. The violence, the brutality, the rage. The part of him that could scare people just by going quiet. You had watched him work too many times to pretend he was only soft hands and bad jokes and that beautiful, tired smile he gave you when he hoped no one else was looking.
You loved every part of him. Even the damaged parts. Especially the parts he thought made him hard to love. They were inside a man who fought himself every day to be better than the world made him.
But hearing this Dean say it out loud with such a mocking tone made your stomach turn.
‘Your Dean spent half his life choking on shame,’ Dean said. He picked up the bottle and moved it lightly in his hand, watching the whiskey catch against the glass. ‘I cut that part out.'
He made a small toasting gesture toward you.
‘You’re welcome.’
You stared at him until your vision blurred at the edges. You pulled in a careful breath and made yourself speak.
‘Just… tell me why you’re doing this.’
Your voice sounded tired even to you.
Dean’s smile faded by a fraction.
You closed your eyes for a second and rubbed your forehead with your good hand. The whiskey, the blood loss, the panic crash, all of it was starting to really drag you under.
‘Really. Just cut the crap and tell me. Is this your idea of fun? Does seeing me like this make you feel good?’
When you opened your eyes again, Dean was no longer looking at you. His head had tipped back, eyes turned toward the ceiling, jaw set hard.
‘Dean.'
His name came out softer than it should have, but you didn't really care.
'I’m serious. What’s the fucking point of all this?’
He stood suddenly, chair scraping against the floor.
The movement made you tense, but he didn’t come toward you. He dragged a hand down his face and swore, loudly, before he started pacing.
‘I swear to God,’ he snapped, shoulders tight, ‘it’s like I’m talkin' to a damn wall.’
You watched him move, pulse climbing again despite the whiskey. He was angry now, but it didn’t feel the same as before. This wasn’t the cold threat from the car or the sharp impatience at the cabin door. This had frustration under it. Real frustration, coming from saying something too many times and still not being heard.
Dean stopped near the table and turned back to you.
‘How many times do I gotta tell you?’
His hand closed around the back of the chair. The wood creaked under his fingers, and for one second, you watched the pressure of his grip instead of his face. His knuckles went pale. Anger climbed through him fast now, visible in the line of his shoulders, the set of his mouth, the way his whole body seemed to hold itself back by force.
Then his eyes went black.
You had no idea whether he meant to do it or whether his patience finally slipped. Either way, the effect was immediate. Your stomach tightened so hard it was almost painful.
Dean pushed the words through his teeth.
‘I want you,’ he said. ‘Because you’re mine, and I like keepin’ what’s mine close.’
Yeah. Of course.
There it was again. His possessive bullshit, sharpened by the demon in him until it turned into something that sat wrong in your chest. You had already known that was part of this. You were his wife. He had decided your body, your time, and your choices all belonged to him.
And it got under your skin exactly the way he wanted.
‘I’m not anyone’s property,’ you bit back, forcing yourself to ignore the cold shiver his black eyes sent over your skin. ‘And I’m sure as hell not yours. I belong to my husband. My human husband. Not some… monster wearing his face.’
The chair made another strained sound under his hand.
Dean’s mouth twitched once, but there was no humor in it.
‘Yeah. You can call me a monster all you want.’ His voice came out low and too controlled. ‘Won’t make me any less yours.’
The words caught you off guard. For one second, every thought in your head stalled. Until now, it had always been about you being his. He had never said it the other way around. He had never implied the possession went both ways. That made something sharp pull behind your ribs.
Dean saw the hit land. His smile came back, slower this time, and his eyes flicked green in one lazy blink.
‘And I’m still very much Dean where it counts, baby.’ His gaze moved over your face, down to your mouth, then back up again. ‘Believe me.’
Something inside you snapped clean through.
‘But… I don't understand,’ you said. 'You can have anybody.'
Your voice came out sharper than you wanted, and once the words were out, you could not pull them back. Your heart started beating too fast.
‘Hell, you told me yourself. You take whatever you want. You do whatever you want. So don’t stand there trying to scare me with your black eyes and your demonic ass and tell me how much you care about what’s yours when you were the one who left me.’
You did not even realize you had stood up until the room shifted around you and the chair scraped behind your legs. Your head spun for a second, but anger held you upright better than strength could have.
Dean stared at you.
You probably should have stopped, but you didn’t.
‘You said you didn’t want to be cured, and then you left me. You left me in that bunker losing my fucking mind while you went screwing around God knows where with God knows who.’
The words were out before you fully understood what you had said.
Then you froze.
You stood there with your chest heaving, hand tight around the edge of the table, wishing you could drag every word back into your mouth and swallow it. You had just handed him something raw, another stupid thing he could use against you.
Dean watched you for a long second.
Then his grip on the chair eased, and the corner of his mouth lifted.
‘So that’s what’s got you all bent outta shape.’
You crossed your arms over your chest and looked away at once.
The movement pulled at your bandaged forearm, but the sting barely registered. You wanted to deny it, to give him some cold, clever answer that made you sound above all of this. But there was no point. You had already laid it all out.
His voice dropped. ‘You think I cheated on you?’
You chewed the inside of your bottom lip and said nothing.
‘Oh,’ Dean said.
Just that. Rough. Interested.
Your eyes stayed on the wall, but you heard the chair scrape softly when he moved around it. A few slow steps brought him closer, and you stayed where you were because your head spun when you tried to shift your weight. Maybe that was whiskey. Maybe the blood loss. Maybe the fact that your body was still stupid enough to respond to him even while your mind screamed at you to keep distance.
‘Is that what’s been keepin’ you up at night?’ he asked.
He stopped close enough that you could feel the heat of him before you looked back. Your throat tightened.
‘Your precious husband fucking somebody else?’
The sting in your chest was instant. Your stomach turned, and bile burned at the back of your throat because he knew. He knew how right he was. He knew you well enough to understand the thought had been eating right through you.
You forced yourself to meet his eyes.
Dean’s gaze dropped.
Your shirt had shifted again. Your breasts were pressed high under the way your arms were crossed in the half-buttoned fabric, and his attention locked there with a hunger that made your pulse kick so hard it almost embarrassed you more than the question had.
His hand came up.
You tensed immediately.
Dean noticed. His eyes flicked back to your face, and for a second, that smugness sharpened. Then his fingers caught the crisp edge of your shirt where it split open over your chest. He touched the fabric only, teasing it aside just a little, slow and deliberate, careful not to let his skin brush yours.
‘These hands,’ he said, voice roughening, ‘on somebody else.’
You tried not to visibly wince.
His fingers slid along the seam of your shirt, close enough that your skin heated under the fabric anyway.
Then he leaned down. Too close. Close enough that for one terrible second, you thought he was going to kiss you. The heat between you rose fast. His scent hit you, whiskey and leather and Dean under all of it, and you hated that your body loved everything about it.
His face hovered near yours, his eyes moved over your lips, and your chest rose rapidly no matter how hard you tried to control it.
‘This mouth,’ he said, quieter now, ‘kissing somebody else.’
Your breathing went shallow. Your anger flared hard, and thank God for it, because anger made you pull yourself together.
You caught his wrist. Hard.
This time the burn was immediate and brutal. His eyes flashed black inches from your face, and a growl tore out of him as he jerked back. Smoke curled from under your fingers before you let go.
Dean stepped away, teeth clenched, shaking his hand once at his side, but he was not angry. He smirked instead.
Your heart was still racing as you glared at him. From the fear, from the closeness, from the sick pain of what he had described. Because of course it had kept you up at night. Of course you had thought about him with other women. You kept telling yourself it was not him, that your husband would never do that to you, that whatever Demon Dean did while he was gone did not count.
It had hurt all the same.
‘You can glare all you want, sweetheart,’ Dean said, still smirking as he flexed his burned wrist. The red marks were already fading too fast. ‘Doesn’t change what your pulse did when I got close.’
‘Screw you,’ you snapped.
Your eyes dropped to his wrist. The burns were almost gone.
That stopped you for half a second. You had seen your magic tear through demons before. And Dean was healing from it much faster. The damage closed in front of your eyes, leaving irritated skin behind where there should have been a much nastier wound. Something was definitely off.
Dean followed your gaze, then lifted his wrist with a little tilt of his head.
‘What? See somethin’ you like?’
You dragged your eyes back to his face, but said nothing.
His smile sharpened.
Then he turned away, dropped back into the chair, and reached for the whiskey.
‘Anyway,’ he said as he lifted the bottle and found only one swallow left. ‘You can unclench. I didn’t do any of that.’
You kept glaring at him as he took the last of the whiskey, drained it, and set the empty bottle down with a hard little tap.
‘The kissing and the fucking, I mean.’
He said it so casually that your breath caught, which pissed you off all over again. You laughed once, short and disbelieving, because how could you not.
‘Yeah, right.’
Dean’s eyebrows lifted.
You lowered yourself back into the chair because your head spun hard enough to make the room tilt. The rush of emotion had burned through whatever false steadiness the whiskey gave you, and sitting seemed smarter than finding out what the floor tasted like.
'Do you seriously expect me to believe that?’
Dean’s expression changed. The teasing did not fully disappear, but something colder settled behind it. He looked at you across the table, eyes narrowed and too serious now.
‘Cheating’s for asshats who gotta go sniffing around because they can’t keep what’s theirs satisfied. That ain’t me.'
You blinked at him.
Then immediately rolled your eyes because the line was so absurdly corny and so ridiculous that you did not know what else to do.
Dean just shrugged, as if the rest was obvious. ‘Besides, I already had the good stuff at home.’
Was he serious right now? Honestly. Was he just… mocking you again?
This had to be another way to mess with you. Demon Dean could not possibly be sitting across from you with a straight face and claiming he followed some kind of moral marital line out of principle.
You let out another tired, humorless laugh as your fingers dug into the flannel around you.
‘Of course, now,’ Dean went on, irritation cutting back in, ‘I can’t lay one damn finger on my own wife without getting my ass kicked by her magic.’ He threw one hand out, exasperated. ‘That’s a problem.’
'And why is that?'
You knew it was stupid. Of course it was stupid. You were exhausted, drunk, bleeding through a bandage, and sitting across from your demonic husband asking him why he cared so much about touching you when he had already spent the whole day making that painfully clear.
Still, your attitude was the only thing making you feel like a person instead of a trapped animal, so you held onto it.
Dean blinked slowly. ‘Really?’
You lifted your chin, even though the motion made the room tilt a little.
He looked at you for a full second, then rolled his eyes so hard you almost expected them to get stuck.
‘We're actually doing this now? What are you, twelve?’
Heat crawled up your neck.
Yeah. You had walked right into that one. But what else were you supposed to do? Let him sit there and talk about your body like it was some kind of denied privilege?
You looked away for half a second, trying to gather whatever was left of your dignity, but it was getting harder to hold onto anything. Your body was really starting to shut down now. Your mind too. You felt the pull of unconsciousness somewhere behind your eyes. Your limbs were heavy. Your eyelids kept trying to fall. You needed to lie down. You needed food, water, sleep, stitches, maybe a hospital.
And still, for one stupid, obvious reason, you wanted to keep him talking.
Because he was here. Because he was responding. And every word gave you something.
So you pushed through the dizziness and forced yourself to focus.
‘I just don’t get why-’
‘Goddamnit, I need you!’
His voice tore through the cabin hard enough to make you stop breathing.
Dean stood with both hands braced on the table now, face twisted with anger that looked too close to desperation. The empty bottle rattled near his hand. His eyes were green, but there was nothing soft in them. He looked furious with you, furious with himself, furious with the fact that the words had come out at all.
‘Alright?’ he snapped. ‘That what you wanna hear? Yeah. I need you.’
He grabbed the bottle, remembered it was empty, and the uselessness of it seemed to piss him off even more. His fingers closed around the glass.
‘I tried everything,’ he said. His voice dropped, but the force stayed in it. ‘Every damn thing I could think of to get you outta my head. I drank. I fought. I let women hang all over me. I let myself do whatever the hell I wanted because, hey, that’s the whole point, right?’
His grip tightened. The bottle creaked in his hand.
‘And it still came back to you.’ He looked at you then, and the raw frustration in his face made your breath go shallow. ‘Every time. You. Your voice. Your face. Your body.’
Your throat closed.
Dean’s mouth pulled tight. His jaw was clenched. ‘Nothing else was enough. Nobody else was enough. It all came back to my body needing yours.’
The bottle shattered in his hand.
Glass cracked across the table. You jerked back in your chair as sharp pieces skittered over the wood, some stained red where they cut into his palm. Dean swore, loud and nasty, and shook the shards loose. His hand was a mess for maybe two seconds. Then the skin started knitting itself back together.
The healing should have been the part that stunned you. But that was not the thing that held you still.
It was what he had said. The way he had said it.
Irritated. Furious. Hungry. Desperate in a way that made your stomach tighten because Dean had needed you before. Your Dean had wanted you. Missed you. Reached for you in ordinary moments. Your Dean had loved you.
This was different. This was terrifying. Because he obviously hated needing you.
And underneath the fear, under the whiskey and exhaustion and the insane pounding of your heart, something else pushed through.
A thought.
He needed you enough to lose control. He wanted you badly enough to make mistakes. Badly enough to bring you here, to let you burn him, explain himself, come closer even when every inch of your skin was a weapon against him.
That meant something. It had to mean something, right?
Maybe it wasn't enough to save yourself. But maybe it was the only thing you had. If he wanted you this much, if his obsession was this strong, then maybe you could use it. If he was trying to manipulate you, maybe you could do the same. Just to slow him down. To keep him close enough for the cure.
To bring him back.
Not tonight, of course. Not while you could barely keep your eyes open and your arm was bleeding through the bandage. But soon. You had to get your head clear. You had to stop reacting to every word, every look, every familiar piece of him he used against you.
You had to lock the fuck in.
Dean shoved away from the table and walked to the sink. He turned the faucet on hard and rinsed blood and glass from his already healed hand. The tension in his shoulders did not ease. If anything, he looked more annoyed now, as if admitting any of that had pissed him off more than your burning touch.
A faint wave of satisfaction moved through you.
It would have felt better if your vision had not started blurring at the edges.
You looked down.
The bandage around your forearm was soaked through now. The cuts throbbed under it. You had used too much blood, too much strength. Your body had been warning you for a while, and you had ignored every signal because you didn't want to show any more weakness.
You needed to lie down. Badly. But you still had one thing to say.
You gripped the edge of the table with your uninjured hand.
‘If you need me that much,’ you said, and even to your own ears, the words sounded thin now, ‘then let me cure you.’
Dean stayed with his back to you. His hands were braced against the counter, head dropped between his shoulders.
You swallowed, fighting the pull behind your eyes.
‘Let me set this right and take you home.’
His shoulders went still.
You tried to stand, or maybe you only thought about standing. Your body did not cooperate either way.
‘Dean.’ Your voice almost broke on his name.
He did not turn around.
‘Let me take you home.’
‘No.’
One word. Low. Final. More growl than answer.
The room tilted.
You blinked hard, but the shapes did not come back right. Dean’s back blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again. Your injured arm still throbbed under the ruined bandage, and your fingers had gone cold around the edge of the table.
‘P… please.’
This time he turned.
‘I said no.’
His face was stone cold. Jaw set. Eyes fixed on you with a sudden sharpness that told you he noticed what was happening a second before you did.
He looked like he might say something else.
That was the last thing you remembered before everything went black.
‘Son of a-’
Dean moved before the chair could tip all the way back.
One second she was sitting there, staring at him with those exhausted, glassy eyes, and the next her body went loose. Her head dropped, her hand slipped off the edge of the table, and the whole damn chair started going with her.
He caught her before she hit the floor.
‘Awesome,’ he breathed under his breath. ‘That’s just awesome.’
Her weight was not the problem. Demon strength made that part easy. The problem was the heat that hit the second he pulled her against him. Her body pressed into his arms and chest, and the burn came fast, biting through his sleeves, through his shirt, through every place she was close enough for that magic of hers to react.
Dean hissed through his teeth and tightened his hold anyway.
‘Yeah, yeah, I get it,’ he muttered, carrying her toward the bedroom. ‘Still mad at me.’
She did not answer. Her body was limp in his arms, her head against his shoulder, one hand hanging loose, and she was still hurting him without even trying.
He crossed into the bedroom fast, careful not to knock her bandaged arm against the doorframe. The old bed creaked when he lowered her onto it, and Dean had to peel his hands away one at a time. His shirt smoked faintly. The skin underneath stung and pulled tight while it healed.
He ignored it.
He leaned over her, close enough for his mouth to hover near her throat, and listened. Heartbeat there. Weak. Fast. Too damn fast, actually, but there. Her chest rose under the half-open shirt, shallow and uneven, and the next breath brushed warm against his cheek.
Still breathing.
Something in his chest loosened and he hated that immediately. He did not like the weird flash of relief that hit him, and he sure as hell did not like how it felt to know she was breathing.
Dean straightened, rubbed both hands over his face, then planted them on his hips and stared down at her.
Yeah, he was pissed.
No. Pissed did not cover it. He was livid.
Part of it was at himself. Obviously. Because apparently he had decided to run his damn mouth until he handed her every ugly piece of truth she had been digging for. Great job, dumbass. Real smooth. This was supposed to be fun. He was supposed to be leaning back, enjoying the show, watching her get all mad and flushed while he pushed buttons he had earned the right to push. She was supposed to figure out how to shut that magic down so they could both stop wasting time.
Instead, she had pushed and pushed until he said too much.
Need.
He had actually said that. Out loud.
Son of a bitch.
Now she had one more thing to throw in his face when she got her strength back. One more little weapon for that big brain of hers to turn over until she thought she understood him.
No. She didn’t understand crap.
Still, the worst part was her arm.
Dean’s eyes dropped to the bandage. Red had spread through the gauze near her wrist and along the lower edge, darkening where it had soaked too deep. The sight made his teeth press together.
That was on her.
If she had not tried to be a goddamn hero with the bloody art project, if she had not grabbed the nastiest knife in the cabin and carved herself open to keep him out, she would not be lying there unconscious, drained, pale as hell, and making him deal with one more problem.
He should have let her sit with the consequences a little longer. That was the lesson, right? Pull a stupid stunt, pay for it.
Except the lesson was useless if she bled through the damn sheets.
‘Unbelievable,’ he muttered.
Dean reached down and checked the bandage again, using the edge of the flannel wrapped around her to lift her arm. The cuts probably needed stitches. Better cleaning too, because those little wipes from the kit were crap.
She needed sleep. Proper rest. He knew that. He wasn’t an idiot. He had seen the dark circles under her eyes the second he got close to her in the Impala. Seen the hollow look in her face under all that panic. Seen how hard she had been running herself into the ground.
He had just hoped she could keep it together long enough to get them somewhere useful.
Common ground. A deal. A plan. Obedience would have been great.
Dean looked at her face.
She was turned slightly toward him. Her mouth was slightly open, still breathing unevenly. She looked wrecked. Worse than she had at the table. Worse than she had on the floor, crying.
And still, goddamnit, he missed her so much it made him angry all over again.
His gaze moved before he could decide against it. The shirt was still half-open under the flannel, fabric pulled wrong from the fight, from his hands, from the whole stupid day. His eyes caught there first, because of course they did. Then lower, to the curve of her waist, her hips under the wrinkled fabric, all the places he had been thinking about for three miserable weeks while every other distraction bored him into a bad mood.
Then his eyes stopped at her lips.
Bad idea.
Really bad idea.
Dean exhaled through his nose and ran a hand over his mouth.
He could wake her up. Shake her until those eyes opened, tell her to quit passing out on him, tell her she had a husband right there and a few damn marital duties she was seriously neglecting. The thought came fast and ugly, because he wanted her real fucking bad.
His eyes dropped to the soft skin peeking through the open shirt again, and his jaw worked once before he forced himself to look away.
No.
Even like this, he wasn’t that desperate. He didn’t need to take it from her while she was half-dead on an old bed. He wanted her awake, looking right at him when she finally stopped holding back. He wanted her to want it. Wanted her to ask. Beg, if he did this right.
And he was damn sure he could get her there.
The red on the bandage finally snapped his head back where it needed to be.
Dean's mouth flattened.
He was gonna have to make another run. He needed better bandages. Real disinfectant. Stitch strips, maybe. Something he could use instead of needle and thread, because stitching her up while her skin tried to cook him was going to be a real fun time for nobody. Food too. Something with salt, sugar, protein, whatever the hell she needed after bleeding on every wall in the room. More booze for himself, because this whole thing had turned into a bigger pain in the ass than advertised.
But the stores were closed now, or close enough to it, and driving out would take too long. He had already left her alone once, and she had turned the cabin into a damn murder house.
No. He was staying put until he knew she was stable.
Dean left the bedroom and dragged one of the old armchairs from the main room. The legs scraped over the floorboards the whole way, loud enough to make her shift faintly on the bed. He stopped, eyes cutting to her face. She didn’t wake.
He planted the thing beside the bed, angled it toward her and the door at the same time, then dropped into it with a hard, annoyed huff.
He leaned back, stretched his legs out, and stared at her.
She slept on, pale and silent. Her breathing evened out and her pulse seemed to settle back toward normal.
Dean’s mouth tightened.
‘You better not make a habit outta this,’ he muttered.
She didn’t answer, obviously.
He settled deeper into the chair, eyes glued to the rise and fall of her chest.
For now, he would watch her. Make sure she kept breathing. Make sure the bandage did not keep soaking through. Make sure nothing came through the woods, through the patched-up door, or through any other damn thing trying to take what belonged to him.
Yeah.
For now, he was making sure she was alright.
And if anyone had a problem with that, they could bite him.
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Summary: Heaven finally calls in the favor it’s been holding over your head since the day you came back from the dead. To repay it, you, Dean, and Sam have to go through Purgatory and into Hell itself to retrieve the Lance of Michael. But Hell has been closed for a long time, and the things trapped inside have not forgotten who locked the door. Some promises survive the dark. Others come back changed...
MASTERLIST
Story tags: Plus-Size reader, Reader is from a different reality, Action, Violence, Angst, Drama, Blood Magic, Blood play, Smut, Rough sex, Emotional strain, Moral conflict, POV Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence, Married Dean Winchester, POV Second person, POV Alternating, No use of y/n, Ordinary sequel
Warning: This one's going to be slightly darker. I will tag everything later, when it becomes relevant, but for now, I don't want to spoil anything.
A/N: It was my birthday yesterday, so I decided to give you a little present - the first chapter of the sequel I promised. We’re starting a little slow, but trust me, I’ve got a lot in store.
Feel free to tell me if you think you know where this is going… just don’t spoil it for everyone else, please. I may have made it a little too obvious...
For better or worse.
In sickness and in health.
Until death do us part.
The fine print of marriage. Pretty words people say because they believe love makes them capable of keeping promises that big.
Back at your wedding, you didn’t use those words. Not because you didn’t believe them. Not because you thought they were too much. No. You promised forever. Because you knew better.
You knew forever was possible. You knew that was what both of you had been given. Not just a single lifetime. Not until age or illness or death finally came to collect.
Forever.
And even if you had known, even if someone had stood in front of you that day and described every terrible, unspeakable thing waiting for you along the road… You still would have taken his hand.
You still would have said yes.
The only thing you didn’t know was what you were willing to become to save your forever.
Dean was pacing the war room hard enough that the hem of his gray bathrobe kept snapping around his calves.
He couldn’t sit down. Might never sit down again, honestly. Might never calm the hell down again either, not with her sitting right there at the map table, hands flat on the glowing surface, way too damn calm for a conversation like this.
Dean knew that calm. Knew it wasn’t natural.
She was using her mojo to hold herself together. Pulling on that protection in her blood, the one her great-grandfather had shoved into their lives from beyond the grave. And yeah, fine, right now Dean was grateful for it. Because if she wasn’t calm, if she cracked right now, Dean was pretty sure he’d start tearing the bunker apart brick by brick.
Still, watching her sit there all steady and controlled was tuning his own nerves up past safe. His body wanted to move. Hit something. Break something. Grab her and drag her back to their room and lock the damn door until Heaven forgot they existed.
Cas was talking, and every single sentence out of his mouth was worse than the one before.
Dean would’ve given anything for one hit of her magic himself. Just enough to take the edge off. Enough to stop his jaw from aching, his hands from flexing, his pulse from hammering in his throat.
But she needed it more. And he’d give her anything she needed.
Everything.
‘So you’re a hundred percent sure the Lance is down there?’ she asked, her voice even. Too even.
Cas nodded. ‘Yes. The last time it was seen, Crowley had it locked in one of Hell’s vaults.’
‘And who gave you this information?’ she asked again.
‘Crowley,’ Castiel said.
Dean stopped pacing. Turned his head slow toward Cas. From the corner of his eye, he saw his brother straighten beside her chair.
‘Crowley?’ Sam echoed, forehead creasing. ‘He’s alive?’
‘Yes,’ Cas said. ‘He is in a rather pitiful state. Humanity clearly doesn’t agree with him.’
Dean’s mouth twitched. Not even close to a smile.
Good.
‘But he was willing to talk,’ Cas went on. ‘And we made sure he wasn’t lying.’
‘Made sure?’ Sam asked. ‘You mean you tortured him?’
Castiel looked almost offended by the question. ‘No. There was no need. He was scared out of his mind.’
Nobody said anything to that.
Dean sure as hell wasn’t gonna waste sympathy on Crowley. Cured or not, human or not, the son of a bitch had earned every bad thing coming his way. Crowley had hurt people Dean loved. Hurt her. Hurt Sam. Hurt Kevin. Dean would never forgive that. As far as he was concerned, the bastard still got off easy.
The silence stretched. Cas took that as his cue to keep going.
‘Crowley said the last time he saw the Lance was when he retrieved the Angel tablet from the vault before your… transaction. Considering the Gates of Hell were closed only hours later, it is reasonable to assume the Lance remains locked inside.’
Dean started pacing again. Couldn’t keep still. Couldn’t look at her too long either, because every time he did, his chest got tight enough to hurt.
Then she spoke again, and there it was. A tiny shake under the calm.
‘Okay,’ she said, taking a breath. ‘How do we get there?’
Fair question.
The gates were shut. All of them. Locked up tight because of her and Sam. No demons topside anymore, no smoke-out black-eyed sons of bitches crawling around in meatsuits. No easy door down. Which left exactly one option. Purgatory.
Dean’s stomach turned.
But Ajay was dead. The rogue reaper who got her and Sam through before was gone. Crowley had seen to that a long time ago.
‘Heaven has several reapers working with us,’ Cas said. ‘There are a few willing to take you there.’
Dean’s jaw tightened hard. He hated this. Hated every piece of it.
Hated that they were standing here talking about that place again, talking about sending her there again, as if the last time hadn’t nearly broken him in half. As if it hadn’t almost killed both of them. And for what? Because Naomi had decided to cash in the debt she’d been holding over his wife’s head since the day she dragged her back from the dead.
‘You mean there and back, right?’ Sam asked.
Dean glanced up. Cas’s shoulders dipped, just a fraction.
Son of a bitch.
‘Unfortunately,’ Cas said, and his eyes flicked to Dean before dropping again, ‘there is no way of knowing when you will return. No reaper is willing to wait in Purgatory.’
She sat up straighter at that. ‘So we’re supposed to bet on the human portal Dean used with Benny? The same one Sam and I used?’
‘Yes,’ Castiel said.
‘And how do we even know the back door to Hell is still open?’ Sam asked. ‘We closed the gates. That was the whole point.’
‘You closed the Gates of Hell on Earth,’ Cas said. ‘That was always clear from the trials.’
Dean rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.
Yeah, sure. Always clear. Except for the part where nothing was ever clear until Kevin translated the tablet. Cas had obviously spent too much time upstairs. He was starting to sound like one of the smug angel dicks he used to hate.
‘And our intelligence confirms it is open,’ Cas continued. ‘The demons simply cannot get out. But you should be able to use it.’
‘You keep saying you, Cas,’ she said.
Dean stopped again. Her voice was still calm, but suspicion had cut through it now.
‘You’re not coming with us, are you?’
Another silence. Dean looked at Cas. For what it was worth, the guy looked miserable. Didn’t help much. Didn’t make the answer any less crap.
‘Sadly, no,’ Cas said quietly. ‘Believe me, I want to go with you. The task before you is dangerous. But my presence there would be a beacon. It could draw attention to you. Naomi says-’
‘Oh, you gotta be kidding me,’ Dean finally snapped.
All three of them looked at him. He didn’t look at his wife. Couldn’t. Already knew what look she was probably giving him.
Too damn bad. He was past caring.
‘Naomi says?!’ Dean barked. ‘Fuck Naomi!’
‘Dean,’ Sam warned.
‘No, Sam, screw that.’ Dean pointed at Cas. ‘What the hell happened to you, man?’
Cas said nothing. Dean stepped closer, robe shifting around his legs.
‘I mean, seriously. I know she gave you your powers back. Great. Awesome. But you used to have your own damn will, Cas. Now she says jump and you ask how high.’
Cas lowered his eyes to the table. That pissed Dean off even more.
‘You gotta see what she’s doing is wrong. She’s using you just as much as she’s using her.’
He finally looked at his wife. Expected anger. But he didn’t get it. No, her eyes were soft. That cut through him worse than any glare would’ve.
Because she was grateful he was saying all that.
Because she was scared.
Dean swallowed hard.
‘Dean-’ Cas started.
Dean shook his head. He wasn’t done. ‘No. Really, Cas. Since when are you back to bein’ Heaven’s bitch?’
The words landed ugly. Dean knew it the second they left his mouth. Cas didn’t flinch, didn’t snap back. He just looked at him with that serious, sad face that made Dean want to hit something.
The silence dragged.
Sam finally cleared his throat.
‘So let me get this straight,’ he said, voice controlled. ‘The only thing Heaven is helping with is getting us into Purgatory. After that, we’re on our own. No backup in Hell, no guaranteed way out for us.’
‘Wait, what?’ she cut in.
Dean closed his eyes for half a second.
Here we go.
‘Us?’ she asked, turning toward Sam. ‘What do you mean, us?’
Dean had expected this from her.
And he wasn’t surprised about his brother, either. Because Sam had already made up his mind. Hell, Sam had made up his mind about three seconds after they heard what Naomi wanted. There had been no real conversation. Sam had just looked at Dean and said he was going. Dean hadn’t argued. Any other time, he would’ve fought like hell to keep Sammy out of the line of fire. But this was too big. Too dangerous. And Dean needed his brother down there.
Needed him with her.
Sam was the second-best hunter in the world, after all.
‘Sam?’ she spoke again, sharper this time. Dean and Sam exchanged one look. ‘Sam, I’m talking to you. And I swear to God, if you tell me-’
‘I’m coming with,’ Sam interrupted, firm. ‘I’m not sitting this one out. Not a chance.’
Her face shifted. ‘Sam, please.’
He put a hand on her shoulder, gentle, but steady. ‘There’s nothing you can say to talk me out of it. I’m sorry.’
She turned to Dean then, eyes wide, glassy. Desperate.
‘Dean, back me up.’
Fuck.
There it was. The look he never could handle. The one that made him want to give her anything, promise anything, lie through his teeth if it made her breathe easier.
But not this time.
Dean forced himself to hold her gaze.
‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’m with Sam on this one. We need him down there.’
And there was the glare, the one he’d been expecting. Hurt. Scared.
‘No.’ She shook her head fast. ‘No, no, no. I’m not letting both of you do this.’
Dean saw it happen. Her breathing changed, fingers tightened against the edge of the map table. Her magic was slipping.
He crossed the distance fast and leaned over her, bracing one hand against the table near hers, caging her. Just enough to hold her attention, enough to keep her from spinning out.
‘Baby,’ he said, low and steady, ‘listen to me. We’re both going with you. Because that’s the only way all three of us are comin’ back alive.’
Her eyes flicked over his face, even glassier now.
Goddamnit.
It took everything in him not to fold. Not to drag her up out of that chair, tuck her against his chest, and swear he’d find another way.
But there wasn’t another way. So he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
‘And we are coming back,’ he said, rougher now. ‘I promise.’
Her eyes closed, just for a second. Then she opened them and looked at Sam. She shook her head once, but she didn’t argue again. Instead, she took a slow breath and reached for Dean’s hand where it was still planted on the table.
Her fingers closed around his, tight. Anchoring herself. Pulling on the magic in her blood.
He could feel it. Not the magic itself, but the effect of it. The way her breathing evened out. Her hand stopped trembling. She forced herself back into the woman who could stand in front of angels, demons, gods, and tell them exactly where to shove it.
His wife.
Dean curled his fingers around hers and squeezed once. After a moment, she lifted her chin and turned back to Cas.
‘Alright,’ she looked at Castiel, voice steady again. ‘Two days. Give me two days to get ready.’
You were going to Hell. Again.
A part of you had hoped the angels would take much longer to get their intel together and set a date. A larger part of you had hoped the day simply would not come at all. That Heaven would suddenly find a better option and leave the three of you out of it.
But there was another part too. The stubborn part, the one that kept trying to convince you that you had been through worse.
The trials, for example. Those were worse, objectively. You had survived the trials, survived closing the Gates of Hell. You had survived dying on a church floor. A walk through Purgatory and Hell was just part of that story, wasn’t it?
You had done it once. To an extent.
Because the last time you went to Hell, you never made it past the cells that held the souls. The few demons you encountered were burned and dealt with quickly. Almost easily, compared to the nightmare of Purgatory. And now you had to cross Purgatory again. A monster pit waiting between you and whatever Hell had become after the gates closed.
That was enough to make your stomach twist on its own.
But underneath your own fear, under the cold weight sitting under your ribs, there was something worse.
Dean.
You were worried about him. More than you would ever admit in front of him, because he already looked one bad word away from ripping the bunker apart. You didn’t know what Purgatory would do to him once he set foot there again. What old scars it would open, what memories it would shove back under his skin. That place had already damaged something between him and Sam that took time and too many ugly conversations to repair.
And then there was Hell.
You knew exactly what Hell had done to him after he was gripped tight and raised from perdition. The nightmares, the drinking, the memories... Thirty years on the rack. Ten years on the other side of it, holding the blade. And you knew very well which part still ate at him worse. It was not only what had been done to him. It was what he had done to survive it.
That had never really loosened its grip on him.
So yes, you were scared. Nervous, wound up, too close to spiraling, more than once. You couldn’t remember the last time you had tapped into your own calming magic this much. Mostly for yourself. Sometimes for Dean too, because he was obviously losing his mind. But you knew if he saw the full extent of your fear, it would only make his worse. So for once, you were forcing yourself to stay calm, focusing on your own breathing, your own pulse, your own head.
Still, you had to be careful.
Your magic had limits. You had learned that the hard way. And the last thing you needed was to push too far before you even got into Hell. Because nothing screamed success quite like sudden amnesia while elbow-deep in blood and demon guts.
No. You had to pace yourself.
Especially with everything you had spent the past two days doing.
It had been intense.
All three of you had snapped into focus. Sam and Dean prepared every weapon they could justify carrying. The demon-killing knife, Angel blades, holy water. Dean even insisted on bringing salt rounds, even though you both knew they would probably be useless down there. He did not care. If there was the slightest chance something might help, it was going in the bag.
Dean had gone full tactician, and it was almost unfair how hot that was. Which, admittedly, was something you thought about him far too often. But watching him plan, analyze, think three steps ahead with that tight focus in his eyes… you had caught yourself thinking, not for the first time, that competence looked ridiculously good on your husband.
You, on the other hand, focused on your blood.
Your burning touch and blood were still the best weapon against demons you had. So you prepared everything you needed for the blood darts you had decided to try after all.
You still didn’t know if injecting your blood into demons through darts would work the way you hoped, but it was worth trying.
You had prepped the darts, added EDTA, packed the insulated medical box that would keep the blood usable as long as possible. You could not make many, though. It was already too much equipment to carry, especially with the huge-ass dart gun. So, thirty darts, maybe. And that was already pushing it.
On top of that, you had decided to paint a protective sigil in your blood on both Sam and Dean. The same base symbols you had used during the ritual when you transferred the protection in your blood to them. It should help, in theory. Demons should not be able to touch them easily. Maybe they would even burn on contact. Maybe not. You couldn’t be sure. But smearing your blood across their chests was the least you could do.
They had both agreed to it, of course. Even Dean.
He didn’t even give you the look, not even an eye-roll. He only asked you not to give too much. Not to risk pushing your magic too hard before you even got there. On that point, you had agreed with him completely.
Which was why you were sitting in your lab now, empty dart shells lined up in neat rows, the EDTA already piped in. The phlebotomy kit sat open beside you, your blood slowly filling the collection bag. Drawing the blood this way was easier. A lot less stupid than stabbing yourself over and over just to fill individual vials.
You watched the dark red move through the tube, when the door opened.
‘Hey.’
Dean’s voice came from the doorway.
You looked up and found him standing there with a flask in one hand and three pairs of protective glasses in the other.
‘Can I steal some of your lab space?’
‘Sure,’ you said, and managed a small smile.
When he smiled back, your heart gave a stupid little jump. You had not seen him smile once in the last forty-eight hours.
He stepped inside and moved toward the counter, grabbing a metal tray. He poured a thin layer of clear liquid into it, flicked his Zippo open, and touched the flame to it. A small fire caught and held. Dean watched it for a second, then dragged the first pair of glasses through the flame. One lens, then the other. Then the next pair.
Of course.
Holy fire. So you could see hellhounds.
Your throat tightened so fast it almost hurt.
With everything else weighing on you, you had forgotten about them. Those terrifying, stinking things. The sound of claws on the ground. The copper rot of their blood in your mouth after the trial. The painful pressure of teeth in your shoulder…
‘That’s useful,’ you said, because that was the only thing you trusted your voice to do.
‘Mhm.’ Dean kept his attention on the flame.
After a second, he looked up. His eyes went straight to the blood bag in front of you, then to the tube coming out of your arm.
His whole face changed.
‘How much do you need to give?’ he asked.
‘Three hundred milliliters,’ you glanced at the bag. ‘Which is around ten ounces, I think. Little less than a regular donation.’
Dean said nothing. You watched his throat move as he swallowed.
So you kept talking, because silence was getting a little heavy.
‘That should give us thirty darts. Which is already a lot to carry with us.’ You fumbled one of the empty shells with your free hand and nodded toward the insulated box on the side. ‘They’ll have to stay in that as long as possible.’
‘I’ll get a backpack,’ Dean said. ‘Should fit.’
He put out the fire, closed the flask, and folded the glasses carefully beside the tray.
‘Does the dart gun have a magazine?’ you asked.
Dean shook his head. ‘Nope. Single-shot.’
‘Damnit.’ You closed your eyes for a second. ‘Okay. I can keep a few on hand once we’re down there. There won’t be enough time for them to spoil outside the box, I guess. But we’ll have to stop so I can take them out in batches.’
‘I’ll be carrying the gun,’ Dean said simply.
You frowned. ‘I thought I would be.’
‘No.’
You blinked at him. He didn’t even soften it. Just stood there, arms crossed, face set.
‘That thing’s big and heavy. Just carryin’ it would slow your ass down, and we can’t afford that.’
Okay. There were at least seven better ways to say that.
You narrowed your eyes. ‘But I’m the more precise shot.’
Dean’s eyebrow lifted. He didn’t argue, though. The sharpshooter trophy from Tombstone sitting in your room was yours, after all, and he knew it.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You are.’
The corner of his mouth twitched and you saw the lines around his eyes deepen, just a little.
‘But your best weapon is still your hands,’ he continued. ‘I need you free to use ’em if something gets close, not trying to juggle that huge frickin’ rifle while some demon tries to take a chunk out of you.’
Yeah, okay, that was fair. Still, that tone. That edge in his voice scraped at your nerves.
You pulled the needle out of your arm and dropped it onto the tray harder than necessary.
‘Right,’ you said.
Dean let out a slow breath beside you and dragged a hand over his face.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
You did not look up. You clamped the tube, taped the gauze down, and sat back a little while keeping the firm pressure at the needle site on your arm.
‘Sweetheart.’ His voice was rougher now. Lower. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m nervous as hell, okay? That’s why I’m bein’ a jerk.’
That softened you immediately, because of course it did. You understood too well that with Dean, fear usually came out as anger first.
‘That’s okay,’ you said, giving him a small smile. ‘I know you are. We all are.’
You looked at each other then, and for a second, neither of you said anything. You searched his face for reassurance. For hope, maybe. He seemed to be doing the exact same thing, and that scared you a little more.
You cleared your throat and glanced at the clock.
‘It’s late,’ you said. ‘You should try to get some rest.’
The look on his face made it obvious rest was not happening.
So you reached for him.
He stepped closer without hesitation. You wrapped your arm around his waist from where you sat and pressed your face into his stomach, breathing him in through the soft cotton of his shirt. You shut your eyes and let yourself have the comfort of that for one brief moment.
One of his hands settled at the back of your neck. The other moved over the side of your head, fingers gentle in your hair.
‘I’ll fill the darts, put them in the fridge, and I’ll be right there, okay?’
His thumb brushed the side of your neck. You tightened your arm around him.
‘Yeah,’ he said. His voice caught a little on the word.
Dean bent and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. It lingered for one second longer than usual. After that, he made himself step away and left the lab.
And you sat there for a second longer, staring at the door and trying not to think too hard about the fact that in a few hours, the two of you would be walking back into the worst places either of you had ever survived.
It was almost ten by the time you finally shut the lab door behind you.
Your back ached from sitting too long, your arm still felt tender where the needle had been, and your head was still running the same thoughts, same fears, same ugly possibilities waiting for you in a matter of hours.
You dragged your feet through the bunker halls, too tired to walk properly and too wired to feel anywhere close to sleep. You doubted you would manage more than a few restless minutes, but at least you could lie down, close your eyes for a while. At least you could rest against your husband and pretend, for a little bit, that tomorrow wasn’t right outside the door.
When you pushed open the bedroom door, he was already changed into his sleep shirt and boxers, standing at the end of the bed with the remote in one hand and a deep scowl on his face.
‘Goddamn piece of junk,’ he muttered, jabbing at the buttons. ‘I swear to God, one more time and I’m puttin’ a bullet in this thing.’
You stood in the doorway for a second, watching him. Then you let the door click shut behind you, crossed the room without a word, and wrapped both arms around him from behind.
Dean went still.
You pressed yourself flush against his back, cheek resting between his shoulder blades, and closed your eyes. He was warm and solid and so tense under your hands. You took one breath, then another, and reached carefully for your magic.
Not much. Just a small push, enough to smooth the sharpest edges off him.
You felt the change almost immediately. The smallest drop in his shoulders, the slight easing of the muscles under your cheek. His breathing didn’t calm completely, but it slowed enough for you to know it had worked.
Dean sighed through his nose.
‘You shouldn’t waste your magic like that.’
The rumble of his voice moved through his chest and into your cheek where it still rested between his shoulders. You tightened your hold on him.
‘It’s not a waste if it helps you.’
He gave a low scoff, but there was no bite in it. ‘Right.’
He covered one of your hands with his and held it there, pressed against his stomach. For a moment, neither of you moved. He just kept your hand trapped under his, thumb dragging over your knuckles in slow strokes.
Finally, you pulled back enough to step around him. He let you, but only because you kept your hands on him. You braced them against his biceps and made him look down.
‘Hey,’ you said softly. ‘Look at me.’
His eyes met yours for a moment, then flicked away almost immediately.
‘Dean.’
His jaw tightened.
You squeezed his arms. ‘It’s going to be okay.’ You tried to sound more certain than you felt. ‘We’re more prepared than we’ve ever been. We’ve got a plan, we’ve got weapons, we’ve got the blood darts. We’re gonna kick its ass.’
He gave you a look then, unimpressed. ‘That right?’
‘Yes.’ You slid your hands up his shoulders, over the back of his neck, and into his hair. He leaned into it before he could stop himself. His eyes closed when your nails scratched lightly at his scalp.
‘Trust me. We’ll be back home before you know it. With the Lance, my Heaven debt finally paid off. And then we can go right back to fighting over honeymoon plans.’
Dean’s eyes opened. His face softened in the worst possible way. In that quiet, sick understanding that both of you were trying not to say the obvious thing out loud.
Heaven would not simply let go because you did one favor.
But now wasn’t the time to focus on that. Instead, you let out a small breath and pulled him down into a kiss.
It was supposed to be gentle. Reassuring. Something simple enough to say what words couldn’t.
Dean let it stay that way for maybe three seconds.
Then his hands tightened on you. The kiss changed fast. His mouth pressed harder, his fingers dug into your hips, and suddenly he was pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The need, the desperation in it stole the air from your lungs. His mouth moved over yours with that familiar intensity that always made your head spin.
There was longing in it. Fear too. Something almost angry in the way he kissed you. Not at you, at the whole damn situation. At Heaven. At tomorrow. At anything that thought it had the right to take you from him.
You let him kiss you like that. And let yourself melt into it too, because the truth was, it calmed you down better than magic ever did. His mouth, his hands, his body against yours.
He walked you back without breaking the kiss. One slow step, then another, until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed.
That was when you broke the kiss, barely, your mouth still close to his.
‘Dean,’ you whispered.
His breathing was hard against your lips, hands still holding your hips. ‘What?’
‘I don’t…’ You swallowed, trying to get the words out without hurting him. ‘I don’t think I can tonight.’
Dean froze, forehead pressed to yours.
You looked down for a second, then forced yourself to look back at him. ‘I don’t want this to feel like goodbye sex.’
The words landed hard between you. He looked at you for a second, chest rising and falling against yours.
‘Can we just… cuddle tonight?’ you asked gently.
His grip on you softened, palms moving over your hips in a slow, soothing pass.
‘Yeah,’ he said. His voice came out rough. ‘Yeah, course.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t.’ He shook his head immediately. ‘Don’t apologize for that.’
Dean leaned in and kissed you again. This time it was softer, slower. One kiss, then another, while his hand slid up to the back of your neck. Then another kiss to your forehead, lingering there a second longer than necessary before he stepped back.
‘But first,’ he said, clearing his throat a little, obviously needing the shift in focus as much as you did. ‘Sit.’
You blinked. ‘What?’
He crossed to the little table and grabbed the bottle of water and the sandwich he had apparently prepared earlier. Of course he had.
