#reader x dean

There it is.

Sam exhales through his nose. “What are you talking about?”

Dean isn’t even looking at him; his eyes are fixed somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. “I mean, I think I am. I guess. But maybe I’m not. Maybe I look… I dunno… standoffish.”

Sam blinks. “Standoffish.”

“I’m just saying, there’s a line, okay? Too friendly, and you look like some creepy guy offering free candy. Not friendly enough, and people think you’re gonna stab ‘em.”

Sam shuts off the blender, grabs his smoothie, and sits. Dean drops into the chair across from him, and he stares expectantly, eyebrows up.

“Dean, man... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, if you were a girl and saw me at a bar—”

“Great. Can’t imagine a better start,” Sam mutters.

“—would you think I was approachable? Like… someone you’d walk up to?”

Sam looks down into his glass, searching for the strength to keep going. Nothing. No strength. Just spinach.

“Dean… where is this coming from?” 

Dean Winchester, the man who has picked up so many women he's lost count. And yet here he is, acting like he needs a pep talk.

Finally, Sam sighs, giving his brother at least the courtesy of an honest answer. “You’re approachable. You’re… you. People like you.”

Dean’s expression doesn’t ease at the reassurance. If anything, he looks more frustrated, brow furrowed, mouth in a pout that he’d absolutely deny making. “Then what the hell was she talking about?”

“…What? Who?”

Sam’s eyes widen. Oh. Oh.

You.

He lets out a long, exhausted sigh. Shakes his head. “Dean… dude. Just talk to her.”

“I talk to her,” his brother insists.

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you’re in here interrogating me about your ‘approachability,’ right?” Sam deadpans, leaning back with the weary authority of a brother who has lived through this many, many times.

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles, immediately hating where this is going. He pushes up from the table and heads for the coffee machine, chewing on his bottom lip like he’s trying to think a hole through it.

Two minutes later, you step into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge like you always do. And Sam sees it. God, he sees all of it. Front-row seats.

Dean cuts a glance at you from the corner of his eye, stands a little straighter, then his hand shoots up to flatten his hair. Sam just shakes his head. He swears he’s going to start avoiding the kitchen entirely when the two of you are in here together.

“Would you hand me a spoon, handsome?” you ask, completely unaware of what you just triggered.

Sam watches Dean freeze at the pet name. 

“Spoon. Yeah. We, uh… we have spoons,” he stammers, somehow producing one like it’s a rare artifact. He hands it to you with the confidence of a Victorian maiden having her first conversation with a man.

Then he retreats to the safety of the coffee machine.

Yogurt and spoon in hand, you head out of the kitchen. Dean’s eyes track you the whole way, drawn like a magnet. The instant you disappear down the hall, something in him lights up.

The man beams.

“Handsome,” he says to the empty air, chest puffing up. “She thinks I’m handsome.”

Then he spins on his heel and strides out of the kitchen, riding the high.

Sam shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Two seconds later, Dean reappears, deflating the dramatic exit. “Forgot my coffee,” he says, grabbing the mug with forced nonchalance. He doesn’t make eye contact.

Sam just snorts. 

—

It’s been around two hours when you spot Sam in the library, typing away on his computer.

You sit down across from him and wait.

When his eyes finally lift from the screen, one eyebrow raised, you say, “Can I run something by you real quick?”

“Sure,” he replies, tone calm. “What’s up?”

You hesitate. Usually, maybe you wouldn’t even ask. But it’s Sam, and you trust him. “How would you… rate me, on a scale from one to ten?”

“What?”

“Like, hypothetically… let’s say you walk into a bar and I’m sitting there. What’s your first impression of me?”

Sam, who doesn’t even like bars, has already been dragged into two bar hypotheticals today, and it’s barely ten in the morning. He resists the urge to sigh. “Just… talk to Dean,” he says. “Trust me.”

“How did you know I—”

“Really good intuition,” he interrupts.

You stare down at the table, lips pouting. “It’s just… He flirts with everyone, literally everyone – even the old lady at the market. He just… never flirts with me. So I try to be casual. But this morning... it sort of got out before I could stop myself, and I called him handsome. And he, uh – I don’t think he liked that.”

Sam lets out a quiet snort. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he mutters quickly, eyes darting back to the computer. “Just… maybe ask him to grab a coffee sometime. Keep it casual. Start small, you know?"

You hum thoughtfully, weighing the advice. “Yeah… maybe I could do that.”

Sam smiles faintly, satisfied, and goes back to typing. He can survive this, probably. 

—

Dean is sweet.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t flirt with you. Not the way he does with everyone else.

But if you’re being even a little logical, you know he cares. A lot.

He worries about you no matter what you’re dealing with: hunt injuries, a headache, a papercut, a sneeze. One fragile little “achoo” and he’s glancing over all concerned. 

And he pays attention.

You mention things offhand like your favorite snacks, a brand of tea you like, or that one candle scent you can never find... and the next time he comes back from the store, they’re sitting on the table like they magically appeared.

He never says it was him.

Probably thinks it’s nothing.

But it isn’t nothing. Not to you.

And sure, old Joanne at the market gets called “sweetheart,” and you don’t. But Dean has never bought her chocolate before.

…Wait. Has he?

Doesn’t matter.

Because the point is: you’re going to follow Sam’s advice and ask him out for coffee.

Even if he doesn’t like you back, Dean is sweet, and he deserves good coffee.

And you’re brave enough to offer it.

With this thought in mind, you walk into the kitchen the next morning.

Sam is already blending something green. You hover in the doorway until he finally shows mercy and switches it off because you really don’t want the sound of zucchini being pulverized to mark the beginning of whatever is about to happen.

Only then do you cross the room and sit down right across from Dean, who still hasn’t noticed you’re there.

He’s cradling his coffee, eyelids heavy, hair sticking up in five different directions. But the moment you enter his line of sight, he nearly jumps. His back goes straight, and he immediately smooths a hand over his hair, one stubborn piece still popping right back up.

God, he’s adorable.

“Mornin’,” he says softly, still half-asleep, voice rough like gravel, and your brain just… fries. Completely. 

Not a thought up there for a good minute.

You had a speech planned, had summoned enough courage for it, and now there's just… nothing. 

Soon enough, Dean’s hands are on the table, pushing him to his feet. “All right, I’mma—head to the store,” he says, nodding vaguely toward the door.

Sure. Go flirt with Joanne, you think. Bet she likes that a lot. 

But then he turns those big, hopeful eyes on you. “Wanna come?”

“What?" 

“Yesterday,” he adds quickly, “you said you wanted to go…”

Your chest melts a little. You only said that to Sam, and Dean… still paid attention.

You manage to smile. “Yeah. I’ll come.”

Dean smiles back before he tries to cover it up with a half-suppressed nod. “Cool. Yeah. Uh—let’s go then.”

He nearly walks into the doorframe on the way out.

—

“Joanne, looking incredible this morning,” Dean practically whistles at the older lady at the counter the second you step through the door.

“Right back at you, gorgeous,” she beams.

Of course she’s beaming. You’d beam too if he said you