He came back and held them out with that stubborn, bossy look on his face. ‘Drink. Eat.’
You stared at the sandwich. ‘Dean-’
‘Don’t Dean me. You need it after the blood thing.’ He nodded toward the bed. ‘Then I’m cuddlin’ the hell outta you.’
‘But I’m not hungry.’
‘Didn’t ask.’
You took the water first, mostly because you didn’t have the energy for arguing. But he was right, you needed to hydrate after giving blood.
Dean kept standing there until you opened it and took a few swallows. Then he nodded at the sandwich.
You sighed. ‘You’re going to stare at me until I eat it, aren’t you?’
‘Damn right,’ he said. ‘Now sit your ass down and do what you’re told for once.’
You gave him a tired look, but took the sandwich and sat down on the bed anyway. The first bite made you realize how empty your stomach actually was.
Dean’s shoulders dropped a little once you started eating. You watched him climb into bed while you ate, close enough for his thigh to press against yours. His hand settled on your knee, warm and heavy, thumb moving now and then.
Neither of you said much after that.
You finished half the sandwich before your stomach protested, and Dean let you get away with that after a long suspicious look and one muttered, ‘Better than nothin’.’ Then he took the plate, set it aside, and pulled the blanket back.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘C’mere.’
You went willingly, folding into him with your head on his chest, his arm tight around you, your legs tangled together. And the whole time, one thought kept circling in your head.
You were coming back.
All of you.
Whatever Hell threw at you, whatever waited in Purgatory, whatever Heaven thought it had planned, you would not let it take him from you. Would not let it take you from him. Not after everything. Not now.
No matter what it took.
Yeah… you believed that.
Lying there, wrapped in his warmth, with his wedding ring resting against your skin and your blood sealed inside it, you believed it completely.
‘Remind me again why we have to drive there?’ she asked from the back. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier if Cas just zapped us to the right location?’
Dean kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on his thigh. Sam sat beside him in the passenger seat, quiet, one elbow braced against the window. She was leaning forward from the backseat, one hand braced on the top of the bench between him and Sam.
Dean didn’t need to look at her. He could hear the nerves in every word. Could feel them, too, really. He kept his tone even anyway.
‘I already told you,’ he said. ‘I wanted to drive. Calms me down.’
That got him the faint sound of her breathing out through her nose. Pretty sure she rolled her eyes too. Any other day, he’d have called her on it. Would’ve shot back something smart. Maybe threatened to pull over. Today he let it slide.
‘Yeah, okay,’ she muttered.
Dean’s mouth twitched, but that was it.
Even after all that time, after the rings and the vows and the whole marriage deal, she still refused to sit in the front when Sam was in the car with them. Said it was out of the question. That she wasn’t going to mess with something sacred.
Dean was pretty sure part of her just liked having the whole damn back bench to herself.
Sam glanced at Dean, then back at the road, trying to stifle a big yawn.
They’d all been up before sunrise. Not that anyone had needed an alarm. Dean doubted any of them had slept more than an hour or two. He sure as hell hadn’t. She’d eventually gone quiet against him, but her sleep had been restless. Dean had stayed awake through most of it, counting every time she moved, every time she settled again.
Which was crap, because they needed to be sharp.
Still, they’d packed fast. Efficient. Sam handled the bags. Dean checked weapons one last time. She drew the sigils on their chests with her own blood, checked the darts, the cooling box, the little medical kit he wished they didn’t need.
So far, nothing had gone sideways.
Dean hated how much that made him nervous.
Cas and the reaper Heaven had assigned to get them through the portal were supposed to wait at the same place Ajay had used before. Closest door into Purgatory, apparently.
His wife settled back against the seat for a minute, then leaned forward again. Dean reached back without looking and held out his hand.
She took it immediately. Her fingers were cold. Of course they were.
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles once, keeping his other hand steady on the wheel. ‘You good?’
‘No,’ she said honestly. Then, after a beat, ‘But I’m… functional.’
Dean huffed. ‘Yeah, that’s real comforting.’
Sam looked out the window, mouth tight. He didn’t say anything and Dean was grateful for that.
A few minutes later, the alley came into view. Narrow and dirty, trash pushed up against the walls, colorful graffiti all over the bricks. The kind of place normal people walked past fast and didn’t look into twice.
‘There,’ Sam said quietly, even though Dean had already seen it.
He pulled Baby to a stop near the curb and cut the engine.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then Dean squeezed her hand and let go.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this done.’
All three doors opened at once with a loud creak.
They got out and went to the trunk. Sam started hauling things out, quiet and focused. Dean grabbed the dart gun and slung it over his shoulder with a grunt. The thing was big and looked ridiculous as hell next to the stuffed backpack already pulling at one side of him.
Still, he had to admit, the gun made him feel a little like Rambo. Too bad he couldn’t carry his wife’s blood in an ammo belt.
She came around the back of the car, eyes dropping to the backpack. ‘I can take that.’
Dean didn’t even let her touch the strap. ‘Nope.’
Her eyes lifted to his. ‘Dean, I can carry a bag.’
‘Good for you,’ he said, slamming the trunk shut. ‘I’m still carrying it.’
‘You’re already carrying the dart gun.’
‘And now I’m carryin’ the backpack.’
She opened her mouth to argue, took one look at his face, and let out a small irritated breath instead.
Dean shifted the backpack higher on his shoulder, then caught her by the waist and pulled her against him. Just to have her close for one second before everything went to hell. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, his hand firm at her side.
‘Stay close.’
Her face softened just enough to make his chest hurt. ‘Of course.’
They stepped deeper into the alley, Sam just ahead of them. Cas was already there, standing near the far wall in his trench coat, stiff and solemn and looking about as happy as Dean felt. Beside him stood a small woman with black hair and a plain dark coat. For half a second, Dean’s throat locked up.
Tessa?
But no. Not Tessa. Not even close, once he got a better look. Just another reaper with a face that said she wasn’t exactly thrilled about today’s assignment either.
Awesome.
His fingers closed around his wife’s hand, tight. He didn’t let go.
‘Hello,’ Cas said when they got closer.
Dean felt her take a deep breath next to him. Caught the way her shoulders straightened, the way she pulled herself together. He squeezed her hand once in answer.
‘Hey, Cas,’ Sam said.
Dean gave a short nod. She managed a small, tight smile.
Cas looked at Sam, then at her, then back at Dean. His eyes dropped briefly to the dart gun, then to the backpack, then to the hand Dean had locked around hers.
‘Dean,’ Cas started, serious. ‘Where’s-’
‘Five minutes,’ Dean cut in, checking his phone.
Sam looked over. So did she. Her brows pinched together immediately, confused, already turning toward him with a question in her face.
The reaper stepped in before she could ask it.
‘Shall we go over the plan?’ Her voice was firm. Not unfriendly, but not warm either.
Cas nodded once, and the reaper looked straight at Dean’s wife.
‘I understand you are already familiar with this route, so this is only to confirm what was agreed. I will take you through the portal into Purgatory. Once you are there, I leave. I will not stay and wait for you. I will not return to collect you. You know the way out on your own.’
Dean’s jaw tightened.
Yeah. They knew.
That didn’t make it any less of a dick move. Angels really had found new and interesting ways to suck. Dumping them into monster land with no pickup and no backup had to be one of the douchiest things he’d seen in a long damn time.
They’d have to make it back through the portal opening out in Maine. Middle of the damn woods. At least Cas and Eileen had promised to wait there for them on the other end.
If they all got back in one piece.
No.
Stop.
Dean forced the thought down before it could get worse.
‘Yeah, okay,’ he muttered.
He felt her shift closer beside him. ‘The backdoor is the same?’ she asked. Her voice was steady, but her fingers tightened around his. ‘Three trees meeting at the stream?’
‘Yes,’ the reaper confirmed. ‘From there, the passage leads downward.’
Sam frowned. ‘And you’re sure the portal’s still stable?’
‘As sure as one can be about Purgatory,’ the reaper said.
Dean rolled his eyes. ‘Great…’
He shifted under the weight of the gear, uncomfortable. His hand finally slipped from hers only so he could move the rifle strap. The second he had it settled, his palm went right to the small of her back. He could feel how tight she was even through her jacket.
Sam opened his mouth, probably to ask another practical question, when the sound of boots echoed from the far end of the alley.
Dean went still.
He didn’t have to turn around. He knew that walk. And the second his wife turned, he braced himself for the ass-kicking.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader (plus-size, f)
Rating: 18+, wedding night sex, oral sex (f receiving), PiV sex, lots of fluff
Word count: 17 k
Summary: The reception at the lake is warm and crowded and full of everything you went through to get here. The ‘no sex until the wedding‘ pact finally breaks, and you find out what happens when your husband has had almost two months to wait for you.
A/N: Sorry, guys. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep it at 20 chapters.
I started writing and realized there was so much I still wanted to say that my plan didn’t stand a chance. That’s why this is the longest chapter I’ve ever posted… and there will be one more. But that one really will be the final chapter, I promise.
I’m honestly so nervous sharing this, though. We’ve been building up to this moment since that second chapter when they decided on the no-sex pact, and now all I can think about is whether it’ll feel worth it for you. I did enjoy writing it, though.
I know I haven’t replied to your comments on the previous chapter yet, but I’ve seen them, I’ve read them, and I’ve loved them. As usual, I’d really love to know what you thought of this one, or what your favorite part was.
Love you all ❤️
⠂⠂୨୧ MASTERLIST ୨୧ ⠂⠂⠂୨୧ CHAPTER 19 ୨୧ ⠂⠂
You barely had time to breathe. One second Dean’s forehead was pressed to yours and the next, people moved in from every side.
Sam got to Dean first, arms wrapping around him in a rough, crushing hug that was more like a tackle. Dean laughed, a little breathless, and hugged him right back, hand landing between Sam’s shoulder blades in that quick, firm brotherly pat.
‘You did it, man,’ you heard Sam say in a rough voice.
Dean let out another shaky laugh and held on to his brother a little tighter.
Someone brushed your arm. You turned and found Castiel in front of you, hands a little awkward at his sides, eyes bright in a way you didn’t see often.
‘Thank you,’ you said, reaching for him immediately.
You pulled him into a hug before he could react. He stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, arms coming up around you in a careful embrace.
‘You are welcome,’ he said near your ear. ‘Both of you did very well.’
You smiled into his trench coat. ‘You were great, Cas. Really.’
He pulled back with a small smile. Before you could say anything else, a warm hand closed firm around yours and tugged. You stumbled one step away from Cas, turning. Dean had an arm out toward you from where Sam had just let him go. He reeled you in without asking, hand sliding to your waist, palm settling possessively over your hip through the layers of dress.
‘C’mon, baby,’ he murmured. ‘You’re mine now, gotta keep an eye on you.’
You scoffed, but leaned into him, smiling.
That was when Bobby stepped forward. His eyes were wet, the lines in his face just a little deeper than you remembered. He looked from Dean to you and back again, and something in your chest pulled tight.
Bobby Singer didn’t cry. Not easily, anyway.
‘Well. Would you look at you two,’ he muttered.
Dean shifted on his feet next to you.
Bobby’s gaze finally landed on you. ‘Good to see you again, sweetheart,’ he said.
You felt your throat burn. ‘You too,’ you managed.
‘I knew there was somethin’ special about you when I met you down in that hellhole,’ he went on. ‘And I don’t just mean your knack for makin’ demons scream bloody murder.’
You let out a short, choked laugh.
Bobby tipped his head slightly. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For not givin’ up on him. I told ya he’s a stubborn pain in the ass...’ His mouth twitched. ‘But he’s a good man. One of the best. And I know he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. And happy, I hope. ‘Cause if not, I’ll get myself hauled down here again and kick his sorry ass.’
Dean rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. You felt his fingers tighten on your hip, pulling you in a little bit closer.
‘Yeah, okay,’ he muttered.
You couldn’t help it. Your smile widened. ‘Bobby, I’m so happy you could come,’ you said. ‘He won’t say it out loud, but I’m sure to my husband it meant the world.’
Dean’s hand twitched hard at that word. Husband. You felt the small jerk under his palm.
Bobby’s eyes flicked to Dean’s face. His mouth pulled up. But before anyone could say more, Castiel’s voice carried from just behind you.
‘Dean.’
You and Dean both turned.
Cas stood a step back, coat brushing his legs in the breeze. His expression was more serious now.
‘I’m afraid it is time,’ he said.
Dean’s jaw clenched. He blew out a frustrated breath through his nose. ‘Damnit,’ he muttered, then glanced around. ‘Sam?’
Sam was already moving closer from the knot of people. He came to stand on Dean’s other side.
You stepped back half a pace to give them room, let them have the moment. But before you could move too far, Dean grabbed your hand, giving one quick squeeze that said don’t go far.
You stayed right there, just behind his shoulder, close enough to hear every word.
Bobby looked up at Sam and Dean. For a second, he didn’t speak. He just took them in. His boys.
‘Well then,’ he said finally. ‘Guess this is it.’
Sam’s jaw worked. ‘Yeah,’ he said quietly.
Bobby’s eyes softened even more. The lines around them deepened.
‘Y’know,’ he went on, ‘first time I had to say goodbye to you two, I figured that was it. Second time sure as hell felt that way. Thought I’d never see you idjits again.’
Dean swallowed. ‘Yeah,’ he said, voice thin. ‘We… we kinda thought that too, Bobby.’
His mouth pulled into a tight smile.
‘And now here I am,’ he said, ‘seein’ both of you still standin’. Watchin’ one of you get married, for cryin’ out loud.’
Sam cleared his throat. ‘We’re gonna see you again, Bobby,’ he said. His voice shook. ‘You know that, right?’
Bobby’s eyes shone. ‘That’s the plan,’ he said. ‘Long way off, I hope. You two got a lot of road left ahead of ya.’
Dean’s throat moved. ‘Yeah,’ he said, rough. ‘Yeah. We’ll… we’ll get there when we get there.’
Bobby studied them for a long second, then nodded.
‘I’m so damn proud of you both,’ he said, voice suddenly thicker. ‘More than you know. You keep goin’. You keep takin’ whatever crap the world throws at you and you keep kickin’ it in the ass. You hear me?’
Sam nodded, jaw tight. ‘Yes, sir.’
Dean simply nodded once. You saw his hand curl into a fist at his side.
Then Bobby turned his face to you again.
‘You take care of him for me,’ he said. ‘And remember what I told you. You break his heart-’
‘…you’ll haunt me,’ you finished for him, trying to keep your voice light. ‘I know. I’ll do my best.’
Bobby’s mouth tugged up. ‘Attagirl,’ he said.
He didn’t hesitate after that. He pulled Sam in first, one arm around his shoulders, holding on tight. Sam wrapped both arms around him, eyes squeezed shut.
Then Bobby turned to Dean, who stepped in immediately. Bobby met him halfway, arms slamming around each other in a rough, hard hug that said everything they were both too choked up to say.
‘Don’t forget what I told you in there,’ Bobby said, voice low.
‘Yeah,’ Dean rasped. ‘I won’t.’
Bobby’s hand came up and patted the back of Dean’s head once, then landed in a fond smack at the nape of his neck before he let him go.
Jody was next. She came forward with tears on her cheeks. Bobby pulled her in without a word, rested his chin on top of her head a second.
Then he stepped back toward Castiel.
Cas’s hand hovered for a second, then settled gently on Bobby’s shoulder. Bobby tipped the brim of his cap once toward all of you on the pier.
‘See you around,’ he said.
And then he was gone.
The empty space where he’d been made your chest hurt. You reached instinctively for Dean’s hand and found it already there, his fingers closing around yours at once. His eyes stayed on the spot Bobby had been for another heartbeat before he dragged in air and looked down at you.
‘Did you know about this?’ he asked quietly.
‘Of course,’ you said, turning to look at him. ‘Cas needed to know if a soul from Heaven could get through all the warding. We had to be sure he’d be able to come in.’
Dean huffed out a weak sigh. ‘Right,’ he said. His thumb stroked over the back of your hand once. ‘Guess we owe you both for that.’
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ you said. ‘I wanted Bobby here. For you.’
You lifted your joined hands and pressed a quick kiss to the back of his. ‘For you and for Sam,’ you repeated. ‘For my family.’
His jaw tightened, eyes going bright again for a second. ‘Yeah?’ he asked, a little rough.
You nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m a Winchester now.’
That got him. His mouth twitched, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
‘That so?’ he said, eyebrow lifting. ‘Thought the big-shot scientist was gonna be keepin’ her maiden name.’
Heat crept up your neck, but you smiled anyway. ‘I was messing with you,’ you admitted. ‘On the papers, I can be whatever I need to be. But with you? There was never really any other option.’
He looked at you for a beat, then squeezed your hand. ‘Damn right,’ he murmured.
After that, the quiet didn’t last long.
People around you were moving again. Benny clapped a heavy hand between Dean’s shoulders, nearly knocking him forward. ‘Bout damn time, brother,’ he drawled.
Dean snorted, then moved over to let Benny give you a hug.
Jody squeezed you so tight you lost your breath. Claire and Alex were right behind her, congratulating both of you with as much enthusiasm as teenagers could muster. Kevin shook Dean’s hand hard. Mrs. Tran cupped your face and called you a beautiful bride and told Dean he’d better behave.
Through all of it, Dean’s hand stayed at your waist or your fingers stayed in his. Every time you got separated by a hug or someone tugging you to say something, he found you again, palm landing back on your hip.
After a while, Charlie’s voice cut over the noise.
‘Alright, people!’ she shouted from somewhere near the start of the pier. ‘Before we all get too drunk and lose the good light. Bride and groom, to the end of the pier, now. We’re taking at least one decent photo.'
You laughed, feeling Dean’s hand slide down to catch yours again.
‘Guess that’s our cue,’ he murmured next to your ear. ‘C’mon, Mrs. Winchester.’
You squeezed his fingers and let him lead you back down the pier.
Charlie herded you both to the very end of the pier and did not mess around.
She made you turn this way and that while everyone watched from behind her phone. Dean’s arm never left your waist. Every time she told you to look at her, you felt his thumb move in a slow, steady line over your hip, almost enough to make you forget there was a camera pointed at you.
After the final group shot, Dean squinted toward Charlie. ‘Alright, that’s enough of that,’ he said, almost threatening. ‘Let’s eat, I’m starvin’.’
That was all it took for people to start drifting back toward the yard.
Drinks waited on the long tables under the trees, bottles and glasses shining in the candlelight. You glanced at the rows of chairs still set up in neat rows along the pier.
‘Hey, guys?’ you called, raising your voice a bit.
Kevin, Benny and Sam all turned at once.
‘Could you grab the chairs and bring them over to the tables?’ you asked. ‘So people can sit down?’
‘On it,’ Sam said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Benny added with a wink.
In the next minute, they were all hauling chairs. Dean stepped away from you just long enough to hook his fingers under two of them, one in each hand, carrying them with ease. He set them down by one of the tables and reached for the nearest bottle, fingers already moving to twist the cap.
‘Okay, you two ready?’ Charlie’s voice came from behind you.
You turned. And your stomach flipped.
Of course.
She was at the speakers, tablet in hand, eyes sparkling. ‘First dance,’ she said, wiggling her eyebrows. ‘I swear, after this, I will stop busting your asses. Official part over, then it’s all food and booze.’
You tried to breathe through it, but the idea of all eyes on you while you moved in the middle of the yard made your palms damp. It was just a small group of friends, but still… you’d never been good with people watching your body, let alone watching you dance.
Dean reached for you, hand finding your waist again.
‘Hey,’ he said quietly. ‘We don’t-’
‘It’s okay,’ you forced a smile. ‘It’s just a dance. I survived Hell. I can survive this, right?’
His grip firmed, fingers spreading over the small of your back. He dipped his head and pressed his mouth against your temple, breath warm on your skin.
‘One minute, sweetheart,’ he murmured so only you could hear. ‘Sixty seconds and we’re outta there.’
That helped. You let out a breath and nodded once.
Dean pulled back just enough to see your face. Whatever he saw there must have been good enough, because his mouth slanted into a small smirk.
Then his eyes flicked over your shoulder. ‘Hey, best man!’ he called.
Sam looked up from where he was setting down a chair.
‘Heads up,’ Dean said. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it. Sam snagged it out of the air with a surprised huff.
Dean turned back to you, lips curving. ‘Need to get a little more comfortable for this.’
You watched his fingers go to the cuffs of his shirt. He rolled the sleeves up his forearms, slow and very efficient. The white cotton pulled over his arms, exposing the familiar stretch of muscle, the leather bracelet, the watch. Veins stood out under his skin when his hands flexed.
Your mouth went dry for a second. This was unfair. Completely.
‘That better?’ he asked, smirking when he caught you looking.
You swallowed. ‘Yeah,’ you said. ‘That’ll do.’
People with drinks in hand were already moving into a loose half-circle around the patch of grass between the tables and the start of the pier.
‘Alright. First dance for the newlyweds,’ Charlie announced, then tapped at her screen.
The first piano notes of I’d Do Anything for Love rolled out over the yard.
Dean’s hand slid firmly to your lower back, the other catching your right hand. He tugged you close until your front was against his chest. Your left hand landed on his shoulder automatically, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He dipped his head until his cheek rested against your hair.
You drew a deep breath.
‘Just you and me, okay?’ he murmured, voice low beside your ear.
You closed your eyes for a second and let the words sink in. Just you and him.
He started to move. Nothing fancy, just a slow, easy sway on the grass. You let him lead, your dress brushing your calves with every small step. The lanterns around the yard glowed softly, the Christmas lights overhead casting everything in a gentle warmth. The lake was a dark shadow beyond the edge of the yard now, the sky deepening into evening.
With the way Dean's hand at your back never slipped and his thumb kept stroking slowly through the fabric, the knot in your stomach slowly unwound.
After a moment he eased back a little so he could see your face. You lifted your head, meeting his eyes. The lights reflected in his, green and bright.
Meat Loaf’s voice rolled over you and Dean’s mouth moved, barely. You felt a low rumble in his chest.
‘But I’ll never forget the way you feel right now… oh no… no way…’ he sang along quietly with a small smirk, eyes locked on yours.
Your heart jumped. You grinned up at him. The way he looked at you made everything else fall away. For a second, you forgot anyone else was there.
You kept moving through the slower part of the song, turning in a small arc under the lights. You were just getting used to it, easing into the rhythm, when the drums kicked in. The song started to build and you saw the spark in Dean's face right before he moved.
‘Don’t,’ you warned under your breath.
Dean’s grin sharpened. His hand slid from the small of your back to your waist. Before you could protest, he spun you out gently, letting your hand slip along his fingers until your arm was stretched.
Your dress flared as you turned, hair lifting with the movement under the lights. A little cheer went up around you.
You came back around facing him and he caught you cleanly, one palm firm at the center of your back, the other catching your hand and drawing it to his chest. The song drove forward, guitars louder, drums heavier.
Then he dipped you.
The world tilted for a second, the sky and lights sliding in your vision. You squealed, laughter bursting out of you as your friends clapped and whistled. Dean’s hold stayed strong and secure. He leaned down and stole a quick, hard kiss, then pulled you upright again, smiling.
You looped your arms around his neck automatically.
Dean winked at you, then looked out toward the small circle of people.
‘Alright, that’s all you’re gettin’,’ he called, still holding you close. ‘Now somebody bring me and my wife something to drink.’
Dean was married.
He. Was. Married.
Dean Winchester. Married.
And not ‘woke up in Vegas with a hangover and a ring’ married. Not ‘knocked somebody up’ married. Not ‘promised somebody on their deathbed’ married.
He was married because he wanted to be. Because he’d asked. Because she’d said yes.
To him.
That part still kept stopping him cold.
Every time she walked past and the light caught her ring, or somebody said congratulations and added Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, it hit him again. His wife. His. Wife. Right there in his arms, on his lap, in his line of sight.
It was almost too much to wrap his head around, how goddamn happy that made him.
After their dance, things finally loosened. Food got carried out. He lit up the grill. Someone turned the music down to a low hum. The pier went back to being wood over water.
Dean could breathe again.
All the official crap was behind them. Vows, rings, people staring. He could’ve done without any of that, honestly. He only needed her saying I do. That was the part that mattered.
But he’d seen her face. The dress, the lights, Cas doing his weird angel version of a speech, Bobby in the front row. The way it had lit her up from the inside. Yeah. He was glad they’d done it.
And this? This part was his favorite.
Their people spread out over the little yard. Jody laughing with Mrs. Tran. Claire finally not pretending to be bored while chatting with Charlie. Kevin showing Alex something on his phone. Benny at one of the tables, drink in hand, watching everything with that lazy, satisfied look. His little brother all smitten with Eileen by the bowl of salad.
Their family.
In their place.
Best damn decision they could’ve made, having it here. At the lake. At the cabin that had somehow turned into theirs.
Still cracked him up that the idea had first hit him right after they’d had sex.
The last time they’d actually had sex, if he didn’t count that insane, incredibly hot thing over the wall in Vegas.
He flipped a burger and had to swallow hard at the memory. The couch. Her hands on him, her mouth, the way she’d looked at him when she’d said they should wait until they’re married. That this was supposed to mean something.
Damn, that felt like a lifetime ago now.
Because yeah, the wedding, the vows, all of that was huge. Biggest thing he’d ever done, probably. And that includes stopping the Apocalypse. But if he said finally getting to touch his wife again wasn’t sitting right at the center of his brain like a flashing red sign, he’d be a liar.
He was still a man. A very, very deprived man.
And his wife looked ridiculous tonight. The dress, the neckline, the way that skirt moved around her legs, the bare shoulders that made him think of how soft and warm her skin was. If it were up to him, he’d already have her pressed against the pier boards, or upstairs in their room, or in the backseat of Baby with the windows fogged, or up against one of those trees out back.
Didn’t matter where. He just wanted her. Bad. His wife.
He caught himself staring across the yard now. She was at one of the tables, laughing at something Charlie had just said, head tipped back, shoulders loose. The candles threw soft light over her hair, over the curve of her neck. His ring sparkled on her hand when she reached for her drink.
Yeah. Totally fine. He was absolutely gonna make it to later without losing his mind. Sure.
He flipped a couple of patties, set them on the warming rack and reached for another tray. His hand brushed the tongs, then stopped.
There was a soft rustle of fabric behind him.
‘Dean,’ Cas said.
Dean glanced over his shoulder. Castiel stood there, watching him.
‘Hey, Cas,’ Dean said with a small smile, turning back to the meat.
‘How are you feeling?’ Cas asked, stepping closer. ‘After all of… this.’ He gestured vaguely at the lights, the lake, the people.
Dean huffed, turning the last batch of burger. ‘I’m good, man,’ he said. ‘Married.’ He let out a low chuckle. ‘Kinda hard to complain.’
Cas tilted his head, studying him. ‘You look… happy,’ he said fondly.
Dean picked up the dish towel, wiped his hands, then nodded toward the yard. Toward her.
‘Yeah,’ he said, voice going a little rough. ‘Yeah, I did alright, huh? Look at her.’ His mouth twitched into a helpless smirk. ‘Damn. That’s my wife, Cas.’
Castiel followed his gaze, then looked back at him with that small, soft smile he almost never showed anyone else. ‘You did more than alright,’ he said. ‘I am… very glad for you, Dean.’
Something in Dean’s chest loosened. ‘Thanks, buddy,’ he muttered. ‘Why don’t you go grab yourself a drink? I’ll be there in a minute.’
Cas gave one short nod, clapped Dean’s shoulder once, and went to join the others by the table.
Dean set the grilled patties aside and scanned the yard. Plates full, music low, nobody looking hungry or helpless at the grill.
Good. They could survive without him for five minutes.
His feet were already moving before he’d really decided anything. Straight toward her.
She was half-turned toward Claire, fingers wrapped around her glass as she explained something with way too much enthusiasm. Her hands moved when she talked.
When she saw him coming, her face did that thing again. Softened up in a way that punched straight through his ribs.
‘Hey, husband,’ she said quietly when he reached her.
Yeah. Never gonna get tired of that.
‘Hey, babe?’ he said, frowning all of a sudden. He pressed a hand to his chest. ‘I… I don’t feel so hot.’
Her chair scraped back. She was on her feet in a second, eyes wide. ‘What? Dean, what’s wrong?’
He let out a slow, dramatic breath. ‘Heart’s poundin’, kinda dizzy, can’t catch my breath…’
‘Since when?’ she demanded, hand coming up to his shirt, feeling for herself. ‘You were fine two minutes ago.’
The corner of his mouth kicked up.
‘Apparently,’ he said, voice dropping, ‘it happens every time I look at my wife.’
She blinked once. Then her shoulders dropped and she let out the most put-upon sigh.
‘You’re not funny,’ she said, shaking her head.
Dean snorted and slid his hands to her waist, tugging her in until she bumped his chest. ‘Shut up, I’m hilarious.’
‘You’re an ass, that’s what you are,’ she muttered, eyes rolling, but the corners of her mouth were already fighting a smile.
He dipped his head and pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder, just above the sleeve. Her skin was warm under his mouth. He breathed her in, let his nose trace up the side of her neck.
‘Yeah, well,’ he murmured against her, ‘you married that ass. Guess that’s your problem now.’
He felt the little shiver run through her. Good. Still got it.
‘You doin’ okay?’ he asked, straightening just enough to see her face.
‘Yeah,’ she said, voice a little thinner than before. She pulled in a slow breath, then set her hands on his chest and nudged him back a notch so she could sit. ‘Just… trying to take it all in.’ Her gaze drifted over the yard. ‘It’s a lot.’
Dean braced his hands on the back of her chair and leaned down, brushing a quick kiss into her hair near her temple.
‘We can bail if you want,’ he muttered. ‘Sneak off. Let ‘em figure it out.’
She huffed a laugh, picked up a glass and pressed it into his hand. ‘Yeah, right,’ she said. ‘Just spend our wedding night in the backseat of the Impala.’
Dangerous words. He took a swallow of whiskey to keep from saying exactly how on board he actually was with that plan.
She sobered a bit, chewing on her bottom lip. ‘I should redo the warding before we crash tonight,’ she said. ‘I lowered it to let Bobby in and got distracted by everything after he left. But I need it up. Better be safe than sorry.’
Of course she would. That was her.
He tilted his head, watching her. Then his mouth curled. He was about to tell her how goddamn hot it was when she got all safety-serious when…
‘Can I watch?’ Claire’s voice cut in from the side. ‘I heard your magic is pretty badass.’
They both looked over.
Wasn’t just Claire. Half the damn table had gone quiet. Jody, Alex, Mrs. Tran, Kevin, even Benny. All of them listening in.
‘Uh… sure,’ she said, cheeks warming. ‘But it’s nothing special. I don’t think it’s that interesting to see.’
‘Yeah, okay, that’s bull,’ Charlie chimed in from across the table. ‘I saw you work your mojo. It’s awesome. And a little freaky.’ She grinned.
She scoffed, shoulders hunching a little, eyes dropping to her glass.
‘C’mon, sunshine,’ Benny drawled, leaning back in his chair, lifting his drink. ‘Let’s see what that sweet blood of yours can do.’
Dean’s jaw went tight. The possessive part of his brain roared up fast.
‘Hey,’ he snapped, pointing at Benny. ‘My wife is not here for your entertainment, alright?’
Benny held his free hand up, still smirking. ‘Easy, brother. Just appreciatin’ the talent.’
Dean held his stare a beat longer than he needed to. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Alex watching Benny from behind her cup, shoulders tense. Dean couldn’t blame her for that. Not after what she’d been through with vampires.
A warm hand landed on his forearm.
‘I don’t mind,’ she said, fingers giving a quick squeeze. ‘But I really think it’ll be underwhelming.’
Dean looked from her to the others. They were all waiting. Curious.
Yeah. Underwhelming. Right.
A few minutes later she stood by the end of the table, cuffs unbuttoned, carefully rolling up the sleeves of her wedding dress. People had drifted in closer. Claire, Alex, Jody and Mrs. Tran were standing to see better. Kevin hovered with his drink. Charlie was practically vibrating.
Dean leaned against the table with his whiskey, eyes fixed on her.
She was different when she slipped into this. Earlier, simple dance in front of everyone had her on edge. Now, with magic? Whole other story. She was locked in. Confident. She knew exactly what she was doing here and it showed.
He loved seeing that.
What he did not expect was what she did next.
She turned away from the group a little, toward him. On purpose. One hand gathered the skirt and all those layers underneath, careful not to flash the whole yard. Just enough to reveal her thigh.
And there it was.
White lace.
Honest-to-god white lace garter. His brain stalled at that alone.
Then he saw the little knife strapped in.
His mouth went dry. Everything south of his belt woke up at once.
‘You gotta be kiddin’ me,’ he blurted. ‘You serious?’
She slid the knife out, then let the skirt fall back into place, smoothing it down. His pulse was still hammering.
‘What?’ she said, deadpan. ‘Like you don’t have a weapon on you.’
Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Yeah, okay, she had him there. That wasn’t the point though. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, down his spine, straight to places wildly inappropriate for a yard full of guests.
He took a sip of whiskey that did absolutely nothing to help.
She turned her wrist and set the edge of the blade against her forearm.
That snapped him back.
His stomach flipped, the good kind of heat gone in an instant. Didn’t matter how many times he’d watched her do this. It never got easier.
She drew the knife just enough to break skin. Not a drop on the dress. Dean still had to bite down on his tongue.
Mrs. Tran winced audibly. Claire leaned in, fascinated. The yard went quiet. Even the music felt further away.
She dipped her fingers in the blood and stepped toward the lodge. Drew a small, clean sigil on the wooden door just above eye level. Then she moved to one of the trees at the edge of the yard, marked that. Crossed to another spot on the opposite side and did the same.
Dean followed her with his eyes, whiskey forgotten in his hand.
She came back to the center of the yard, lifted her arm again, got one last streak of red and traced a small sigil into her own palm. Then she crouched, wedding dress settling around her, pressed her bloody palm flat to the ground and started to speak.
The words were older than anything most people here had ever heard. He caught sounds he recognized, others he didn’t. Her voice didn’t shake once.
The three fresh sigils lit first. A warm, golden-red glow flared from the door, then from each tree.
Someone behind Dean sucked in a breath. A quiet ‘whoa’ followed.
He saw why.
All around them, out past the tables and the trees, lines and shapes bled into view. One after another. Every sigil she’d etched into the property these past months answered the new ones. Faint at first, then brighter. Circling the yard, the lodge, the path to the dock. Protective marks he knew were there, finally visible. In the dark, the glow threw color over faces and glass and the edge of the water.
It looked… incredible.
‘Cool,’ Claire breathed next to him.
Dean’s chest pulled tight, but this time in a way that felt good.
‘Right?’ he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. ‘Man, that’s my wife. She’s… awesome.’
The lights faded, slowly, sinking back into the surfaces like they’d never been there.
She stood up, a little carefully in the heels. There was blood drying on her fingers. By the time she turned back toward them, Dean was already moving.
She faced him, eyes a little bright, adrenaline still in them. He held the napkin out.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking it. She wiped her fingers clean, then folded the stained part in and pressed it to the cut.
‘And we’re done,’ she announced, turning back to the others with a small, satisfied smile.
Cas appeared at her side almost instantly, hand hovering over her arm. White light flared softly. In a second, the cut sealed, her skin smooth again.
‘Thanks, Cas,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ he replied, looking quietly pleased.
She started to roll her sleeves back down, fingers reaching for the cuffs. Dean beat her to it.
‘Here,’ he murmured.
He caught her wrist gently and turned it toward him. Her skin was warm under his fingers, pulse beating steady against his thumb. He took his time with the tiny buttons, slipping each one through the loop, knuckles brushing the inside of her wrist every time. No rush. Not tonight.
When he finished the second cuff, he didn’t let go right away. He followed the line of her arm up, hand sliding to her waist as he leaned in and stole a quick kiss from the corner of her mouth.
She smiled, eyes soft when she looked up at him.
‘So,’ she said, voice a little lighter. ‘How about some pie now?’
Dean let a slow grin spread across his face. ‘Now you’re speakin’ my language, Mrs. Winchester,’ he said. ‘Pie it is.’
Dean didn’t remember the last time dessert got that much attention. People gathered around the table, all waiting for them to cut a damn pie.
‘Alright, alright,’ he muttered, playing it up a little. ‘Calm down, would you?’
She laughed at his side, fingers brushing his as they both wrapped their hands around the handle. They pressed down together. The crust snapped cleanly, the smell of apples and cinnamon rising up. They managed the first slice without dropping it into the grass, and slid it onto a plate. The only part that really registered for him was how close she was at his side.
They were practically bullied into feeding each other. A little ridiculous, but fine. He lifted the fork to her mouth, watched her lips close around it. She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
Then it was her turn. She drizzled salted caramel over the slice first, some of it trailing off the side onto her fingers. She tried to catch it with her thumb. Ended up with a sticky streak down to the middle knuckle.
Dean didn’t even think. He quickly grabbed her wrist.
She looked up at him, questioning.
He lifted her hand, bent his head and dragged his tongue in one long line over her knuckles, slow, cleaning the caramel off. Kept his eyes on hers while he did it.
Her breath stuttered. Her lips parted. Her teeth caught her bottom lip just slightly, and yeah, there it was… her pupils going dark, her chest rising faster under that bodice.
Heat punched low in his gut.
Yeah. She wanted him. Bad.
Good. Because he was hanging on by a thread over here.
He took his time letting go of her hand. Smiled, small and smug, when he saw the goosebumps on her arm.
‘Good?’ she asked, voice not nearly as steady as she probably wanted.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he said, low. ‘You have no idea.’
Somebody cleared their throat so loud it practically echoed.
Dean didn’t look away from her, but he knew that sound anywhere.
‘Hey, uh… Eileen?’ Sam said. ‘You mind if I stay at your place for a few days? Kinda… don’t wanna be in the bunker with these two after tonight.’
Laughter broke around them. Dean snorted, finally tearing his gaze away from his wife to glare at his brother.
‘Yeah, Sammy, I’d make it a few weeks,’ he shot back, hand sliding to squeeze her hip through all that dress. ‘Just to be safe.’
Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
She laughed, cheeks flushed, then straightened a little.
‘Alright,’ she said, raising her voice. ‘You guys can dig in now before Dean eats half of it on his own.’
Plates started moving. Voices picked back up.
She glanced at her knuckles again. ‘I’m gonna wash my hands properly,’ she said to Dean.
He watched her head toward the lodge, that dress swishing around her legs, the curve of her back in that bodice.
Yeah. Not dangerous at all.
He waited for exactly three seconds. Then grabbed a fresh drink, threw back a quick swallow, and followed.
The kitchen was quieter. Music muffled. Laughter coming in soft from outside.
She stood at the sink, carefully washing caramel off her fingers. The light over the counter made her shoulders glow.
Dean didn’t bother announcing himself.
He crossed the space in a few strides, set his glass down, and put his hands on her waist. She jumped, just a little, then relaxed as he turned her around. Her hands were still damp when he backed her into the counter and kissed her.
This wasn’t the careful, in-front-of-everyone kiss. This was all the shit he’d been holding back.
He slid his mouth over hers, deep and hungry, tasting sugar and whiskey and her. She made a tiny sound and melted right into it, arms looping around his neck. One hand slid into his hair, fingers tightening at the back of his head.
And that was it for him.
She tugged, just enough to make him groan into her mouth. Her lips parted under his, and he took the invitation, kissing her harder, pressing her back into the counter until his body lined up with hers.
He was gone. Completely.
He dragged his mouth from hers just long enough to spin them around. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as he hoisted her up onto the island, palms firm under her thighs. The counter was clear, thank God. Food and bottles were all outside now.
He stepped in between her knees, slotting himself against her, hands already pushing at the layers of skirt. He knew about the garter now and his brain was locked on it.
Fabric got in his way. A lot of fabric.
‘Goddamnit,’ he muttered against her mouth. ‘How many fuckin’ layers does this damn thing have?’
She laughed, breath hot on his lips. ‘You’re the one who said you wanted a real dress.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s pissin’ me off,’ he grumbled, determined now.
He pushed past another layer, then another, until finally his hand found bare skin. He pushed higher, palm sliding along the back of her knee, over the soft skin there, up her thigh.
And then he felt it.
Lace.
He swallowed hard, hand smoothing up over it, thumb tracing the small strap that had been driving him out of his mind since he’d seen it.
Fuck. Garter on his wife. On their wedding night.
He was not gonna survive this.
Dean dragged one hand up her side, over the line of her waist, back to her face, needing that mouth again. He kissed her hard, swallowing the soft little gasp she let out. Her leg hooked around his hip, hand fisted in the back of his shirt, pulling him even closer, no space left between them. For half a second, he couldn’t think about anything but the heat of her pressed against him.
He was just about to forget his own damn name when the door banged open.
Laughter spilled in from outside, voices overlapping. Dean froze.
‘Oh- crap, I’m so sorry!’ Kevin yelped from the doorway.
Dean turned his head just in time to see the kid’s eyes go comically wide. Kevin threw his hands up.
‘I didn’t see anything,’ he babbled, already backing out. ‘I mean, I saw something, but I didn’t see anything- I’m just gonna-’
The door slammed shut on the rest of his sentence. His footsteps retreated fast down the porch.
She was already laughing, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. Her shoulders shook.
Dean swore under his breath. ‘Son of a-’
He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes squeezed shut, his hand still on her thigh under all that fabric. Tried to get a grip on himself before he walked outside and murdered a prophet.
Her fingers slid into his hair again, gentler now. He felt her chest rise and fall against his.
He let out a rough breath. Then another.
‘Okay,’ he said finally, voice low. ‘Alright.’
He eased his hand down, fingers giving one last squeeze to the back of her knee as he slipped it out from under her skirt. He stepped back just enough to see her face, his hands settling on her hips instead.
Her eyes were bright, lips swollen, hair a little mussed now.
Yeah. He was done. If he didn’t get her alone soon, he was gonna lose it.
‘You ready to get outta here?’ he asked.
She blinked. Both hands came up to frame his face, thumbs resting along his jaw as she searched his eyes, confused.
‘What?’ she asked.
Dean gave you one last quick kiss before he forced himself to step back from between your knees.
He cleared his throat, palms sliding down to your hips, steadying you as he helped you down from the counter.
‘C’mon,’ he said, fingers threading through yours.
He turned toward the door and you let him pull you along for two steps before your brain caught up.
‘Wait,’ you muttered.
He stopped immediately.
You smoothed your skirt down, checked that all the layers were where they belonged, gave your bodice a quick once-over to make sure nothing had shifted out of place. You ran your fingertips over your hair, smoothing away whatever the kitchen make-out might have messed up.
Then you turned to him.
His hair was a little mussed where your hands had been. You reached up, ran your fingers through it gently. He dipped his head automatically, letting you fix it.
‘Hold still,’ you said quietly.
He smirked. ‘Pretty sure that ship sailed ten minutes ago, sweetheart.’
You ignored that and focused on his mouth. Your lip gloss was all over him. You lifted your thumb and wiped carefully along the edge of his bottom lip.
For a second, he just watched you, eyes warm, not saying anything.
Then he gave your hand a quick squeeze.
‘We good?’ he asked.
You nodded. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’
You laced your fingers with his again and let him lead you back out.
The sounds of the late-evening yard rolled in. Laughter, low music, clinking glasses. People were scattered around the table with plates of pie, deep in conversations. Sam and Eileen were at the edge of the pier, side by side, watching the moon on the water. Mrs. Tran was giving instructions while Benny dragged one of the standing heaters closer.
Dean didn’t slow down. He was moving a little too fast, grip on your hand firm. Your stomach fluttered.
‘Dean,’ you said under your breath, trying to keep up in your heels. ‘What’s going on?’
He didn’t answer. Just steered you straight toward the tables and beelined for Charlie, who was in the middle of explaining something excitedly to Alex and Kevin. You caught the word LARP before she noticed you.
Kevin glanced up at you and Dean together and his ears immediately went bright red. His eyes darted away again so fast you almost laughed.
‘Charlie,’ Dean said, cutting right in. ‘It’s time.’
Charlie’s head snapped up. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
‘Oh, hell yes,’ she said. ‘Got it.’ She clapped Alex on the shoulder, muttered a quick brb, and bolted toward the lodge.
You stared after her, more confused by the second.
You tugged at Dean’s hand, which was still wrapped tight around yours. ‘Dean, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me-’
‘We’re not spending our wedding night in a place full of people,’ he cut in, looking down at you.
You blinked. ‘What?’
‘Not on my watch,’ he added flatly.
Your brain stalled for a second. He didn’t look away.
‘I’m not gonna let a bunch of snorin’ bastards ruin such an awesome day,’ he said. He was looking at you with such intense expression that sent a line of shivers straight down your back. ‘We both deserve this, trust me.’
He leaned in closer, voice dropping. ‘And I really, really can’t wait any longer,’ he murmured. ‘I need you, baby.’
Your throat went dry. You did not let yourself think about how much you needed him too. You had been carefully keeping a lid on it all evening, for your own sanity.
‘But… where are we going?’ you managed.
Dean’s mouth curled into a smirk. ‘You’ll see.’
You narrowed your eyes. ‘Are you driving?’
‘No, we’re flyin’,’ he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. ‘Of course I’m drivin’.’
You folded your arms across your chest. ‘You’ve been drinking.’
Dean scoffed, offended. ‘I had two drinks after the ceremony,’ he said. ‘Three tops. I’ve been responsible.’
You frowned, thinking back over the evening. He really hadn’t been drinking that much. Definitely less than he usually could. You hadn’t even seen him with a beer. Just the occasional whiskey he’d nursed.
‘Besides,’ he added, ‘we’re not going far.’
You held his gaze for a long second, weighing it.
Then you nodded once. ‘Okay.’
Excitement flared low in your stomach, quick and hot. You hadn’t actually expected a real wedding night right after the wedding. You really hadn’t planned for it. Even though a part of you must have hoped something would work out, or you wouldn’t have packed-
Your eyes went wide as it hit you.
‘Dean, I need to-’ you started, remembering the small bag tucked away in your bedroom.
‘Okay!’ Charlie’s voice carried across the yard before you could finish.
She was marching toward you with a bag hanging off one shoulder, grin still firmly in place.
‘Here you go,’ she said, stopping in front of you and handing it over.
You stared at it. ‘What…?’
‘I took the liberty of packing some stuff for you,’ she said, completely unapologetic. ‘Had to go into your stuff. Sorry.’ Her tone said she was not sorry at all.
You grabbed the strap automatically, still confused. The bag had weight. Enough for more than a toothbrush.
‘Everything you need is in there,’ Charlie added. She leaned in, eyebrows up. ‘Everything.’
Heat hit your face so fast you almost dropped the bag. You opened your mouth to respond, but Dean had already lifted it out of your hand, slinging the strap over his own shoulder.
‘Got it,’ he said easily, and started toward the car.
You used the brief moment of freedom to glare at Charlie.
‘Charlie! What the hell. What did you two conspire?’
She lifted both hands, shrugging. ‘Wasn’t my idea,’ she said. ‘I’m just doing my sacred maid of honor duties.’
Your heart was beating too fast now. You shook your head, trying to get a grip on the fact that your best friend and your brand new husband had clearly been plotting behind your back.
Dean was already on his way back from the car, clapping his hands once, loud enough to get people’s attention.
‘Alright, guys,’ he announced, turning toward the table. ‘I’m takin’ my wife outta here.’
Jody whooped immediately, raising her drink. A wave of laughter followed. Sam and Eileen turned away from the water, hands still linked as they came back toward the others.
‘I’m just gonna…’ Dean said, grabbing a bottle and making a quick round of the table, ‘make you all just a little bit more drunk before we bail.’
He poured one last splash into everyone’s glasses. He handed you one as well when he got back to your side. Didn’t get himself any this time. Just crossed his arms over his chest and watched you all, a small smile playing around his mouth.
Sam lifted his glass first. ‘To the happy couple!’
Everyone echoed it with various levels of enthusiasm. Glasses clinked. You drank, warmth spreading through your chest.
After that came the round of goodbyes.
You went around the table, hugging and squeezing everyone, trying to thank people without choking on your own emotions.
‘Thank you, guys, it’s been wonderful, really,’ you said for at least the third time. ‘We’ll see you all tomorrow for breakfast. Here… right?’
You glanced over at Dean for confirmation. He nodded.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘We’ll be back. Eventually.’
‘If you two even make it out of bed,’ Charlie bumped Dean’s shoulder with her fist.
You rolled your eyes and tried to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.
Benny raised his glass toward Dean with a sharp grin.
‘You sure you’re ready for them marital duties, brother?’ he teased. ‘Best not disappoint the lady.’
You covered your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle the laugh. Dean shot him a flat look.
‘Appreciate the concern, Benny,’ he said dryly.
Castiel chose that exact moment to speak up, voice calm and thoughtful.
‘I have read that humans used to bring witnesses to the bedchamber to evaluate the consummation of the marriage,’ he said. ‘That usually ended badly for everyone. I can imagine Dean shooting anyone attempting that.’
‘Cas,’ Dean cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Cas ignored it completely. ‘Besides,’ he added, perfectly serious, ‘I don’t think any concern is necessary. I am sure Dean’s performance will be more than satisfactory.’
Sam actually spit out a mouthful of his drink. Eileen snorted, clapping a hand over her face. Claire made a disgusted noise. Kevin snickered, shoulders shaking. Mrs. Tran swatted his arm, shaking her head.
You folded over a bit and burst out laughing, helpless. The look on Dean’s face did not help. There were tears in your eyes by the time you straightened.
‘Okay, alright, we’re done here,’ Dean said loudly, grabbing your hand. ‘Let’s go.’
Cas frowned, confused, but nodded once.
You flashed everyone one last bright smile over your shoulder as you let him tow you toward the car, still laughing. Your feet practically skipped to keep up with him.
You were almost at the Impala when Charlie’s voice rang out again.
‘Wait!’
You turned. She was jogging after you, your rose bouquet in hand.
‘You forgot to toss it,’ she said, slightly out of breath as she reached you.
You stared at the flowers, then at Dean, then back at the bouquet.
‘But… what if I don’t wanna?’ you tried, giving her your best pleading look. The idea of throwing away the bouquet you’d clutched all the way down that pier pinched at something in your chest.
Dean already had his hand on the Impala’s door, fingers itching. He was obviously done being patient.
‘I’ll get you more,’ he said. ‘And there’s a crapload of roses on the tables anyway.’
You rolled your eyes at his phrasing. Romantic, as always.
‘Alright,’ you sighed, turning back to Charlie.
You took the bouquet and stepped a little closer to the table. The single ladies did not exactly line up. Their half-hearted muttering was proof enough that nobody was dying to be next in line for anything tonight.
So you didn’t wait. You just turned your back to the table and tossed the bouquet up over your shoulder, trusting gravity to figure it out.
There was a soft thump and a surprised yelp.
You turned around to see the roses sitting neatly in Kevin’s lap.
The whole table broke into cheers and whistles. Benny laughed loudest, clapping Kevin on the shoulder so hard his glass almost slipped.
‘Look at that, buddy,’ Benny said. ‘You’re next. We should find that glittery werewolf friend of yours soon, then.’
You laughed as Kevin shot him a horrified glare, ears bright red, while Mrs. Tran narrowed her eyes at her son and at Benny in equal measure.
‘Babe?’
Dean’s voice floated over from the Impala. There was a tone in it you knew very well.
You looked over your shoulder and yep, there it was. He was watching you like he was seconds away from coming over and carrying you to the car himself if you didn’t move.
You didn’t need any more encouragement.
Heart thudding, you gave your friends one last quick wave and headed for him.
The drive was short. It still felt like the longest thirty minutes of your life.
The air between you and Dean had been off the charts, humming with all the things you’d been holding back for weeks. It hadn’t really been that long since you’d had each other, but with everything that had happened in between, everything you both went through… it felt like months. Years. Your whole body was more than ready.
And now you were in the passenger seat of the Impala, actually getting a wedding night you hadn’t let yourself hope for. You’d resigned yourself to sharing space with your friends and family at the lodge. Written off any chance of privacy.
And then Dean had pulled this.
You couldn’t even put into words how grateful you were. Or how much it made you want him.
He drove in silence for most of it. Focused. Jaw set. As soon as you’d slid into the passenger seat, he’d reached over and tugged you across the bench until your hip was pressed against his. His left hand stayed on the wheel. His right settled high on your thigh and didn’t move the whole time, resting heavy through all the layers of your skirt.
You doubted he actually felt anything through the fabric, but your skin tingled under his palm anyway.
Your own arm was propped along the backrest. Your fingers ran through the short hairs at the back of his head, scratching lightly at his scalp. Every so often he leaned into it, just a little.
Once in a while, he dragged his eyes off the dark road to look at you. That soft, crooked smile that always killed you tugged at his mouth and then he looked ahead again.
At one point, he scoffed under his breath and shook his head a little.
‘You know what’s crazy?’ he asked.
‘Tell me,’ you said, rubbing your thumb along his hairline.
‘I didn’t think it was possible but…’ His mouth pulled into a smirk. ‘Now that you’re my wife you’re somehow… even hotter.’
You snorted. ‘Yeah, right.’
He glanced over at you, eyebrows lifting. ‘I mean it.’
You watched him for a second. ‘Well… for once, I kind of believe you,’ you admitted. ‘I did hear you say wife about a thousand times since the ceremony, so…’
Dean grimaced theatrically, frowning. ‘So what? A man can’t call his wife his wife anymore? That’s what we’ve come to?’
You rolled your eyes, laughing. ‘No. I mean you’re obviously enjoying being married, Mr. Winchester.’
‘Yeah, well…’ He shrugged one shoulder, eyes back on the road. ‘Don’t spread it around.’
He let a beat pass, then shot you another sideways look.
‘Mrs. Winchester.’
The way he said it made your heart jump. You bit down on your bottom lip, eyes tracking his profile for the millionth time. You still couldn’t get over him. How was this man real? How was he sitting here next to you, driving his car and calling you his wife.
Your gaze traced the line of his nose, his mouth, the sharp cut of his jaw, his throat. Down over the white shirt stretched over his shoulders, the way it pulled when he moved his arms. His forearm flexed on the wheel, muscles shifting under skin. The plain band of his wedding ring caught the occasional light coming from outside.
The pull low in your stomach tightened. Your chest felt too small. For a second, it was hard to breathe. You really considered asking him to pull over. You could make the wedding night a backseat event after all.
Before you had a chance to say it, he slowed down and turned.
You blinked and realized you’d crossed into the edge of a small town, not one you recognized. Streetlights, then darker again. He took a narrow turnoff lined with trees, a smaller road that reminded you of the one leading to your lodge. The branches arched overhead, catching stray bits of light from the Impala’s headlights.
At the end of the road, a small cabin waited. Wood and stone, a couple of planters by the door and on the windowsills. Warm light glowed in the windows and from small fixtures along the outer walls.
Your eyes went wide.
Dean rolled Baby to a stop in front of it and killed the engine. The sudden quiet made your pulse sound louder in your ears.
‘Shall we?’ he asked, looking at you with a pleased smile.
You nodded, because speech wasn’t happening for a second.
You both got out. Gravel crunched under your heels, cool night air hit your bare shoulders. You smoothed one hand down your skirt automatically, trying to keep the dress in line.
Dean rounded the car and met you at the front. His hand found the small of your back, guiding you up the short path. He dug in his pocket, pulled out a key, and walked up to the door. He unlocked it with a quick twist, then turned back to you.
You took a step toward the threshold.
‘Whoa, hey, hold on,’ he said, stopping you with a palm out. ‘Lemme.’
You froze in place. The look in his eyes told you exactly what he was about to do. You took a quick step back.
‘Dean, come on,’ you protested. ‘I’m heavy. Even more so with this huge-ass dress.’
He rolled his eyes so hard you could practically hear it. ‘What’re you talkin’ about, I carried you before.’
‘I know, but-’
You didn’t get to finish. His hands were already on you, one under your knees, the other behind your back. He had you off the ground in one smooth move. You swore under your breath. Your hands locked behind his neck.
He didn’t even strain.
He just shifted your weight against his chest, adjusted his grip once and carried you straight over the threshold like it was nothing.
The door clicked shut behind you.
As soon as you were inside, you slapped lightly at his shoulder blade. ‘Alright, put me down,’ you demanded, half laughing. ‘Put me down now, Dean. I mean it.’
He grunted through another eye roll, but his mouth twitched. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he muttered, and lowered you carefully until your heels met the floor.
You barely had time to register solid ground, let alone look around the place, before your back met the wall.
Dean crowded in, hands coming up to cradle your face. His mouth found yours without any hesitation.
The kiss knocked the air out of you. Heat rushed through you in one sharp wave. His thumbs stroked your cheekbones as he tilted your head, deepening it. You gasped against his mouth and he took full advantage, licking into you, tasting you.
Your fingers were already in his hair, clutching at the back of his head, pulling him closer. Your breasts pressed into the solid wall of his chest, the bodice of your dress suddenly doing nothing to keep your heartbeat contained.
When he finally broke the kiss, it was only far enough to drag in air. His forehead rested against yours. You felt his chest rise and fall fast against you.
‘Okay,’ he rasped. ‘I’m gonna… grab the bags. Be right back.’
You nodded, because your voice was somewhere on the floor.
He pressed one more quick kiss to your mouth, then stepped back, fingers trailing off your waist. A second later you heard the door open again, his footsteps on the gravel as he went back out to the car.
You stayed there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. Your pulse was loud in your ears. Eventually, you forced yourself to push away from the wall and finally looked around.
The place was small. One big room, mostly. High ceiling, wood everywhere, warm and worn. A stone fireplace took up most of one wall, already stacked with wood. There was a small couch and a low table in front of it, a couple of armchairs pulled in close. A round table with two chairs stood near the window, curtains drawn back enough to show a strip of night outside.
On the far side, a big bed dominated everything. It was wider than the one at the lodge. Dark wooden posts held up a light canopy that fell around the corners in soft folds. A little ridiculous, sure, like something out of a fantasy romance, but not tacky.
A small kitchenette ran along the wall opposite the bed. Sink, counter, a couple of cupboards, a coffee maker. Enough for breakfast. A narrow door beside it was half-open. Bathroom.
You took two steps toward the bed and that was when you noticed the details.
Candles sat on almost every flat surface. On the mantel above the fireplace, on the nightstands, on the table, even on the windowsill. Unlit, but ready. Your eyes moved to the bedspread.
Rose petals. Scattered across the white.
You huffed out a stunned breath.
‘You gotta be kiddin’ me,’ Dean’s voice came from behind you.
You turned. He stood just inside the door with the bags in hands, rolling his eyes as he took in the bed.
‘What?’ you asked.
He pointed at the petals, then the candles. ‘Shoulda known lettin’ Charlie check us in was gonna end with damn rose petals on a frickin’ bed,’ he grumbled.
You couldn’t help it. A laugh burst out of you. Of course.
‘Okay, yeah, that makes sense now,’ you said. ‘I was about to be really confused, because this is not what I’d expect you to do.’
Dean scratched the back of his neck. ‘Yeah… sorry,’ he said. ‘I just wanted something nice and private. Didn’t exactly care about… that.’ He nodded at the bed. ‘Charlie found the place when I asked her. Said you’d definitely like it.’
You stepped toward him, reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.
‘I do love it,’ you said, looking up at him. ‘And I love you for making this happen.’
His face softened. For a moment, you both just stood there, in the quiet room, looking at each other. Then it all hit you.
No guests. No duties.
You were alone.
Married.
After all of it. After vampires and trials and blood and Vegas and everything in between. After every stupid impossible step that had somehow led to this door, this room, this bed.
No more distractions. Not tonight.
Dean leaned in again, slower this time. His mouth brushed over yours in a kiss that was almost careful. Maybe he’d just realized the same thing you had. His hand slid up your arm and over your shoulder, fingers brushing your skin.
He pulled back just enough to reach past you and flip the lock on the door. The soft click somehow sounded louder than it should have.
‘M’gonna get the fire goin’,’ he said quietly.
You nodded, then noticed the bag he’d put down near the wall. The one Charlie had pushed at you back at the lodge.
‘I’ll go and… wash up a bit,’ you said, grabbing it by the strap. ‘If that’s okay.’
He glanced over from where he knelt by the fireplace, already stacking logs. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But don’t be long, please.’
Heat rushed through you at the way he said it. You swallowed and nodded again, heading toward the bathroom door.
Inside, it was clean and small. Sink, mirror, shower, folded towels on a stool. You caught sight of yourself and stopped for a moment.
Your hair was a little more mussed than before, the waves looser, a few strands falling out of place. Your face was flushed, but the makeup had held up better than you expected. You still looked like someone who’d been through a long, long day.
You put the bag on the counter and unzipped it.
Charlie had packed well. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Deodorant. Perfume. A clean shirt and jeans folded at the bottom. And, tucked in one corner, the small satin bag.
You pulled it out and set it on the counter.
You hadn’t planned on buying anything like this. You’d walked past the shop window a week ago, seen it on a mannequin, and for some reason your feet had stopped. One thing led to another and you’d been in the changing room, staring at yourself in the mirror and trying not to overthink it.
You’d been surprised they even had your size. More surprised at how you’d felt looking at yourself under those awful dressing room lights.
Now, with Dean in the next room, nerves hit hard.
Was he even going to like it? Was it too much? Too… unnecessary?
You set the bag down and closed your eyes for a second.
Breathe.
Then you looked down at the dress and reality smacked into you. There was no way in hell you were getting out of that thing by yourself.
‘Fuck,’ you muttered, louder than you meant to.
‘Sweetheart?’ Dean’s voice came muffled from the other side of the door. ‘You okay in there?’
You sighed. ‘Yeah! Yeah, I just…’ You opened the door and stepped out. ‘I need your help.’
The fire in the hearth was already crackling, flames throwing orange light across the cabin. Dean stood near the bed, one candle in his hand, half of them already lit around the room. Warm flickers bounced off the walls and the canopy above the mattress.
He turned toward you. ‘What is it?’
‘Can you undo the back of my dress, please?’ you asked.
He blinked once. ‘Uh… sure. Yeah. Of course.’
You narrowed your eyes slightly. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothin’,’ he said quickly, wiping his hands on his pants as he walked over. ‘Nothing, I just thought… we’d get to undressing eventually, y’know. Together.’
Your face warmed. ‘Yeah, yeah, sure,’ you said. ‘I just want to clean up, that’s all.’
‘Alright,’ he murmured.
You turned your back to him. The room felt a lot warmer all of a sudden.
His hands landed lightly at your waist, brushing the fabric through the skirt. Then his fingers skimmed up your spine, following the seam. He gently pushed your hair away, knuckles grazing bare skin where the dress dipped across your shoulders.
Goosebumps ran up your arms.
You felt his fingers bump against the fake buttons. He hesitated. ‘What the…?’
‘It’s a zipper,’ you said, trying not to laugh. ‘The buttons are just for decoration.’
‘Oh,’ he said, relief obvious. ‘Right. Thank God. That’s smart, actually.’
He fumbled for a second, then found the zipper pull. You felt it move, slow, the front of your dress loosening around your ribs. You crossed your arms over your chest, holding the bodice up.
Dean went quiet. The whole thing was strangely intimate, more than you’d expected.
His fingers slid under the back of the dress and found the inner band of the corset.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, thumb pressing gently at the firm strip. ‘Looks tight as hell.’
‘That piece of rubber’s what holds these puppies together,’ you said, glancing down at your chest. ‘Please unhook it.’
‘Okay.’ His fingers worked at the clasp, careful not to pinch your skin.
When it finally gave, the relief was immediate. Your lungs expanded properly for the first time in hours.
‘Damn,’ Dean muttered.
His hand smoothed over the spot the band had dug into. You winced a little, then relaxed as his palm slid up your back in a slow stroke. Another wave of shivers spread out under his touch.
You felt his breath near your neck a second later. Then the soft press of his mouth on your bare shoulder. Your eyes slid shut. You drew in a slow breath, every nerve suddenly tuned to the feel of his hands and his mouth.
Then you remembered you wanted to clean up.
Right. Focus.
You cleared your throat, stepped away, out of his reach, gathered the loosening front of your dress tighter to your chest and turned around quickly.
‘Thanks,’ you blurted, avoiding his eyes. Then you fled back into the bathroom and shut the door, catching a muttered, baffled ‘what the hell’ from him on the other side.
Inside again, you leaned against the wood and let out a shaky laugh at yourself.
Get it together.
You slid the dress off carefully, working it down over your hips and stepping out of it. You folded it as best you could in the cramped space and draped it over the back of the chair in the corner.
Then you turned back to the mirror.
You washed your hands and face, brushed your teeth. Deodorant. A few small dabs of perfume inside your elbows, on your wrists, at the base of your throat, a quick mist through your hair. You pinned most of your hair up, leaving a few loose strands to fall around your face and along your neck.
Finally, you reached for the satin pouch.
The lingerie looked even more daring here than it had in the store. The fabric was light and sheer, the lace pattern soft and detailed.
It was a long lace gown, fitted through your waist and hips, the lace and mesh following the shape of your body before loosening lower down and falling to the floor. Thin straps sat on your shoulders, the neckline dipping in a clean V that framed your breasts. The back cut down in another V between your shoulder blades, leaving most of your spine bare.
All of that in pure white.
Tiny sequins were stitched into the lace here and there, only catching the light when you turned. The matching panties, made from the same lace, felt surprisingly comfortable.
You left the garter on your thigh. Of course you did. You just slipped the knife out and set it safely on the counter.
You looked at your reflection and gripped the edge of the sink.
This was ridiculous.
That was Dean out there.
Dean. Your husband. The man you’d already done plenty with, in more than one bed and more than one motel. There wasn’t much you hadn’t tried together.
So why did this feel like it was your first time? Not just with him. Ever.
Your stomach fluttered so hard it almost hurt. Your hands were actually shaking.
Then again… in a way, it was the first time. First time as his wife. First time as really his, and him as yours. That had to count for something. Right?
You took one last deep breath, smoothed your hands over the lace once, and reached for the door handle.
The room was dimmer now. The fire filled the cabin with a soft, warm light. Candles flickered on the mantel and beside the bed. You could smell Dean’s aftershave in the air. He’d clearly done his own version of washing up while you’d been hiding in the bathroom.
He stood by the fireplace, one hand braced on the stone, shoulders slightly hunched as he watched the flames. His shirt sleeves were still rolled up. In this light, his forearms, the white cotton, and dark pants did things to your brain you didn’t have the energy to unpack. Your eyes traced the line of his back, the narrow pull of his waist, the way his ass looked in those slacks.
He shifted his weight, turning. His gaze found you.
And your breath hitched.
You froze for a second, hands folding in front of you to cover your stomach on instinct.
Then you saw his face.
His eyes were wide, stunned. He dragged them down, slow, taking in the lace, the shape of your hips under the see-through fabric, garter at your thigh. He lingered at the straps on your shoulders, at your chest, then finally reached your face.
You’d never felt so aware of every inch of yourself.
His throat worked. He blinked once, then again, a little too fast. When he spoke, his voice came out rough.
‘Wow,’ he rasped.
Dean picked up another candle, flicked the lighter and held the wick to it until it caught.
His hand shook. Just a little. Enough to piss him off.
‘Son of a…’ he muttered, killing the flame and flexing his fingers into a fist. ‘Really?’
Ridiculous. No. Scratch that. Straight-up insane. Dean Winchester did not get nervous over getting laid.
And yet...
Ever since she’d asked him to unzip her dress, his palms hadn’t felt steady once.
He lit the last couple of candles by the window and finally put the lighter down. Took a slow sweep of the room. Candles, fire going, freakin’ rose petals on the damn bed. Canopy and all.
He huffed out a breath.
‘Friggin’ Charlie,’ he grumbled. She’d gone all in. Had to admit, though… it kinda worked. The place looked good.
Dean rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe some of the buzz out of his system. No chance.
She was still in the bathroom. Door closed. Doing… whatever women did in there when they wanted a minute alone. He wasn’t about to hover in the doorway and make it weird, so he headed for the sink in the tiny kitchen.
Cold water helped. He splashed it over his face, over the back of his neck. It took the edge off, at least a little. He’d been running hot since they’d left the lodge, to the point where actual thoughts had trouble getting through.
He dug his toothbrush out of the duffel, uncapped the paste. His fingers gave another twitch.
He rolled his eyes at himself, annoyed.
‘What the fuck are you doin’, man?’ he muttered around the bristles. ‘It’s her.’
It wasn’t their first time. They’d done a lot. Everywhere. At worse places than this. In worse beds. In no beds.
He spat, rinsed, stared at the wall in front of him. His heart thudded a little too hard against his ribs. Hell, he’d been less nervous before his actual first time. That had been awkward, sure, but at least back then, nobody expected much.
Now? Whole different ball game.
The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do. The problem was wanting her so bad he was one good look away from losing his goddamn mind. Desperate and stupid. Not exactly the performance he was going for on his wedding night.
He’d tried to be smart about it. Taken care of things in the shower the last few days. More than once. Just to make sure he didn’t embarrass himself the second she touched him.
Apparently he’d underestimated how absurdly hot his wife actually was.
He tossed the toothbrush and paste back into the bag and grabbed his aftershave. Slapped a little on his neck, breathing through the sting.
‘Calm the hell down,’ he told himself quietly. ‘You got this.’
He zipped the duffel, chucked it into the armchair in the corner and started pacing the length of the room. Bed. Fireplace. Door. Repeat. He checked the bathroom door once, thought about knocking, then decided to give her more time.
So he went back to the fire.
He braced his left hand on the mantel, his other hand settling on his hip. The crackle and slow roll of heat did something to his nerves. Smoothed the worst of the edge off. The flicker of flames caught on the ring on his hand.
He stared at it for a long beat. Huffed out a quiet laugh.
A wedding ring. On him. And somehow it fit. More than fit. Looked pretty damn awesome there. Simple piece of metal, and it had him grinning like an idiot in an empty room.
Movement caught the edge of his vision.
He turned.
And almost dropped right where he stood.
His knees actually went loose for a second. He had to shift his stance so he didn’t end up on his ass in front of her.
She stood just outside the bathroom. Bare feet, shoulders back, hands folded in front of her. The thing she wore started at thin straps on her shoulders and ran all the way down to the floor. White lace everywhere. Still didn’t hide a goddamn thing from him.
His brain tried to catch up. Failed.
The fabric followed every curve, hugging her waist and hips before falling around her legs. He noticed the garter still on her thigh. Then his eyes snagged to her boobs in that thing and Dean had to lock his jaw, hard, not to groan out loud.
Her hair was up now, pinned away except for a couple of loose strands that brushed her jaw and neck. He had a very specific urge to walk over and put his teeth exactly where those strands ended.
But what really did him in was the way she was looking at him. Soft. A little shy. Waiting to see what he’d do.
Like she wasn’t sure how he was gonna take it. Like she didn’t know he was currently having the closest thing to a religious experience he’d ever had in his life.
His chest squeezed. He swallowed. Tried again.
‘Wow,’ he finally got out, voice rough.
It was nowhere near enough. But it was all he had.
He pushed away from the fireplace and crossed the space to pull his wife into his arms.
Your heart caught in your throat.
Dean crossed the room in a few steps, eyes never leaving you. Your first instinct was to fold your arms over your chest, to hide at least a little more of yourself, but you forced your hands to stay where they were.
Dean stopped just in front of you and didn’t touch you right away. He just looked.
His gaze travelled over you slowly, taking it all in. His throat worked once. When his eyes finally came back up to your face they were dark and focused in a way that sent heat straight through you.
He lifted both hands, careful, and set them at your waist. His fingers spread, thumbs brushing the lace.
‘You are so…’ he started, voice deep enough that you felt it under your skin.
He ducked his head a little to glance down at your chest. The muscles in his jaw jumped.
‘My God…’ he breathed.
You felt warmth rush to your cheeks. You swallowed, fingers catching at the front of his shirt without thinking.
He leaned in, but didn’t go for your mouth. Instead, he turned his head and pressed his lips to the side of your throat. A slow, deliberate kiss right over your pulse. You felt the warm drag of his mouth against your skin, the light scrape of stubble. Your knees went weak. You held on to his shoulders to steady yourself.
Dean hummed against your neck, then moved lower. Another kiss, just below the first. Then another, down the center of your throat. His hands tightened on your waist, thumbs stroking small circles over the lace at your sides.
He followed the line of your neck to your shoulder, lips moving across the curve of it, lingering there. Your eyes fluttered shut. Every place he touched seemed to wake up at once, sending little shocks through your body.
You felt his hands slide lower, to the top of your hips. He pulled you into him, chest against yours, body heat sinking through the thin lace. The pressure, his warmth and scent of him surrounded you.
He kept going, unhurried. A trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses from your shoulder back up your neck. Your head tipped back, giving him more. He found that sensitive spot just under your ear and stayed there, mouth soft and full. Your breath hitched. Your fingers curled in his shirt.
‘Dean…’ you breathed.
He let out a low sound against your skin.
Then he finally lifted his head and found your mouth. The first brush of his lips was slow, almost careful. Then he pressed in harder. His hand slid up your back, between your shoulder blades, holding you close. His other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair.
You kissed him back with everything you had. Weeks of holding back, weeks of wanting him and trying not to think about it. It all rushed to the surface at once. You opened to him when he nudged your lips apart, let him deepen it. His tongue slid against yours and you actually felt dizzy for a second.
He started walking you backwards without breaking the kiss. His mouth stayed on yours, his hand steady at your back. His hips pushed into yours as he guided you, and you felt the long hard press of how fired up he really was.
The back of your legs bumped the edge of the bed.
Dean finally pulled back, just enough to see your face. His eyes were dark, his breathing uneven. He stared at you for a long second. Then he dropped his head again, but lower this time.
He pressed a kiss to the base of your throat, right where your collarbones met. Then another, just above the neckline of the lace. The fabric rasped under his mouth as he traced the edge of it with his lips. His mouth moved to brush over the faint thin scar in the middle of your chest. He stopped there for a moment, pressing his lips down. Yet another wave of shivers shot through your body.
He kept going, kissing down the center of your chest, through the sheer fabric. You felt every breath he took, every little pause. When he reached your stomach, he turned his head and pressed his face there for a moment, nose nudging the lace, breath warm.
He nuzzled into you, almost desperate, hands flexing on your hips. The sound that came out of him was low, almost broken. It made your chest ache. He pushed you gently and you let yourself sit down on the bed, hands braced against the mattress.
Then, slowly, he sank down.
You watched him drop to his knees in front of you. Your fingers curled tight into the bedspread. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears.
Dean Winchester. In a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, wedding ring on his hand. Kneeling on the floor in front of you.
The sight alone nearly knocked the air from your lungs.
He set his palms on your knees and gently eased them apart. The skirt of the lace dress parted with the movement and fell to either side of your legs, leaving your thighs bare in the warm light from the fire.
He lowered his gaze for a second, just to brush your ankles with his fingers, before locking his eyes back at you. He ran his hands up the length of your legs, thumbs stroking the soft skin, getting higher with each pass. He never broke eye contact. You felt completely seen, pinned in place by the way he was looking at you.
When he reached your upper thighs, he leaned in.
He dipped his head, lips finding the sensitive skin just above your knee. A light kiss. Then another, a little higher. Your breath stuttered again. You dug your fingertips into the blanket, fighting the urge to pull him closer.
Dean’s mouth moved higher, tracing the inside of your thigh with a string of slow, hot kisses. Your muscles tightened under his hands. You felt the tremor run through you.
He huffed out a short, shaky chuckle against your skin, clearly pleased with the reaction.
Then he shifted, tilted his head, and his mouth brushed against the garter.
He pulled back an inch, eyes flicking to the white lace band hugging your leg. One side of his lips turned up.
‘Been thinkin’ about this all evening,’ he muttered.
Before you could say anything, he leaned in, caught the edge of the garter carefully between his teeth, and started to drag it down.
You let out a breath, trying not to turn it into a whimper.
His hands stayed on your legs to steady you while he worked it down with his mouth. The lace slid over your skin, inch by inch. The way he did it was slow on purpose, you could tell. He lifted your leg slightly, lips brushing the inside of your calf as he went.
When the garter finally cleared your ankle, he let it fall into his hand, pulled it free, then sat back on his heels. He tossed it over his shoulder without looking, a smug little grin flickering over his mouth.
You laughed, breathless.
‘Show-off,’ you muttered.
‘You love it,’ he said, eyes already drifting back up your legs.
He went right back to work, kissing the inside of your ankle, then the curve of your calf. His hands slid up, thumbs smoothing along the backs of your knees. Higher. His mouth followed the path of his palms, lingering wherever he felt you react.
By the time he reached your upper thighs again, your breathing was all over the place. Heat curled low in your stomach, spreading through your entire body.
His hands slid up to your hips. He hooked his fingers gently under the sides of your panties. Then he looked up, checking your face.
You nodded at once, the word catching in your throat. ‘Please,’ you managed.
Something in his expression broke at that.
He dipped his head and pressed a kiss just above the waistband, then slowly started to ease the fabric down. You lifted your hips to help him and felt the brush of his knuckles as the panties slid over your thighs, your knees, your calves, then off. He tossed them aside without looking, focused entirely on you.
He settled back between your knees, hands braced on your thighs again. His thumbs traced slow strokes along your skin.
He parted your legs a little more, then lowered his head right between them.
You sucked in a breath and leaned back, fingers grabbing in the covers behind you.
He took his time. He always did when he was like this. Completely focused on you.
First, he kissed the crease where your thigh met your hip, careful. Then switched to the other side, then back again. Every time he crossed over, his lips brushed the most sensitive spot, just enough to make your hips twitch. After what felt like forever, he finally moved to the center. He stayed there, lips barely touching you, breathing you in slow and deep. Warm exhales ghosted over your skin, making everything in you tense up.
You were in agony. The low ache that had been simmering for weeks sharpened into something unbearable, impossible to ignore anymore.
‘Dean, please,’ you pleaded, voice cracking because there was nothing else left. ‘I’m begging you…’
His hands squeezed your thighs gently, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh. And then he licked. One long, slow, torturous swipe of his tongue from bottom to top.
He was savoring you, driving you insane. Your knuckles went white gripping the sheets. You were right on the edge of losing it, ready to snap, scream, swear, anything to make the teasing stop, when his tongue and lips finally started moving.
He still didn’t go straight where you needed him. No. He nibbled the tender skin around your clit, sucked lightly, bit down just enough to make you strain upward, hips lifting off the mattress.
The tip of his tongue dipped inside you, just a shallow teasing motion, and that was it. You couldn’t take it anymore.
‘Dean, for fuck’s-’
He latched on, knocking the air clean out of your lungs.
His tongue moved in confident, practiced strokes, circling, flicking, pressing flat, while he sucked and kissed, devouring you completely. A low moan rumbled from his chest straight into you, and your whole world tilted. One hand flew to his hair, fingers twisting in the short strands to ground yourself. He growled in response and the vibration of it against you made the pull in your stomach impossibly tight.
He pulled back for a second, just long enough for you to actually whimper at the sudden loss, hips chasing his mouth instinctively.
But then he looked up at you, eyes dark and wrecked, lips shiny, and the sight nearly made you pass out.
‘Babe,’ he rasped, ‘you taste so damn good.’
Your world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the press of his shoulders between your thighs, the unbearable pressure building low in your belly. You guided his head back down without thinking, fingers tight in his hair. You heard a smug little chuckle against your skin before his mouth was on you again, hungrier this time.
One of his hands left your thigh. You cried out his name when you felt a thick, warm finger slide inside you, slow at first, then curling just right.
‘You’re so fuckin’ wet for me,’ he groaned, the words muffled against you, sending another jolt through your body.
Your head tipped back as he pushed in a second finger, stretching you, working in time with his tongue. His mouth never let up while his fingers thrust and curled, hitting that spot that made you lose your sanity.
You climbed higher, vision blurring at the edges, every nerve lit up. Both hands locked in his hair now, tugging hard as his name tore out of you again on a broken, desperate breath.
By the time you finally came apart, you were shaking. Your thighs clamped around his head as waves crashed through you. He held you through it, mouth and fingers steady, drawing it out until the trembling eased and you sagged back onto your elbows, dazed, chest heaving.
He didn’t pull away right away. He kissed softly along your inner thighs, over the sensitive skin, giving you time to come down. His hands smoothed up your sides, until he finally lifted his head.
His lips were swollen, chin wet, hair a mess from your grip. The look on his face alone almost made you come again.
‘Dean…’ you whispered, not even sure what you wanted to say.
‘You okay?’ he asked quietly.
You let out a shaky laugh. ‘Yeah,’ you said. Your voice was rough. ‘Very okay.’
A pleased smile spread across his face. He pressed one last kiss to the inside of your knee, then rose to his feet.
You watched him through the haze, chest still heaving.
He stood in front of you, tall and broad. There was a hunger in his eyes now that made your breath catch all over again.
You reached for him without thinking.
Your fingers found the first button of his shirt and worked it open. Then the next. Your hands moved slowly down the line of his chest, exposing hot skin and familiar freckles and scars as you went. He didn’t move, just watched you, letting you set the pace.
When you reached the last button, you glanced up. He held your gaze as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall. The firelight painted his skin in gold, picking out every line of muscle, the curve of his shoulders, the shape of his chest.
Your eyes caught on the anti-possession tattoo over his heart. The black ink stood out against his skin. You swallowed, throat tight, and laid your palm over it for a second. His hand came up automatically to cover yours, pressing it there.
You dragged your fingertips down the center of his chest, tracing slowly all the way to his stomach, feeling the heat of his skin, the quick twitch beneath your palm as his muscles tightened under your touch.
Then you went lower.
You popped open his belt with fingers that still weren’t completely steady, slid the leather free, and set it aside. The sound of the buckle clinking made your pulse jump. You undid his fly, pushed the slacks down over his hips. He stepped out of them, kicking them aside, and stood there in his boxers, the outline of him heavy and obvious behind the black cotton.
You didn’t rush. You traced the line of his hip bones with your thumb, then higher, palms sliding up to his ribs and back down again. Your fingers brushed the waistband of his boxers, teasing, feeling the heat radiating off him.
Dean sucked in a breath when your knuckles grazed the thick ridge beneath the fabric. His hands flexed at his sides, but stayed still, letting you explore.
You met his eyes then, still locked on yours, jaw tight. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband himself this time and pushed the boxers down. They pooled at his feet and he stepped free.
You took him in with one long look. Every line, every inch, how hard and flushed he was for you. His stomach tensed again, harder this time, a low sound catching in his throat when he saw how openly you were staring.
Before you could reach for him, he moved.
He bent, hands finding the hem of your lace dress. The fabric brushed along your sides as he gathered it, careful. You lifted your arms and he slipped the dress over your head in one smooth pull. The air felt strangely cool on your bare skin.
‘Lie back for me,’ he murmured.
You nodded and shifted up on the bed, scooting back until the pillows brushed your shoulders, the canopy draped above you.
You dropped back against the pillows, heart thudding. Naked. Completely. Your chest rose and fell too fast. You could feel your own pulse between your ribs.
Dean stood at the foot of the bed and just looked at you.
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His eyes moved over you slowly, taking in every inch of your curves. You held his gaze, letting him see you, all of you.
Then he climbed onto the mattress, the bed dipping as he crawled up over you.
He braced his weight on his forearms so he didn’t crush you, his body a warm and solid over yours as your heartbeat thundered in your ears.
He braced himself over her and froze.
Dean had to. One wrong move and he’d blow right through the whole damn thing before he even got to feel it. No way in hell he was letting that happen.
She was right there under him, warm skin, soft curves, eyes locked on his. Trusting him. Wanting him. His ring on her finger.
His wife.
Once again, the word slammed into his chest like a fist. His breath caught.
‘Dean?’ she whispered.
‘Yeah,’ he managed. His voice came out wrecked. ‘I’m good. Just… gimme a second. Tryin’ not to lose it over here.’
She let out a tiny huff of a laugh, but he caught the flicker of nerves behind it. Felt her fingers flex hard against his shoulders.
‘Hey.’ He dropped his forehead to hers. Their noses brushed. Her breath mixed with his. ‘You okay?’
She nodded quickly. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Just… weirdly aware that I’m naked and my husband is staring at me.’
A crooked grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Yeah, well. Your husband can’t stop starin’, so… Deal with it.’
Her mouth twitched. Her shoulders loosened a fraction. Good.
He kissed her again. Slower, harder this time. Tasted every damn second. She sighed into his mouth, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging him closer. Every little sound she made went straight to his head, straight to his chest, straight down to where he was already throbbing against her.
He shifted his weight to one arm so he could touch her right. His palm dragged down the side of her throat, over her shoulder, splayed across her ribs. Thumb grazed the underside of her breast, felt the weight of it. He mapped the dip of her waist, the soft give of her curves there. He’d touched her like this before, hundred times, thousand ways, but tonight every inch of her felt different.
She arched up into his hand. Full breasts pressed flush to his chest, fingers tightened in his hair. A quiet, needy sound slipped out of her and he felt it all the way down.
‘Damnit, sweetheart,’ he muttered against her lips. ‘Doing my best to take it slow. You’re killin’ me.’
‘Thought you said you could handle it,’ she teased, voice breathy.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and wide. She was beautiful every damn day. But right now? She was unreal.
‘I can handle a lotta crap,’ he said, thumb stroking her jaw. ‘This? This is fucking hard.’
Her hand came up, fingers brushing his cheekbone. ‘Good,’ she smiled. ‘I like it when it’s hard.’
Weak laugh punched out of him. Then he kissed her again, deeper.
He lined himself up. Gripped the back of her thigh, hitched it high around his waist. She shifted under him, wrapped the other leg around his hip, pulling him in exactly where she wanted.
Weeks… hell, months of imagining this. Every time she’d kissed him hard then pulled back, breathing heavy, saying later. After. Every night he’d gone to bed in the bunker staring at the ceiling, fist in the sheets, knowing she was ten feet away and didn’t even remember who the hell he was to her.
Yeah. Well. Not anymore.
The first push inside her nearly ended him. Heat. Tight. Wet. His jaw clamped so hard his teeth ached. Broken groan ripped out of him anyway.
Her hands flew to his shoulders. Her breath hitched, chest pressing into his. She clenched around him, hard, pulling him deeper.
Dean’s control took another hit. He stopped. Swallowed hard. Eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep it together.
‘Dean,’ she said, voice ragged. Her hand slid down his chest, then back up to grip the back of his neck. ‘I… I need-’
‘I know, baby,’ He pressed his forehead against hers, panting. ‘I know. Just… gimme a sec.’
He took a deep breath. Another. Then he moved.
Slow at first. He set a rhythm he figured he could survive. One that let him feel every inch of her without losing it in ten seconds. Her body rose to meet him, matching it.
‘God, you feel...’ His voice cracked. ‘So damn good. Missed you. Missed this.’ His lips brushed her jaw, her cheek, anywhere he could reach.
He could feel how badly his body wanted to rush this. Hips wanted to snap. Every nerve lit up, screaming to go faster, begging him to take. She had him wound so tight he could barely think.
But he forced himself to go slower. Let her set the pace. Matched the roll of her hips, the way she squeezed when he hit deep. And when her breath caught and she gasped his name, he chased it. Over and over.
Her hands were everywhere. On his back. In his hair. Along his arms. She grabbed his face and pulled him down for a kiss that damn near stopped his heart.
He dropped his head to her neck, breathing hard against her skin, trying to hang on.
‘Dean,’ she whispered, legs locking tighter around him. ‘It’s okay. Don’t fight it.’
‘Tryin’ to make it last, sweetheart,’ he gritted out.
She turned her head, lips finding his ear. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she whispered. ‘We have time. I promise.’
He pulled back enough to look down at her face, and the last thread of restraint snapped
‘Okay,’ he rasped. ‘Alright.’
Dean shifted his weight and pushed in deeper. Faster. Let his hips move the way they’d been dying to. Her fingers slipped over his shoulders, down his arms, dug into his biceps, holding on. He braced himself on one hand, the other roaming over her body. He cupped her breast, rolled the hard peak between his fingers till she tightened around him, breath choppy.
His hand slid between them. Thumb found her clit, circled slow, then firm. She grabbed the back of his head and shoved his mouth to hers. The sounds she made were desperate now. Prettiest damn thing he’d ever heard.
‘Dean,’ she choked out. ‘Dean, I-’
‘I got you,’ he growled, rough and urgent. ‘Got you, baby. C’mon, let go. I got you.’
He changed his angle, just a fraction, the way he knew wrecked her. Her whole body jolted. Her nails scratched his shoulders. Head tipped back, mouth open. Then she came, hard. He felt it all over him. The way her muscles locked, then she shuddered, clenched around him.
That was it.
Dean couldn’t hold on any longer. Pleasure slammed through him so fierce it bordered on pain. He buried his face in her neck and came undone, hips jerking, groan muffled against her skin, riding it out until his arms gave up and the world narrowed to white noise.
He didn’t know how long they stayed locked like that.
Eventually, he realized he practically collapsed on top of her.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, pushing up on shaky arms, trying to take some of his weight off her. ‘Sorry. I’m crushin’ you.’
‘You’re not,’ she said, voice soft against his ear. Her arms were still locked around his back. ‘Don’t go yet.’
Yeah. That wasn’t happening.
They didn’t talk for a minute. The only sounds were the fire crackling, and their breathing slowly settling.
He moved just enough so he wasn’t directly on her, but he stayed close. Chest to chest, sweat cooling between them, both breathing hard. Her heart hammered against him.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. She nuzzled into his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy lines down his back.
‘Hey,’ he said after a while, voice low.
She tipped her face up. ‘Yeah?’
He swallowed, throat a little dry. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘For the… uh, short ride.’
She laughed, shaking against him. ‘You’re an idiot.’
‘Just bein’ honest,’ he muttered, cheeks hot. ‘Had this whole plan, y’know? Take my time, blow your mind…’
‘You did,’ she cut in, nudging him with her chin. ‘Trust me.’
He looked down at her, at their hands tangled on the sheet. His ring against hers.
Thought about every other time he’d done this with someone. Cheap highs. Quick fixes. Empty mornings after. Chasing something that never quite hit.
Nothing. Not one damn thing had ever come close to this right here. With her.
‘That was…’ Words failed him.
She tilted her head to look up at him, eyes soft.
‘Yeah,’ she said. The corner of her mouth lifted. ‘It was.’
He let out a shaky breath. Pulled her in closer, one hand splayed over her back, keeping her there.
‘My wife,’ he muttered into her hair. Word he honestly never thought he’d get to say. ‘Son of a bitch.’
She laughed again, warm and sleepy against his shoulder.
Dean let himself close his eyes. He didn’t know when exactly they were gonna work up the energy for round two. But he was sure it wouldn’t take long.
For now, he rested his cheek against the top of her head. Let himself have it.
Her. This. All of it.
The one thing in his screwed-up life that was finally his to keep.
A/N: If you think Dean wouldn’t abuse the phrase 'my wife', you’re wrong. I’ll fight you on this.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fiancée!Reader (plus-size, f)
Rating: mature, fluff, a little panic
Word count: 13.5 k
Summary: You head to the lodge two days early to clean, decorate, and prep food. Pre-wedding nerves are already simmering when one moment sends Dean into a full spiral.
A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day!
Remember: today’s the day to show some love to the love of your life. Which is you. Be kind to yourself. And if you feel like treating yourself… here’s a behemoth of a chapter to dive into.
This is the longest chapter I’ve ever written, and honestly? I don’t regret it. I left everything I wanted to say in here. Thank you for letting me know you want it all at once.
So here you go, enjoy. And if you feel like it, let me know what your favorite part was.
Love you all ❤️
⠂⠂୨୧ MASTERLIST ୨୧ ⠂⠂⠂୨୧ CHAPTER 17 ୨୧ ⠂⠂
‘You sure you gonna be okay?’
Dean’s hands were wrapped around yours in front of the bunker entrance. His thumb kept dragging over the backs of your fingers, back and forth. His eyes were even brighter than they'd been all week. A sharp, excited kind of happiness that only belonged to a man who was getting married in two days.
You rolled your eyes, even though your chest pulled tight at the way he was looking at you.
‘Yes,’ you said. ‘I’m a hundred percent sure.’
He didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened.
‘’Cause, you know, we can still go with my plan-’
‘Dean,’ you cut in, already grinning. ‘Come on. Don’t be ridiculous.’
He huffed, mouth twitching.
‘Just sayin’,’ he muttered. ‘If you miss me, you call, alright?’
‘Dean,’ you repeated, half a laugh in your voice.
‘What?’ he said. ‘I sure as hell’m gonna be missin’ you.’
He leaned down before you could answer and kissed you. Slowly, easily, nothing rushed in it. His hands stayed around yours, lifting them slightly between you. Your shoulders dropped, your whole body easing into him. For a few seconds, the only thing that existed was his mouth on yours and the quiet burn in your stomach at the thought that in forty-eight hours you’d be his wife.
You almost forgot where you were until a car horn blared.
You broke the kiss with a startled huff. Dean chased you for a second, lips brushing yours again before he let you pull back. You laughed, a little breathless, tried to pull yourself together.
‘Dean, I think I can survive a couple hours in a car without you,’ you said, still close enough to feel his breath on your face. ‘We’ll be tailing you anyway. Charlie doesn’t know the way.’
‘Are you two serious right now?’ Sam’s voice carried from somewhere behind Dean. ‘It’s a two-hour drive. You’ll live, I promise. Now get your ass to the car, Dean!’
Heat rushed up your neck. You dropped your forehead against Dean’s shoulder and laughed, mortified and probably grinning way too hard. His chest shook under your cheek as he laughed too, entirely unbothered.
‘Hear that?’ he murmured against your hair. ‘Sergeant Buzzkill says we gotta move.’
You snorted and forced yourself to step back. His hands slid down, giving your fingers one last squeeze before he let go.
‘See you in a bit,’ he said. He dipped down and pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.
Then he turned, already raising his voice. ‘Calm down, I’m goin’!’
You watched him head toward the Impala for a second before turning and making your way to the small yellow car parked a little behind Baby. When you opened the passenger door and slid in, Charlie was already in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, eyes full of judgement.
‘Seriously?’ she asked.
Eileen was in the back, seat belt already on. She gave you a soft, amused smile over Charlie’s shoulder.
‘What?’ you protested, shutting the door. ‘It’s his fault. He was being dramatic.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Charlie said, rolling her eyes as she started the engine. ‘Blame the groom.’
You clicked your seat belt into place and glanced back. Eileen had the big white dress box on the seat next to her, one hand resting on the lid. Seeing the box out here instead of hidden in your room made your chest tighten again.
You turned back to the windshield and took a breath.
The morning had gone by in a blur of packing. Two cars, two trunks, and the collective determination of five idiots who refused to admit they might be overdoing it. You’d stuffed in everything you thought you might need for the next four days at the lodge – blankets, lanterns, bags of groceries, coolers, boxes of decorations. Suit bags and dresses. Everyone’s luggage. And beer. Too much beer.
Somehow, it all fit. Barely. The Impala’s trunk was packed so tight Dean had given it a long, proud look when it closed. Charlie’s back hatch had needed two people to close. The only thing that hadn’t gone into a trunk was your dress. That one got a seat.
You were once again hit by that quiet, heavy gratitude that had been sneaking up on you all week. They had all dropped everything to drive out into the middle of nowhere and spend four days with you in a cabin. To clean and drag furniture around and hang lights and watch you marry the man you loved.
Even Benny decided he’d join you after his night shift, promising to be ready to go whenever you were. Cas was going to zap himself to the lodge once he was done with Heaven business.
The arrangement for the drive was clear. The guys in the Impala, and the three of you in Charlie’s car. You had a strong suspicion this wasn’t just about logistics. Charlie had been side-eyeing both you and Dean ever since he came back from the rugaru hunt, whenever you got too close and the temperature in the room jumped a few degrees. She was very committed to the no sex before the wedding promise. Which meant Operation Separate the Horny Idiots, as she called it, had gone into full effect.
And because the whole group knew about your agreement, it had turned it into a running joke. Every time Dean’s hand slid under the hem of your shirt, someone coughed pointedly. Every time you came out of your room with messy hair, Charlie squinted at you. When you accidentally moaned over a bite of a donut two days ago, Sam was just about ready to give you two a scolding.
So here you were. You in the yellow car. Dean in the Impala.
‘Ready?’ Charlie asked.
You looked at the familiar, broad black back of the car ahead of you, then at the ribboned white box in the back seat, then down at the ring on your hand.
Your heart beat a little too fast.
‘Yeah,’ you said. ‘Let’s go.’
They had been driving long enough for the highway to blur into one long strip of nothing.
Benny was out cold in the backseat, head tipped against the window, arms folded. Not surprising. Night shift, still kinda early in the afternoon, too bright for a vampire. Guy had thrown his duffel into the trunk, muttered something about beauty sleep and passed out before they even hit the main road.
Dean flipped the tape out with one hand, dropped in another without really looking. A second later the opening piano of Meat Loaf rolled through the Impala.
From the passenger seat, Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Dean could feel it in his peripheral vision.
‘What,’ he said, defensive. ‘Just gettin’ in the mood, that’s all.’
He kept his eyes on the road. Tapped the wheel in time with the build-up. The song was ridiculous. Over the top. But she loved it. And now all he could hear in it was her standing in a white dress, smiling at him.
He felt a little dizzy all of a sudden.
Sam didn’t say anything right away. Just watched him for a second, then shifted to face forward again.
They drove a few miles in silence. Meat Loaf belting his heart out, Dean drumming his thumb against worn leather. In the rearview, the small yellow car kept pace, a bright dot in the lane behind them. He knew she was in there. Two cars between them felt wrong, even if it was only for two damn hours.
‘So,’ Sam said finally, not even trying to sound casual, ‘how you feeling?’
Dean’s jaw flexed. ‘Fine. Why?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Sam said. ‘Because you’re actually getting married?’
Dean scoffed. ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘And?’ Sam pushed.
Dean flicked him a quick look. ‘And what?’
‘And you can’t convince me this isn’t still blowing your mind,’ Sam said. ‘That you’re actually doing this. I mean, I know you love her, it’s just… I never pictured you being the one to settle.’
Dean’s head snapped to his brother.
‘Hey, I’m not settling,’ he said, sharper than he meant to.
It came out wrong. Sounded wrong. Felt wrong. He could feel the snap in him wasn’t at the idea of marriage. It was at the idea anyone thought she was an ‘okay, fine’ choice.
Sam threw his hands up a little. ‘No, man. That’s not what I meant,’ he said quickly. ‘I mean settle down. With her. That kind of settle.’
Dean breathed out through his nose. Eased his grip on the wheel. Right. He knew that. His brain had just… gone the other way first.
‘If anything,’ Sam added, softer now, ‘she’s the one settling in this relationship.’
Dean shot him a look that could’ve burnt a hole through a wall.
Sam met it, unbothered. ‘No offense.’
Dean looked back at the road. Shrugged once. ‘Yeah, well. You might be right there,’ he muttered.
Didn’t mean he had to enjoy hearing it.
The song rolled into the chorus. Dean felt his throat go dry for no good reason.
Nine days. That was what they’d started with. Then the hunt had eaten four of them, and now… two left, if nothing else went wrong. Two days and he was gonna stand in front of her and say a bunch of things he wasn’t sure he knew how to say out loud without choking on them.
His palms felt a little damp on the wheel.
Sam broke the quiet again, voice a little easier this time. ‘No, but really,’ he said. ‘How are you doing? This is big.’
Dean kept his eyes forward. Watched the road. Caught a quick glimpse of that yellow car in the mirror, following them steadily. His entire damn life in the front seat.
He could admit some of it in his own head. That he was actually nervous. Heart pounding harder than it should. Stomach doing little flips every time he pictured her walking that pier toward him. A part of him still waiting for someone to yank it all away again. For Heaven to finally decide he’d had enough good things and it was time to collect.
He’d never been this close to something that felt… permanent. Not just the ring, or the vows, or the legal crap. The idea of her choosing him over and over. Waking up next to him, not because there was nowhere else to be, but because she wanted to.
He wanted it so bad it still scared the hell out of him.
But Sam didn’t need all that dumped in his lap in one go.
Dean rolled a shoulder. ‘I just told you, man,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Wouldn’t you be? Marrying the right woman?’
Sam studied him for a second, then nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Yeah. I guess.’
Dean blew out a breath and hoped he sounded relaxed.
‘Don’t worry, Sammy,’ he said, trying to ease them both off the heavy stuff. ‘You’ll get there one day. Once you finally grow up. You know. Mature a little.’
Sam huffed out a laugh. ‘Jerk.’
‘Bitch,’ Dean shot back automatically, smirking.
It calmed something down inside him. That old, stupid cadence. Baby on the road, his brother beside him, talking like they used to.
He was still nervous. That didn’t go anywhere. The thought of her saying yes in front of everyone made his heart slam around hard. The thought of being the guy she tied herself to for good did something even worse. Raised questions he didn’t want to get too close to.
So for now, he turned the volume up a notch, let the chorus fill the car, and drove.
You rode in silence for a while, forehead resting against the cool glass, watching the black blur of the Impala a few car lengths ahead and the empty road stretching out beyond it. The hum of the engine and the low buzz of music from Charlie’s speakers did a decent job of filling the space where your thoughts kept trying to pile up.
‘You’re surprisingly calm,’ Charlie said suddenly.
You turned your head. She had one hand loose on the wheel, mouth tipped in a crooked smile.
‘I mean, for someone who is two days away from getting married,’ she went on. ‘To a man. Even if that man is Dean freakin’ Winchester.’
You snorted. ‘Trust me, calm is not what’s happening in here.’ You tapped your temple. ‘If I still look calm on the outside, I’m taking that as a win.’
From the back seat, Eileen leaned forward a little, attention shifting between your faces. She didn’t say anything, just watched, waiting for more.
‘So what is it then?’ Charlie asked. ‘Cold feet? Existential panic?’
‘No,’ you said. ‘I mean… no more than usual.’ You blew out a breath. ‘I’m mostly just trying to make sure we didn’t forget anything. And also, feels weird that we’re actually doing this after everything that happened.’
Charlie’s fingers tightened on the wheel for a second. ‘You are allowed to have one thing go right,’ she said. ‘You know that, yeah?’
Your throat tugged. ‘Working on believing that.’
She opened her mouth like she was going to say something else. Then stopped. Her cheeks went a little pink.
‘So, uh,’ she said, suddenly awkward. ‘Speaking of not forgetting things… did you pack that thing you bought while Dean was off hunting?’
You blinked. Heat crawled right up your neck.
‘Yes,’ you muttered, staring very hard at the box of tissues in the cupholder. ‘I did.’
There had been a whole stupid afternoon of you standing in that store, overthinking every detail, wondering if it was too much, not enough, ridiculous, desperate. In the end, you bought it. For the night that was actually supposed to be about you and Dean and nothing else.
Then you realized how many people were about to cram into that lodge for the whole weekend and the expectations changed a bit.
You cleared your throat. ‘Not that there’s any point. The place is gonna be full of people all weekend. And I’m happy you’re all coming, obviously,’ you added quickly. ‘Just… not exactly the ideal setup for a wedding night.’
Charlie glanced at you, then back to the road. ‘Right,’ she said, mouth twitching. ‘Yeah. That’s fair.’
You frowned a little at the way she said it. Way too neutral. Her ears were slightly pink as well. Suspicious.
You stared out at the road again, turning that over in your head. For about ten seconds your brain was blessedly blank.
Then it hit you.
You straightened so fast your seatbelt tightened. ‘Wait.’
Eileen jumped a little. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘Rings,’ you blurted. ‘Shit.’
You dug into your pocket, grabbed your phone, and hit Dean’s contact. The Impala’s brake lights flared for a second ahead, then settled again. He picked up on the second ring.
‘Miss me already?’ His voice came through smug. You heard the low rumble of Baby’s engine under it.
‘Did you pack the rings?’ you asked, skipping right over that.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Just like that. No hello, no I love you, no Dean, your voice is the best part of my day…’
‘Dean,’ you said, trying not to let your panic spill into full volume. ‘The rings.’
He hummed. ‘Huh. The rings. Yeah, about those…’ He let his voice go thoughtful in a way that made your blood pressure spike. ‘Pretty sure I forgot ‘em, sweetheart. We’ll have to improvise. Funyuns sound kinda romantic, right?’
You stared at the windshield, jaw tight.
On the other end, you heard him crack up.
‘You’re an ass,’ you muttered, but your shoulders loosened.
‘Yeah, you love it,’ he said easily. ‘Relax. I’ve got ‘em. They’re in my bag.’
You let out a breath and slumped back in the seat. ‘Okay. Good. Thank you.’ You closed your eyes for a second. ‘Sorry. I just realized I never saw them when we were packing.’
‘That’s ‘cause I’m being responsible for once,’ he said. ‘Don’t get used to it.’
You were about to hang up when he spoke again.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘We’re thinking of hitting the diner before we drive up. You girls wanna grab an early dinner?’
Your chest pulled a little for a completely different reason.
That diner. Same one you always ended up in on the way to the lake. Greasy burgers, burnt coffee, cracked red booths. The first time you’d walked in there with Dean, you were so excited to spend a few peaceful days in a place your great-grandfather left for you. Then the shifter had clocked you and ruined everything for a while.
It felt like ages ago.
You turned in your seat so you could see both Charlie and Eileen properly.
‘Dean wants to stop at the diner before we head to the lodge,’ you said, making sure your mouth faced Eileen. ‘You two okay with that? Early dinner before we go off the map.’
‘Absolutely,’ Charlie said. ‘I will never say no to fries.’
You lifted the phone back to your ear. ‘We’re good with it,’ you told Dean. ‘We’ll follow you in.’
‘Copy that,’ he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. ‘See you there, sweetheart.’
You ended the call and let the phone drop into your lap.
The diner was almost empty, the way it usually was in the late afternoon before the evening rush. Sun hung low in the windows, strip of road outside, trucks rolling past every few minutes.
The six of you had claimed the biggest booth in the back. Sam, Eileen and Charlie on one side, you, Dean and Benny on the other. It was stupid, but the second you slid in next to Dean and his arm settled automatically around your waist, something in you finally relaxed.
Two hours. You’d been in a different car for two hours. That was all. You’d survived much worse. But feeling the solid weight of his thigh pressed against yours and his fingers resting warm at your hip still hit you hard.
You let yourself lean into him for a moment, just enough to feel his side against your shoulder, then picked up a fry from your plate.
Everyone was already eating, enjoying the cheeseburger Dean recommended. Except for Sam, who was playing around his salad with a fork. Benny sat at the end of the booth, shoulders relaxed, eyes closed. His plate was pushed a little to the side, mostly untouched. Hands folded over his stomach.
Dean chewed, swallowed, then nudged him with his elbow.
‘You good, man?’ he asked. ‘You’ve been sleepin’ the whole damn day.’
Benny cracked one eye open, watched Dean for a second, then let the corner of his mouth lift. ‘Been one hell of a night shift, brother,’ he drawled. ‘Figure I’ll preserve what energy I’ve got left so I can enjoy watchin’ your sorry ass finally walk down the aisle with my favorite human.’
You gave him a sincere smile.
Dean rolled his eyes, but there was affection there. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he muttered.
He had got used to this. The two of you trading jabs over his head. Benny calling you sunshine, sharing stories, talking to you about the old world, and, well, blood. Dean pretending he was put out, while you could tell he liked that the two of you got on. Sometimes you weren’t sure who he was more jealous of. You, because you had Benny. Or Benny, because he had you.
You squeezed Dean’s thigh under the table, fingers pressing into denim for a second, then slid out of the booth.
‘I’m gonna hit the restroom,’ you said.
He tilted his head back to look up at you. His hand came up, thumb brushing your hip. ‘You want me to stand guard outside the door?’ he asked, half-joking.
‘I think I can handle it,’ you said, amused.
You headed to the small bathroom, did what you needed, washed your hands, stared at your own reflection for a second. Your face was a little tired, hair not doing exactly what you wanted.
You blew out a slow breath and went back out.
On the way to the booth, you veered toward the counter.
‘Excuse me,’ you called the waitress softly. ‘Could we get another round of drinks for the table, please?’
She nodded, reaching for glasses.
You stayed where you were for a second, hands resting on the edge of the counter, watching her work.
‘Haven’t seen you around here before.’
Male voice came from your left. You turned your head.
There was a man sitting at the counter a seat down from you. Around your age, maybe a little older. Work shirt with a name patch, sleeves rolled up, cup of coffee in front of him and a half-eaten sandwich on his plate. He had one elbow on the counter, body angled in your direction now.
You gave him a polite smile. ‘We stop by every now and then. On the way to the lake.’
‘Yeah?’ he asked. ‘You got a place up there or somethin’?’
‘Kind of,’ you said.
He whistled under his breath. ‘Lucky,’ he said. ‘Whole lake to yourself?’
‘On good days,’ you replied.
He laughed. You smiled. It felt friendly enough. People talked in diners. This was normal.
‘You from around here, then?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly,’ you said. ‘We move around a lot for work.’
‘What do you do?’ he asked, curious.
You hesitated for a second. ‘We, uh… help people,’ you said. ‘Mostly.’
‘Social work?’
‘Something like that.’
The waitress came back, setting beers on a tray.
The man watched her, then looked back at you. ‘You want a coffee while you’re waiting?’ he asked. ‘I could get you one.’
That was when it finally clicked. You blinked, feeling your brain catch up.
Oh.
Heat rose under your skin, startled this time. You cleared your throat.
‘That’s nice of you,’ you said quickly, keeping your tone polite. ‘But I’m actually here with my-’
‘Me.’
Dean’s voice was suddenly right beside you.
You turned your head. He was there, crowding into your space at the counter, shoulder nearly bumping yours. His hand landed heavy and warm on your hip, fingers wrapping around, thumb pressing through the fabric of your jeans. His jaw was tight.
‘She’s here with me,’ he said.
The guy straightened a little on his stool. ‘My apologies,’ he said, holding his hands up a bit. ‘Didn’t see anybody with her.’
Dean’s eyes dropped to your hand, still resting on the counter. He lifted it, a little rougher than necessary, so the engagement ring caught the light.
‘You can see this, though, right?’ he said. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you, man?’
‘Dean,’ you hissed under your breath.
The man gave you an apologetic look. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Didn’t notice the ring. Didn’t mean to disrespect anything.’
‘It’s fine,’ you said quickly. You slid out from under Dean’s hand, putting yourself between them a little. ‘Really. It’s okay. Have a nice day.’
He nodded once and turned back to his coffee.
You turned to Dean and put your palm flat on his chest.
‘Alright,’ you said quietly. ‘That’s enough, Romeo.’
He huffed, but his hand loosened on your hip. On the way back to the booth, he stayed close at your shoulder.
‘Unbelievable,’ he muttered. ‘I leave you alone for, what, five minutes? And guys are already lining up.’
‘He was not lining up,’ you said, cheeks still warm. ‘He just offered me coffee.’
Dean shot you a look. ‘He was hittin’ on you.’
You frowned. ‘I thought he was bored. I was just being polite.’
He let out a small, disbelieving scoff. ‘I will never understand how you don’t see it,’ he said. ‘You never notice when guys are into you.’
You shrugged, trying not to let that twist into anything sharp in your chest. ‘I’m used to people hitting on you,’ you said honestly. ‘Not me. My brain just… doesn’t go there.’
Dean shook his head. ‘Yeah, well. Your brain’s wrong,’ he said. ‘You’re too damn nice for your own good sometimes.’
You reached the booth and, luckily, no one asked why Dean looked vaguely ready to commit a homicide. Once you slipped back into your spot, Dean’s arm went right around your shoulders this time, pulling you in tight. You let yourself go, leaning into his side.
You tilted your head toward his ear. ‘Good thing I’m marrying a knight in shining armor who always comes to the rescue, huh?’ you murmured.
He snorted. ‘Damn right.’
You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then picked up your burger again. His hold on you didn’t ease, not even a little.
The next day went by in a blur.
You barely remembered breakfast. After that, the whole world narrowed to lists and tasks and people moving in and out of doors.
You spent most of the morning inside, dusting and mopping and wrestling mattress covers off the beds. The lodge had that smell of stale air and wood polish at first, but by noon it felt lived in again. Fresh sheets, windows opened, curtains tied back to let the sun in. You kept catching yourself pausing in doorways and picturing guests here. It would be crowded, for sure, but you’d manage.
Meanwhile, out front, Charlie and Eileen had worked on the yard.
Every time you glanced out the window, there they were. Raking up the layer of late September leaves, sweeping off the porch, hauling out the boxes with lights and lanterns. By the time you brought them coffee after lunch, there were strings of Christmas lights coiled in piles on the grass, ready to go up, and a little line of candles prepared under the porch.
In the afternoon, you were in the kitchen prepping the pies, while the guys took the Impala back into town. They were picking up the heaters, the chairs, and the tables you’d managed to arrange with Maggie, the caretaker, over the phone. She’d met them at the storage building with a key and a truck.
By early evening, the lodge looked different. Lanterns already hung from a couple of lower branches. The lights were up, draped from the porch to the nearest trees. The pier had been swept clean, boards checked for loose nails. Chairs stacked in a neat row, waiting to be set out tomorrow.
Every time you stopped to breathe, the same thought hit you… this is actually happening.
Now all six of you were outside, sitting around the big table to test the setup. Your idea. Really, it was an excuse to eat under the lights for the first time.
The pasta steam curled up into the cooling air. You’d made a huge pot of something simple and heavy and comforting, enough to feed a small army. Plates were full, forks moving, conversation drifting around. Benny sat at the end again, this time with a sealed blood bag tucked discreetly into a dark mug. He raised it every few minutes, took a sip, and nobody even blinked.
Above you, the strings of lights glowed warm against the darkening sky. They threw soft reflections over the water, broken by every small ripple that touched the shore. The lanterns on the porch and near the start of the pier already made the yard feel magical.
You put your fork down and just… looked.
‘This is…’ you started, then stopped, trying to find the right word. ‘This is so much better than anything I had in my head. It’s… kind of perfect.’
Dean turned his head toward you, a little tired but content.
‘Good,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re gettin’ the wedding you deserve.’
The way he said it, matter-of-fact, made you want to bite his bottom lip.
Charlie leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head. ‘And this is just phase one,’ she said. ‘Wait ‘til tomorrow, when we get the roses out, and all the candles, and the lanterns lined up down the pier. It’s gonna be awesome.’
Her grin was so bright it almost hurt.
‘Man, this place,’ she added, looking around again. ‘It still blows my mind. You’re telling me nobody can find it if they don’t already know it’s here?’
You shrugged, twisting your napkin between your fingers. ‘Pretty much. There’s all kinds of warding everywhere. Not just the lodge. It covers a pretty big radius now.’
‘That’s incredible,’ Eileen said. She signed the last word as she spoke it.
Dean swallowed a mouthful of pasta and pointed loosely with his fork. ‘Yeah. No bad son of a bitch gets in here anymore,’ he said. ‘Not after last time.’
He shot you a look that said he was thinking about that awful night with the shifter.
‘This woman worked her ass off,’ he went on. ‘It’s probably safer here than in the bunker now.’
Your cheeks warmed under the attention. You took a sip of wine to cover it.
‘That reminds me,’ you said after you put the glass down, ‘I need to lower the warding just slightly, so Cas could zap in and out of the property.’
Sam’s head snapped up. ‘You can do that?’
You nodded. ‘I can even target it, so it’s only for the celestial beings.’
‘Wow,’ Sam was obviously impressed. ‘Can I watch?’
‘Sure.’
Charlie watched the exchange, smiling. Then she glanced out at the dark line of trees again.
‘Imagine growing up with this,’ she said. ‘Lodge in the woods, secret lake, wards… literal fantasy land. Your future kids are gonna go nuts over this pl-’
She cut herself off mid-word. The table went quiet for half a second.
Kids. The word hung there, heavy.
Across from you, Dean’s fork hesitated on its way to his mouth. You felt his focus on you without even looking. You forced yourself to take another bite, even though your stomach suddenly felt tight.
Charlie’s eyes flicked between the two of you, then she straightened a little too fast.
‘Anyway,’ she said briskly, pushing her hair behind her ear, ‘logistics. When are Kevin and his mom getting here tomorrow?’
Sam cleared his throat. ‘They’re coming in with Cas,’ he said. ‘He’s gonna grab them on the way down.’
Conversation picked up again in small bursts, mostly about the schedule tomorrow.
On the outside, you nodded and answered and smiled.
Inside, your brain was still stuck on that one line. Your future kids. And from where you were sitting, you saw Dean at the other end of the table, eating quietly, pretending he wasn’t rattled too.
Dean had raw meat under his hands and his brain still wouldn’t shut up about kids.
The others were outside, voices drifting in through the cracked window with the clink of bottles and the low hum of whatever Charlie had put on her speaker. Last round before they all crashed.
In here it was just the two of them.
He had a big metal pan in front of him, steaks laid out in neat rows. He was working the marinade in, fingers pressing it into the grain. It was a good job for keeping his hands busy. His head, not so much.
Across from him she stood at the other side of the kitchen island, wrist moving in slow circles as she stirred a huge bowl of salad. There were several other bowls waiting for potatoes, chopped vegetables, and whatever else she was planning for tomorrow. Her sleeves were pushed up, hair yanked back without much care. She looked a little tired, but focused.
And Charlie’s voice from an hour ago kept replaying in his head.
Your kids are gonna go nuts over this place…
He’d laughed it off at the table. Smirk, eye-roll, move on. He was good at that. Had decades of practice.
Didn’t matter. The words still stuck.
He cleared his throat, dragging the pan a little closer. The silence between them had started to feel a little too full.
‘So,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the meat, ‘kids, huh. Charlie’s real funny sometimes.’
She went still for a second. Just a tiny pause in the sound of the spoon scraping the bowl.
‘Yeah,’ she said eventually, without looking over. ‘I guess.’
He hesitated, thumb pressing a little harder than necessary into one of the steaks.
Screw it.
‘You ever…’ he started, then forced it out, ‘think about that? Us. Havin’ a kid.’
This time she did look up. Her face was hard to read. Not freaked out, though. Just serious.
‘Yeah,’ she said quietly. ‘I do. Sometimes.’ Her mouth tugged. ‘Well… You think I’m pregnant basically any time I say I want to have a serious talk with you, so… kind of hard not to.’
He huffed out a short, embarrassed laugh. ‘Yeah, well. Can’t blame me. Spent my whole life dreading the talk.’
Silence again. He flipped one of the steaks, more to have something to do than because it needed it.
Then she asked, ‘Would you want any?’
He played dumb for no particular reason. ‘What, kids?’
She gave him a look. Rolled her eyes. Let out a small sigh.
He stared at the pan. ‘I don’t, uh… I don’t know,’ he said. Saying it out loud felt weird. ‘Would you?’
She set the spoon down and turned, hip resting against the counter now, fully facing him. Thinking.
‘With the life we live?’ she said. ‘I’m not sure it’s the wisest idea.’
He nodded automatically. ‘Yeah. Guess you’re right.’
The sting surprised him. Quick and sharp, right in his chest. He kept his hands moving so she wouldn’t see anything on his face.
Of course it wasn’t wise. He knew that. He’d spent his whole life with a front row seat to what hunting did to families. How fast you could lose everything. Mom’s scream, fire, gun oil, motel rooms. Their old man shoving a shotgun into his hands and telling him to keep Sammy safe.
Kids and this life didn’t mix. He knew that.
Didn’t mean the little flicker in his gut at the thought of her holding a baby here, in this stupid safe little lodge, didn’t hurt when she blew it out.
‘But,’ she added.
He glanced up.
‘You’re the first man I can actually imagine having a kid with,’ she said. ‘If I ever did it, I mean. You’d be a great father.’
He barked out a small, disbelieving laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’
She pushed off the counter and came closer, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she went. Then her fingers closed over his on the edge of the pan.
‘I mean it, Dean,’ she said, looking straight at him. ‘I’ve seen you with kids. I know you’d be wonderful. Total psycho sometimes, with your crazy overprotectiveness, but wonderful.’ The corner of her mouth kicked up. ‘And I would genuinely feel sorry for any poor son of a bitch who tried to date our daughter. If we had one.’
She laughed, soft and quick, then sobered again. ‘But I mean it.’
His eyes burned for half a second before he got it under control. He dropped his gaze to her hand on his, watching the way her fingers curled.
Nobody had ever said that to him before. Not like this. Lisa had let him take care of Ben for a while, let him pretend, but that had always been just borrowed. Temporary. At any second, some part of him expected John to walk in, tell him he was screwing it up.
With her, it felt… different. Still terrifying, sure. But not impossible.
‘Dean?’ she said softly.
‘What,’ he managed.
‘Talk to me,’ she urged, squeezing his fingers. ‘There’s literally no one else here. Just us.’
He exhaled, long and slow. Wiped his free hand on a towel. Looked at her and pushed the words past his teeth.
‘I just…’ He shrugged, shoulders tense. ‘Never really thought I’d meet somebody I’d wanna even think about that with. Y’know?’
Her expression softened. She closed the last of the distance and slid her arms around his middle from the side, cheek resting briefly against his shoulder.
He let himself lean into it. Just a little.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘We enjoy our life together for a bit. Just us. And if one day we’re both ready… we stop taking precautions.’ Her voice stayed calm. ‘But you’d have to be ready to put a nail in the whole hunting thing. I’m not raising a kid alone.’
Dean stared over her head at the wall, at the doorway that led back out to the lake and the lights and the people he loved. Tried to picture that same doorway with a small person toddling through it. Tried to picture himself without a gun behind his belt. Without the car loaded with weapons. Without the next hunt already waiting in the back of his mind.
Scary as hell.
Also… not the worst thing he’d ever imagined.
His hand came up and settled over her forearm where it wrapped around his ribs.
‘Yeah,’ he said after a beat. ‘Yeah. That’ll work.’
She squeezed him once more before letting go and stepping back toward her bowl.
He went back to the steaks.
But the picture stayed. Her laughing on this porch. Lights overhead. A kid somewhere in the yard, safe, loud, alive.
For the first time in maybe ever, he let himself not shove it away.
It was finally your wedding day.
If you hadn’t been buried under a hundred tiny tasks and nerves from the second you opened your eyes, you probably would’ve stopped and stared at the ceiling, wondering how the hell this even happened. But you still had chairs to set up, food to finish, candles to place, hair to wash, and somehow make yourself presentable.
So there wasn’t much room left for processing the fact you were actually marrying Dean Winchester.
You thought you were the first one up.
Charlie’s soft snoring from the other side of the bed seemed to confirm it. When dawn hit, she was out cold, sprawled across her side with a foot half off the mattress. You slipped out carefully, got dressed, and crept down the hall.
Charlie had insisted on rooming with you. Guard duty, as she called it. No unsupervised late-night fiancée visits, no accidental shared bed the night before the wedding. Not even Dean’s dangerous grumbling convinced her to change her mind. That’s why he was sharing sleeping space in the living room with Benny.
But when you made your way to the kitchen to make tea, hands a little shaky and a blanket draped over your shoulders, Benny was napping there alone.
The morning air bit at your cheeks as you stepped outside. The lake was calm, the surface pale in the early light. You adjusted the blanket and headed down the path.
Dean was already there.
He stood at the edge of the pier, shoulders relaxed, coffee in hand, watching the water. The sight punched through you. Your fiancée. On your wedding day. On your pier.
‘Hey,’ you said quietly.
He turned, slowly, and the smile that hit his face made your hands go a little numb.
‘Hey, baby,’ he said, voice still low from sleep.
You stepped up beside him, leaned in to press a soft kiss to his mouth. He tasted like coffee and toothpaste. He hummed and kissed you back for a second, greedy.
You pulled the blanket open with one hand and bumped your shoulder into his. ‘Get in here,’ you muttered.
He slid closer without argument, tucking himself under the blanket so your sides were pressed together. His arm went around your waist automatically, his hand settling under the fabric on your hip. You closed your eyes for a moment and just breathed.
The lake lay in front of you, quiet and wide. The pier stretched out, empty for now. By evening there would be lanterns and roses and all your friends waiting at the shore.
‘You sleep okay?’ Dean asked after a minute.
‘Not really,’ you admitted. ‘Charlie hogged the blanket and kept mumbling in her sleep.’
He snorted softly. ‘Yeah, sounds about right.’
You hesitated, then added, ‘I missed you.’
His arm tightened around you. ‘Yeah,’ he said, voice rougher. ‘Me too.’
You leaned into him more. His body was warm through the layers.
‘You ready for this?’ you asked.
He took a breath. ‘Nope,’ he said. Then, without missing a beat, ‘You sure you don’t wanna elope?’
You let out a short laugh, head shaking. ‘I’m afraid our friends would hunt us down and kill us if we did them dirty like that.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ he muttered. ‘Be a hell of a chase, though.’
You huffed, but your throat was tight.
A quiet settled over you. The sky was brightening by the minute. Somewhere behind you, a bird called from a tree. Under the blanket, Dean’s thumb traced slow lines along your waist.
‘Dean?’ you said.
‘Hm?’
‘I wish my parents were here,’ you said quietly. ‘And my brother.’
It was the first time you’d actually said it out loud. The thought had been with you for days, catching you at stupid times. The pain in your chest flared sharp and hot. You swallowed, hard. You refused to cry. Not yet. Not like this.
Dean exhaled and tightened his grip.
‘Yeah,’ he said, voice rough. ‘Me too.’ He paused. ‘Mom and Dad. Bobby. They should all be here.’
You squeezed his arm, fingers digging into his shirt. You had both lost almost everything that counted as family. Different worlds, different histories, the same empty spaces. But you had each other. And that was the point of today. That was what all this was for.
You stayed there for another minute, watching the light move across the water, letting the ache and the gratitude sit in your chest.
Eventually, a door slammed somewhere up by the lodge. Voices carried over the yard, Charlie’s higher tone mixing with Sam’s lower one, Eileen saying something you couldn’t make out.
Dean shifted, looked down at you.
‘Alright,’ he said, jaw setting. ‘Let’s do this.’
The next few hours passed quickly.
By midday, everything was in place. The chairs, the lanterns, the candles. There were so many red roses you made a scene about the fortune it must’ve cost. But Charlie only grinned and told you not to worry about it.
The grill was cleaned and ready on the porch, pies were baked, beer chilled, and the kitchen counter was covered in bottles of wine, whiskey and all kinds of snacks.
Castiel finally arrived, apologizing for being late. He looked around the lake with mild curiosity, then told you calmly he was ready to transport Kevin and his mother as needed. Jody had texted Dean in the morning, confirming she was on her way. She had Alex and Claire in the car with her, both allegedly presentable and only slightly annoyed.
Knowing they were all going to see this place, see you marry Dean, warmed something deep in you.
By early afternoon, you were running on nerves and two cups of tea. Everyone grabbed lunch, but your stomach wasn’t interested. Dean poked at his food, took maybe two bites, and gave up. That alone told you how wired he was.
‘Dean,’ you called from upstairs, trying to keep track of everything in your head. ‘Do you know where the black bag with the gold zipper went? All the stuff that’s supposed to make me look good is in there.’
‘Think it’s still in Baby’s trunk,’ he said as you walked down the stairs into the kitchen. He pulled the Impala keys out of his pocket and tossed them. You caught them on reflex. ‘In the back, on the right.’
‘Got it,’ you said. ‘Thank you.’
You jogged out, found the bag exactly where he said it was, and tried not to think about how much pressure you had just placed on a bundle of powders and creams and a roll of mascara.
Back inside, you announced loudly, ‘I’m taking a bath. Knock only if anything is literally on fire.’
No one objected.
And you took your time. You let the hot water soak into your muscles, tried to breathe the tightness out of your chest. You washed your hair twice. You shaved your legs, and took the extra thirty seconds to rub lotion into your arms and shoulders. Suddenly you were aware this was the skin Dean would touch tonight, even if all you ended up doing was fall asleep curled around each other.
By the time you wrapped yourself in a towel and stepped out of the steam, your head felt marginally clearer. Your heart still beat too fast, but at least you could hear your own thoughts again.
Makeup and hair were next.
You had every intention of handling that part alone, but Charlie and Eileen had apparently decided otherwise. They caught you halfway down the hall and herded you gently but firmly into the master bedroom.
That’s how you ended up sitting in front of the mirror, in your soft flannel and leggings, wedding dress hanging in the corner. The white fabric looked almost unreal in the lamplight. Eileen stood behind you, fingers working carefully through your hair, sectioning and curling. Charlie poured you all a glass of something strong, then sat cross-legged on the bed.
You leaned toward the mirror slightly, trying to blend the eyeshadow, when there was a knock on the door.
‘Yes?’ Charlie called out, without looking up. ‘The bride is getting ready, there better be someone dying for you to bother her now.’
There was a pause. Then a familiar drawl came through the door, careful.
‘Uh… sorry ‘bout that. I just need a couple minutes with the bride, if that’s alright.’
‘It’s okay, Benny,’ you called. ‘Come on in.’
The door creaked open. Benny stepped in slowly, shoulders a little hunched. For a second he looked unsure where to put his eyes. Then he focused on you in the chair and his whole face softened.
‘Well now,’ he said, that easy grin spreading. ‘My boy Dean ain’t ready for what’s comin’, is he?’
Charlie snorted. ‘You have no frickin’ idea.’
You felt your cheeks get warm. You tried to ignore it and focused on Benny instead. That was when you noticed the small package in his hand. Rough brown paper, corners a bit worn, twine tied around the middle.
‘What do you need, Benny?’ you said gently.
He glanced down at the package, mouth tugging. He shifted his weight, then stepped closer.
‘Back in my pirate days,’ he started, carefully, ‘we used to stumble onto all kinds of fine things. Gold, jewels, trinkets…’ His thumb brushed the edge of the package. ‘Didn’t keep much of it. No point, most of the time.’
He took a breath.
‘But some things I held onto. Just a few. And this…’ He lifted the bundle a little. ‘This was somethin’ I meant to give to a woman I loved. Never got the chance. We both ended up dead before I could put it in her hands.’
The words landed heavy in the room. Eileen’s fingers stilled in your hair.
Benny went on, quieter. ‘I stashed it with some other pieces, somewhere safe. That’s where I was the other night, actually. Took a little trip to dig it back up.’ He looked at you again, eyes kind. ‘Figured it might fit the occasion.’
He held the package out.
You stared for a second, thrown. ‘Benny, you didn’t have to get me anything,’ you said, taking it carefully.
‘Ain’t about havin’ to,’ he said. ‘Go on, sunshine. Open it.’
You worked the knot loose, peeled the paper back. Inside was a small, dark blue velvet box. Obviously old, but well kept. Your heartbeat picked up.
You glanced at him once more, then eased the lid open.
Your breath stopped.
Nestled inside was a silver hair comb, delicate and intricate. The metal had that soft sheen old silver carried, worked into curling patterns. Tiny dark blue stones ran along the edge, and in the center sat a larger, deep red gem. It caught the light in a way that pulled your eyes straight to it.
You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t.
Benny filled the quiet. ‘Don’t rightly remember where I picked it up,’ he said. ‘But I know it’s old. Been through more than one lifetime sittin’ in the dark.’
You swallowed.
‘Benny,’ you managed. ‘I can’t take this. It’s… it’s too much.’
His brow creased. ‘You don’t like it?’
‘No,’ you said quickly, looking up. ‘It’s stunning, I just-’
‘I want you to have it,’ he cut in, gentle but firm. ‘I always figured it oughta be worn by a stunnin’ woman, on a day that matters. Seems to me it’s been waitin’ on you.’
Your throat burned.
You stood up before you could overthink it and crossed the small space between you. He straightened a little, surprised, then you wrapped your arms around him.
‘Thank you,’ you said into his shoulder. Your voice came out rough. ‘I love it. So much.’
He let out a soft huff, one hand coming up to pat your back once, careful.
You pulled away and turned at once, holding the box out to Eileen.
‘I want to wear it,’ you said. ‘If you can make it work.’
Her whole face lit up.
‘It’ll look beautiful in your hair,’ she said. ‘And it matches your dress. Perfect.’
You handed the velvet box over and looked back at Benny.
He gave you a little half-bow, one hand over his heart. ‘You look after my boy,’ he said. ‘And let him take care of you. That’s all I ask.’
‘I will,’ you said. ‘Promise.’
He smiled at Charlie and Eileen, then slipped back out of the room, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, the three of you just stood there.
‘Wow,’ Charlie breathed finally.
You sat back down slowly. Your hands were still a little unsteady.
Then, all at once, Charlie jolted upright on the bed.
‘Okay,’ she said, pointing a finger in the air. ‘I just remembered there’s something I need to do.’
She hopped off the mattress in a rush.
‘Eileen, keep making her pretty,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll be right back.’
And before you could ask anything, she bolted out of the room.
Dean stood in the middle of the guest bedroom in nothing but sweats, hair still damp from the shower, and realized he couldn’t breathe.
It hit him fast and sudden. One second he was taking his fancy clothes out of the bag, the next his chest hurt and his vision did a weird little tunnel thing.
She was in the next room. Getting ready. About to put on the dress she was gonna marry him in.
Biggest day of her life and she was about to tie herself permanently to a guy who’d… what?
Dragged his brother, and her, through hell. Got half the people he loved killed. Broke everything he ever touched at least once.
Yeah. Fantastic plan.
He started pacing before he realized he’d moved. Four steps to the door, four steps back to the window. Bare feet silent on the old wood. Hands on his hips, then in his hair, then scrubbing over his face.
He’d texted Sam three minutes ago.
Room. Now.
He checked his phone again.
Nothing.
Dean’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry or nauseous. Both, probably. Felt like somebody had set a huge-ass rock on his ribs and told him to just walk it off.
A few days ago everything had been simple. Kill the rugaru, get the rings, come home. Now it was real. Now there were chairs outside and roses and a freaking pier turned wedding aisle, and she was… all in.
And he was standing here half-naked, trying not to pass out.
The door finally opened and Sam squeezed in, already talking.
‘Sorry, man, Kevin and Mrs. Tran just got here,’ Sam said, a little out of breath. ‘I was showing them the place, bringing them up to speed and-’
He stopped.
Took one look at Dean.
‘Okay,’ Sam said, tone changing. ‘What’s going on?’
‘What the hell took you so long?’ Dean snapped. ‘I texted you, like, an hour ago.’
‘It was ten minutes,’ Sam said carefully. ‘Dean. Talk to me.’
Dean dragged a hand down his face. Turned away. Pacing again.
‘I can’t do it,’ he muttered.
‘Do what?’ Sam asked. ‘Get married?’
Dean spun on him. ‘I can’t ruin her life, man.’
Sam blinked. ‘What? Dean, what the hell are you talking about?’
‘You heard me.’ Dean’s voice was getting rough. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t drag her into this and slap a ring on her and pretend everything’s gonna be okay.’
Sam took a step closer, hands up a little. ‘Dean, nobody is forcing her into anything. She’s the one-’
‘I screw everything up,’ Dean said, words picking up speed. ‘Everything. Every damn time. What happens when we’re five, ten years in and she wakes up and realizes what she signed up for?’
His heart was pounding. He could hear it in his ears.
‘What if she’s miserable?’ he pushed on. ‘What if I’m a crap husband, or I screw something big, or I hurt her, when I don’t even mean to, I just…’ He threw a hand out, helpless. ‘What if she decides this was the biggest mistake of her life and she wants out?’
Sam’s face softened, but Dean barely saw it.
‘And don’t start with the whole she’d never do that crap,’ Dean said, voice cracking now. ‘People leave. That’s what they do. They die, they bail, they get taken, they…’ He shook his head hard. ‘If she walked away, I’d… I got nothin’ without her, man. I can’t-’
His chest clenched so hard he had to bend forward, hands on his thighs for a second. Breath came short and fast.
‘I can’t do it,’ he said again, hoarse. ‘I can’t stand there and smile and pretend I’m not scared outta my damn mind that I’m gonna wreck the one good thing I ever got.’
‘Okay,’ Sam said quietly. ‘Okay. Sit down for a second.’
‘I don’t wanna sit down!’ Dean snapped, straightening, pacing again. The room felt too small. ‘I feel like there’s a truck on my chest. I haven’t eaten all day, I’m starving, but every time I think about food I think she didn’t eat, and what if that means she’s freaking out, and what if she’s got doubts she didn’t say out loud and-’
‘Dean,’ Sam said, firmer now. ‘Hey. Look at me.’
Dean forced his eyes up. Sam’s face was calm. Worried, but steady.
‘I’m glad to see you’re not freaking out because you don’t wanna marry her,’ Sam said. ‘You’re freaking out because you do. Because you love her and you think you’re not good enough. Right?’
Dean’s jaw worked.
Sam sighed, went over to the little dresser, picked up the pitcher and poured water into a glass. Walked back and held it out.
Dean stared at it. ‘What the hell do you want me to do with that?’
‘Drink it,’ Sam said.
Dean glared.
Sam rolled his eyes. ‘Fine.’
He put the water down, grabbed the bottle of whiskey instead, and poured a shot. Handed that over.
Dean took it, threw it back in one go. It burned all the way down. Good. He held the empty glass out again.
‘One more,’ he muttered.
Sam obliged. Dean knocked that one back, too. His hands were still shaking.
‘She loves you,’ Sam said, slow. ‘You know that. We all know that. Like, actually loves you. She chose this. She wants you. You. No one else.’
Dean stared at the wall over Sam’s shoulder. The words landed, just… didn’t really fix the weight in his chest.
Before he could answer, a sound cut through the room.
The low, familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine. Right under the window. Then revving. Gravel popping under the tires.
Dean frowned. ‘What the…’
The sound didn’t die. Instead, it grew louder, then started to fade. Farther down the road.
Dean crossed the room in three strides, yanked the curtain back.
Dust. Trees. No car.
‘What the fuck?’ he breathed.
He didn’t bother with shoes. He was out the door and down the stairs in seconds, Sam on his heels.
By the time he hit the yard, his lungs were burning.
Kevin, Mrs. Tran, Benny and Cas were all out front, mid-conversation. All of them turned as Dean barreled out, barefoot, in sweats and nothing else.
‘What the hell happened?’ Dean demanded. ‘Where’s my car?’
Kevin looked rattled. ‘She… she just left,’ he said. ‘Got in the car, started it up, and drove off.’
‘And you didn’t stop her?!’ Dean’s voice came out way too loud.
Mrs. Tran flinched. Kevin held his hands up, eyes wide.
‘She- she didn’t say anything,’ he said. ‘Just walked past, said hi, and next thing I know the car’s halfway down the drive. We thought maybe it was some last-minute bridal thing, we didn’t-’
‘Damnit,’ Dean snapped, turning away, then back again. ‘Did she look upset? Anyone see her face?’
Benny narrowed his eyes, thinking. ‘Didn’t really stop to show her face, brother,’ he said slowly. ‘She moved quick.’
Dean’s heart kicked harder. Fucking great.
Behind him, Sam came out onto the porch, breath short.
‘Dean-’
‘She heard me,’ Dean said, words tripping over each other. ‘She heard me say I can’t do it, she heard me freakin’ out and she bolted, of course she did, why the hell wouldn’t she.’
‘Dean, she was in the other room,’ Sam tried. ‘You were in there with the door closed, there’s no way-’
‘Don’t tell me what she did or didn’t hear,’ Dean snapped. His hands went to his hair again, fingers digging in. ‘I need a car. Where’s Charlie’s?’
Cas glanced toward the trees. ‘Charlie is not here,’ he said. ‘She took her car into town some time ago.’
‘Of course she did,’ Dean muttered. ‘Awesome. Perfect timing.’
His chest felt like it was going to split. He turned in a small circle, as if motion could fix it, then barked, ‘Somebody give me a damn phone.’
Sam shoved one into his hand. Dean jabbed at the screen, hit her contact, pressed it to his ear.
Three rings.
Then voicemail.
He hung up and called again. Same thing.
‘Answer the phone,’ he growled under his breath. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, pick up, pick up…’
Nothing.
He paced a tight line across the gravel, phone pressed to his forehead for a second, breathing too fast. His free hand rubbed hard over his mouth, then down his jaw, then back through his hair.
‘Dean,’ Sam said, trying again. ‘We don’t even know why she left. Maybe she just-’
‘I’m callin’ Charlie,’ Dean cut in.
He thumbed over to Charlie’s number and hit call.
‘Where the hell are you?’ he snapped as soon as she picked up. ‘Get your ass back here, I need your car.’
There was a beat of confused silence on the line, then Charlie said, ‘Whoa, easy, Dean. I’m doing what you wanted me to do, remember? I’m like twenty minutes out. What happened?’
‘She took off,’ Dean said, jaw tight. ‘Dragged my car and my sanity with her. Just get here, stat.’
Charlie swore softly. ‘Okay. I’m coming. Don’t do anything stupid.’
He hung up without answering.
Those twenty minutes felt like an hour.
Nobody really knew what to do. Kevin tried suggesting she might have just gone for a drive to clear her head. Mrs. Tran offered tea. Cas stood there, worried, saying every few minutes that he could scan a wider area if needed.
Dean couldn’t hold still. Sam managed to force a pair of slippers on him. But he didn’t really give a damn about bare feet.
He wore a path into the dirt, back and forth from the porch steps to the edge of the yard and back again. Every few passes he’d stop, stare down the road, then keep moving.
His chest wouldn’t unclench. His hands wouldn’t stop moving, raking through his hair, rubbing over his face, pressing hard into the back of his neck. He felt weirdly lightheaded, stuck halfway between passing out and punching something.
He pulled Sam’s phone out again, thumb hovering over Jody’s contact.
‘What are you doing?’ Sam asked.
‘Callin’ Jody,’ Dean said. ‘She’s already on the road. She can get the cops watching for the car, see if-’
‘Dean,’ Sam cut in. ‘Think about it. You really want an APB out on the Impala? In a ten-mile radius of a warded hunter safehouse full of people we care about?’
Dean’s grip tightened on the phone. He ground his teeth.
‘We don’t even know she’s in trouble,’ Sam added. ‘You call Jody now and we can’t take that back.’
Dean blew out a breath, furious at how reasonable that sounded.
He shoved the phone back into Sam’s hand, then planted his palms on his knees for a second, head down, trying to slow his breathing. The yard was quiet except for the wind in the trees and Kevin awkwardly offering his mom a chair she clearly didn’t want.
Eileen came out onto the porch, brows pulled together.
Her eyes swept over the yard, taking in everybody’s faces. She signed a quick what’s going on? at Sam, then said out loud, ‘Why is everyone freaking out?’
Sam lowered his voice instinctively when he answered. ‘She took the Impala,’ he said. ‘Nobody knows where she went.’
Eileen frowned, thinking. ‘We finished makeup and hair. She said she was going to grab some cold water from the kitchen and she’d be right back. That was, like, thirty minutes ago? Maybe more.’
Dean felt his pulse slam against his throat.
She could be in town already. She could be halfway to the state line. She could be-
The distant growl of an engine floated in from the road.
Everybody went still.
Dean’s head snapped toward the sound. For a second he thought he was imagining it. Then it got louder. Closer.
Charlie’s little yellow car burst through the trees, turning into the drive fast. She parked crooked, climbed out already talking.
‘Okay, what the hell is going-’
Dean was on her in two strides. ‘Keys.’
Charlie’s face was alarmed. She slapped the keys into Dean’s palm without another word.
He didn’t even thank her. He turned on his heel, already heading for the driver’s side, every muscle strained tight.
That’s when he heard it.
Under Charlie’s engine ticking as it cooled, under the birds, under everything.
Another car.
The low, deep rumble he knew better than his own heartbeat, rolling up from the curve in the road.
Dean froze, half a step from the yellow car.
The trees parted, and the black hood of the Impala slid into view, crawling up the drive.
He exhaled hard. Didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until that moment.
He stepped away from Charlie’s car without looking at anyone, feet already taking him straight toward Baby as she rolled to a stop.
You killed the engine and just… sat there for a second.
Dean was there, in nothing but sweats and slippers, charging toward you. His shoulders were tense, jaw tight. Everyone else had turned to look. Sam, Kevin, Mrs. Tran, Benny, Cas, Eileen in the doorway, Charlie out by her car.
Your stomach dropped. You let your forehead rest against the steering wheel and swore under your breath once. Then you straightened, grabbed the paper bag from the passenger seat and stepped out.
‘What the hell?!’ Dean barked the second your feet hit the gravel. ‘Where were you?’
He sounded wrecked. Not angry-wrecked. More like scared-wrecked.
You held the bag up halfway between you, trying to keep your voice even. ‘You said you were starving,’ you said. ‘So I went out and got you your favorite cheeseburger.’
He stopped dead.
Just stared at you for a beat, eyes wide, chest heaving.
‘I said wh- you-’ He dragged both hands down his face. ‘Mother-’ He broke off, turning away and back again. ‘Are you outta your mind?’
You took a few careful steps closer. ‘Dean-’
‘So you just decided to give me a goddamn heart attack?’ he snapped. ‘Just bolt without saying anything to anybody?’ His voice shook. ‘I thought you-’
You were close enough now to see the details. The little tremor in his fingers. The way his eyes kept flicking over your face, down, then back up.
‘I thought you, uh…’ he started again.
His words stalled. His gaze caught on your face, on your hair, on the way Eileen had pinned half of it up. His mouth opened and closed once.
‘I thought-’ He shut his eyes for a second, then exhaled. ‘Fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty.’
That threw you for half a second.
You cleared your throat, glanced past him at the worried faces. ‘I’m sorry!’ you called out. ‘I’m really sorry I freaked you out. Everything’s fine, I promise. Just… give us a minute? Please?’
There was a murmur of relief and a few nods. Kevin and his mom drifted back toward the porch. Cas followed. Sam hesitated, then steered Mrs. Tran inside, talking quietly. Eileen squeezed his arm and went with them.
Charlie stood there a moment longer, hand pressed over her chest, glaring at you on principle. Then she shook her head, muttered something you couldn’t make out, and stomped toward the lodge.
The yard finally cleared out until it was just you and Dean and the Impala between you.
You walked the last couple of steps and set your free hand on his bare chest. His heart was pounding under your palm.
‘Also…’ you said, your voice lower now. ‘I heard you.’
His eyes snapped back to yours. The worry there made your throat tight.
‘Come on,’ you added gently. ‘Let’s eat.’
You hopped up to sit on the Impala’s hood, the metal warm under you. You opened the bag and pulled the burger out, unwrapped it halfway. Held it out to him.
He didn’t take it. Just stood there in front of you, waiting.
You sighed. ‘When I heard you talking to Sam,’ you said, ‘about what you’re scared of… You know. Me being miserable, wanting out. Leaving...’
His jaw clenched.
‘I started thinking,’ you went on. ‘What if you’re the one who regrets this? What if you’re the one who wants out in a few years? And then my brain did that thing where it grabs one thought and runs it over and over until I’m losing my mind.’
His shoulders dropped a fraction. He was listening.
‘I needed air,’ you admitted. ‘I felt trapped in there, and in my own head, and I knew if I stayed I’d either cry or start saying stupid things I didn’t mean. So I grabbed your keys and decided to at least do something useful and get you food before you passed out on me.’
You looked down at the burger for a second, then back at him.
‘I know it was stupid to just leave,’ you said. ‘I didn’t think it through. Like, at all. And I’m really sorry I scared you. I just… needed the drive.’
You watched his face carefully, making sure he heard the next part.
‘And halfway there,’ you said, ‘I realized we’re both being idiots.’
One corner of his mouth twitched despite everything.
‘Dean, we’ve already been through so much together,’ you said. ‘We screwed things up, we hurt each other, we scared each other. And we stayed. Both of us. We talked, we worked on it, we made it better. Every time.’
You shifted on the hood, leaning a little closer.
‘That’s what this is,’ you said. ‘I suppose marriage isn’t some magical thing where nothing ever goes wrong. It’s just… more of that. More work, more talking, more choosing each other even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. And I know we can do that. Because there hasn’t been a single thing yet we couldn’t deal with, together.’
For a moment, the only sound was the wind in the trees and the paper bag crinkling in your hand.
Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. His eyes softened, even if the frown stayed.
He finally reached out, took the burger from your fingers and sank his teeth into it. Chewed, still looking annoyed and shaken.
‘You could’ve at least picked up your damn phone,’ he mumbled around a mouthful.
‘I know,’ you said. ‘I was worried I’d say something messed up if I picked up in full panic mode. Figured I’d either snap or lie, and neither sounded great.’
You were about to say more when you remembered he was still standing there bare-chested in the yard, skin starting to prick with the breeze.
Without thinking, you tugged your flannel open, shrugged it off your shoulders, and wrapped it around him. It was technically his shirt anyway.
He froze.
‘Babe,’ he said, voice rough, eyes dropping straight to the thin tank top you had on underneath. ‘That fuckin’ see-through thing again.’
You glanced down. The fabric wasn’t that bad. Still, his reaction made heat crawl up your cheeks.
‘You really goin’ out of your way to kill the groom right before the wedding,’ he muttered.
You snorted and stole a bite of the burger while he was distracted.
He chewed, swallowed, then let out a breath.
‘I’m sorry you heard me like that,’ he said, quieter now. ‘Panickin’. I should’ve known I could just… talk to you about it instead of dumping it all on Sam.’
You leaned your head against his shoulder, chewing slowly. The tank top suddenly felt colder in the breeze, but the contact warmed you more than any blanket.
‘We’re allowed to panic a little today, right?’ you said once you’d swallowed.
He huffed out something that was almost a laugh.
You finished the burger between you in silence, passing it back and forth. His breathing evened out. Your heart stopped trying to punch its way through your ribs.
After a while, he nudged your knee with his.
‘You realize if anybody else took my car and disappeared like that, they’d be in for a world of hurt,’ he said.
You smiled. ‘Guess I still need my attitude fixed.’
His eyes flicked to yours at that, a little darker now. The same way he’d looked at you in the gym when he’d had you pinned to the wall and promised exactly that.
Butterflies woke up in your stomach fast.
He leaned in, just enough that you knew he was about to kiss you. Your breath caught.
Then the sound of another engine rolled down the road.
You both pulled back a fraction and turned. A familiar SUV came into view between the trees.
Jody.
You exhaled and laughed once, nerves buzzing under your skin again for an entirely different reason.
Dean glanced at you, then at the car, then back.
‘You ready?’ he asked.
You looked at him, at the lodge, at the lake, at the chairs already set up. Then back at him again, the worry lines finally easing from his face.
‘I’ve been ready for a long time,’ you said.
He squeezed your hand once, hard, then helped you down from the hood. You walked back toward the lodge together to finish getting dressed and finally, finally do this.
It took another half hour and one more shot of whiskey before Dean stopped feeling like his chest was going to cave in.
He still wasn’t calm. Not even close. But at least he wasn’t two seconds away from losing it.
They’d split in the hallway. But before they had, he’d finally managed to steal a kiss. A little too short, but solid. Her hands had been in his hair, his thumb on her jaw, and for a second everything had gone quiet.
Then Charlie had yelled from somewhere behind them that she needed the bride back in the room immediately, and that was that.
Now he was alone again.
And it hit him like a brick that the next time he saw her, she’d be in white. Walking toward him. On Sam’s arm.
Yeah, no, calm was not on the menu.
He showered again. Needed to get the forest off his feet and the last traces of raw panic off his face. He toweled off, dragged on clean boxers and socks, and stopped to stare at the clothes laid out on the bed.
He’d thought about it more than he’d ever admit out loud.
She’d told him to be comfortable. That she didn’t need him in a tux, she just wanted him. But he still wanted to show up for her. Properly.
So, dark blue suit. The one she always looked at twice when he wore it. White shirt. No tie. Top buttons open. Jacket on for the ceremony, just long enough to make everybody happy. Then he was ditching it and rolling his sleeves. Let her get an eyeful of his forearms when they were done with the official part. Make her squirm a little.
He smirked to himself as he buttoned the cuffs on the shirt. Slid his old watch onto his wrist. Dug into the duffel for the old bracelet he hadn’t worn in years and put it on, feeling the familiar weight. One more thing only for her.
He was just reaching for the little tub of hair goo when there was a knock.
‘Yeah?’ he called.
The door creaked open. Charlie slipped in and shut it behind her.
She was already dressed. Dark red dress, hair done, a little makeup. Dean barely recognized her for a second.
He grinned. ‘Well, look who cleaned up nice.’
‘Shut up,’ she said automatically, rolling her eyes. Still, she glanced down at herself, picking at the fabric. ‘Not really my color, but I figured I should match the bride’s whole aesthetic, you know.’
He huffed out a laugh and turned back to the mirror, raking a hand through his damp hair.
Couldn’t stop himself. ‘Everything, uh… everything good out there?’
‘Yep,’ Charlie said. ‘Everyone’s here, everybody looks way fancier than expected. They’re out by the lake, having drinks. Sam’s being peak wholesome company. Candles are lit, music’s up, we’re-’ She caught his glance in the mirror and stopped. ‘Oh. You meant…’
She softened. ‘She’s good,’ she said. ‘She looks ah-mazing, dude. You wouldn’t believe.’
‘Yeah, I would,’ Dean murmured, looking down, trying to convince his hair to do what he wanted.
‘Anyway.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I brought you this.’
He looked over. She was holding out a red rose, stem cut short, little pin already through the base.
‘For your jacket,’ she said. ‘Boutonniere. Or however you say that stupid word.’
‘Oh. Right. Yeah.’ He grabbed the suit jacket from the bed and shrugged into it. He stepped closer. ‘Go ahead.’
She hesitated. ‘You sure you want me to? Shouldn’t Sam do it? Brother of the groom and all that cheesy crap?’
‘What?’ Dean frowned. ‘No. You do it.’
‘Okay,’ she said, a little softer.
She fussed with the pin for a second, tongue between her teeth, then finally patted his lapel. ‘There. All good.’
Dean turned to the mirror again. The rose sat sharp against the dark blue. For a second he barely recognized the guy staring back. Then his brain caught up.
‘So handsome,’ Charlie said with a grin.
He snorted. ‘Yeah, alright.’
Silence stretched for a moment. He could feel her looking at him in the mirror, eyes a little shiny.
‘Dean?’ she said.
He turned.
She took a breath. ‘I’m so, so proud of you.’
It hit him sideways. He blinked.
Charlie went on before he could make a joke. ‘I honestly never thought you’d get here,’ she said. ‘Not because you don’t deserve it, but because you were such a disaster about, you know, feelings.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘Like, total world-class emotional dumpster fire.’
‘Hey,’ Dean protested, but knew she wasn’t completely off.
‘But,’ she said, louder, holding up a hand, ‘you did it. You actually let yourself be happy for once. You got the girl! And you deserve that. All of it.’
His throat closed. ‘Yeah, well,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t know ‘bout that.’
She moved in without warning and threw her arms around him. He stood there for a second, then let himself hug her back, chin resting lightly on top of her head.
‘I love you, Dean,’ she said into his jacket.
‘Okay, yeah,’ he answered, patting her back lightly. ‘Love you too, kid.’
She stepped back, wiped under one eye, then pointed a finger at his chest, suddenly deadly serious. ‘But don’t screw this up.’
He laughed. Before he could answer, the door swung open and the volume in the room jumped by about a hundred.
Sam walked in first, grinning, tie still loose around his neck. Benny right behind him in a fancy button-down, Kevin in a tie he clearly hated, and Cas in his usual trench coat. Sam had a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a bunch of glasses in the other.
‘Yeah, I’m gonna… go,’ Charlie said, backing toward the door. ‘Too much testosterone in here.’
She slipped out past them.
Sam put down the glasses and clapped a hand onto Dean’s shoulder. ‘There he is.’
‘Look at ya, man,’ Benny said, teeth flashing. ‘Real respectable.’
Kevin was grinning like a kid at Christmas. Cas just stood there, head tilted, fondness written all over his face.
Dean let out a laugh. ‘Well, aren’t you a bunch of handsome sons of bitches.’
‘Damn right,’ Sam said, already pouring. He passed the glasses around, then lifted his own. The others mirrored him, forming a loose half-circle around Dean.
‘A toast,’ Sam said. ‘To my big brother, who against all odds somehow managed to trap the girl of his dreams.’
‘Poor little bird,’ Benny chimed in.
Kevin snorted. Cas looked confused for half a second, then smiled when everyone else did.
‘We’re all proud of you, Dean,’ Sam added, eyes going softer. ‘Really.’
Dean’s chest hurt in that good, embarrassing way. He raised his glass.
‘To… me, I guess,’ he said. ‘And to you asshats. For stickin’ around long enough to see a goddamn miracle.’
They all laughed and drank. The whiskey burned down his throat, warm and comforting.
He swallowed, cleared his throat. ‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘Thanks for bein’ here. Wouldn’t…’ He waved the glass vaguely toward the window and the lake beyond it. ‘Wouldn’t wanna do this without you.’
‘Wouldn’t let you,’ Sam said simply.
They drank one more round, then Sam checked his watch and announced it was almost time.
‘Alright, we’ll get outta your hair,’ Benny said, already steering a still-smiling Kevin toward the door. ‘Come on, kid, let’s leave the man to catch his breath.’
They slipped out, door clicking shut behind them.
‘If I may,’ Cas said, glancing at Sam, ‘this would be an appropriate time to present my… gift.’
Dean blinked. ‘Dude, you didn’t have to-’
But Cas was already gone.
Sam shrugged, then looked at Dean one more time. ‘You good?’
Dean took a breath, turning back to the mirror. The nerves were still there, loud as ever. But they were the good kind now.
‘Yeah,’ he said. And that was true. ‘I’m… more than good.’
Sam squeezed his shoulder once, then flinched a little when Castiel re-appeared.
‘I know it is customary to give gifts to the bride and groom on their wedding day,’ Cas began. ‘And I do have a more… conventional gift for you both. But I wanted to think of something specific for you, Dean.’
Dean watched him in the reflection.
‘I spoke with Naomi,’ Cas continued, pacing now. ‘I considered… speaking with your parents.’
Dean’s hand froze in his hair.
‘But that would have been complicated,’ Cas went on. ‘Two souls to coordinate, and your mother not truly knowing the adult version of you. The version you are now.’
‘Cas?’ Dean said, frowning at the mirror. ‘What the hell are you talkin’ about?’
Castiel clasped his hands in front of him. ‘So I thought… what is the next best thing? Who else has been, in many ways, your family?’
Something shifted in the room. The hairs on Dean’s arms stood up. There was a faint hint of whiskey and old books that sure as hell wasn’t there a second ago.
‘Hey, boys.’
Dean’s heart just… stopped.
His vision tunneled straight past Cas. He didn’t even turn right away. He saw it in the reflection.
Beat-up cap. Old puffer vest. That face.
Sam had gone still beside him, staring at the same spot, eyes blown wide.
Dean turned, chest tight, throat dry.
The word scraped out of him, barely more than breath.
‘Bobby.’
A/N: This might be the longest wedding story in history, who knows.
Summary: You face the impossible when Dean wakes up changed, and every attempt to stop him only makes things worse...
CHAPTER 5 MASTERLIST
Story tags: Demon!Dean, Plus-Size reader, Reader is from a different reality, Action, Violence, Angst, Drama, Blood Magic, Blood play, Smut, Rough sex, Emotional strain, Moral conflict, POV Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence, Married Dean Winchester, POV Second person, POV Alternating, No use of y/n, Ordinary sequel
A/N: I know you’re probably fed up with all the angst and drama by now, but the… things will be happening soon..
It took you too long to understand what you were looking at.
Your heart was beating so fast it hurt, slamming against your ribs hard enough that, for a second, you thought maybe your body had finally reached the limit of what it could take. Grief, loss, Hell, Purgatory, panic, exhaustion. Maybe this was what happened when a mind had to process too much and simply… gave up. Maybe this was the part where you finally lost your grip on reality completely, because Dean was gone.
You had learned that with his blood under your hands and his body heavy in Sam’s arms. When Castiel’s grace failed to pull him back, when his skin stayed cold under your fingers no matter how long you held on.
So his chest rising now couldn’t be real. His eyes opening couldn’t be real.
The black staring back at you could not be real.
It had to be your mind dragging Hell back into the room with you. Just a delayed nightmare. A hallucination built from every demon you had to burn.
The faint smell of burned skin reached you again. Your hand still felt too warm where you had touched him. You saw blistered marks on Dean’s skin.
You felt tears flood your eyes in a sudden, violent rush, and for one second you thought about getting up and finding water, or whiskey, or anything that might drag you back into sanity. Anything that might shut down the image in front of you before it finished destroying whatever was left of you.
Then Dean sat up.
He honestly, impossibly pushed himself upright on the mattress, shoulders rolling forward, body moving with his own strength again.
This time, you couldn’t hold the sound back.
‘Dean!’
It came out desperate, shocked, torn open. You moved before thought caught up, reaching for him because he was sitting up, because he was moving, because some broken part of you didn’t care what his eyes looked like as long as his body was warm and alive and there.
Your hands closed around his arm.
His skin hissed instantly.
Dean let out a loud, animal growl and jerked away from you so hard your hands slipped off him. His eyes were still black when his head snapped toward you. Still black when pain flashed across his face and twisted into fury.
You scrambled back fast enough that the chair tipped behind you and crashed against the floor. Your heel caught the edge of it and you stumbled hard into the dresser. Pain cracked through your spine, sharp enough to steal a breath, but you barely felt it.
Dean was staring at the burns on his arm.
The door burst open.
Sam rushed in first, Eileen right behind him. His eyes were still red from crying, face drawn and pale, but alarm cut through all of it the second he took in the room. The fallen chair. You against the dresser. Dean sitting up on the bed.
For one tiny, terrible second, relief hit Sam so hard his mouth went slack.
Then he saw Dean’s eyes.
And he stopped.
Completely.
You were still too stunned to move. One hand clutched the edge of the dresser because you were not sure your legs could hold you without it. Your lungs refused to work right, and your brain kept trying to force the image in front of you into anything that made sense.
Dean was moving.
His eyes were black when he looked down at himself.
His eyes were black when his fingers traced his throat, where Ramiel’s slash had been open only minutes ago.
His eyes were black when he checked the burns rising on his arm.
His eyes were black.
He flexed his hand once, slow, testing the feel of his own body. Then he looked at the angry, blistered marks your touch had left on his skin.
‘Huh, that’s new.’
His voice was deeper. Rougher. Still Dean’s voice, which made it worse. It came from his chest the same way, but there was no warmth in it. No softness.
He finally lifted his head. The black eyes landed on Sam first.
Then, slowly, turned to you.
You felt sick. Not only with fear. Fear would have been simple. This was confusion so deep it made your body feel out of sync with itself. Your husband had been dead. And now he was sitting up. And he had black eyes. Your husband’s skin had burned under your hand.
Dean’s mouth curved.
Your breath hitched, and before you fully registered the movement, you slid along the dresser and backed toward Sam.
Dean noticed you putting distance between you. His eyes followed you the whole way.
‘That right there?’ he said, dry amusement dragging through every word. ‘That’s new too.’
He held your gaze for one second longer, then squared his shoulders and rolled his neck, like he was working stiffness out of muscles that had no right working at all.
‘Damn Prince had one hell of a swing,’ he muttered.
The words landed wrong.
Because he remembered. He remembered Ramiel and the Lance. He remembered dying.
Your stomach dropped.
Then Dean stopped, like he had only just gotten around to noticing the three of you were there. His eyes moved from you to Sam, then to Eileen, then back to you again. His face did not soften. Did not do anything Dean’s face should have done if he woke up and saw the people he loved looking at him like this.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You all look like crap.’
He swung his legs off the bed.
Sam shifted beside you. He was the first one to find his voice, and even then, it barely held.
‘Dean?’
Dean looked at him.
‘Hey, Sammy.’
The nickname sounded wrong, without the usual feeling behind it. It was casual. Almost bored.
He stood up.
You felt Eileen move on your other side. Her hand went behind her belt, fast, and came back with a blade.
Dean saw it immediately. He took one deliberate step forward. Then another.
That was when something in you finally snapped into place.
Demon.
There was a demon inside your husband.
You didn’t know how. You didn’t know when. You didn’t know what had crawled into him between the Lance and Castiel’s failed healing. But it was there now, wearing Dean’s body, moving Dean’s hands, using Dean’s voice inside the bunker like it had any right to stand there.
You stepped in front of Sam and Eileen before either of them could move closer. Both hands came up, palms out, fingers shaking hard enough that you had to force them steady.
‘Get out of my husband, you sick son of a bitch.’
The thing wearing Dean stopped.
Then it smirked. Cold. Empty. Infuriating.
‘What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?’ he asked. ‘You don’t recognize me?’
You flinched at the word.
Sweetheart.
It came out of Dean’s mouth with your husband's voice, but there was no affection in it.
Then, with a blink, his eyes changed.
Green.
Dean’s green.
That almost hurt worse than the black.
‘You don’t recognize your own husband?’
The way he said husband made your blood turn hot. Taunting. Dragging the word through the room as if he knew exactly how much it meant to you and wanted to see what happened when he ruined it.
Anger rose fast through the shock.
Because how dare it.
How dare some filthy black-eyed thing take the man you loved. How dare it sit in Dean’s old room, in Dean’s body, with Dean’s mouth and Dean’s wedding ring still on his hand.
You wanted to step forward and burn it out of him. You wanted to grab his face with both hands and pour every bit of your bloodline magic into whatever was hiding inside until it screamed itself apart.
But it was Dean’s body. That was Dean’s skin.
He would need that body when Heaven found his soul and brought him back. You couldn’t destroy what was left of him because you were scared. You couldn’t let rage make that choice for you.
So you held your ground and forced your hands to stay raised.
‘I’m gonna give you one warning,’ you said, voice shaking despite everything you did to steady it. ‘Get. The fuck. Out.’
You expected mockery. A laugh. Something ugly and simple.
Dean only took another step closer.
‘And what’re you gonna do, huh?’ His eyes dropped to your hands, then back to your face. ‘You gonna fry me extra crispy?’
The words hit exactly where he aimed them.
Behind you, Sam moved to your side.
‘Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica-’
Dean laughed.
It was low and rough and amused, and the exorcism didn’t even make him blink. Not a twitch. Not a single flinch. Nothing.
Sam stopped.
Dean looked at him like that had been mildly entertaining.
‘You can Latin at me all damn night,’ he said. ‘Ain’t gonna do crap. 'Cause I'm not possessed.’
Your heart climbed into your throat.
Sam’s face had gone pale again.
‘Then what are you?’ he asked, voice low.
You already felt the panic rising before Dean answered.
Because it couldn’t be true.
It couldn’t.
Demons were souls twisted until there was no humanity left. You knew that much. Torture, pain, Hell stripping pieces away over centuries. Over millennia. That was what you had always understood. That was what made demons demons.
Dean had been dead for hours. Hours.
But Ramiel’s words crawled up from the back of your mind.
Ten years with the blade, after thirty on the rack… You learned faster than souls who had been down here since men still prayed to stones… What happens when Hell’s favorite little prodigy comes home and dies on the floor?
Your fingers curled slowly.
‘Sam,’ you gasped. ‘You think-’
‘Oh, it’s me, alright,’ Dean cut in.
Your mouth went dry.
Dean’s eyes were still green now, and somehow that made every word worse.
‘And I’m done with whatever the hell this is. So let me through.’
He took another step forward.
You took one back before you could stop yourself. Your legs shook a little. You steadied yourself fast, anger flashing hot through the fear because you hated that he saw it. You hated that he was watching you calculate and hesitate. But most of all, you hated that he knew exactly why you still hadn’t burned him.
Sam didn’t move.
‘Alright,’ he said carefully. His hands were raised, palms open, the way they were when he was trying to talk someone down. ‘Okay. Dean, listen to me.’
Dean stopped.
His face shifted into visible annoyance. That alone made your stomach twist, because it was so Dean. The narrowed eyes, the tightened jaw. The impatient little tilt of his head.
‘We can fix this,’ Sam said. ‘We know how to cure this. Remember?’
Dean stared at him.
Then rolled his eyes. ‘Good talk. Now move.’
The words were flat now. Still annoyed, but heavier. More dangerous.
‘I can’t, Dean,’ Sam said. ‘You know I can’t do that.’
Dean looked at him for a moment. Then shrugged.
‘Yeah, well.’
He moved too fast.
Sam reached for him at the same time, and Dean caught his wrist. For one split second, smoke curled between their skin. Sam’s protection worked. Weakly. Barely. Enough to make Dean’s jaw tighten.
He ignored it.
He twisted Sam’s arm hard and drove his other fist into Sam’s stomach. Sam cried out, pain cracking through the sound, and then Dean shoved him into the wall with a force that made the room shake.
‘Sam!’
Sam hit the floor hard.
He didn’t get back up.
Eileen lunged before Dean had even lowered his arm. The blade flashed in her hand, fast and practiced, but Dean turned into the movement and knocked her aside with brutal efficiency. He caught her forearm, shoved her off balance, and sent her into the desk hard enough to make the lamp crash to the floor. She went down with a pained sound, still conscious, already dragging herself toward Sam before she had even fully caught her breath.
You moved too.
You didn’t think. You just rushed to Sam and dropped beside him, one hand going to his face, the other to his chest. He was breathing. Out cold, but breathing. You checked because you had to. Because Dean had hurt him.
Your hands shook so badly you almost couldn’t feel the rise and fall of his chest.
Eileen was there too, teeth clenched, one arm wrapped around her ribs, fingers already searching Sam’s pulse with the same focused panic you felt tearing through you.
Dean stood over all three of you.
You looked up at him.
For a second, the room held completely still.
That was your husband.
That was Dean, standing in the bedroom where his own brother lay unconscious on the floor because he had put him there.
You should have attacked him. You knew that. You should have grabbed his ankle, burned him, brought him down, done anything. Your touch had hurt him. You knew it had. You could smell it still, faint and awful under the dust and dried blood on your clothes. You had the advantage, maybe the only one anyone in that room had.
But your body would not move.
Because it was Dean.
Because you had spent hours carrying his dead body out of Hell. Because you had just sat beside his bed and begged him to forgive you. Because he was alive again, his chest was moving, and every instinct you had was still screaming 'that's your husband'.
Dean looked from Sam to Eileen, then back to you.
‘What?’ he said. ‘He’ll wake up.’
A beat.
His mouth curved.
‘Maybe.’
The word cut through you. But it did something useful too. It made the shock flare into anger.
Your hand left Sam’s chest slowly. Dean’s eyes tracked the movement, interested now.
Eileen made another rough sound beside you, already reaching for the blade she had dropped. Dean saw it, and his eyes flicked black again for half a second.
‘Ah, ah, ah,’ he said.
Just that. Enough threat in it to make the whole room tighten.
You pushed yourself to your feet. Your legs shook. Your spine still hurt from the dresser, and your whole body wanted to go back to Sam. To check again. To make sure he was still breathing, still alive.
But Dean turned and walked out of the room.
He was leaving.
Shock and grief pulled back just enough for adrenaline to hit hard. You shot one quick look at Sam and Eileen. She was still beside him, one hand pressed to his chest, eyes sharp and terrified when they met yours. You didn’t wait for her to tell you not to go.
You ran after Dean.
By the time you caught up to him, he was already in the war room.
He wasn’t rushing. That was the part that made your skin crawl. He moved through the bunker slowly, almost lazily, like he had all the time in the world. His shoulders were loose, his steps even, his head turning slightly as he looked around the room, almost bored.
He walked straight toward the library table, where someone had dumped the gear after you carried his body in. His jacket, his weapons, the backpack. The things you had dragged back from Hell.
Your heart jumped.
No.
You couldn’t let him get to those. You couldn't let him leave.
You moved faster, cutting around the other side of the map table and rushing into his path before he reached the library. Your boots slipped slightly on the polished floor, but you caught yourself and planted your body between him and the table.
Dean slowed. Just a little. His mouth curved, amused.
Of course he was amused.
You were shaking. You knew you were. Your hands, your knees, your breath, all of it. From fear, from anger, from grief still buried too close to the surface. He could see every bit of it, and the look on his face told you he liked that.
‘You gonna block my way now?’ he asked. ‘Bold move.’
You didn’t answer right away.
You were thinking too fast.
Your hands could stop him. Maybe. Your touch burned him now. If you lunged at him, if you grabbed him by the face or throat, you could hurt him. Badly. You could force him back. You could maybe hold him long enough for Eileen to wake Sam, for Castiel to come back. You could also kill him. Burn him until he's just a smoking pile on the ground.
And the thought of touching him like that made something inside you recoil.
Your hands were not supposed to hurt Dean.
Your hands knew him in every possible way that mattered. They had held his face when he kissed you, gripped his shirt when he made you laugh into his chest, pressed into his back when he slept too restlessly, traced scars he didn’t like talking about. They had steadied him through nightmares. They had pulled him closer when he was buried inside you.
Now your touch was a weapon against him. A lethal one, if you pushed hard enough.
You couldn’t do it.
Not yet…
Maybe that made you weak. Stupid, even. Maybe every hunter in the world would have called it a fatal mistake. But every hunter in the world had not spent the last few hours with Dean’s dead body in front of them, had not closed his eyes with shaking fingers, had not begged an angel to put his soul back where it should be.
You needed his body intact.
You needed him here.
If he left the bunker, he was gone. Dean knew how to disappear. If he walked out now, if he got past you, you might not see him ever again.
No.
You had to slow him down. You had to trap him somehow.
Your eyes flicked toward the table behind you. The cuffs were still in his backpack. The demon cuffs with the trap etched into them. If you could get him distracted, get him close enough, get one wrist locked-
Dean’s eyes followed yours.
Damnit.
You moved before he could read the rest of it.
Your hand closed around the gun on the table. Dean’s gun. The weight of it hit your palm with a familiar solidity. You had held it before. Practiced with it. Cleaned it a few times while Dean sat beside you pretending not to watch your technique. You told him once it was the most beautiful gun you'd ever seen.
You lifted it and pointed it at his chest.
‘Stop.’
Your voice shook, but the word landed.
Dean’s gaze dropped to the gun.
You clicked the safety off.
His smile widened. Devastating. Wrong. Still on his face.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s not gonna kill me.’
‘I know.’ Your voice surprised you with how fast it came. Thin, shaken, but immediate.
Dean’s eyes lifted back to yours. You forced yourself to keep the gun steady.
‘I don’t want to kill you. I want to help you.’
He blinked once, slow.
‘Do you now?’
‘Yeah.’ You swallowed. Your throat hurt. Everything hurt. ‘That’s why you’re not leaving this place.’
Dean stared at you for a second. Then he gave a short, humorless laugh.
‘Oh, but I am.’
‘Dean, please.’
His jaw tightened at the sound of his name. Maybe annoyance. Maybe something else. You couldn’t tell anymore, and that scared you more than you wanted it to.
‘We can still fix this,’ you said, and your voice cracked around the words because you needed them to be true. ‘Please. Just let me fix this.’
Dean’s face shifted into something almost cruel.
‘Please,’ he repeated, pitching the word higher, softer, mocking the break in your voice. ‘Just let me fix this.’
You flinched.
He saw that too. His expression darkened, disgust curling through the amusement.
‘You sound like my brother.’
The words hit hard because Sam was unconscious on the floor down the hall. Because Sam had carried Dean out of Hell. Because Sam had begged Castiel to bring him back. Because Sam would still try to save him after being thrown into a wall by him.
‘You’re sick,’ you said. ‘This isn’t you.’
Dean chuckled. Low. Horrible.
‘I’m more myself than I’ve been in years.’
That one struck deep.
You hated that it did.
Because it sounded too sure. Like a blade slipping between ribs. It made something cold open in your chest, because if that was true, if any part of him believed that, then what did that say about all that time before? About the quiet mornings, the bunker, the lodge, the wedding, the vows? Had humanity been the thing holding him close to you, or the thing keeping true parts of him buried?
No.
No, that was the demon talking.
It had to be.
Dean took another step toward you.
You raised the gun a fraction higher. ‘Don’t.’
He stopped only long enough to look down at your hands. Then at the space between you. Then at the gun.
‘Could’ve burned me,’ he said.
Your grip tightened.
He looked back at your face. ‘But you didn’t.’
You said nothing.
Your hands wanted to shake harder. You forced your finger to stay where it needed to be, forced your elbows not to drop, forced yourself to keep breathing even though Dean was close enough now that you could see the tiny scar on his chin, the dried line of blood you hadn’t fully cleaned from the corner of his jaw… the freckles you loved so much.
Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching you work to hold yourself together.
‘That because you’re scared of hurtin’ me?’ he asked. ‘Or scared you’ll like it?’
Your teeth clenched so hard pain shot through your jaw.
He smiled.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
‘I saw you down there,’ he said, voice dropping lower. ‘Burnin’ those black-eyed sons of bitches to a crisp. You liked it.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Nah.’ He took another slow step, and you hated that your body reacted to the movement before your mind did. ‘You loved it.’
‘I said shut up.’
His gaze stayed locked on yours, no mercy in it. ‘All that power in your hands. All that fear. Bet that felt real good after bein’ scared outta your mind for days.’
Your pulse pounded in your ears.
Hell came back in flashes. Demons stepping away from you. The one in the corridor screaming under your hands. The smell. The silence afterward. The sick, awful satisfaction that had cut through the helplessness because for once, something was afraid of you.
Dean watched your face.
‘Bet you finally didn’t feel… what was it?’ His mouth curved. ‘Useless?’
‘Shut up!’
Your voice cracked through the war room. Loud enough to hurt.
Dean stepped closer.
You backed into the edge of the library table.
The gun stayed between you.
‘You wanna stop me?’ he said. ‘Stop me.’
‘You think I won’t?’
He took another step.
The barrel touched his chest.
You froze.
Dean looked down at it, then back at you, and there was something almost satisfied in his face now. Something dark. He wanted to see exactly how far he could push before you broke.
‘Do it,’ he said. ‘I wanna see you do it.’
Your head gave the smallest shake. You didn’t mean to. It just happened.
His eyes caught it.
‘C’mon, sweetheart.’ His voice went softer, rougher, and somehow meaner for it. ‘Don’t get shy on me now.’
Your grip tightened. Your fingers trembled anyway.
Dean’s gaze dropped to your hands.
‘What’s wrong, baby?’ he asked. ‘Need me to tell you when?’
You swallowed hard.
His eyes lifted back to your face.
‘You always were better when I talked you through things.’
The words hit before you could brace for them.
Your breath caught, shame and fury twisting together so fast you almost lowered the gun just to swing at him instead. He had no right. No right to drag that into this room, into this moment. He had no right to know exactly which words would land because he knew you. Because he was Dean. Because it was Dean’s memory behind those eyes, Dean’s mouth letting the cruelty out with perfect aim.
‘Don’t,’ you said again.
This time it barely came out.
Dean leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath against your face.
‘Don’t what?’
You could smell him.
Under the blood, under the stale air of the bunker, under that faint wrong heat coming off his skin, he still smelled like Dean. That was so much worse than if he had smelled like sulfur or rot or anything else that would have made this easier.
‘Don’t make this easy for you?’ he asked.
The barrel pressed harder into his chest as he moved another inch forward.
You couldn’t step back. The table was behind you.
Dean’s eyes stayed on yours.
Your finger tensed. He noticed. His smile sharpened.
‘Don’t make you prove my wife’s got more bite than bark?’
The word wife almost took you apart. He said it like something he could still use because, demon or not, it was still true.
‘You’re not him,’ you whispered. 'You're not my husband.'
Dean’s face changed. Just a fraction. The smile didn’t leave, but something ugly settled beneath it.
‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Keep tellin’ yourself that.’
Then his hand came up. For one second, you thought he was going to take the gun away.
He didn’t.
His fingers closed over yours. His palm pressed against the back of your hand, forcing your grip tighter around the handle, steadying the barrel against his own chest.
The contact burned instantly.
His skin hissed under yours. The smell of it cut through the room. Dean’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes went black all at once, and this close, with his hand burning over yours and his body pressed to the gun, they swallowed every trace of green.
You gasped.
‘Dean-’
‘What, need my help?’ His voice came out rougher now, edged with pain and something that sounded too much like pleasure. ‘Yeah? No? Maybe?’
His hand tightened over yours.
Your magic pushed under your skin on instinct, hot and defensive, reacting to the demon touching you, to the threat, to the wrongness of him. You tried to pull back, but he held you there. Held himself there. Let your touch burn him because it proved some point only he understood.
His face came closer.
‘Want me to pull the damn trigger for you?’
Your whole body shook.
He jerked your hand slightly, not enough to fire, just enough to make the gun shift against his chest. Just enough to make you feel how little control you really had while his burning hand covered yours.
Then he barked, sudden and loud enough to echo violently across the room.
‘Come on! Do it!’
The gun went off.
The sound tore through the library and punched straight through your chest.
For one second, there was nothing else.
No bunker. No air. No Dean. Just the blast, the recoil snapping through your arms, the sharp smell of gunpowder, your ears ringing so hard the world went thin around the edges.
Dean staggered back with a grunt.
The bullet hit him square in the chest. Blood spread across his shirt.
Your whole body stopped.
Demon. He was a demon. You knew that. You knew guns didn’t work on demons the way they worked on people. You knew the bullet wouldn’t kill him. You knew it before you pulled the trigger, knew it before he forced your hand against the gun, knew it while he stood there grinning and burning himself on your skin just to prove he could make you do it.
Your body did not care.
Your body saw Dean take a bullet to the chest from your hand.
For half a second, your brain forgot every bit of logic and saw only your husband. The man you loved more than anything you ever loved.
You had shot him.
The thought came in too clearly. Too sharply.
You had shot Dean.
Your fingers went numb around the grip. Your hands were still locked in place, both of them holding the gun, arms extended, barrel aimed at his chest. Smoke curled from the muzzle, faint and unreal in the low bunker light.
Dean looked down at the wound, at the red spreading through the fabric.
Then he lifted his head.
And smiled.
Slow.
Satisfied.
Almost proud.
That smile destroyed you. Because he didn’t look shocked. He didn’t look hurt. He didn’t even look angry.
He looked pleased.
You had finally given him exactly what he wanted.
‘That’s what I’m talkin’ about,’ he said, voice rough with amusement. ‘Knew you had it in you.’
You couldn’t breathe.
The wound started closing, right in front of you. The blood stopped spreading. The torn fabric still showed the hole, still dark and wet around the edges, but underneath it, the skin pulled itself back together, fast.
Dean rolled his shoulder once, testing it, then let out a small, pleased huff.
Your hands shook harder. The gun was suddenly too heavy.
You kept staring at the place where the bullet had gone in, even after there was nothing left to prove it had happened except the blood on his shirt and the ringing in your ears.
He made me.
The thought came fast. Desperate.
He made you. He pushed. He cornered you. He put his hand over yours. He burned himself on your skin and smiled through it. He yelled. He startled you. He forced the whole world down to one impossible second.
He made me.
Then another thought answered from somewhere much colder.
No. Your own finger moved on the trigger.
You nearly dropped the gun.
Your arm fell to your side, loose and useless. The barrel pointed toward the floor now, your finger safely off the trigger. Your grip stayed tight enough to hurt because letting go would mean the gun might clatter to the floor, and you couldn’t handle another loud sound.
Dean watched you for another second.
Then he reached past you.
You flinched hard.
His mouth twitched.
His arm brushed close to yours as he grabbed the backpack from the table behind you. The movement was casual, almost insulting in how little effort he put into it. He took his time as he slung it over one shoulder and took his jacket next.
He paused, only for a second, glanced down at you.
Then he turned away.
You couldn’t move.
Your body stayed rooted beside the table, heart beating too fast, ears still ringing from the shot. Dean walked through the war room without looking back, his boots steady against the floor, the bag over his shoulder, your whole life leaving the room one step at a time.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped.
You held your breath.
He looked back at you one last time.
There was blood all over his shirt. His hand was blistered where he had held yours. His eyes were green, and there was nothing gentle in them.
His gaze moved over you slowly.
The gun.
Your shaking hand.
Your face.
And then he left.
Your knees weakened, but you didn’t fall. You just stood there, holding Dean’s gun with numb fingers, staring at the empty doorway while the sound of him leaving stretched through the bunker.
Somewhere behind you, far down the hall, Eileen called your name.
You barely heard it.
A heavy sound rolled through the bunker. The front door closing. Final. Deafening.
After that, there was only silence.
You stood in the war room with Dean’s gun in your hand, the smell of gunpowder still in the air, and the man you loved gone.
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Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fiancée!Reader (plus-size, f)
Rating: mature, tooth rotting wedding fluff
Word count: 9.7 k
Summary: It’s finally wedding day at the lake. There are nerves, your friends, and the walk down the pier you and Dean have been heading toward since the beginning.
A/N: Since I’m one of the cool kids, I’ll be DM-ing a DnD session this weekend. Which is why I worked my ass off (and slacked off at work) to bring you this chapter now.
But be warned: this is tooth-rotting, maybe even cringe-inducing fluff with a big dose of overdramatic flair. Just the way I love it. And I’m not even sorry.
Honestly though, I really hope you enjoy it. I know I set up a lot of expectations after dragging you through all that just to finally get them married, so my nerves are off the charts. If you do like it, please let me know. Hearing what you enjoyed is always the highlight of writing these little stories.
⠂⠂୨୧ MASTERLIST ୨୧ ⠂⠂⠂୨୧ CHAPTER 18 ୨୧ ⠂⠂
‘Hold on a sec, this thing is really tight,’ Charlie huffed behind you, fingers fumbling at the inner band of your corset.
‘It kinda has to be, if it’s supposed to hold everything in place,’ you said. You sucked in a breath and straightened even more, palms braced over your chest to keep your boobs where they were supposed to be.
‘Okay, done,’ Charlie announced. ‘Now just the zipper and you’re all set.’
You felt the fabric draw in around your ribs as she pulled it up. It tightened, then settled, smoothing itself when you laid your hands over your sides.
‘Aaaand… we’re good,’ she said.
You heard her take a few steps back. Eileen joined her, both of them already dressed. Charlie in a vintage-looking dark red dress that hit just past her knees, cinched at the waist. Eileen in a soft, emerald green that flowed when she moved, her hair pinned up perfectly, makeup done.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, looking you up and down.
Charlie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Holy crap.’
Eileen’s smile spread slow and warm. She signed and said out loud, ‘Beautiful.’
Charlie started fanning her face. ‘Nope. Absolutely not. I was dead set on not crying like a friggin’ baby today.’
You let out a shaky laugh, pulled in a breath and turned toward the mirror.
And for a second, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.
You’d seen the dress before. You’d seen the makeup, the soft half-up waves Eileen had done with the silver comb Benny gave you. But seeing it all together now, that was… something.
For the first time in your life, you would’ve actually agreed you looked beautiful.
The dress was white, but not that harsh, blinding white. Warmer. With the comfortable high heels on, the skirt hit you a little lower than mid-calf. It held its shape thanks to all the layers underneath, but it still felt light. When you shifted your weight, it moved with you in a soft swish.
But it was the top part that had stolen your breath back in that Vegas boutique.
A structured bodice. You’d known exactly what you were doing there. Dean liked you in those. It held you in all the right places, cinching your waist and shaping your breasts perfectly. The neckline curved into a sweetheart shape and sat off your shoulders, leaving your collarbones and throat bare.
The attached sleeves were chiffon, soft and floaty, falling off your shoulders, gathered at the wrists. When you lifted your arms a little, they billowed just enough to feel a little dramatic. The cuffs fastened with tiny buttons, and so did the back – a neat line running down your spine, cleverly hiding the zipper.
You turned a little, the skirt swinging with you. Leaned closer.
At first glance, the bodice looked clean and smooth. But when you tilted toward the mirror and the light hit at the right angle, a pattern appeared. Faint and elegant. Vines or leaves woven into the fabric. Something that felt like it belonged in one of the fantasy stories you loved. You couldn’t help the small smile, because the damask pattern reminded you of the engravings on Dean’s favorite gun.
Definitely not intentional when you picked it. Now you kind of loved it.
Your chest tightened. You swallowed, blinking hard.
Mom, Dad, wherever you are… I wish you could see me right now.
You took a deeper breath and smoothed your hands down the skirt, fingers brushing over the fabric. The red stone on your ring caught the light, flashing at you from your left hand.
You turned back to the girls, tried to sound casual.
‘Not bad, I guess,’ you said.
Charlie rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t tip over. ‘Right. Not bad. Gosh, I would hug you so hard right now, but I don’t wanna ruin perfection.’
‘Eh,’ you said, shrugging lightly. ‘I never liked perfection anyway. Come here.’
You reached for her and pulled her in. She squeaked, then wrapped her arms around you as best she could without crushing the dress. You leaned in, voice low near her ear.
‘Thank you, Charlie,’ you whispered. ‘For everything.’
She squeezed you even tighter for a second before pulling back carefully.
Then you turned to Eileen and hugged her too, more gentle but just as tight. She held you for a long breath, then let go.
When you stepped back, your eyes were definitely not dry anymore.
‘Okay,’ you said, dragging your fingers under your lash line with exaggerated care. ‘Alright. Enough. I spent way too much time on this,’ you pointed at your face, ‘and I’m kinda proud of it, so… no more waterworks.’
‘Then how about another liquid?’ Charlie said, already smirking as she reached for the bottle on the nightstand. ‘For courage.’
She poured whiskey into the three glasses sitting there. ‘And so you don’t trip on that pier.’
You laughed. ‘Yeah, right. Or so I do trip and end up in the lake.’
‘Shh, do not jinx it,’ Charlie said, handing you a glass.
You took it. Eileen did too. You clinked all three together.
‘But seriously,’ you said, looking between them. ‘Thank you both. For all of this. I always thought I didn’t care how I’d marry the man I love one day, that the details didn’t matter. But having this, with you? It’s…’ Your voice faltered. You pushed through. ‘It’s a dream come true. I love you both.’
Charlie made a tiny sound and covered her mouth with her hand.
Eileen smiled wide and signed, We love you too.
You all drank. The whiskey burned just enough to steady you.
You turned back to the mirror, glass still in your hand. ‘Okay,’ you said. ‘Only things left are perfume and lip gloss.’
You picked up the perfume bottle and sprayed lightly. Wrists, neck, one mist over your hair. Then you grabbed the tube of gloss, twisting it between your fingers as an idea popped into your head.
‘Watch this,’ you said.
You slid your hand down the side seam of the skirt and tucked the tiny gloss into a hidden pocket.
Charlie gasped. ‘It has pockets?’ Her face lit up.
‘Of course it has,’ you said, laughing.
‘Awesome,’ she said, impressed.
‘Wait,’ Eileen said, already diving into her makeup bag. She rummaged for a second, then held something out. A small, silver pocket mirror. ‘Here. So you can reapply when Dean wipes it off.’
You grinned and took it. ‘Thanks.’ You slipped that into the pocket too, patting it once to make sure it sat flat.
Charlie snapped her fingers. ‘And now you’ve got something borrowed.’
You raised an eyebrow at her.
She gave you a look. ‘Duh. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Benny covered old and blue. Your dress is new. And now you’ve got all four.’
You let out a short laugh. ‘I guess I do, yeah.’
‘That better not be your answer out there on that pier,’ Charlie warned.
You frowned for half a second, then realized. ‘Oh.’ You started laughing. ‘No. I’ll try to give it more enthusiasm, I promise.’
You took another small sip of whiskey, then set the glass down and turned slowly in front of the mirror, taking yourself in from every angle.
You met your own eyes and, for once, didn’t look away.
Yes, you thought. This is exactly the dress you were ready to say I do in.
‘Good to see you boys,’ Bobby said, mouth tugging into a soft, crooked smile.
Dean’s throat closed. Nothing came out.
‘Bobby?’ Sam breathed, standing a little behind Dean.
Dean forced air into his lungs. ‘How?’ he got out.
Bobby jerked his chin toward Cas. ‘Our winged friend here pulled some strings upstairs. Got me a pre-approved excursion to good old earth.’
Dean flicked his eyes to Castiel. Cas just seemed… faintly pleased. Then Dean looked back at Bobby, mind still trying to process that his surrogate dad was standing in his guest room on his wedding day.
His hand moved before his brain caught up.
He reached out, fingers closing around Bobby’s forearm, half-expecting them to go right through, or hit nothing but cold air. Instead he felt worn flannel and solid muscle.
‘You’re…’ he started, voice thin. ‘You’re really here.’
Bobby didn’t say anything smart this time. Just looked at him. Something in his face went soft.
That was all it took.
Dean yanked him in, arms going around his shoulders, grip tight. Bobby grunted at the impact, then hugged him back just as hard, one big hand thumping between Dean’s shoulder blades.
‘Easy, boy,’ Bobby muttered. ‘Ain’t goin’ anywhere. Not yet, anyway.’
Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Let himself stay there. Let himself believe it.
He felt another body crowd in a moment later. Sam’s long arms wrapped around both of them from the side, turning it into an awkward, lopsided three-man pile. Bobby huffed, but didn’t complain.
For a few seconds, it was just that. All of them breathing, nobody talking.
Then Dean cleared his throat, stepped back, scrubbing a hand over his face.
‘Okay,’ he muttered, trying to pace the sting in his eyes away. ‘Yeah. Alright.’
Bobby let go of Sam, giving his back one last clap. Then he looked directly at Dean.
‘Heard one of ya’s up to somethin’ big today,’ he said.
Dean blinked. Once. Twice. His hand found the back of his neck.
‘Uh… yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I mean…’ His mouth twitched into a helpless, embarrassed huff. ‘I’m kinda… gettin’ married.’
Bobby’s eyes crinkled at the corners. One side of his mouth lifted. ‘Well now,’ he said. ‘Never thought I’d see the day.’
Then his brows pulled together, expression sharpening. ‘Would’ve preferred to see it while I was still alive, ya idjit.’
Sam barked out a half-choked laugh at that. Dean let his hand drop from his neck with a sheepish grin.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Guess I took my time. Sorry ‘bout that.’
Bobby snorted. His eyes were still steady on Dean. Measuring. It did something weird in Dean’s chest.
‘So?’ Bobby asked. ‘How’d that happen? This the one who helped haul my old ass outta Hell?’
‘Yeah,’ Dean said, nodding. ‘It is.’
Bobby’s shoulders eased a little. ‘I liked her,’ he said. ‘She did good.’
Dean’s mouth tugged into a rough smile. ‘You have no idea,’ he said, shaking his head once. ‘Bobby, she closed the gates of Hell. With Sam.’
Bobby’s brows shot up. For a second he actually looked rattled. ‘Son of a bitch. So they actually did it,’ he muttered.
‘Yeah, she, uh…’ Dean swallowed. His mind flashed to her in that stupid church. The blood, the cuts, the feeling of her slipping away in his arms. ‘She killed herself to do it. For us.’
Silence hit the room, heavy.
Bobby’s jaw worked once, eyes darkening. ‘Did she now,’ he said, quietly. ‘Very Winchester of her.’
Dean huffed out a humorless sound. Couldn’t argue with that.
But he wasn’t done. Apparently his mouth had decided to spill it all out. And to his surprise, the words came easier than he expected.
‘Most stubborn woman I know,’ he said. ‘Mouth on her when she gets mad, I’m tellin’ you. She can handle a weapon. Can handle demons, monsters. Hell…’ He shrugged, a little helpless. ‘She can handle me.’
Bobby’s lips twitched. He nodded slowly.
‘She really sounds one of a kind,’ he said. He watched Dean another beat, eyes softer now. ‘She’s gotta be, if she got Dean Winchester to tie the knot.’
Dean snorted. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘It was kinda the other way around.’
Bobby’s mouth pulled higher. ‘Whatever way it was,’ he said, ‘I’m so damn happy for you, son.’
The words hit him harder than anything else so far.
Dean’s chest stung. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and hoped it covered everything he couldn’t get out right now.
Sam cleared his throat. ‘Bobby, how long can you stay?’ he asked, voice still a little shaky.
‘Not sure,’ Bobby said. He glanced sideways. ‘Cas?’
Castiel stepped closer. ‘Souls tied to Heaven are not supposed to walk the earth for long, even with approval,’ he said. ‘It would be wise to get Bobby back after the ceremony.’
Bobby huffed. ‘Ain’t that a load of crap,’ he said. ‘Guess I’m gonna miss the party.’
Disappointment bit deep and quick. Dean shoved it down. The fact Bobby was here at all felt unreal. Seeing him at the end of the pier while Dean said his vows? That was already more than he ever let himself wish for.
‘Sorry, Bobby,’ Dean said quietly.
‘Don’t be,’ Bobby shot back, almost offended. ‘Ain’t felt this alive in ages.’ His gaze ran over Dean’s suit, the rose on his lapel, Sam’s tie. ‘You’ll have to excuse me for not followin’ the dress code, though.’
He gestured down at his flannel and vest.
Dean’s mouth kicked up. ‘You look great,’ he said. ‘Can’t have you stealin’ my thunder in a tux anyway.’
Bobby snorted again, eyes warming.
Before the quiet could turn too weird, he clapped his hands once. ‘So,’ he said. ‘What are we standin’ around for? I wanna see this bride before they snap me back upstairs.’
‘Right,’ Sam said, straightening. He checked his watch, suddenly looking a little nervous himself. ‘I should, uh… I should go see if she’s ready to go.’ He glanced at Bobby. ‘I’m, um… walking her down the aisle.’
Bobby nodded once. A silent approval.
Sam gave Dean’s arm a quick squeeze. ‘See you outside,’ he said.
Then turned to Bobby with a smile. ‘Great having you here for this, Bobby,’ he admitted and slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Castiel shifted his weight. ‘I will go take my place before Charlie gets upset,’ he said. ‘She has been… very adamant about the schedule.’
Dean chuckled. ‘Yeah, good idea.’
Cas turned to go.
‘Hey, Cas?’ Dean said.
The angel looked back.
‘Thank you,’ Dean said, meeting his eyes. ‘For real. This is… the best gift you coulda given me.’
Cas tilted his head in a nod, smiling. ‘You are welcome, Dean,’ he said simply.
Then he was gone, leaving Dean and Bobby alone.
For a second the room felt too quiet. Dean stared at his reflection, trying to slow his breathing. His hands had started to shake again.
Behind him, he noticed Bobby moving closer.
‘Your hands,’ Bobby said.
Dean frowned. ‘What?’
‘You’re shakin’,’ Bobby pointed out. No judgment, just fact. ‘Breathe, boy. This ain’t the Apocalypse. There’s a good thing waitin’ on you outside that door.’
Dean let out a breath. ‘Yeah, I know,’ he muttered. ‘Just feels like I’m gonna blink and wake up back in some crap motel room and this is all somethin’ I made up.’
Bobby watched him in the mirror for a long beat, eyes narrowed. Then his voice went gentler than Dean was used to.
‘You listen to me,’ he said. ‘You didn’t con your way into this. You’re here ‘cause you and that girl fought like hell to be here. Both of ya. Nothin’ about it’s fake.’
His hand tightened once on Dean’s shoulder before he let go.
‘You deserve it,’ Bobby added. ‘Whether your thick skull believes it or not.’
Dean’s throat burned. He stared straight ahead, jaw tight.
Bobby reached out, tugged lightly at Dean’s lapel, smoothing it down.
‘And lemme tell you somethin’ while I’m at it,’ he went on. ‘Last real fight I had with my Karen, I spent runnin’ my mouth about how I didn’t want-’
Bobby stopped himself. Took a deep breath.
‘Three days later I was stabbin’ her in the gut ‘cause some demon got there first.’ He shook his head once. ‘Ain’t a day goes by I don’t wish I’d shut up and just held on to her.’
Dean swallowed hard. Looked down at the floor.
‘So you walk out there,’ Bobby said, harder now. ‘You look that girl in the eye, and you treasure every damn minute you get with her. Don’t waste ‘em on stupid fights and bein’ scared you don’t measure up. When life hands you somethin’ that good, you do whatever it takes not to screw it up.’
Dean exhaled slowly. The knot in his chest loosened. Just a little.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah. Got it.’
Bobby stepped back, giving him room. ‘Alright then,’ he said. ‘Now quit stallin’. You’re gonna keep a whole yard full of people waitin’ and that bride of yours might change her mind.’
Dean actually laughed at that.
He looked at himself one more time. Fixed a piece of hair that refused to cooperate. Smoothed the jacket. Adjusted the rose Charlie had pinned up.
He blew out a sharp breath.
‘Okay,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s go.’
Dean grabbed the doorknob, felt the weight of it in his hand, and headed downstairs with Bobby at his back.
You were pacing.
Back and forth between the window and the foot of the bed, skirts brushing your calves with every turn. Your palms were a little damp. You kept flexing your fingers, trying to shake the nerves out of them.
It’s here. Okay. Breathe. It’s just your closest friends. You won’t trip. Sam will be there. He’s a strong guy. He’s not gonna let you eat the pier in front of everybody.
You stopped in the middle of the room, sucked in a slow breath, then let it out, counting to four in your head. Your heart still ran faster than it should. The dress suddenly felt too snug around your ribs.
Charlie and Eileen had left ten minutes ago. They’d gone to check on the guests, make sure the music was ready, the chairs straight, the candles lit.
Which left you here. Alone. With your thoughts and the sound of your own breathing.
You smoothed your hands down the skirt again, more for something to do than because it needed it.
‘You’ve got this,’ you muttered at your reflection.
A knock sounded on the door.
Your pulse jumped. But you already knew who it was.
You turned toward the door and tried to steady your voice. ‘Come in, Sam.’
The handle turned, the door opened slowly. Sam stepped in and filled the doorway in his dark, well-fitted suit. He held a bouquet of seven long-stemmed red roses, wrapped in simple ribbon.
He lifted his eyes to you.
And stopped.
His throat worked once. His hand tightened a little on the doorframe. For a second, Sam looked like he’d forgotten how to speak.
‘Wow,’ he said finally. ‘Uh. I mean…’ His mouth pulled into a shaky smile. ‘You look…’
Nothing else came out.
Your face warmed. You let your eyes drop to the hem of your skirt for a second, then forced yourself to look back up.
‘You think Dean will like it?’ you asked quietly.
That seemed to help. His mouth twitched into a real smile this time.
‘I think Dean’s gonna have a pretty hard time concentrating on anything,’ he said.
He stepped fully into the room, letting the door fall mostly shut behind him. He walked over, slowly, eyes taking you in. By the time he stopped in front of you, his eyes were just a little too shiny.
You looked up at him and your chest squeezed.
You and Sam had gone through things together nobody else had. You had fought a hellhound together. Walked into hell. Cured a demon together. Stood shoulder to shoulder through the trials without knowing if either of you would ever walk out. You had seen him broken and he had seen you broken. You’d held each other up when it felt like there weren’t going to be any happy endings left for either of you.
And now you were here, about to marry his brother.
You knew he was thinking all of that. You didn’t need words to see it on his face.
You let out a tiny breath that sounded embarrassingly close to a sob. You lifted both hands toward him.
Sam set the roses down on the bed, careful not to crush them. Then he closed the distance in two long strides and wrapped his arms around you, folding you into one of those huge, careful hugs only he could give.
The fear in your chest eased. Not all of it, but enough so you could breathe properly again.
He held you close for a long moment, chin resting lightly on top of your head. His heart beat slow and even against your cheek. You let your hands rest on his back, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket.
No. You didn’t have to be afraid. Not with Sam walking you out there. He always made sure you were alright, one way or another.
You pulled away carefully, mindful of your makeup. You dabbed under your eyes with the tips of your fingers. His hand went to his own face for a second, one quick sniffle escaping before he cleared his throat like nothing happened.
He looked you over one more time, then met your eyes.
‘You sure about this?’ he asked. His tone was light, but the question underneath was serious. ‘Marrying my idiot brother?’
You smiled. There was no hesitation.
‘I’m sure,’ you said.
Something in his shoulders loosened. He nodded once, mouth easing into a smile once more.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Good.’
He reached for the bouquet again and held it out to you. You took it, fingers sliding around the stems.
Sam opened the door, then slipped out first. You followed him into the hallway. At the top of the stairs, he glanced back once, then headed down ahead of you. He waited at the bottom, one hand resting lightly on the banister until you reached the last step, making sure you didn’t miss your footing.
Together, you crossed the kitchen toward the entrance.
Voices floated in faintly from outside now. Laughter, low conversation, the distant thread of music carried in from the yard. Somewhere beyond that door, down by the water, Dean was waiting for you on the pier.
Sam looked at you again, searching your face.
‘Ready?’ he asked quietly.
You swallowed, tightened your grip on the roses until you felt the thud of your heartbeat in your palms, and nodded.
He carefully offered his arm. You slid your hand through, holding on, bouquet cradled in your other hand.
Sam reached for the handle.
You took one deep, steadying breath as the door started to swing open.
And then the two of you stepped outside.
Dean’s hands wouldn’t quit.
He’d already smoothed his jacket three times, checked his cufflinks, picked an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve. Now he was just… standing there. On the very end of the pier. Water stretched behind his back.
The sun was dropping slowly over the lake, turning everything gold. Lanterns along the path were already lit, candles catching the breeze in little flickers. Strings of lights ran from the trees to the porch, making the yard look all warm. The chairs were full on both sides of the pier, a narrow aisle down the middle waiting on one person.
Bobby sat in the front row, cap in his hands, elbows on his knees. Jody next to him, still not quite able to deal with the fact he was actually there. Claire and Alex were behind them. On the other side, Kevin, Mrs. Tran, Eileen, Benny… all of them. All here.
Cas stood just behind Dean’s shoulder in his trench coat, hands folded, posture stiff. The coat moved a little in the wind. The guy looked more nervous than he had facing down archangels. Dean almost wanted to laugh.
He glanced down the pier to the start of the path. Empty.
Where the hell are you, babe.
He shifted his weight. Glanced over his shoulder.
Castiel met his eyes and gave him a small, encouraging nod. Dean blew out a breath through his nose and tried to nod back.
Charlie stood off to the side, just past Cas. Maid of honor. Waiting for the bride. She gave Dean two thumbs up when she caught him looking. It helped. A little.
He still missed the person that should’ve been by his side.
Sam should’ve been standing up here. Best man. Shoulder to shoulder. But Sam was where he needed to be. Walking her out. Dean wouldn’t have trusted anybody else with that job. Not for this.
He checked his watch. Again.
You gotta be kidding me.
He glanced at Charlie, mouth already opening.
‘What’s the-’
The first notes of guitar drifted over the yard from the speakers Charlie had set up.
Dean’s whole body went still.
‘Son of a bitch,’ he whispered.
Ramble On.
He snapped his eyes to Charlie. She was already looking at him, grin wide. She nodded once.
Of course she did.
He dragged in a breath that didn’t go nearly deep enough and turned toward the lodge.
The porch doors were already open. Guests shifted in their chairs. Heads turned.
Sam stepped out first, broad shoulders, jaw set. And there she was. On his arm, one hand wrapped around his sleeve, the other clutching roses to her chest.
Dean’s heart stopped. Then it slammed back on, hard enough he almost stumbled back.
Oh.
That was the first thought.
Oh, God.
That was the second.
The dress was white. As she’d promised. Just for him. But he hadn’t pictured this.
The top hugged her exactly right, tailored in a way he didn’t have words for. Enough structure to hold her, to show every curve he loved, pull her in just enough that his mouth went dry.
Her shoulders were bare. No one had thought to warn him about that part. All that skin he knew by touch now on full display, smooth and warm and perfect. Her collarbones, the line of her neck, the curve where her shoulders met her throat.
Dean swore under his breath. Felt his pulse jump.
The neckline curved over the top of her chest and dropped into that soft heart shape, covering enough to keep him from dropping dead on the spot.
The sleeves were some soft, sheer thing that floated off her arms, catching the air when she moved. The skirt fell in clean lines that swayed with her every step.
She started down the porch steps on Sam’s arm.
Dean’s heart slammed so hard he pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth to keep it together.
She walked through the shade of the trees, careful, eyes on the path. Her dress brushed along her legs. The fabric shifted over her hips, and he had to lock his knees to keep himself upright.
Then she stepped out from under the branches and the sunset hit her.
The whole front of the dress transformed in the light. There was a faint pattern in the fabric he hadn’t noticed from the distance. Some fancy texture across the bodice that drew his eyes straight back to her chest and up, to the dip between her breasts, at her throat… to her face.
Goddamn.
He’d seen a lot in his life, plenty that could steal your breath. None of it had ever been this beautiful.
She looked up at him.
Everything else dropped out. Gone. The guests, the lights, the song, even the lake. It all blurred into a soft mess around the one clear thing in front of him: her eyes locked on his.
She was nervous. He could see it in the tiny tremor at the corner of her mouth, in the way her fingers clenched the stems of the roses just a little too tight. Her chest rose fast, once, then again. And under all of that, there it was. The thing that had been quietly killing him all week.
She wanted this. Him. Here. Now.
Her mouth pulled into a small smile that was just for him and his vision tunneled.
Holy fuck. That’s my bride.
His breath got stuck somewhere in his throat. His hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to reach out, touch her, make sure she was real. He couldn’t move yet. Had to wait. Let Sam do his thing. Let her have the walk.
His eyes burned. Hard. He still refused to close them, because if he did, he might miss even half a second of this.
‘Shit,’ he heard himself mutter, rough.
He dragged one hand up, scrubbed it over his mouth, then dropped it again. Useless. The other hand clenched, then opened, then clenched again.
Don’t pass out.
He could feel his pulse in his ears.
Don’t you fucking pass out.
Ramble On kept building as she drew closer, reaching the edge of the yard and stepping on the pier. Sam kept pace beside her, but Dean barely saw him.
He straightened without thinking, shoulders back, chin up. There was no going back. Not from this. Not from her.
His fingers curled once more in empty air, aching for the feel of her hand.
Almost here, sweetheart.
Dean drew in one sharp, shaky breath as she and Sam walked those last few steps down the pier toward him.
Your heel caught on the grass for the second time and your stomach lurched.
The ground between the lodge and the start of the pier was uneven, your heels sank a little every few steps, and for a second you reconsidered every life choice that led to wearing these shoes today. At least they were block heels. If you’d gone for anything thinner, you’d already be on your face.
You focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Sam’s arm stayed solid under your hand, muscles shifting every time you swayed even a little. His grip corrected your balance before you could even think about it. Thanks to that, you finally dared to look up.
Warm lights hanging overhead were on. Candles and roses decorated the tables. Lanterns glowed along the edge of the yard and lined both sides of the pier. Every chair down there was full. Every head had turned in your direction.
Your nerves jumped. Air caught high in your chest and the bodice around your ribs did not help. Heat crawled up your neck, into your cheeks. You had never been good with this much attention. Monsters? Sure. Magic? Fine. A dozen people watching only you?
Terrifying.
Okay. You had your magic back. You’d done harder things than walk in a dress.
You reached for that familiar place inside yourself that helped you slow your heart and smooth everything out when you were about to spiral.
Focus on your anchor. On the green eyes. Let everything else fall away.
You reached for him the way you always did.
And it made everything worse.
Because your anchor was standing at the end of the pier, waiting for you, and the second you let yourself feel that, every nerve in your body lit up. Your pulse jumped even harder, your fingers tightened on Sam’s arm, and any chance of calming down vanished.
So you stopped fighting it.
Fine. Let your heart race. Let your hands shake. This was part of it. You were walking toward the man you loved, and you were allowed to feel all of it.
You drew a slow breath in through your nose, out through your mouth.
Your gaze slipped over the faces. For half a second, your brain searched automatically for people that couldn’t possibly be here. Your mom, your dad, your brother. The empty space where they should’ve been hurt exactly the way you’d expected.
You swallowed it down.
Your eyes moved again, out toward the water, to the end of the pier.
And there he was.
Dean stood there with the lake and sunset behind him, but the water and the sky barely registered. All of it blurred under the way he looked.
He’d gone with the dark blue suit. The one that always made you stare. White shirt, no tie, top buttons open just enough to show his throat. Jacket sitting right on his broad shoulders. The red rose on his lapel. His hair done in the way you loved.
He’d always been handsome. That first time you saw him on your TV, you’d almost forgotten how to breathe. Even after you met him in person, he was still the most unfairly good-looking man you’d ever known.
But nothing had prepared you for this.
He looked perfect in a way that made your chest ache.
Your pulse kicked higher. If it weren’t for the people and the music and the fact that this was your actual wedding, you would’ve yanked your hand out of Sam’s arm, kicked off your shoes and just run. Straight down the pier, straight into Dean’s arms, dress and ceremony be damned.
The ground under your feet changed from grass to wood. You’d reached the start of the pier.
Ramble On rolled over the lake and hearing it out loud like this sent a fresh wave of nerves through you. You could feel the thud of your heartbeat in your palms where they wrapped around the bouquet, in your throat, low in your stomach.
The pier stretched ahead, longer than it ever had before. Each step took forever. Somewhere on your right, in the front row, you caught sight of a familiar face. Bobby. You knew he was coming. Cas had told you. Still, seeing him there, real, smiling, tugged the breath out of you.
Then Dean straightened and your focus snapped back where it belonged.
He was looking right at you.
His mouth was parted slightly, eyes bright and wide and so full of emotion it almost knocked you back a step. You saw his chest hitch, saw his hand twitch at his side. His bottom lip shook for a moment before he pressed his mouth together.
Okay. He was wrecked too.
Your nerves eased just a bit.
Finally, the last rows of chairs slipped past at the edge of your vision and you reached the spot.
Sam slowed and then stopped. His arm firmed just a little under your hand.
Up close, Dean looked even less put together than he had from the distance. His eyes were glossy. His breathing shallow and quick.
Sam turned to you first. He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, his hand squeezing yours gently.
‘We made it,’ he murmured, only for you.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. ‘Thank you,’ you whispered back.
He gave you one more small smile, then let go of your arm.
Charlie stepped in behind you. Her hands hovered for a second, then she gently took the roses from you.
‘I got these,’ she whispered. ‘Go get your guy.’
You let the bouquet go and turned fully toward Dean.
His hand was already reaching for you. He didn’t even glance down, his eyes never left your face.
You slid your fingers into his. Warmth ran up your arm, through your chest. His grip closed around your hand, careful but sure.
Sam stepped back, moving quietly behind Dean, his hand landing once against his brother’s back.
It was just you and Dean now, standing in front of Cas.
‘Hi,’ you breathed, looking into his impossibly green eyes.
The corner of his mouth kicked up, eyes crinkling. ‘Hey,’ he murmured back, thumb brushing over your fingers.
‘You look beautiful,’ Dean whispered. The words came out rough. His eyes moved over your face, your hair, the dress, then settled back on your eyes.
Heat rushed through you again.
‘You too,’ you managed.
His mouth twitched. Then he leaned in, clearly going for your lips. You didn’t even think. You shifted toward him, meeting him halfway.
A hand landed firmly on Dean’s shoulder.
‘Not yet,’ Sam muttered from behind him.
At the same time, Charlie moved in on your side, one hand catching your arm. ‘Dude,’ she hissed. ‘Seriously?’
A ripple of laughter moved through the guests. You huffed out a laugh too, some of the tightness in your chest finally loosening.
Dean rolled his eyes, but you could see the relief there too. He squeezed your hand once more, then turned his head toward Cas. You did the same.
Cas watched you with that soft, careful smile he’d picked up over the years. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, hands folded, wind tugging at the edges of his trenchcoat.
Beside you, Dean’s fingers twitched in yours.
‘Cas?’ he muttered. ‘Your cue, buddy.’
Castiel blinked, cleared his throat and straightened.
‘Right. Of course.’ He lifted his head a little and raised his voice so everyone could hear. ‘I am not completely familiar with current wedding traditions, so you will have to forgive me for making this… simpler. I only know the basics Charlie explained.’
He gave Charlie a small nod.
‘But from what I gathered,’ Cas went on, ‘this is much easier than many traditions and rituals from older cultures. For example, in Maya courts, nobles marked major events, including marriages, by offering their own blood. Which, thinking about it, you have practically performed with your own bloodletting ritual.’
Your lips parted, startled.
Cas kept going, very serious. ‘Of course, that was different. Mayans usually pierced the tongue with obsidian or stingray spines, caught the blood on paper, and burned it so the smoke could carry the vow upward. This was considered romantic-’
You shot a quick look at Dean, fighting a laugh. His face was pure what the hell, eyebrows halfway to his hairline.
Sam cleared his throat so loud it carried over the lake.
Castiel stopped. Shifted his weight, a little thrown.
A few laughs floated up from the chairs. Your shoulders dropped another notch.
‘But that is not what today is about,’ he said.
Cas went quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
‘When I first met Sam and Dean all those years ago, I did not understand much of human… anything,’ he said. ‘Especially emotions. Feelings.’ His eyes moved between the two of them, then back to you. ‘But I learned a great deal by observing these two exceptional men. To the point that, among my brothers and sisters, I considered myself an expert.’
Dean huffed under his breath. You stayed focused on Cas.
‘That was, of course, before I saw these two together,’ Cas continued, inclining his head toward you and Dean. ‘By watching them, I finally understood how intense and different love can be. Their love carries excitement and empathy and passion. But it also includes pain and fear and sacrifice. With them, I learned that true love is not simple.’ He paused, eyes on the two of you again. ‘But if it is strong enough, it endures. It changes things. It… conquers.’
He stopped, searching for words, then nodded, satisfied.
‘And I consider it a privilege to be a witness to that in this millennium.’
You stared at him. Your throat burned. You hadn’t expected Castiel to say something like this. You turned your head toward Dean.
His eyes were fixed on Cas, jaw tight. You saw him swallow.
You squeezed his fingers, just once. He looked at you then. Whatever sat in his face made your chest ache.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Cas’s words hung there over the water.
Then Cas cleared his throat again.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘it is required of me to ask you to clearly consent to the marriage. For…’ he raised both hands and did the little air quotes, ‘“legal purposes.”’
You couldn’t help it, you smiled at that. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Dean rolling his eyes.
‘Dean,’ Cas said, turning fully to him, expression serious. ‘Do you take her to be your wife?’
Your eyes were glued to Dean’s face now. For one absurd second, panic flashed through you.
What if-
‘Damn right I do,’ he said, without even half a beat.
You exhaled slowly. Relief and joy flooded through you, light and sharp. You grinned at him, unable to hold it back.
‘And you,’ Cas turned to you now. ‘Do you take Dean to be your husba-’
‘I do,’ you said. It jumped out before he finished the word.
A couple of people chuckled behind you. Dean’s mouth curved into a smirk, those lines at the corners of his eyes deepening.
‘Sorry,’ you muttered, heat in your face again.
Castiel nodded, amused. ‘Thank you both,’ he said. ‘I believe now is the time for you to say your own vows, correct?’
He glanced past you toward Charlie. She gave a firm nod.
You felt Dean’s hand flex in yours again. You saw him pull in a deeper breath, the muscles in his arm tightening. The easy smile faded. His face went serious. He was obviously too nervous.
You leaned the tiniest bit closer.
‘We don’t have to,’ you whispered, just for him. ‘We can skip it.’
He shook his head immediately.
‘I’m fine,’ he murmured. His voice was steady, but you knew better. His thumb dragged back and forth over your palm, quick and restless.
‘I can go first,’ you offered.
That got him to look back at you. Relief flickered through his eyes. He nodded once.
‘Okay,’ he said quietly. ‘Yeah.’
You turned back to Cas, then to the lake, then down the pier for a second. You could feel every gaze on you. The bodice felt even snugger than it had ten minutes ago.
For a moment you wished it was just you and Dean. Just the two of you, somewhere quiet, where you could say the words in private.
But he was waiting. They all were.
You pulled in another breath. It shook on the way in. You saw Dean’s eyes soften at the sound.
‘Alright,’ you said, more to yourself than anyone else. ‘Here it goes.’
You lifted your chin a little and looked straight at him.
‘When we decided to do this,’ you began, voice a little rough, ‘I kept trying to figure out how to explain what you are to me in a way you haven’t already heard a hundred times.’
Dean’s thumb rubbed once over the back of your hand.
‘For a long time I thought you couldn’t really understand it without knowing who I was before I met you,’ you went on. ‘Before you… I spent most of my life feeling alone. Outside of everything. And I thought that was just how it would always be.’
Your voice trembled. You breathed through it and kept going. ‘The only thing that ever made me feel safe was your story. But you already know that.’
The corner of his mouth pulled up in the smallest smile.
‘Then I ended up here. With you. And it stopped being just a story.’
Your voice steadied a little.
‘When I lost my memories, you saw the version of me that never knew you,’ you said. ‘The me who never had any of this. She was scared and she ran from everything, including herself.’
Dean’s jaw tightened once.
‘I don’t hate her,’ you added. ‘She was doing her best. But she’s not the person I want to be.’
Your throat pulled tight again. You pushed through it.
‘Who I am now… is the version I’m proud of,’ you said. ‘The one who stays, and fights, and lets herself be loved.’ Your voice dropped a little on the last words. ‘And you’re the one who made it safe for her to exist.’ You held his gaze. ‘You’re the one who kept choosing me until I finally learned how to choose myself too.’
His mouth pressed tight for a second. The muscle in his cheek jumped.
‘So I’m not standing here because you fixed me,’ you went on. ‘Or because I owe you for saving me. I’m standing here because with you, I like who I am. With you, I’m home.’
You heard a quiet sniff behind you. You didn’t turn.
‘And I know you still worry there’s something missing in me,’ you said, softer now. ‘A life I left behind. But as long as I get to walk through whatever’s ahead with you by my side, I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. I have what I need.’ You smiled at him, open and steady. ‘I have you.’
His eyes were wet now. He didn’t blink. The way he looked at you almost undid you.
‘You are my dream come true, Dean,’ you said, voice shaking again. ‘And I know we’ve got a shared Heaven booked up there, but I’m pretty sure even forever with you won’t feel like enough.’
A short, choked laugh escaped both of you at the same time.
‘So I promise you…’ you said, tightening your grip on his hand, ‘I will spend every day of our forever doing my best to show you how much I love you.’
You fell quiet. You hadn’t realized how tight you’d been holding yourself until that moment.
For a second, all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the distant sound of water against the shore.
Then everything narrowed back down to Dean.
His chest moved in short pulls. His mouth opened once, closed again.
You pulled in one more breath and let it out slowly. You had said what you needed to say.
Now it was his turn.
Dean felt every word slam straight into him.
By the time she finished, his throat was raw and he hadn’t even spoken yet.
Home. Dream come true. Forever not being enough.
He’d been called a lot of things in his life. Never that.
She watched him, eyes shining, lips curved in a small, hopeful smile. He just stared at her. Mouth a little open. Brain blank.
Silence stretched.
She was waiting. Everybody was waiting.
‘Uh, Dean?’ Cas said carefully at his side. ‘It is your-’
‘Yeah, okay, I know, Cas,’ Dean cut in, rough. He shut his eyes for a second and frowned. ‘Just… gimme a minute.’
He could not look at her for this. No way. Not with her face soft like that, eyes on him. If he kept his gaze on her while he tried to talk, he was either gonna choke or go headfirst into the goddamn lake.
He sucked in air that scraped on the way down. His palms were damp. Fingers a little numb.
Her thumb started tracing slow circles along his knuckles. Steady. Calm.
Right. She deserved better than the back of his eyelids.
Dean opened his eyes again. Met hers.
Alright. Screw it.
‘Okay,’ he said, mostly to himself. He cleared his throat. ‘Alright, uh…’
Words. He needed words.
‘You know me,’ he started, but it came out low, more of a mumble than anything.
From the front row, Bobby’s voice cut through. ‘Louder, boy. Some of us got hauled outta Heaven to hear this.’
A few people laughed. Heat climbed up the back of Dean’s neck.
‘Son of a bitch,’ he muttered, then lifted his head and forced his voice up.
‘You know me,’ he said again, this time clear enough for the back. ‘I’m a simple guy.’
He huffed, mouth twisting.
‘Stuff I trust is stuff I can see, or hold,’ he said. ‘All that talk about fate, soulmates, forever… that was always just chick-flick crap to me. Maybe real for somebody else. Just not built for a guy like me.’
He felt her fingers tighten around his. It gave him enough to keep going.
‘Then I met you, sweetheart,’ he said, words coming out easy. That actually pulled a smile out of him. ‘And all of a sudden it wasn’t so simple anymore.’
He let his eyes drag over her face for a second. Then pushed through.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ he went on. ‘I look at you and somehow we’re already on the same page. We can talk for hours about absolutely nothing. Or we can sit there without sayin’ a word and it still feels right. ‘Cause you just… get me.’
His voice dropped a little on that last part. Her eyes were shining even more.
‘When something good happens, you’re the first person I wanna tell,’ he said. ‘When something hurts, you’re the one I wanna find. You bring me higher when I’m happy. And you climb right down in the mud with me when I’m not.’
He swallowed. It hurt on the way down.
‘For the first time, thinkin’ about the future doesn’t make my skin crawl,’ he said. ‘Because if you’re there, I know somehow I’m gonna be okay.’
Her mouth trembled. Tears gathered fast. She tried to blink them back. One still slipped free. He had to look away for half a second or he was done.
He stared down at their joined hands, at how small hers looked in his. Took another breath.
‘I’ve spent my whole damn life provin’ I can be on my own,’ he said. ‘I know I can. But the second you’re not next to me, I miss you. It’s this wrong feeling in my chest that just sits there ‘til you’re back in the room.’
His own voice shook now. He didn’t care.
‘Turns out that’s what lonely really is for me now,’ he said, eyes dropping to the boards under their feet. His throat closed for a second. ‘Something I already had to live through the hard way. A world where I had you… and then I lost you.’
He let the words hang there. Flashes hit the back of his mind he didn’t want here, not in front of everyone. Her blood all over his hands. Her eyes empty when she’d looked at him and hadn’t known him.
He dragged his gaze back up to her face. She was watching him, breathing fast.
‘Before you, I didn’t really think about that,’ he said. ‘And now that I’ve got you, I don’t ever wanna know that kind of empty again.’
He shifted his feet and stepped closer. Nobody stopped him. Cas even eased back half a step to make room.
‘So here’s my promise,’ Dean said.
He breathed out, slower this time.
‘I’m gonna spend the rest of my life bein’ the man you already think I am. I’m gonna screw up,’ he said, a small, pained grin tugging at his mouth. ‘’Cause I’m me. But I’m gonna keep showin’ up. I’m gonna keep doing the work, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.’
Her chin lifted a little, eyes locked on his. Another tear slid down her cheek.
That did it.
Dean lifted his free hand and brushed it away with his thumb. He didn’t pull back. His palm slid from her cheek to the side of her neck, fingers settling in that familiar warm spot under her ear. His thumb rested against her jaw.
He felt the quick beat of her pulse under his fingers.
‘You’re my proof,’ he said, voice lower now, ‘that all that fate and forever crap might actually be real.’
Her breath hitched.
‘And I’m in, baby. For all of it. For as long as you’ll have me.’
For a moment, everything narrowed to her eyes on his, wide and wet and full of him. Every inch of her leaned into his touch.
He wanted to kiss her. Bad. Right now. Screw the rest of the speech, the rings, whatever other ceremonial crap was still left. Every part of him pulled toward her, ready to close the last bit of space and finally taste the woman he was about to call his wife.
He leaned in, just a fraction. His thumb stroked along her jaw once. Her eyes dropped to his mouth.
Someone behind him cleared their throat. Sam again. Of course.
Dean huffed out a short, frustrated laugh through his nose and stayed where he was. Close enough to feel her breathing.
Almost there.
For a second after Dean stopped talking, you couldn’t even move.
Your hand was still in his, his palm still warm against your neck, and his words echoed in your head on a loop.
You were pretty sure if he wasn’t holding you, you’d pass out. The look on his face didn’t help. He was right there, way too close, eyes soft in a way that was only ever for you.
You loved this man. So much.
Cas was smiling at you both, his head tipped just a little to the side.
‘That was…’ he said slowly, ‘very beautiful. I knew you had it in you, Dean.’
Someone snorted behind you. Dean scoffed. His thumb was still rubbing along your jaw.
‘Now,’ Castiel went on, straightening a little, ‘if that is all, I believe I can now pronounce-’
‘No, no, no, no!’ Charlie’s voice shot through the air.
You jumped. Dean flinched right along with you.
‘Son of a-’ he grunted, shoulders tensing. ‘Scared the crap outta me, Charlie.’
A startled laugh broke out of you. A few others joined in.
Sam stepped in a bit, raising his hands. ‘What Charlie meant to say, Cas,’ he said, trying not to laugh, ‘is… you forgot the rings.’
‘Right,’ Castiel said immediately, clearing his throat again. ‘That is correct. My apologies.’
Dean clapped him on the shoulder once. ‘You’re doin’ great, pal,’ he said, smirk tugging at his mouth now that the hardest part was over.
Castiel gave him a small, proud nod.
Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the two slim rings. He held your ring out to Dean. Dean took it with careful fingers. Then Sam turned and placed the slightly thicker band in your palm. Your fingers closed around the cool metal.
Dean turned to you fully and shifted your left hand so it was lifted between you. His fingers curled around your palm, completely steady. For a second, he just looked at your hand. Then he swallowed.
You watched his face as he slid the silver band on. His eyes stayed on your fingers, focused. The ring moved over your knuckle and settled perfectly against the red stone already on your finger.
You flexed your fingers once, feeling the tiny weight of both of them side by side.
Then it was your turn.
You took his left hand in both of yours. Big, warm, and calloused. You ran your thumb over the faded scars on his knuckles, the rough skin that had held weapons, held Baby’s wheel, held your body. Your stomach gave a quick, tight pull at the thought of those same hands on your skin and you had to blink to push that image away before your knees gave out.
Focus.
You guided the ring over his finger. He watched you. You could feel his attention on your face.
When it sat there, against his skin where it belonged, he let out a slow breath. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth as he turned his hand slightly, looking at it.
Married. That’s what that meant now. The man you loved now wore your ring.
Dean looked up at Sam. ‘That it?’ he asked, voice a little hoarse.
Sam’s eyes were red around the edges. He cleared his throat, nodded once and gave Cas a thumbs up without saying anything.
Castiel squared his shoulders, his expression all solemn again.
‘Well then,’ he said. ‘In that case…’ He looked between the two of you, eyes bright. ‘Now I can pronounce you husband and wife.’
The words hit you so hard you almost swayed.
Husband and wife.
It pulled somewhere under your ribs and spread out fast, leaving your hands buzzing and your knees unsteady. Your heart slammed so hard you were suddenly sure it had to be loud enough for everyone to hear. For a crazy second you really thought Dean might actually hear it.
Husband. Dean Winchester. Your husband.
Dean stared at you, stunned, and you wondered if he felt the same.
But you knew he did. You were sure of it.
Cas opened his mouth again. ‘You may ki-’
Dean didn’t wait for him to finish.
His hands were on your face in an instant, fingers sliding into your hair. And then his mouth was on yours so fast it knocked the air out of you. Any thought of a polite, brief kiss in front of guests vanished.
You made a small sound against his mouth, something between laugh and gasp. His fingers tightened at the back of your head, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he tilted you closer. Then his hands swept down, tracing the line of your neck, over your bare shoulders. Heat followed his touch everywhere he went. He slid his palms to your back and then lower, settling at your waist.
He grabbed you there and hauled you in hard. Your body tipped into his, your spine bending just enough that you had to clutch at his shoulders and loop your arms around his neck to stay balanced.
A low whistle cut through the air, Benny, probably, followed by cheers and clapping. The pier shook a little under people moving and reacting.
You were laughing against Dean’s mouth, unable to help it. The happiness in your chest had nowhere else to go. He eased the kiss just enough to smile into it, then pressed in again.
Husband. All yours.
Dean finally broke the kiss, breathing a little harder. He dropped his forehead against yours, noses almost touching. His hands stayed right where they were at your waist, with no intention of letting go.
The noise of your friends, the lake, the music, all blurred into a loud, happy mess around you.
You shut your eyes for a second, breathing him in.
‘I love you,’ he said.
The words were quiet, meant for you alone. Your breath stuttered. Your fingers tightened at the back of his neck.
You opened your eyes to meet that gorgeous green in his.
‘I love you too,’ you whispered back, because there was no version of this moment where you didn’t say it.
Your husband smiled, bright and real and a little disbelieving. Then pulled you in for one more quick kiss as your family cheered around you and the sun sank lower over the lake.
A/N: Did I just stretch 30 minutes of real-time events into a 10k chapter? Yes. Yes I did. I’m sorry.
Anyway, the last chapter might be a really big one, mostly because I’d love to close this story at 20 chapters. And you know what’s coming… the dance, the fun, the party… and them finally ditching the no-sex rule.
Summary: You are trapped with Dean in a place meant to keep you isolated, and every choice becomes a careful balance between surviving him and trying to bring him back.
CHAPTER 8 MASTERLIST
Story tags: Demon!Dean, Plus-Size reader, Reader is from a different reality, Action, Violence, Angst, Drama, Blood Magic, Blood play, Smut, Rough sex, Emotional strain, Moral conflict, POV Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence, Married Dean Winchester, POV Second person, POV Alternating, No use of y/n, Ordinary sequel
A/N: I’m going through a lot with this story right now because it turned into a much bigger writing challenge than I expected. So if you want to read more about my current spiral over Demon Dean, our girl, and this whole mess, I poured some of it into the chapter note on AO3.
Your chest was still heaving under Dean’s weight when his words sank in.
He wanted to touch you without your magic hurting him.
Even with every lifelong doubt you had ever carried about your body, about how men saw you or didn’t see you, Dean had proved to you over and over that he wanted you, that he found you sexy. He had proved it with his hands, his mouth, his impatience, his complete inability to keep his attention off you most of the time.
It wasn’t impossible to believe that some twisted, demonic version of that desire had stayed.
The part that you couldn't really wrap your mind around was... he could have anyone.
He was still Dean Winchester. Ridiculously attractive, broad, strong, with those soft pouty lips, that deep voice, and that unfair face that made people look twice. Now he had no guilt, no shame, no loving attachment stopping him from taking whatever he wanted from whoever offered it.
You wished you could stop thinking about that. You wished you hadn't thought about it for three weeks.
You were pretty damn sure he had not spent all that time alone. The idea hit the same place every time, deep in your chest, sharp enough to make you want to stop breathing until it passed. You tried hard not to picture it. Your husband's hands and mouth touching someone else while you lay awake in the bunker crying your eyes out.
No. Picturing it didn't solve anything.
And still… for some insane reason, after all that, he had come for you. He had risked Sam, risked your magic, risked whatever lead he had been keeping ahead of all of you just to drag you here and demand that you figure out a way to let him put his hands on you.
Well, first of all, fuck him.
Honestly.
Did he really expect you to just let him? Did he think that after everything he had done, after everything he had become, you would sit down in some rotting place and work out how to make yourself safe for a demon's hands because he was horny and used to getting whatever he wanted?
Or worse, did he think he could simply take it, without asking?
The thought made bile rise in your throat so fast you almost choked on it.
The shapeshifter came back to you in ugly pieces. Dean’s face on something that was not Dean. Hands that looked like his, a mouth that looked like his, touching you. The violation of it, the sick confusion of your own body before your mind fully caught up... That memory still made you want to tear your skin open and climb out of it.
Your fingers curled into the old seat beneath you.
Would he really do that?
Even like this, would Dean be able to hurt you that way?
Whatever I want.
That was what he had said when you asked what he was doing. There had been almost no limit in those words. No line he seemed afraid to cross.
But he had also told you he was not going to hurt you.
And maybe even as a demon, Dean was still a man of his word in some fucked up, deranged way. Maybe there were pieces of him that still understood certain things were off-limits, even if he couldn’t feel love the way he used to.
You didn’t know. And you didn't like not knowing.
And even if he meant it, even if he really had no intention of forcing you, the rest of it made no sense. How the hell did he expect you to do this? The protection was in your blood. There was no light switch. You barely understood how all of it worked, and the last time you had pushed your magic too hard, your mind had slammed into a wall and the life you had built was erased.
Dean would have understood that. Your Dean would have.
This one was thinking with his dick, or his pride, or whatever demons ran on when they decided they wanted something.
You must have been silently glaring at him for too long, because when your focus snapped back into place, some of the impatience had faded from his face. His eyes were green again, and he was watching you in a way that made your pulse race faster than the black ever had.
Dean was still above you, close enough to make breathing difficult, but his hands were carefully braced on either side of your body. Even pinned under him, you could tell he was controlling every inch of himself, placing his weight with care, keeping away from your open shirt and your exposed skin. His shoulders blocked most of the car. His face hovered near yours, full of hunger and interest, and for one second, if you ignored the situation hard enough, you could almost see your husband there.
‘God, I missed that face,’ he said.
His mouth curved. There was no real affection in his voice. It sounded closer to fascination. You knew he was studying your every reaction to him.
His eyes moved over your face slowly.
‘Especially when you’re tryin’ real hard not to want me.’
Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. ‘I don’t want you.’
You tried to make it sound convincing enough that both of you could believe it.
Dean’s smile only deepened.
He leaned in just a little, stopping just short of brushing his nose against yours.
‘Yet.’
Your heart jumped hard enough to make you hate it.
Wait, was he… Did he honestly think you would give yourself to him willingly? Did he think all of this would end with you forgetting what he was because your body still reacted to Dean Winchester?
He had to be out of his fucking mind.
That was never going to happen. Not while he was like this.
You were ready to laugh in his face, or at least try, when Dean took a slow breath. His chest expanded against yours, close enough for you to feel the pressure through the layers between you. Heat built where his body hovered near yours, and for one awful second, you could not tell whether it was your magic reacting or your own body betraying you again.
Dean felt it. You saw it in the tiny pull at the corner of his mouth and in the tension that ran through his shoulders.
‘You even smell the same,’ he said, voice low enough that it moved through your chest. ‘That’s unfair as hell, by the way.’
Your eyes squeezed shut for half a second.
Because he did too.
He still smelled like Dean. Leather, whiskey, some kind of smoky perfume, and something warm and familiar underneath. It made you furious. It made you sick with yourself. You felt so many things at once. Fear. Dread. Anger. Relief. Want. Shame... All of it jammed together and you wanted to scream.
He was finally this close.
He was also the reason you were terrified.
You forced your eyes open and pushed your trapped hand harder against him, trying to create any amount of space. Your voice came out low and rough, much steadier than you felt.
‘Get. Off. Me.’
Dean stayed over you for another second, watching you with that infuriating smirk, then finally pushed himself up. He made sure to take his time, too, just to make it clear he was choosing to let you go.
The absence of his weight should have made you feel better. It did not, for some insane reason.
You scrambled back across the bench at once, your spine hitting the passenger door. Your hands flew to your shirt, pulling the fabric together and fumbling with the buttons that popped free. The tremor in your fingers was obvious and you hated that he could see it.
Dean's eyes stayed on your chest while you tried to cover yourself. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, stretching his burned hands once, acting like the pain was more of an annoyance than anything serious.
‘I’m tellin’ you,’ he said, eyes dragging back to your face, ‘you’re scared of the wrong thing here.’
You held your shirt closed with one hand and glared at him.
‘You’re safer with me than you are out there.’ His mouth twitched. ‘And I sure as hell don’t need to hurt you to keep you.’
Yep, there it was. The power move.
You were his, right? That was how he saw it now. His wife, his possession, his thing to move around and lock away until you did what he wanted.
God, you wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. Yet you still couldn’t make yourself hurt him badly. That made you feel pathetic, and the shame only made the anger worse.
‘Yeah, right,’ you scoffed, voice sharper than was probably smart. ‘Because this all looks like a totally safe situation.’
You had no idea where that much bite came from. It sure as hell wasn't confidence. You were still scared of him, that had not changed just because he was no longer pinning you to the seat. Maybe it was Dean’s face, Dean’s voice, Dean’s everything that made some irrational part of your brain keep insisting that you could push him farther than you would push any other demon.
And the fact that you could burn his skin off probably helped.
Dean rolled his eyes and reached for the keys. He pulled them from the ignition and stepped out.
You straightened immediately, shifting away from the door. He walked in front of the Impala, fingers tapping the hood lightly as he crossed to your side. Your eyes caught on his hands. They were still red in places, irritated and healing, but nowhere near as ruined as they should have been after the burns you gave him.
That was another problem that went on the pile of things you didn’t have time to analyze.
Dean opened your door and stepped back, waiting for you to get out.
The cold air from outside hit your face. Behind him, the cabin waited with its crooked porch and dark windows.
No.
Not a chance.
Why should you go inside? Why should you do what he told you? Why should you let him trap you in some creepy cabin in the woods so you could work on making yourself easier for him to touch?
You should have been more careful. You knew that. He was a fucking demon. Strong, evil, unpredictable, although currently more patient than you expected him to be. You should not have been poking at him.
Still, something inside you refused to move. You sank deeper into the seat and crossed your arms over your chest.
Dean waited all of two seconds.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
‘Get out of the car.’
You stared straight ahead through the windshield at the cabin, refusing to look at him. You were not just being stubborn, even if you knew that was what it looked like. You were trying to think. You needed a plan. A real one. Not another half-panicked move that ended with him on top of you and your shirt half-open.
You were not doing that again.
You despised how much power he had over you. And that the one thing that made you dangerous to demons was the thing making you hesitate now.
Because no matter how much you threatened him, your stupid ass did not want to hurt him badly enough to end this.
‘Sweetheart,’ Dean said, voice dropping into something frighteningly calm, ‘get out of the car.’
Your fingers pressed harder into your arms. You couldn’t go into that cabin. Once you got inside, things would get harder. You knew it. If you were going to do something, you needed to do it before the door closed behind you both.
Your eyes flicked toward the trees.
Running was a terrible idea. You had no phone, no idea where you were. The woods were thick, the light was fading, and if you ran, he would catch you. So you stayed in the seat and held onto the only refusal you had left.
Dean leaned one hand against the open doorframe. You gave him one quick glance and immediately wished you hadn’t.
He was watching you too closely. Of course he could hear your heart, see the fear. Of course he knew you were stalling.
His head tilted a little. ‘You really wanna make this harder than it has to be?’
You took one slow breath.
‘You can’t really expect me to-’
That was all you got out.
One second, you were sitting in the passenger seat about to tell him you were not going anywhere, and the next his hands were on you. He grabbed you without hesitation, one arm hooking under your thighs and the other bracing across your back, and lifted you straight out of the car.
You twisted on instinct.
The burn hit immediately.
His bare forearms pressed against your body, your own hands shoving at his shoulders and chest, and smoke rose between you in sharp little bursts. He hissed through his teeth, jaw flexing, but his grip did not loosen.
That was when you realized he had known. He had known it would hurt and he had done it anyway.
Panic hit harder.
You kicked, twisted, tried to wrench yourself free, but he was too damn strong. His arms locked around you, and every movement only made your body press against more of him. Your magic tore into him through fabric and skin, and still he kept moving.
Because it wasn’t burning fast enough.
He had noticed that too. You knew he had. The realization landed cold in your stomach. He was learning the limits of your protection in real time, finding out exactly how much pain he could push through before you became a real threat.
Dean hauled you up and over his shoulder in one rough movement, like you weighed nothing.
Your stomach lurched as the world flipped. Your hair fell forward, your hands grabbed at the back of his shirt, and your ribs hit his shoulder hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. And even in this situation, some ridiculous part of you noticed the view of his tight ass right there in front of your face.
You immediately wanted to punch yourself for noticing.
Smoke and the smell of burning flesh filled the cold air. Your hands clawed at his shirt, trying to pull it up, trying to find skin. He carried you toward the porch without slowing down.
‘Dean, put me down!’ you demanded.
He ignored you.
The porch boards creaked under his boots, but he didn’t stop to search for a key. He didn’t bother with the handle, either. He kicked the door open hard enough that the whole frame cracked. The sound was brutal in the quiet forest, wood splitting, metal snapping, the door slamming inward against the wall.
Then he carried you inside.
Dust hit your nose. Old wood, stale air, damp fabric, cold ash from a fireplace that had not been used in a long time. You barely got a look at the room before anger overrode everything else.
You had enough.
If he wanted to learn your limits, fine. He could learn them.
You grabbed the back of his flannel with both hands and yanked it up. The black shirt underneath came with it just enough for your fingers to find the bare skin at the small of his back.
You shoved both hands under the fabric.
Then you dragged them upward.
Dean growled, because this time, the pain was real.
The sound rumbled through his body under you, low and rough, and satisfaction shot through the fear so fast it almost made you dizzy. Your palms burned him hard, magic working fully now that there was bare skin under your hands. You felt his back tense, muscles locking under your grip, and you dug your fingers in harder as you dragged your hands up along his spine.
You knew this was a bad idea.
Hurting him like this would not make him gentler. And it would definitely not make him less dangerous. You were trapped in a cabin with him now, far from Sam, and you had just burned a demon badly enough to make him lose control of his breathing.
But you refused to do nothing.
Dean threw you onto the couch.
You hit the old cushions with enough force to bounce once, dust bursting up around you and making you cough. Pain flashed through your hip and shoulder. You scrambled upright anyway, one hand already lifted, ready to burn him again if he came for you.
He didn’t.
Dean stood a few feet away, breathing through his teeth. His flannel hung twisted around his sides, the black shirt shoved up high enough for you to see the damage across his back. Red, raw, blistered skin stretched over tense muscle, already trying to heal, but not fast enough to hide how badly you had hurt him. His eyes were black again. His fists opened and closed at his sides, and every few seconds a low, furious sound dragged out of him.
You braced for the worst.
Because he was angry now. You could see it in every line of him. Yeah, this was where he snapped. This was where the demon finally forgot whatever rule had kept him from hurting you. This was where he grabbed you by the throat or slammed you into a wall and gave you enough reason to stop holding back.
Instead, he paced.
He muttered under his breath, every other word a swear, one hand reaching back to tug his shirt away from the burned skin.
‘Son of a-,’ he hissed, shoulders tight. ‘Goddamnit. Fucking-’
His jaw was clenched so hard it looked painful. He rolled his neck, breathing hard, and you watched him fight the pain down through sheer stubbornness. You had hurt him this time. Really hurt him. Any other demon would have come at you for less.
Dean didn’t.
Your hand stayed raised, although your defiance had limits. Your whole body shook against the couch as you tried hard to ignore the fact that hurting him made you feel sick.
After a long moment, Dean stopped pacing. Finally, his breathing steadied. The worst burns along his back had started to close, leaving angry red patches behind. He pulled his shirt down with a sharp tug, then shoved the flannel back into place.
When he looked at you again, his eyes were green.
‘I’m trying,’ he said, voice strained and very careful, ‘real hard… to be patient with you.’
You pressed yourself harder into the couch, trying to make your own breathing even.
Dean’s jaw flexed. ‘Don’t fucking waste it.’
The words landed heavy in the room.
You didn’t answer, because you didn’t trust your voice.
Dean stared at you for another beat, then dragged a hand down his face and turned toward the ruined door hanging half-open behind him. Cold air slipped through the gap, stirring dust across the floor.
He looked at the splintered frame, the broken lock, the cracked wood scattered near his boots.
‘Awesome,’ he muttered. ‘Now I gotta go get a new door lock for this piece of crap.’
You watched him kick a broken piece of the rusty lock aside, then finally forced yourself to look around.
The cabin was probably bigger than the front room showed, although your brain did not want to imagine any more space than necessary. Every extra room meant another place where Dean could corner you, another place where you would be trapped with him and whatever this version of him wanted.
The main room was crowded with old furniture. Beat-up armchairs with torn fabric. A couple of old cupboards pushed against the plank walls. Wooden storage chests with rusted hinges. A table with mismatched chairs. A small kitchen area with stained counters and a sink that looked as if it had not seen a clean dish in years. There was one open doorway leading into another room, and from where you sat on the couch, you could just make out the edge of a bed. Another door stayed closed near the back wall, and your best guess was a bathroom.
God, you hoped this place had a bathroom.
The thought of safely running was leaving you by the second. The open doorway showed trees, more trees, and the narrow strip of dirt road Dean had driven down, which had twisted through too many turns and too many half-roads for you to trust your memory.
No. You had to think of something else.
That annoyed you more than it should have, because right now your brain wasn’t moving fast enough.
Stalling. That was all you had for now. Let him think you were cooperating, at least enough to keep him entertained. Drag out the time. Use your touch if things got dangerous enough. Hope he really meant it when he said he would not hurt you.
Hope that Sam would find you.
Your jaw tightened.
You were smart. You were a goddamn doctor. A scientist. You had survived too much to sit on a dusty couch and wait for a demon to outsmart you.
Even if the demon in question was the best hunter in the world.
You watched Dean pick up the larger chunks of the broken wood and toss them aside. He kicked smaller splinters out onto the porch with the toe of his boot, muttering under his breath.
The sight of him doing something so stupidly practical in this place made your brain take an awful turn.
Because once, a long time ago, you had imagined something close to this.
You and Dean. A small place with trees all around, remote and private enough to be just for you. A cabin far away from hunting and noise and the world asking too much of him. It had been after you found out the two of you shared a Heaven, after Dean told you that was what he had imagined. Just the two of you, spending forever somewhere tucked away from the rest of the world.
Looking around now, past the dust and rot and broken lock, you could almost see how this place might have been warm with enough work. With fresh wood, clean windows, a repaired porch. With Dean grumbling through every task and secretly enjoying the fact that he was building something he planned to keep.
That thought hit too hard.
You had the lodge by the lake now. That was the place where you and Dean had quietly started building a future. If fate was generous enough to let you grow old, that was where you had imagined ending up.
But still, before the lodge, before the wedding, the first version of that dream had been this. A small cabin in the woods.
Now your heaven turned into this. A nightmare. And you had no idea if the man you married would ever come back to spend any kind of forever with you.
Tears rushed hot into your eyes before you could stop them.
You blinked hard and looked away.
You were so caught in the thought that you didn’t notice Dean had stopped moving until you felt his stare.
When you looked up, his eyes were on you. The amused expression on his face almost made you want to throw up.
A cold draft pushed in through the broken doorway, cutting across the room and slipping under your open shirt. You shivered before you could stop yourself. It was late October, and you were sitting in a cold cabin wearing a thin dress shirt with half the buttons barely fixed.
That didn’t make you freeze as much as the flannel landing over your shoulders.
Dean had shrugged it off and stepped close enough to drop it around you, careful not to touch your skin. The amusement was gone. For one startling second, his face was serious.
You stared at him.
You wanted to throw the flannel off. You wanted to tell him to shove it up his demonic ass.
Instead, your fingers caught the edges and pulled it tighter around you.
Dean's scent hit you so hard you almost made a sound. Your throat closed.
You missed him.
You missed him so fucking much.
For three weeks, you had nothing except his pillow and his side of bed, losing the last traces of him day by day, the smell of cinnamon fading too fast from fabric that had gone cold.
Now he was here.
He was right here.
Dean was standing in front of you and it was him and it was not him, and the contradiction was so exhausting you wanted to scream until your throat gave out.
‘Alright.’
Dean’s voice filled the small space and forced you back into the room. He was watching you again, his expression harder to read now.
‘I need to make a run. Stat. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.’
You looked up at him, frowning. ‘You’re leaving? Now?’
‘Can’t have you catchin’ a cold, can we?’ His eyes moved over the flannel around your shoulders, then back to your face. ‘Unless you do your homework so we can cuddle.’
Jackass.
‘Bite me,’ you snapped, face tight.
Dean raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. He was down to the black T-shirt now. His bare forearms and biceps flexed with the movement, and your eyes dropped for half a second before you dragged them away and reminded yourself to have one single shred of self-respect.
Dean huffed, smug as hell.
‘Whatever you want me to do, baby.’ His voice dropped just enough to make your skin heat under the flannel. ‘Soon as you stop roasting the hell outta me.’
Your eyes snapped back to him, and you gave him the nastiest glare you could manage.
He only smirked and pulled the car keys from his jeans.
The sight of them made your stomach drop. Of course. He was taking the car. The only obvious way out and leaving you with thick trees and a broken door.
‘I’ll be right back,’ he said, tossing the keys once in his hand. ‘Try the woods if you want. I’ll find you anyway. And when I do, I’m probably gonna be in a bad mood.’
The casual threat in his voice brought the unease back fast. Your hand curled into a fist against the dusty cushion.
Dean turned toward the door, then stopped at the smashed threshold and glanced back over his shoulder.
‘I believe you’ve got my gun on you, right?’ he said. ‘I’d take it out if I were you. In case some wild animal decides to visit.’
Then he walked out.
You sat there, frozen, while he crossed the clearing and got into the Impala. The engine started, that familiar rumble moving through the trees, and your chest tightened again because the sound of Baby leaving felt wrong. He backed out of the clearing, turned between the trees, and disappeared down the narrow track.
The engine faded slowly.
Then the quiet settled.
You were alone.
In the middle of the woods, in a ruined cabin, with no phone, no car, no idea where you were.
And still, for a second, relief hit so hard your shoulders almost gave out.
His presence had been too much. Every second near him had forced your body to make choices your mind hated, and now that he was gone, you could finally breathe without worrying he would hear it.
You looked at the broken doorway. Then the trees. And for one reckless second, you considered running anyway.
You could go now. He was gone. The woods were open. You could pick a direction and move until your legs failed. Anything had to be better than sitting here waiting for him to come back, right?
Your hand tightened around the edge of the flannel.
No.
You already decided running was useless. Staying felt insane, yes, but running felt worse.
So you stayed.
Not because he scared you into obedience. Because you realized he made a stupid mistake.
Dean had left a Men of Letters legacy alone in a cabin full of surfaces.
You stood so fast your knees almost buckled.
The room tilted for one second, then steadied. You moved toward the kitchen, stepping over broken wood and dust, scanning counters, drawers, cabinets. Your hands shook as you yanked open the first drawer. Empty. The second stuck halfway before you forced it open with a hard pull. Utensils rattled inside, old and filthy.
Good enough.
You grabbed the first knife you found.
The blade was ugly, spotted with rust, the edge dull and chipped in places. You didn’t care.
You pushed Dean’s flannel off one shoulder, rolled your sleeve up, exposing the shivering skin of your forearm, and pressed the blade down.
Then you cut.
Dean wasn’t too thrilled about leaving her out there alone.
Running didn’t worry him. She was smart enough to know she wouldn’t get far with no phone and no clue where the hell she was. The woods were thick, the road back was a mess of turns and gravel, and even if she picked the right direction, he’d catch her before she got close to anything useful.
She knew that. She also knew who she belonged to.
No, the problem was the broken door.
That part kept digging under his skin while he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the seat beside him where he had her pinned just moments ago. He had left her in the middle of the woods with the front door smashed open, with no real barrier and nothing but a gun. If something wandered inside, some animal, some drifter, or some dumb son of a bitch who saw a cabin and thought it was empty, he was gonna decorate the trees with their guts.
Dean’s grip tightened on the wheel.
Yeah.
He hadn’t been kidding when he told her she was safer with him. He didn’t give a damn how that sounded. It was true. Dean didn’t like people touching what was his. His car, his weapons, his records, his wife. There was an order there, sure, and she was sitting pretty damn high on it.
The only person who got a pass was his brother, and even that depended on the day.
Maybe Dean was just a greedy ass. Maybe he had spent too many years owning nothing that couldn’t fit in the trunk of the Impala. Didn’t matter. His wife was his now, and that meant protected.
With him, she was safe. Everybody else could choke.
Dean pushed harder on the gas. The Impala took the narrow road hard, gravel spitting under the tires. He had the lock, the hinges, a couple pieces of cut lumber, screws, nails, a new latch, and the bottle he picked up because this whole damn day had earned him a drink.
Yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone. But she needed to learn. She needed to understand that pulling stunts had consequences. Refusing to get out of the car when he asked so nicely. Acting tough while shaking under him. Burning his back with those damn claws of hers.
Fuck, that had hurt.
He could still feel it across his back, even through the healing. Her hands dragging up under his shirt, her magic digging straight into him, hot and vicious enough to make his vision black out at the edges for a second. He should’ve been mad. He wanted to be mad.
He wasn’t.
Because it had been fun.
Seeing that fire in her, that furious defiance, her hand on his throat and her body over his in the front seat, had been the best damn thing he’d felt in weeks. She had looked scared and angry and alive, and it made him so hard he almost forgot he was being burned.
He still felt her weight in his lap. Still remembered the way she froze when she realized exactly what she was doing to him. Still remembered the little catch in her breathing when embarrassment hit and her body answered before she could shut it down.
That was why he had taken her. That right there.
The silent calls had been good. Watching her chase him had been fun. But nothing came close to having her near enough to smell, near enough to touch if her magic wasn’t being a pain in his ass.
He was going to fix that. She was going to fix that. Then he was going to show her exactly how much fun they could have once she stopped resisting.
Right now, she was scared of him. Fair enough. He enjoyed that more than he probably should have. But she was scared of the wrong thing. He knew what was sitting in that head of hers. She thought he was going to force her to have sex with him.
That put a bitter taste in his mouth.
Dean took what he wanted now. Sure. No point in pretending he cared about morality or some other crap. But that? No. He wasn’t some pathetic piece of trash who needed to force his wife like that.
Where was the fun if she didn’t ask for it?
And she would.
Dean was damn sure of that. He knew every button she had. Knew what made her blush, what made her breath hitch, what made her shake. He knew how to get under her skin. Once that magic stopped getting in the damn way, he was going to push every single one until she stopped lying to both of them.
He was looking forward to that.
One more turn and the trees parted. Dean’s foot eased off the gas. The cabin sat in the clearing ahead, crooked and ugly, with the busted front door hanging open.
And blood on the windows.
Dean’s smile died. ‘Son of a bitch.’
He brought the Impala to a hard stop in front of the porch and stared.
She wasn’t outside. Didn’t come running. Didn’t show herself in the doorway. But the sigils were there, painted clear across the window frames, the doorframe, the visible boards around the threshold. Fresh blood. Her blood. Red lines curling into shapes he knew well enough to hate.
That sneaky little pain in the ass.
For one second, Dean just sat there with his hand on the wheel, jaw tight, anger climbing fast.
He had underestimated her.
He thought she would be scared. Thought she might try the woods, maybe hide behind the couch with his gun and that stubborn look on her face. He hadn’t expected her to turn the damn cabin into a bloody panic room while he was gone.
Which made him look like a fool.
And Dean Winchester didn’t like looking like a fool.
He slammed the car door hard enough to rattle the frame and walked toward the cabin, eyes moving over the sigils as he got closer. The blood was still visible. Wet in places. That was important. He had seen enough of her work to know the real nasty stuff didn’t stay looking like paint once she activated it. It burned in, sank deep, disappeared into wood and stone.
These weren’t set yet.
Which was good. If she had finished the work, this would have gotten real annoying real fast.
Still, the air pushed back when he stepped onto the porch. A pressure shoved against his chest before he even reached the threshold. His lip curled.
Clever girl.
‘I see you’ve been busy,’ he called.
Then he caught a movement inside. Dean’s eyes found her through the open frame.
She stood near one of the side windows, left arm bloody, right hand slick red to the knuckles. The knife in her grip looked nasty as hell, rusted and chipped, the kind of blade that tore more than it cut. Her shirt sleeves were pushed up, his flannel still hanging loose around her shoulders, her face pale and tight with panic and fury. Her fingers were pressed to the glass, dragging blood through the last unfinished curve of a symbol.
She looked pissed. Probably because she hadn’t been fast enough.
Dean stepped toward the doorway.
The ward shoved him back.
His jaw ticked. ‘Seriously?’
She didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him for more than half a second. Just kept drawing, fast and messy, her blood leaving thick lines over the old glass.
Dean forced his voice level. Barely.
‘You think I won’t break every ward in this place to get to you?’
Still nothing.
The knife flashed in her bloody hand as she cut a fresh line over her forearm and went right back to the window.
Dean turned sharply and headed for the trunk.
He grabbed the hand axe.
By the time he came back to the porch, she had finished the window and moved deeper inside, toward the middle of the room. Her breathing was too fast. He could hear it from outside. Could hear the hitch under the anger. She was burning through strength she didn’t have, riding panic and that crazy stubbornness of hers.
Dean lifted the axe.
‘You’ve got five seconds to stop doing that and break the sigil at the door,’ he said, voice low. ‘Or I’m gonna do it myself, and believe me, you’re not gonna like what happens next.’
She looked at him then. Just one glance. Silent. Shaking. Furious.
Then she lowered her bloody fingers to her palm and started drawing another symbol on her own skin.
Dean’s blood went hot.
‘You’re testing the wrong damn guy.’
She didn’t stop. Of course she didn’t stop.
That was his wife. Smart enough to know better and determined enough to do it anyway.
Dean swung the axe.
The blade slammed into the wood above the doorframe, biting through the blood line and splitting the old plank underneath. The ward snapped against him, hard enough to make his teeth clench. She flinched inside, but her bloody fingers kept moving.
Fine.
Dean swung again.
Another line broke under the blade. Then another. He chopped through the side of the frame, scraped the axe hard across the threshold, tore into the blood lines until the pressure pushing against him started to weaken. The spell fought back in ugly pulses, snapping at his skin every time he broke another piece.
He kept swinging. Wood cracked. Blood smeared. The air around the doorway shuddered once.
Then the force gave.
Dean stepped inside.
She stood in the middle of the room with her bloody palm half-marked and the rusted knife raised in her other hand. The second she saw him cross the threshold, real fear hit her face.
That fear should’ve pleased him, but it didn't.
It made something in his chest go mean and tight, because why the fuck did she still look at him like he was going to bury the axe in her? Why the fuck did she keep making him prove the same thing over and over? He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted his wife, his hands on her, her magic out of the way, all that fight turned into something more pleasant than this.
And now her blood was everywhere.
Fresh. Red. Deadly.
Her touch hurt, yeah. But her blood could do worse. Much worse. They both knew that. The knife was covered in it, held between them with enough warning to make even him slow down.
Dean looked at the blade, then at her face. He threw the axe onto the couch. It landed with a dull thud in the dust.
Then he lifted both hands.
‘That was smart,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ll give you that. Almost impressed.’
Her chest rose and fell too fast. ‘Stay back.’
Dean’s mouth twitched. He stepped closer.
She didn’t step back. The knife stayed up, bloody and shaking, pointed right at his chest.
Her arm was a mess. Long cuts, uneven and ugly, blood slipping down to her wrist and dripping off her fingers. She was exhausted. He could see it now, clear as day. Pale face, trembling hand, knees locked because they probably wanted to give out. She was holding herself together with anger, fear, and not much else.
That made her dangerous. Reckless.
‘Put the knife down,’ Dean said.
She didn’t.
His patience thinned.
‘Sweetheart,’ he warned, voice dropping, ‘put the knife down before I stop finding this cute.’
Her hand shook. Just a little.
Dean moved, fast. He caught her wrist from the outside, avoiding the bloody edge, twisted just enough to break her grip, and knocked the knife out of her hand. It hit the floor and skidded under the table.
For half a second, everything went still.
She looked at her empty hand.
Dean braced.
He was ready for her to slam that bloody palm against his chest. Ready for the burn. Ready for pain bad enough to put him on his knees. He could take it. He’d have to. Because he was done letting her put weapons between them.
But she didn’t touch him.
Her face crumpled. Then she dropped to her knees and started sobbing.
Dean froze.
That was not what he expected. Not even close.
He stared down at her, hands still half-raised, body ready for a fight that had just disappeared out from under him. She folded over herself on the dusty floor, bloody hands covering her face, shoulders shaking so hard the flannel slipped down one arm. The sound of it filled the cabin, raw and broken and wrong.
Dean couldn’t move.
For one stupid second, all he could do was stare.
He had done it.
He had finally broken her.
That should’ve been good. Should’ve felt like winning. He had pushed her hard enough, scared her long enough, cornered her until the fight finally went out.
Except looking at her like that made something ugly crawl under his skin.
He didn’t want this.
No, this pissed him off.
He wanted the fire. The glare. The smart mouth. He wanted her angry enough to forget fear and brave enough to make him work for it.
This? This wasn’t fun. This was just a mess on the floor crying into bloody hands.
Dean’s jaw clenched.
‘Yeah,’ he muttered, mostly to himself. ‘Awesome.’
She didn’t look up.
He stood there another second, hating the sound, hating the blood, hating the way his own body wanted to go down there and pull her hands away from her face. Human Dean would’ve done it. Human Dean would’ve hit the floor beside her, whispered her name, apologized until his throat gave out.
Screw that.
Dean turned away and went back outside to deal with the busted lock.
The door still needed fixing. The cabin still needed to be safe. She still belonged to him, and the whole damn place was open to the woods.
So he left her on the floor and got to work.
It took her a while to stop.
Dean didn’t count the minutes on purpose, but he heard every one of them. Worked through most of it with his jaw clenched. The sobs slowed. Her breathing caught and settled, then broke again, then settled for real. He hauled the supplies in from the car, set the brown paper bag on the table, and started fixing what he had broken. Planks first. New latch after. He worked with his back half-turned to her, hammer in hand, because looking at her too long made him feel that same crawling anger again.
By the time she moved, Dean had the first board nailed over the worst part of the broken frame.
She stood slowly. No words, no smart comment this time.
That was worse.
She crossed to the sink, face blank, and turned the faucet. Pipes groaned somewhere in the walls before brownish water coughed out, then cleared enough for her to shove her hands underneath. Blood thinned and spiraled down the drain. She washed quietly, shoulders tight, his flannel still hanging around her.
Dean kept hammering. She kept washing. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the cabin were water, nails, and the old wood groaning every time he hit it.
When she shut the faucet off, Dean set the hammer down and walked toward her.
She heard him coming and went stiff.
He stepped close. She immediately moved back, hips bumping the counter behind her. Her eyes flicked to his hands.
Dean lifted them, palms out. ‘Relax. Just wanna see what you did to yourself.’
Her eyes snapped up to his. Her mouth tightened. ‘Don’t act like you care.’
Dean’s face stayed flat.
He reached for her arm. She tried to pull back, but he caught the edge of her sleeve and used the fabric to draw her closer. He lifted her forearm and looked.
The cuts were deep, ragged, and ugly. The kind of damage a dull knife made when someone used it in a hurry. His fingers flexed once in the fabric of her sleeve.
For a second, he didn’t say anything.
Dean stared at the torn skin, at the blood still welling slow and red along the uneven lines, and something mean twisted under his ribs. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like seeing her cut up like that. Didn’t like knowing she had done it to herself because he had left her alone long enough to get desperate. And he didn’t need her desperate. He needed her useful, breathing, and in one damn piece.
‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
She tried to yank her arm away. ‘Let go.’
Dean held the sleeve tighter. ‘If you’re gonna go to town on yourself with a knife, at least make it a sharp one. I thought you knew that.’
Her eyes flashed, and for a second, it looked like she might snap something back at him. She didn’t. Her mouth pressed shut, tight and shaking, and that bothered him more than any smartass answer would have.
Dean looked at the cuts again.
They were still bleeding, enough to make a mess. He had to watch where he put his hands because her blood was right there, warm and dangerous, coming out of her.
‘Goddamn,’ he muttered.
He let go of her sleeve before he could tighten his grip hard enough to hurt her. Then he turned and walked for the door.
She tensed behind him. He heard the quick shift of her feet and her shallow breath, but he didn’t look back. He crossed the porch, went straight to the Impala, and popped the trunk. The first aid kit was right where it always was, shoved in with the rest of the crap he kept for hunts and roadside emergencies. Dean grabbed it, slammed the trunk shut, and headed back inside.
She hadn’t moved.
Dean dropped the kit on the table, flipped it open, and dug through it with more force than necessary. Gauze. Tape. Antiseptic wipes. Bandage wrap. Good enough.
He glanced at her. ‘Sit.’
Her face tightened.
Dean’s eyes narrowed. ‘That wasn’t a request.’
She stayed standing for one more second. Then she sat at the edge of one of the chairs, stiff-backed, watching him with suspicion.
‘Don’t get all warm and fuzzy,’ he said, pulling out the antiseptic. His eyes dropped to the blood on her arm again, and his voice roughened all of a sudden. ‘I need you functional.’
That anger flickered again. Yeah, good.
Dean caught the edge of her sleeve and pulled her arm toward him through the fabric. She resisted on instinct, but there wasn’t much strength behind it anymore. Her hand was cold. Her pulse was racing. Her whole body was running on fumes.
He set her forearm on the table and worked without making a big production out of it.
The antiseptic came first. She hissed when he cleaned around the cuts, her fingers curling against the wood. Dean ignored the sound because he had to. Looking at her face every time she made a noise like that was a real bad idea, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with whatever crap that dragged up.
‘Hold still.’
She did, mostly.
The cuts were real nasty up close. Jagged edges, uneven depth, skin torn to all hell. Dean tore open another batch of the antiseptic wipes, folded them over a thick wad of gauze, and used that to clean around the wounds. The wipes did the job. The gauze kept his fingers away from the blood. He wasn’t stupid enough to get any of it on him. He had learned plenty today.
Still, his jaw kept tightening.
He should’ve been pissed that she tried it. And yeah, he was. But damn if part of him didn’t like seeing her fight that hard. The rest of him wanted to throw that rusty piece of crap knife through a wall, because fighting him was one thing. Cutting herself open to do it was something else.
He found himself reaching with his other hand, slowly this time, and tracing one fingertip along the inside of her forearm, just beside one of the cuts. Close enough to feel the heat of her skin.
The sting came immediately. A low hiss rose from the contact, and pain bit into his fingertip.
Dean ignored it.
Goosebumps rushed over her skin.
He saw them. Of course he saw them.
He let himself look for a moment, enjoying the way her heartbeat quickened under his smallest touch. She could glare all she wanted. Her body still knew him.
Dean finally wrapped the gauze around her forearm and taped it down. He pulled it tight enough to hold, checked the edge with his thumb, then tore the tape with his teeth and pressed it flat.
When he finished, he didn’t let go right away.
Her arm stayed in his hand, covered now. Even under the gauze, her skin still had a warning heat to it, just enough to remind him what she could do.
His eyes lifted to hers. She looked wrecked. Tired past the point of hiding it. Red eyes, pale face, jaw still clenched because she hated that he had seen any of it. Yeah, she needed sleep. Food too, probably. Maybe a drink. A damn minute where nobody pushed her.
Well. Too bad.
Dean wasn’t done for today.
‘Alright,’ he said, voice low and careful, ‘now you’re gonna take those bloody masterpieces down while I finish fixing the door.’
She stared at him. He jerked his chin toward the brown paper bag on the table.
‘Then we’re gonna crack that bad boy open, and you and me are finally gonna talk.’
CHAPTER 10 here
A/N: And now I’m curious... what are your feelings about Demon Dean at this point? Is it love, love/hate, or just pure hate?
Also:
- There’s a reference in here to one of my giant movie guilty pleasures. Whoever catches it gets a gold star.
- There’s also a scene that mirrors a moment from a completely different setting in one of the other sequels. I didn’t spell out the reference, but let me know if you caught it.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fiancée!Reader (plus-size, f)
Rating: mature, fluff
Word count: 9.6 k
Summary: You and Dean have been through enough. It’s finally time to plan your wedding.
A/N: This one’s a long chapter. And it might feel a bit slower after all the Vegas chaos and amnesia angst. It’s very dialogue-heavy, but I still hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know what you think in the comments, you know I love hearing from you.
Oh, and a fun fact: I literally fainted while writing one of Dean’s scenes in this chapter. Just full-on lost consciousness behind my laptop. Turns out it was just low blood sugar… but I like to think that’s just the raw power of Dean frickin’ Winchester.
Thank you for all the love you’ve shown this story. Truly, it’s been giving me life ❤️
⠂⠂୨୧ MASTERLIST ୨୧ ⠂⠂⠂୨୧ CHAPTER 16 ୨୧ ⠂⠂
Dean was the first to wake up.
He didn’t know when he passed out. Just remembered her knocking out fast, wrapped around him.
Wouldn’t have it any other way.
It was kinda insane how right it felt, her in his arms, in their bed again. Last time they were here, they were packing for Vegas. Felt like a lifetime ago, even though it hadn’t even been three weeks.
Probably why he stayed awake after she fell asleep. They weren’t supposed to nap long, just rest after the ritual. Both wiped. She was draped over him, one leg hooked around his, hand warm on his stomach under the hem of his tee. Every now and then, she mumbled something in her sleep.
And him? He just soaked it in. Fingers in her hair. Hand sliding up and down her spine. Thinking how damn lucky he was to still have her.
Eventually, his body gave in and sleep pulled him under. Hard not to, with her tucked up on him like that.
But now? He was up.
His face was half-buried in her hair, hand cupped over one of her perfect, soft breasts under her shirt. Hell of a way to wake up.
Dean almost didn’t wanna let go.
Except he was starving.
His stomach growled loud enough to make him wince. Carefully, he peeled himself away, lips brushing her temple. Tried to roll out of bed with all the grace of a guy who wanted to go down on his girl more than eat breakfast, but here they were.
He rubbed his eyes, checked the time. Almost 5 a.m. Too early. Still, full eight hours of undisturbed sleep.
Well… okay. Two wakeups. Both times with his dick ready to commit a felony. His body wasn’t thrilled about that whole let’s wait agreement. Especially after the post-shower makeout that damn near broke him. Honestly? He deserved a goddamn medal for stopping like that.
Dean reached out in the dark, hand brushing over her back. She shifted, made a soft noise, and arched into his touch. Just enough that her ass pressed right into him.
Great. That helped.
He exhaled hard, turned on the little lamp beside the bed. Winced at the light. She didn’t stir. He finally slid out of bed.
He needed food. Something to shove in his mouth before he failed on the promise to keep it in his pants.
He was almost to the door when another light flicked on behind him.
Damnit.
‘Dean… what’s going on?’
She sounded rough. Sleepy. He turned around, already smiling.
‘Nothin’. Go back to sleep.’
She squinted at him, a little disoriented. And cute as hell.
‘It’s really nothing. Just hungry, getting a little snack,’ he admitted.
‘There’s leftover pie in the fridge,’ she mumbled.
Dean stopped in his tracks.
‘No, there ain’t. I finished it yesterday.’
She yawned. ‘I saved a piece. Couldn’t eat before the ritual. It’s in there. Yours if you want it.’
He stared at her like an idiot, heart swelling.
‘You sure?’
She nodded, curling back into the blanket.
He almost groaned. God, he wanted her.
‘I never wanted you more,’ he muttered, smirking.
‘Shut up,’ she said around a laugh. ‘Just get your ass back here. You can eat in bed. And bring me something to drink, please?’
‘You got it, honey.’
He winked and took off.
He came back a few minutes later, plate of pie in one hand, soda and water in the other.
‘Didn’t know what you wanted, so I brought both,’ Dean said, kicking the door closed with his foot.
But as soon as he turned to her, he saw it. That look. She was in her head. Thinking.
Crap.
He set the pie down on the nightstand, handed her the drinks.
‘What’s wrong? I didn’t screw anything up in the last five minutes, did I?’
She narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Honey?’ she repeated.
Dean blinked at her. ‘What? You don’t like it?’
She just shrugged.
He frowned, defensive. ‘Hey, you’re the one who gave me crap about sweetheart,’ he said, lifting his hands. ‘You practically filed a complaint about my lack of pet names for you. I’m tryin’ here.’
She stared at him like she had no idea what he was talking about. Then she rolled her eyes and laughed.
‘Wow. And honey is the best you can do? That’s… original.’
Dean stared at her mid-bite, fork hovering in the air. ‘Seriously?’ he muttered. ‘We’re doin’ this? Right now?’
She just shrugged again, unscrewing the bottle and taking a sip of water.
‘Just saying,’ she mumbled, staring at the label instead of him, ‘you could’ve used literally anything besides what you called your ex.’
Dean nearly inhaled his damn fork.
‘What?’
She didn’t answer. Just took another slow sip, still very interested in that bottle.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘No, no. Hold up. What ex? What are you talkin’ about?’
She set the bottle down and slid lower in the bed, getting comfortable.
‘Isn’t that what you called Lisa?’
That made him set the plate down.
‘How did you-’
She gave him the look.
Right. The damn TV show. Of course.
Dean dragged a hand down his face. ‘Yeah. Okay. Your memories are back, alright,’ he muttered, picking the plate up again and stabbing at the pie. ‘Fine. No honey.’
But she went quiet after that. Too quiet.
For a second he thought she’d fallen back asleep. But when he glanced down, her eyes were open. Okay, not mad. Just… somewhere else.
His stomach tightened a little.
‘Hey,’ he said, softer now. ‘Baby? You’re not jealous, are you? ’Cause I’m tellin’ you, you’ve got nothin’ to-’
‘It’s not that,’ she cut in.
He paused, chewing slower. ‘Then what?’
He scooped up a bite and held it out to her automatically. She shook her head, then pushed herself upright.
‘So… I’ve been thinking.’
Dean swallowed. ‘I’m not gonna like this, am I?’
She ignored him.
‘You once said the best wife ever is the one who lets her husband hook up with other people.’
Dean just stared at her, mouth full.
‘The hell are you talkin’ about?’
‘Season 8,’ she said casually, ‘with the guy who made cartoons real. You said-’
Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Babe, it’s five in the goddamn morning.’
‘Yeah, well, you woke me up,’ she grinned. ‘Now face the consequences like a man.’
Dean dropped his hand with a sigh. ‘You have way too much dirt on me.’
Still, he reached for her, pulling her into his side. She tucked under his shoulder without hesitation.
He let it sit a beat. Then figured… screw it. Two can play this game.
‘But, I mean, strictly speaking?’ He gave a little shrug. ‘Yeah, sure. Best wife lets her guy have some fun, right?’
He gave her a squeeze, let his hand wander up and down her arm.
‘Mhm,’ she said innocently. ‘But that was a mutual arrangement. Remember?’
Her hand slid under his shirt. Fingertips started tracing slow circles along his chest. Lazy. And way too effective.
Dean’s breath caught, just slightly.
‘While you’re off having fun,’ she continued, ‘I get to pick someone as well.’
His hand stopped dead.
She kept going.
‘Someone who can kiss me and put his hands on me and-’
‘Yeah, okay. We’re done here,’ Dean cut in.
He could feel her smirking into his chest. Teasing him. But fuck, his stomach was tight.
Especially after the whole shifter thing. The memory of her with another man’s hands on her body… nope. Not going there.
‘What?’ she said, still smiling. ‘I haven’t even picked anyone yet. Maybe I’ll ask Be-’
‘Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ you to sto- wait. Benny?!’
He jerked back to look at her, offended on a spiritual level.
She was laughing now, tapping his chest.
‘What? So only husbands get to have fun?’
Dean’s voice dropped. Dead serious now.
‘You know damn well I’m capable of killin’ a man. And I will if anybody else lays a hand on you.’
He saw the way that made her bite her lip. Yeah. He knew that look too well. She had a thing for dangerous Dean.
She looked up, cheeks flushed. ‘I know.’
Dean couldn’t help it. He kissed her, needy.
When she pulled back, she was smiling.
‘I was just joking,’ she added.
But her face dropped a little. Something else was there.
‘Although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried-’
‘Hey,’ Dean cut her off, brushing a knuckle over her lips. ‘You don’t have to worry. About any of it.’
He tipped her chin up so she had to look at him.
‘I’m serious. I waited too damn long to get you. Why the hell would I waste one second of it on someone else?’
She blushed harder, then smiled again. Braced herself on his chest and pulled him in for another kiss.
Dean closed his eyes, head swimming. Then pulled back a little.
‘Wait. How’s your head? Any dizziness? Show me your nose-’
‘I’m good, Dean,’ she groaned. ‘More than good. I feel great. Now shut up and kiss me.’
He grinned. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
And did exactly that.
‘It’s good to have you back.’
Castiel stood in the library, a little stiff as always. When he hugged you, it was careful, arms a little too formal around your shoulders.
‘Thanks, Cas,’ you managed, pulling back with a small smile. ‘And thank you for your help. I know you’re busy with everything. So… I appreciate it.’
He gave you a small, sad smile and moved around the table to sit down.
Sam was already there, hunched over his laptop, typing like his life depended on it. College stuff. Deadlines. Things he’d put aside because of the bachelor party and trying to get your memories back.
The guilt settled low in your stomach.
‘Glad I could be of help,’ Cas said, folding his hands in his lap. ‘I just wish it wasn’t with Heaven’s condition looming above your head.’
There it was. The thing you were trying very hard not to think about. Naomi’s favor.
Your smile faded. The relief of having your memories back kept colliding with that one little detail.
‘Yeah, well, Naomi isn’t exactly a good samaritan, is she?’ you said, moving to the head of the table and crossing your arms. ‘She always has an angle. No matter how nice she sounds.’
Sam’s fingers stopped on the keys.
You went on. ‘She told me in Heaven she’d need something in the future. Before she let me come back…’ you shook your head. ‘It didn’t feel like a favor back then.’
‘And she’s still dead set on keeping the task a secret?’ Sam asked, finally looking up.
Castiel nodded grimly. ‘Yes. She said nothing will be requested before the wedding.’
You rolled your eyes, frustration rising fast.
‘But that’s not the same thing,’ you said. ‘I promise not to ask you to do anything before the wedding is not the same as I’ll at least tell you what I want before the wedding. That’s a pretty big difference.’
‘Exactly,’ Sam agreed.
You leaned over the table, palms flat against the wood, trying to keep your voice even.
‘I’m so sick of the secrecy. The dramatic pauses, the cryptic speeches, you know? Just spit it out, for fuck’s sake.’ You let out a breath, shoulders tight. ‘It’s that righteous self-importance. I can’t stand it. Really. I just… can’t stand it.’
‘You can’t stand?’
Dean’s voice rumbled behind you. He came into view with a beer in his hand and dropped into the chair next to Sam’s, legs spread, smirking at you.
‘Then sit,’ he said. ‘On my face.’
He wiggled his eyebrows.
Heat shot up your neck so fast you almost combusted. You rolled your eyes, but the laugh got out anyway.
‘Ugh, dude,’ Sam groaned, ‘could you n-’
He stopped. Rubbed his face.
‘You know what? Go ahead. Knock yourself out. You earned it.’
‘Thanks, Sammy,’ Dean said, grinning into his bottle.
Castiel frowned, clearly trying to understand. ‘Wouldn’t that be uncomfortable? For her and for you?’
Dean just huffed at him, still grinning. ‘Don’t worry about it, Cas.’
‘I just think chair is a perfectly appropriate piece of furniture to sit on.’
That made you snort. It felt stupidly good to laugh like this again, with all three of them.
Then Sam’s phone buzzed. He checked it, smiled and closed his laptop shut.
‘Be right back,’ he muttered, already halfway up the stairs.
You watched him go, then turned back to the table and dropped into one of the chairs.
‘Where’s he off to?’ you asked.
‘Dunno,’ Dean said, way too casual.
You gave him a look. He kept his face as innocent as he could manage, which was not very.
‘Right,’ you said, deciding to let it go. For now.
‘Anyway, Dean? Question. What would you like to eat today? I feel like cooking.’
Dean set his beer down and leaned back, crossing his arms. The corners of his eyes crinkled.
‘Hmm,’ he tapped his lips with one finger. ‘Honestly? I’d stuff my face into anything you made.’
Warmth flickered in your chest. ‘Alri-’
‘But!’ he cut in.
You shut your mouth, amused.
‘I’d kill for the Winchester Surprise,’ he said, almost a little shy now.
Your smile widened.
‘Sure, no problem,’ you said, standing up. ‘Although, should we really call it the Winchester Surprise? I mean, it’s only remotely comparable to what your mom used to make.’
‘Fine by me,’ Dean said, smiling around another sip of beer. ‘You’re gonna be a Winchester pretty damn soon anyway. So… kinda fits, right?’
That one landed right in the middle of your chest.
You would be a Winchester soon.
If only your past self could see this. Sitting on her couch, watching a TV show about two heroic idiots and wondering what it would be like to exist in their world. Wondering what it would feel like to be seen by someone like Dean Winchester. To be part of their life in any way.
If only she knew she’d be standing in their bunker one day, engaged to him, talking about casseroles.
Still… you were feeling a little too frisky for sentiment.
‘Yeah, about that,’ you said, raising your voice a bit as you headed toward the kitchen. ‘I haven’t decided yet if I’ll be taking your name.’
You didn’t even have to turn around to picture his face.
‘I’m sorry, what?!’
You grinned and kept walking.
‘Babe?! Hey!’
You were almost in the kitchen when the bunker door creaked upstairs. Heavy metal, followed by multiple pairs of boots coming down the stairs fast.
‘What’s up, bitches?’
That voice made you stop in your tracks.
You turned on your heel and practically jogged back to the war room.
Charlie was there, red hair a little shorter now, backpack on her shoulders, and a big white box cradled in her arms. Dean was already beside her, pulling her into a quick hug.
‘Good to see you, kiddo,’ he smiled.
‘Hello, Charlie,’ Cas called, giving her a little wave from the library.
You didn’t bother with a greeting. You just grabbed her. She oofed and laughed, hugging you back once she got her balance.
‘What are you doing here?’ you demanded, pulling back just enough to see her face. ‘I texted you like five times and no reply. I was starting to think you don’t give a damn that I finally remember you.’
‘Please,’ she scoffed. ‘When Dean called me yesterday, I dropped everything, called in sick to work, and drove here.’
You snapped your gaze to him. He was leaning against the map table, arms crossed, smirking.
‘When did you…?’
‘When you were in the shower,’ he said, not even trying to pretend.
‘And…’ Charlie added, turning back to the box, ‘I brought the treasure chest.’
Dean reached for it automatically. She slapped his hand away.
‘Ah-ah! Hands off, Dean. That’s not for you.’
You squinted at the box. The satin ribbon caused a stupid little flutter in your stomach.
‘Is that my…?’
Charlie grinned. ‘Yep.’
Your heart did that weird flip.
‘Her what?’ Dean asked, frowning.
‘Dude,’ Sam rolled his eyes, ‘it’s a big white box with a satin ribbon. What do you think?’
‘It’s my wedding dress, Dean,’ you said, smiling at him as you lifted it. ‘Which I’m gonna lock in my old room so you won’t accidentally open it.’
‘I wasn’t gonna…’ he muttered, but the sheepish smile said otherwise.
The box was heavier than you remembered. And the weight of it in your arms did something unsettling in your chest.
The old thoughts resurfaced before you could shove them back down. Was this really the dress you wanted to marry him in? Did it still fit the same? Could any dress really make someone like you look right next to someone like him?
You realized that losing your memory and going through it all brought back feelings you worked on for so long. Feelings Dean was trying hard to get out of your stubborn head for good.
You must’ve gone quiet for too long, because a warm palm settled on the small of your back.
You looked up.
All of them were watching you. Charlie’s smile had turned into something worried. Sam’s brow was pinched. Dean’s eyes were doing that careful scan of your face.
‘Babe?’ he asked, voice low. ‘You okay?’
You forced yourself to snap out of it and pulled together a smile.
‘Yeah,’ you said. ‘I just… got lost in my thoughts for a sec.’ That, at least, was true. You cleared your throat and turned to Charlie. ‘Thank you. For bringing it. And for keeping it safe for me.’
She lit up again.
‘No probs. I was basically doing my maid of honor duties.’ Then she paused, suddenly serious. ‘I mean, I am your maid of honor, right? We never really-’
‘Of course,’ you said immediately. ‘Who else?’
‘Good,’ she grinned, snatching up her backpack. ‘’Cause man, you guys? Are criminally behind on planning your own wedding.’
She wasn’t wrong. The last time you’d talked about the wedding you were arguing about who got to hog Sam for best-man duties. Besides the place and the pie, which you pretty much agreed on when you were bleeding and half-conscious, you had basically nothing.
‘But don’t worry,’ Charlie went on. ‘I’m here now and I’ve cleared my schedule. I’m not leaving until we’re ready to finally get you crazy kids married.’
‘Right,’ you said, still holding the box. ‘First, let’s get you to your room. Then we’ll eat. Then, if everyone’s still on board, we can start planning.’
You glanced up at Dean. His hand was still steady against your back. He gave it a little squeeze, then dropped it and clapped his hands once.
‘Alright, let’s get this party started,’ he sighed. ‘Planning. Awesome.’
The sarcasm was thick enough to chew on.
You laughed under your breath. You knew exactly what he’d prefer. You with him, locked in your room, zero interruptions.
‘I’ll go put this away and then I’ll get to cooking,’ you said, lifting the box a little. ‘Sam? Maybe ask Eileen if she wants to join us?’
Sam blinked, caught off-guard, then smiled.
‘Uh, sure. Yeah. I’ll do that. Thanks.’
You smiled back and carefully took the box down the hallway.
With the dress locked safely away in your old room, you headed back toward the library. It was empty. Voices and laughter floated in from the kitchen.
You followed the sound.
They were all clustered around the small table, beers in hand. Dean and Sam on one side, Charlie and Cas on the other. Cas looked slightly confused by something Charlie had just said. She looked delighted by his confusion. The mood in the bunker finally felt… light.
‘What are you all doing in here?’ you asked, leaning against the doorframe.
‘Keeping you company,’ Charlie said. ‘You said you wanted to cook, so we set up camp here.’
Usually, having people hover while you cooked made you twitchy. Today, the idea of being alone in the kitchen while everyone else laughed in another room made your chest dip in a way you didn’t like.
Dean was already on his feet, reaching for the fridge. He cracked open a beer and handed it to you without asking what you wanted.
‘Thanks,’ you smiled as you took it.
He clinked his bottle against yours and gave you that look. The one that made your knees feel less reliable than usual.
You leaned up and stole a quick kiss.
He hummed, pleased.
‘What was that for?’ he asked, eyes a little hazy around the edges.
You shrugged. ‘’Cause I love you.’
His whole expression softened. He dipped his head and kissed your temple. Then he slapped your butt lightly, frowning.
‘Hey. What was that about you not takin’ a Winchester name?’
You bit your lip, enjoying the way his eyes sharpened instantly.
‘It was just a thought,’ you said, heading for the counter and opening the fridge. ‘I like my name as it is. And I do have a couple of papers under it. I’m pretty sure they exist in this world too.’
He stared at you, thrown. You could see him trying to decide if you were serious or just winding him up.
‘Come on, let me make lunch,’ you chuckled, pulling out the ground meat and the rest of the ingredients. ‘You go sit. Enjoy the company.’
‘Right…’ he scoffed. ‘But this conversation’s not over.’
You pretended not to hear him.
‘Oh, by the way,’ you added, lining cheese and onion on the counter, ‘you know you set the bar with those roses, right?’
Dean turned back from the table.
‘What-’
‘I realized I left them in my old room when I walked in. And I also remembered I didn’t get one yesterday. I was under the impression that’s a lifetime subscription.’
After days of tiptoeing around him, you weren’t about to waste a day you actually felt playful.
‘You think I’m made of money?’ he asked. ‘You do know I hunt monsters for a living, right?’
‘Well,’ you said, grabbing the baking dish, ‘if money’s your concern, I can always go back to work.’
You were absolutely pushing it, and you knew it.
His eyes narrowed.
‘Don’t.’
‘I’d be your sugar mama,’ you added, almost losing it at your own lame joke.
‘You done?’ he asked flatly.
You looked at his face and decided maybe you’d poked enough for now. You’d only just gotten him to stop panicking. No reason to send him into another spiral.
‘Yeah, I’m done,’ you said, clearing your throat and focusing on the food.
Conversation at the table moved on. Cas and Charlie started prodding Sam and Dean about the ritual. Charlie wanted every detail about the soul tapping part. Cas went into a lecture about souls being one of the most powerful substances in existence.
You chopped, mixed, layered, listening with half an ear. Dean kept glancing over at you. Little quick looks. Every now and then you caught him. He’d wink or pull a face. You’d roll your eyes and go back to grating cheese, the corners of your mouth pulling up.
By the time you slid the casserole into the oven, Charlie was teasing the guys about their Vegas escapades. Especially the adventure in the strip club.
‘With how much fun you had with your stripper, I kinda feel sad we didn’t get to go to a strip club ourselves,’ Charlie sighed dramatically.
‘Wait, you didn’t?’ Dean asked, surprised.
‘Well,’ Charlie glanced in your direction, ‘I was planning to take the bride to see some naked guys, but she insisted she already has the hottest guy at home,’ she rolled her eyes.
Dean leaned back in his chair, looking at you, smug. ‘Really?’
You shook your head, wiping the counter.
‘And I believe you said strippers weren’t allowed for me,’ you reminded him. ‘Although now I’m starting to think I missed out a little, you know?’ you teased.
He studied you for a long second. Then he smiled.
‘I’m gonna make it up to you. Promise.’
Your hand on the counter stopped. Your eyebrows shot up. ‘How?’
Dean just shrugged.
‘I have an idea or two. You’ll see.’
You were about to poke some more, when Sam’s phone buzzed. He checked it and smiled.
‘Eileen’s here,’ he announced.
You wiped your hands on a towel and glanced at the table. Five people in your kitchen was pushing it. Six would be… impossible
‘Alright,’ you said. ‘Let’s move this to the library.’
Dean stood, grabbed his beer, and leaned in to kiss your cheek on his way past.
The kitchen emptied.
You exhaled and leaned your hands on the counter for a second, just feeling the quiet.
Then you straightened, checked the oven timer, and smiled to yourself.
You remembered everything. They were all here. You were making lunch and planning a wedding. For real this time.
Yeah… This was a pretty good place to be.
An hour later, the plates were mostly empty and the Winchester Surprise had been reduced to a few stray crumbs.
Dean had just dropped a six-pack onto the table and sank into the chair beside you with a deep, satisfied groan. Sam was showing something on his laptop to Eileen, who was sitting close with one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her eyes scanning the screen. Castiel sat across the table, completely still, a full glass of water in front of him that he hadn’t touched. Charlie was sprawled in her seat, one foot up on an empty chair, tapping away on her tablet.
You stayed standing for a moment, your hip resting against the table near Dean, watching them all. For a second, you just let yourself take it in.
And you couldn’t stop smiling.
‘So,’ Charlie announced, flipping through something on her tablet, ‘let’s plan this thing!’
You slid down into the chair beside Dean. His hand found your thigh under the table, like it always had, his thumb moving in slow circles. You settled your hand on top of his.
‘We actually do have some things figured out already,’ you reminded Charlie, trying not to sound too defensive. ‘The place, for one. Remember?’
You glanced over at Dean briefly before going on. ‘But I think we really need to pick a date first.’
Sam pulled up a calendar on his screen. ‘It’s Thursday,’ he said. ‘End of the week already.’
‘The lodge is available whenever we want it,’ you said. ‘Perks of owning it, I guess.’
‘Yeah, but we’ll probably need a few days to get everything ready,’ Eileen added gently. She wasn’t signing, everyone was close enough. You could tell by how easily she read lips. ‘Depends on what kind of setup you’re planning.’
‘And Kevin and his mom will need time to fly in,’ Sam added.
You did the math quickly in your head. Your stomach fluttered.
‘Next weekend?’ you suggested. ‘Not this one, the next. That gives us… nine days.’
Dean looked at you, swallowed once. ‘Works for me,’ he said. ‘Could marry you tomorrow. But yeah, nine days sounds good.’
His tone was light, but his hand tightened just slightly on your leg. The weight of it landed right in your chest.
You nodded. ‘Nine days,’ you repeated. ‘Okay. Let’s do that.’
Charlie tapped something quickly on her screen. ‘And… locked,’ she said. ‘We have a date. Yay!’
Dean took a long drink of beer. ‘Just so you know, I already texted Kevin yesterday,’ he said, a little smug. ‘Told him you were back and the wedding’s back on.’
You smiled. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s good,’ Dean replied. ‘Busy with school. But he and Mrs. Tran are ready to come down whenever. Just waiting on the green light.’
The warmth spread through you at that.
‘I called Benny this morning,’ you said, trying to sound casual. ‘Told him I’m not a confused amnesiac anymore.’
Dean’s head snapped toward you. ‘You did?’
You shrugged, trying not to smirk at the way his shoulders went just a little tight. ‘Yeah, I figured he deserved to know. He was very relieved.’
Dean muttered something you couldn’t quite catch and took a long pull from his beer.
‘Okay,’ you said, deciding to be merciful. ‘What else do we need to figure out?’’
Dean sat up a little straighter, snapping his fingers. ‘The, uh… the license is already handled. We took care of that before…’ His eyes flicked toward you. ‘Before everything blew up.’
You nodded. ‘We’ll need to sign it after the ceremony and file it to get the marriage certificate. We just need an officiant.’
Charlie tilted her head toward Castiel. ‘You do have one, actually. Remember Vegas? We joked about getting married by an actual angel.’
Your smile was immediate, the memory washing over you. Palm trees and sunlight, Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist while you sat in his lap.
Dean nodded toward Cas. ‘Still up for that, man?’
Castiel straightened slightly. ‘You wish for me to perform the ceremony,’ he said. It wasn’t quite a question.
‘If you’re okay with it,’ you said. ‘We talked about it. It feels right.’
Something in his expression softened. ‘Then I would be honored.’
‘You can get ordained online,’ Charlie added, swiping through her screen. ‘It’s super easy. I’ll help you.’
‘I will complete the process by the end of the week,’ Castiel said, obviously taking his assignment seriously.
Charlie nodded in approval. ‘Okay, official business, handled. Now onto the fun stuff. Guest list?’
You tapped your fingers against the table thoughtfully. ‘All of you, obviously. Kevin and his mom. Benny.’
You looked at Dean, hesitating for only a moment.
‘We should invite Jody,’ you said. ‘Like we talked about in the infirmary.’
Dean blinked, then nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. We should. She’s put up with our crap long enough.’
‘She loves you,’ you said softly. ‘Both of you. And maybe the girls would want to come too. If they can. Might be nice for them to see you in clean clothes for once.’
‘Right,’ Dean chuckled. ‘I’ll give her a call. See if she can swing it.’
Charlie glanced down at her screen again. ‘So that’s, like, ten people? Tops? Kinda perfect, honestly.’
You let yourself breathe for a second. Just long enough to register how real it all was starting to feel.
Then it hit you.
‘Rings,’ you said suddenly, turning to Dean. ‘We need actual wedding bands. Both of us.’
Dean thought for a moment. ‘Easy. I’ll go grab some. Already know your size.’ He lifted your left hand, giving the engagement ring a small twist so the red stone caught the light. ‘Or we can go together. Whatever you want.’
‘I imagined just a simple silver band,’ you said, looking at the ring Dean gave you. Then you hesitated. ‘And… I was thinking… if you’d want yours to match mine.’
Dean looked confused. ‘Isn’t that kind of the whole idea?’
You rolled your eyes and bumped his shoulder with yours.
‘No, I mean…’ You tapped a finger gently against the red stone. ‘My ring has a drop of your blood in it. I thought maybe yours could have a drop of mine. So it’s not just me wearing you. You’d be wearing me too.’
Dean went quiet. Then he said softly, ‘You’d wanna do that?’
You nodded. ‘If you’re okay wearing a ring with a stone in it. Doesn’t have to be big. Just… there.’
He ran a hand across the back of his neck, then nodded. ‘Yeah. I’d like that. A lot.’
Then his mouth twisted. ‘Only thing is… that took a while with yours. We’re not gonna pull that off before next Saturday. But we can always upgrade the ring later.’
You smiled. ‘Deal.’
Just picturing Dean wearing a ring made the grin spread fast on your face. It sent you straight back to early seasons of the show. The way he used to look.
Dean caught the shift in your expression immediately. ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ you said quickly, but you could already feel the blush creeping in under your skin. ‘I just… I miss you wearing jewelry.’
He scoffed, surprised. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah,’ you admitted. ‘Back when you were young…’ You caught the look on his face. ‘...er.’
You laughed, shoulders shaking.
‘The ring, the bracelets, the necklace…’ You shrugged. ‘It was hot.’
Dean made a face, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. ‘Yeah, well… hard to pull that look off when you’re elbow-deep in monster guts every other day.’
You smiled again, but your eyes lingered on his. He hadn’t looked away. And you were suddenly a little too aware of how much time had passed since you first saw that version of him on a screen, and how much more you loved the version of him now. Still Dean. Just a little different. Yours.
And that was about the time Sam loudly cleared his throat.
You looked down at your lap, cheeks hot.
Charlie saved you by moving the planning along, her tone light. ‘Sooo… dress code?’
You nodded, grateful for the change of subject. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think there is one? Just wear whatever feels comfortable.’
‘We should dress nicely,’ Eileen said, looking up at Sam with a soft smile. ‘Right?’
Sam smiled back. ‘I guess.’ Then he turned to his brother with a raised eyebrow. ‘What are you wearing?’
Dean didn’t even look up. ‘Clothes.’
Charlie groaned. ‘Wow. Inspiring.’
You laughed. ‘We’re getting married outside, by the lake. I’m not gonna shove him into a tux. He’d chew his own arm off.’
Dean gave your leg a squeeze under the table. ‘See? She gets me.’
‘But yeah, I’ll wear whatever she wants,’ he added, almost offhand, but sincere.
You turned toward him with a soft smile. ‘Wear whatever you want. I trust your judgment.’
Charlie leaned forward, suddenly serious. ‘Dude, trust me. You’re gonna want to match the energy. I’ve seen her in that dress. She’s going to be a goddess. You better put in some effort.’
Your face flushed immediately, and you shot her a look, but Dean was already turning to you, eyes bright.
‘It’s just a dress,’ you said quickly, brushing it off.
But the words got stuck on something deep inside you. That old, familiar voice in the back of your mind whispering that you’d never be the kind of bride people read about in magazines. That you’d stand next to Dean Winchester and someone, somewhere, would think the mismatch was obvious.
You didn’t want to think about it. So you shoved it down.
Luckily, the conversation shifted toward smaller details, which was exactly what you needed. You told them you didn’t want to go overboard with decorations, the place was already beautiful. But the idea of holding the ceremony at sunset, with a few lights strung up between the trees… You liked that.
Charlie nodded and made a quick note on her tablet. ‘Got it.’ She looked at Eileen. ‘You up for a supply run in the next couple days?’
Eileen gave a small smile. ‘Absolutely.’
Charlie tapped something else, then looked back at you. ‘And you wanted roses, right?’
You shook your head. ‘I said one rose.’
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
You shrugged, smiling a little. ‘But yeah, roses would be nice. Since someone set a precedent.’
You reached over and scratched along Dean’s jaw with your fingernails. He caught your hand and pressed a kiss into your knuckles, then smirked.
‘Yeah. Already got a place in mind.’
Next up was food. Apple pie instead of a traditional wedding cake had already been decided, but you still wanted everyone to eat something more substantial. That’s when Dean lit up for the first time during the planning process.
‘Burgers. Barbecue. I’m manning the grill myself.’
‘Awesome,’ Charlie said, marking another thing off her checklist. ‘Honestly, this wedding is shaping up to be kinda cool.’
You hadn’t realized how long you’d all been sitting in the library until you glanced up and noticed Castiel flipping through a thick Men of Letters tome, looking vaguely bored. Everyone else had long since finished their drinks.
You leaned over and nudged Dean. ‘Hey. Think you could grab another round? Maybe raid the kitchen for snacks?’
Dean stood without argument, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before disappearing.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Charlie spun her tablet around and grinned. ‘So music. I assume Dean’s not letting anyone else near the playlist?’
You let out a quiet laugh. ‘Oh, definitely not.’
‘Figured,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring the speakers, just in case. Run it off my laptop if we need to. Just make sure you guys pick a song for your first dance.’
You froze. ‘The what?’
Dean reappeared at that exact moment, drinks tucked under one arm, chips and pretzels piled in his hands.
‘Wait, we gotta do that?’ he asked, frowning.
Charlie didn’t even look up. ‘Uh, yeah. It’s a wedding. You get one slow dance where everybody stares at you. It’s the law.’
You opened your mouth to protest, but Dean beat you to it.
‘Ramble On. There. First dance, done.’
You stared at him. ‘How exactly do you picture us dancing to Ramble On?’
Dean shrugged. ‘It’s our song.’
Sam’s eyebrows lifted. ‘You two have a song?’
‘We don’t have a song,’ you said immediately.
Dean glanced sideways at you. ‘Pretty sure you bugged me about it until I caved that one time.’
Your cheeks warmed. You did remember that. You’d asked what song had been stuck in his head while you were having sex. But that felt like a lifetime ago.
‘And why do we even have to dance? In front of people?’
Dean looked at you, more curious now. ‘You don’t wanna?’
The thought of you dancing in front of other people made your skin crawl a little. But you also thought it might be nice… to have that with Dean. Something to remember. And there was a song. A ridiculous one. Big and dramatic and everything Dean would mock on any other day.
‘I mean… there is one song I thought about. But it’s not exactly slow. At least not after the first minute.’
‘Perfect,’ he said, already opening a beer and handing it to you. ‘That’s all we need.’
‘No, seriously,’ you said. ‘It’s terrible for dancing. Even worse than Ramble On.’
‘We’ll make it work,’ Dean insisted. ‘Just say it.’
You hesitated, looking at the label on your beer instead of him. ‘You’re gonna laugh.’
‘I won’t.’
‘You will.’
‘Babe, I love what you love,’ he said, and his voice wasn’t joking now. ‘Hit me.’
You took a breath. ‘I’d Do Anything for Love. Meat Loaf.’
There was a tiny beat of silence.
Then, to your complete surprise, Dean just nodded once.
‘Yeah. Alright. It fits.’
‘Really?’ you asked, suspicious.
‘C’mon. Guy goes through hell for a woman he loves, makes a bunch of bad choices, screws everything up, but he’s all in anyway? Sounds familiar.’
You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your mouth.
Sam cocked an eyebrow. ‘Wow, Dean. When did you become such a romantic?’
Dean didn’t even flinch. This time, you were the one who reached under the table and rested your hand on his thigh.
Charlie looked up from her screen, eyes wide. ‘Man, I can’t wait to hear your vows.’
Dean’s expression made her actually shrink in her seat.
‘I, uh, just meant you’ve got it in you,’ she backtracked. ‘You can talk nice. Eventually. After emotional… constipation… clears out.’
Dean’s glare didn’t soften. Charlie blinked and looked down quickly. ‘Oh-kay. Moving on.’
But Sam wasn’t letting it go. ‘You two writing your own vows?’
Dean groaned and dropped his head into his hand.
You stepped in. ‘We don’t have to. There are perfectly good standard options. Or we can skip it altoge-.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Dean said, clearly trying not to sound cornered. ‘I can… do words.’
Charlie choked on a laugh. Sam smiled openly at his brother. ‘Sure. You’ve survived multiple apocalypses. A few heartfelt sentences in front of a bunch of people should be a piece of cake. Right?’
Dean shot him a look. ‘Hey, Sam? Why don’t you go fu-’
You squeezed Dean’s hand. ‘We’ll keep it short,’ you said gently. ‘And if you don’t want to in the moment, we skip it. It’s about us, nothing else.’
He looked at you for a long second, then nodded. ‘Yeah. Alright. We’ll do it.’
You leaned in to nuzzle his shoulder, smiling. But beneath that, you were starting to feel overwhelmed. Still, there was one last thing you needed to check off.
‘Okay,’ you said, stretching slightly in your seat. You saw the way Dean’s eyes flicked down as you arched your back. ‘Last logistical thing. Beds. The lodge has two bedrooms and one big couch in the living room. If everyone stays overnight, we might need extra sleeping bags.’
‘We’ll manage,’ Sam said. ‘It’s just one night.’
‘And you two are definitely not giving up your room,’ Charlie added, pointing dramatically. ‘We’re adults. We can deal.’
You ran the math in your head. The sleeping arrangements were tight. Privacy would be limited.
Dean seemed to realize the same thing. He muttered something that started with awesome under his breath, but it was the tone that made you glance at him.
You nudged his leg. ‘We’ll survive,’ you said quietly.
He met your eyes. Something unreadable passed through his, and then, almost too quickly, he looked away. You caught the brief exchange between him and Charlie. She raised an eyebrow. Dean didn’t respond.
You filed that away. Suspicious. But you were too tired to push it.
The conversation eased from there. Charlie made notes. Eileen chimed in with decoration suggestions. Sam and Castiel started talking about the task Naomi planned for you.
Dean sat beside you quietly, his beer in one hand, the other settled at the small of your back, thumb brushing back and forth.
And then his phone buzzed on the table.
He glanced at the screen, then frowned. He picked it up.
‘Hey, Irv,’ he said, casual at first. ‘What’s up?’
You watched the change in his posture happen almost instantly. He was listening hard, the crease between his brows deepening.
‘Slow down,’ Dean said, standing up. ‘What kind of mess are we talkin’ about?’
You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but you didn’t need to. Dean’s face told you everything. He was moving now, slowly pacing behind his chair.
‘Torn up…? Uh-huh,’ he said. ‘And what do the coroner reports say? And this is, what… the third body?’
Sam had already straightened in his seat. His entire focus locked onto his brother. Eileen reached out, lightly resting her hand on Sam’s wrist.
Your stomach twisted. Right. Monsters didn’t take a break just because you had a dress in a box hidden in your room.
Dean exhaled through his nose. ‘Irv, man… I’m kinda in the middle of somethin’ here.’
There was a pause. Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not like that. I’m… I’m gettin’ hitched.’
Your heart caught at that.
You didn’t know what Irv said next, but whatever it was made Dean huff out a short, quiet laugh. A little embarrassed. His ears even went a little pink.
‘Nah, not screwin’ with you,’ he muttered. ‘Yeah. I know. Lucky son of a bitch.’
He looked right at you as he said it. The weight of his gaze hit you in the chest.
Then his expression sobered again.
‘Look, I wanna help,’ Dean said. ‘You know that. But if I go with you, this isn’t gonna be a one-day thing. And I don’t know if I can bail right now. You got anybody else you can pull in?’
Another pause.
Dean’s fingers tapped once against the back of the chair.
‘Yeah. Figured as much,’ he said quietly.
The entire room was quiet now. Everyone had stopped talking.
Dean blew out a breath. ‘Lemme… lemme call you back in five,’ he said finally. ‘We’ll figure somethin’ out. Just… don’t do anything stupid. Don’t go in alone. You hear me?’
He hung up and set the phone down, staring at it for a second.
‘What is it?’ Sam asked.
‘Something’s tearing people up a couple hours out,’ he said. ‘Irv’s been chasin’ it, but he’s flying solo and has no idea what it is yet. But he sounds spooked.’
Dean glanced around once, then looked at you. He didn’t say anything. But you knew that look too well.
‘I told him no,’ he said. ‘Told him we can find someone else. But if Irv’s calling me instead of going in swinging… it’s bad.’
‘You’re gonna go,’ you said quietly.
Dean’s head jerked slightly. ‘What?’
You stood up and walked around the table, coming to stand in front of him. His eyes followed you the whole way.
You placed both hands on his chest.
‘How long would it take?’ you asked.
‘A couple days,’ he said immediately.
‘And you’d go alone?’
‘No way,’ Sam cut in from behind you. ‘I’m going too.’
You nodded, slowly.
‘The wedding’s happening,’ you said. ‘We’ve got most of it planned already. I can handle whatever’s left.’
Dean shook his head, his hands instinctively going to your waist. ‘You shouldn’t have to. This is our thing.’
‘And people are dying,’ you said gently. ‘You save people, Dean. That’s who you are. It’s why I fell in love with you. I’m not gonna stand in the way of that because you have centerpieces to approve.’
He looked down, pressing his forehead lightly against yours.
‘What if something goes sideways?’ he murmured. ‘What if we don’t make it back in time, or-’
‘Then we move the date,’ you said. ‘Worst case, we wait another week.’
He looked down at your hands against his chest, then covered them with his own.
‘If you go,’ you said quietly, ‘I want two things.’
Dean swallowed. ‘Anything.’
‘One,’ you said, holding up a finger, ‘you don’t take longer than three days unless there’s no other choice. And you call if that happens.’
He nodded. ‘Done.’
‘Two,’ you added, ‘you come back in one piece.’
His mouth tilted faintly. ‘You don’t ask for much, huh?’
You narrowed your eyes. ‘Non-negotiable.’
Dean hesitated. Then wrapped his arms around you and pulled you fully against him.
‘Three days,’ he said. ‘Not a second longer. And while we’re out, I’ll take care of the rings. That way you don’t have to worry about it.’
‘Sounds good.’
He dipped down and kissed you, firm but short. When he pulled back, his eyes still held something heavy, but there was gratitude there too. And maybe a little awe.
He pulled out his phone again and hit redial.
‘Irv,’ he said when the man picked up. ‘Yeah, it’s me. I’m in. Me and Sam’ll head out in a few hours. Just hang tight ‘til we get there, alright? We’ll figure this thing out.’
He listened for a second, then smiled faintly.
‘Yeah. I know. I’m crazy.’
He ended the call and set the phone down. Then looked straight at you.
‘I meant what I said,’ he muttered. ‘I’m a lucky son of a bitch.’
You let out a quiet laugh, your stomach fluttering again.
Hunt before the wedding.
What could possibly go wrong, right?
Dean hit the bottom of the bunker stairs and had to stop himself from just yelling her name like an idiot.
Four days. Hunt was supposed to be three. Stupid rugaru decided to take the scenic route across two counties. But they got it done, nobody else died. He even picked up the rings on the way back like he’d promised.
And the whole damn time, all he could think about was getting home. To her.
He dropped his duffel in the war room, listened.
Quiet. Too quiet.
‘Babe?’ he called anyway, just in case.
No answer.
A door opened down the hall. Charlie shuffled out, hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped. She looked like she’d just got up from a nap.
‘Hey,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘You’re alive!’
‘Mostly,’ Dean grunted. ‘Rugaru’s toast. Where is she?’
Charlie’s mouth twisted into a smile.
‘Gym,’ she said, a little worried. ‘She’s been down there a lot.’
Dean frowned. ‘A lot like…?’
Charlie sighed, already heading for the kitchen. ‘Like… you should probably go look a lot.’
That did interesting things to Dean’s stomach.
He made himself walk, not run, down the corridor to the gym. Pushed the door open just enough to see inside.
And yeah. Okay. Damn.
He had to grab the doorframe.
She was at the heavy bag, headphones on, hands wrapped, working through a combo he definitely recognized. Left, right, hook, knee. Focused, fast. Ponytail swinging, a few strands stuck to the back of her neck.
Sports bra. Short loose tee sliding off one shoulder. And those leggings…
Dark red. Looked like painted on.
His brain went completely blank.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
Heat punched low in his gut. Four days without seeing her. Weeks without sex because they’d agreed to wait. His body had a sudden, vivid opinion on what was going on.
Yeah. He was fucked.
He watched for a second. Maybe a little longer. The way her hips snapped when she drove into the bag. The way the fabric stretched and shifted over her ass.
Okay. That’s enough. You stare any longer, you’re gonna end up humpin’ the doorframe.
He stepped in.
The music from her headphones was loud enough that she didn’t hear him cross the mats. Bag thudding, her breathing a little heavy, completely dialed in.
He slid a hand around her waist from behind.
She reacted with pure instinct.
Her body twisted, fist flying. He barely yanked his head back in time, her hand sliced right past his nose.
‘Whoa!’ he barked, hands up. ‘Easy, Rocky. It’s me.’
She ripped her headphones down around her neck, eyes wide, chest heaving. For a second she looked ready to punch again.
Then she really saw him. Everything in her went soft.
‘Dean,’ she breathed.
That right there made the whole goddamn trip worth it.
She threw herself at him. The impact knocked him back a small step. A rough laugh caught in his throat, hands gripping under her thighs as her legs wrapped around his waist. He tightened his hold and adjusted his grip, palms sliding more securely under her. She was warm and soft and right there, arms locked around his neck.
He let himself hold on. One hand slid up to her back, palm over that strip of bare skin where the shirt didn’t quite meet the leggings.
‘Hey,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Miss me?’
She huffed a laugh against his neck. He felt her smile. ‘Maybe a little.’
He gave her one more tight squeeze before easing her down, making sure her feet were steady under her before he let go.
‘You okay?’ he asked, smoothing the hem of her tee. ‘Everything good?’
She nodded. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the workout. Or him. He’d take either.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Hunt go okay?’
‘Yeah. Ugly, but done.’ He glanced past her at the bag, then back down. Couldn’t help letting his gaze travel. ‘Charlie says you’ve practically moved in here.’
She wrinkled her nose, embarrassed. ‘Traitor.’
He smirked. ‘So? What’s that about?’
‘Nothing,’ she said too fast. ‘Just… training.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Uh-huh. Try again.’
She looked away, suddenly very interested in her wraps. Peeled one off slow, then the other.
‘It’s stupid,’ she said finally.
‘Hey.’ He stepped closer, fingers under her chin, nudging her to look up. ‘You don’t do stupid. Tell me.’
She exhaled, long and shaky.
‘When I… didn’t remember,’ she started, eyes flicking to the side, ‘I kept wondering what a guy like you was even doing with someone like me.’
He sucked in a breath. There it was. Again.
‘We already-’ he started.
‘I know,’ she cut in quickly. ‘I know we already talked about it. And I believed you. I do. But then everything that happened when I was… her… it kind of dragged all that old crap back up anyway.’ She shrugged one shoulder, the wide neck of the shirt slipping lower. ‘And then I started thinking about brides. All the perfect pictures and dresses and… bodies. And I just…’ She swallowed. ‘I wanna look good when I walk down there. In that dress. Next to you. I wanna look…’
She didn’t finish.
Dean’s chest hurt.
He could’ve stood there and told her all the things again. That she was gorgeous, that no dress on earth could compete with her just existing. He would, if she needed him to.
But right now, with her standing there in those leggings and that shirt and that look on her face?
Yeah, talking was not the most efficient option.
He took her left hand, laced their fingers, and spun her gently so her back landed against his chest.
She let out a small surprised sound, then melted back into him.
He dropped his head beside hers, mouth near her ear.
‘You wanna know what I see right now?’ he asked, voice low.
He slipped his hands to her hips and rolled his pelvis forward, slowly.
She sucked in a breath.
No way in hell she didn’t feel that. He was hard enough he was seriously considering sitting down before he embarrassed himself.
‘Feel that?’ he murmured.
Her fingers tightened on his forearms.
‘That’s you,’ he went on, lips brushing the shell of her ear. ‘Nobody else. I walk in, take one look at you tryin’ to beat the crap outta that bag in those damn pants, and my brain just… checks out.’
He slid one hand down over the curve of her hip, along the outside of her thigh. The fabric was warm under his palm, clinging to every line of her.
‘You talk about lookin’ good for me in some fancy dress,’ he muttered. ‘Meanwhile I gotta walk around this place knowin’ this is what you look like when you’re not even tryin’.’
He pressed in a little more. Couldn’t help it.
Her head tipped back against his shoulder. He felt her shiver.
‘Dean…’ she said quietly.
‘Yeah?’ he said. Or growled.
For a second he just stayed like that, breathing her in, letting the feel of her sink into him. Four days of motel beds and monster guts and cold coffee, and now this. No wonder his hands didn’t want to let go.
He forced a breath out through his nose.
‘Right now,’ he said, words a little rougher, ‘it is takin’ every damn thing I’ve got not to pin you to that wall and fuck some sense into that pretty head of yours.’
She made a noise. He felt her smile against his jaw.
‘You don’t have the balls to do that,’ she said, sweetly.
Something in him snapped.
Oh, we’re doin’ that now.
He let go of her waist just long enough to turn her.
One hand on her hip, one on her shoulder, he spun her back to face him and walked her backwards.
She stumbled once, hand clutching at his shirt, eyes wide, laughing a little. Clearly thinking he was still joking.
Until her back hit the wall.
He pressed in, just enough that she felt him. Both palms planted on the wall by her head, caging her in. Their bodies lined up.
Her breath hitched.
‘You sure about that?’ he asked quietly.
Up close like this, she took his breath away. Face flushed from the workout, eyes dark, lips parted just a little. He could feel her heart hammering against his ribs.
Her gaze flicked down between them, then back up. He saw her swallow.
He could have kissed her. God, he wanted to. One lean forward and he’d be gone. Promises be damned. He’d been half out of his mind since she’d said she wanted to wait anyway. And she made him want her more by doing it.
He dropped his head for a second, forehead almost touching hers.
Five more days, he told himself. You can hold it together for five goddamn days.
He opened his eyes.
‘Here’s how it’s gonna be,’ he said, voice low and steady. ‘I’m gonna let that crap slide for now. Just ‘cause I made you a promise.’
Her fingers curled in his shirt, knuckles white.
‘Then you’re gonna walk down that aisle,’ he went on, eyes locked on hers. ‘You’re gonna become my wife. And after that?’ His mouth twitched. ‘I’m gonna fix that attitude of yours.’
Her breath caught again. He watched it. Watched the whole sentence hit her.
Color rushed into her face. Her chest rose faster. She looked wrecked.
Damn right.
He stared at her one more second, just to burn it in.
Then he pushed off the wall.
Stepping back felt like ripping off his own skin. Every cell in his body was screaming to stay right where he was.
He adjusted his stance, cleared his throat, tried to act like his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest.
‘Ten minutes,’ he said, pointing a finger at her. ‘I want you outta here. On the couch. I brought dinner, and we’re gonna eat it like normal people.’ He let his gaze drag down and back up her once, slow. ‘And I suggest you lose those pants. For your own safety.’
Her mouth opened. No sound came out.
He smirked, because if he didn’t, he might flat-out whimper, and that was not happening.
Then he turned and walked out. He hit the hallway and let out a breath. Leaned against the wall for half a second, scrubbed a hand over his face.
He pushed off after a minute and headed for their room, trying not to think too hard about the fact that in about ten minutes, the woman he was gonna marry would walk in, probably still in those leggings.
And he was gonna have to pretend to pay attention to dinner.
A/N: I just noticed the word count on this thing and was flabbergasted. It’s getting close to the length of Ordinary, and honestly? That’s wild. I definitely didn’t expect that when I first came up with the wedding idea. Forgive me.
Also, there are at least three little things in this chapter that foreshadow the surprises Dean’s planning for our girl. Think you can spot them all?
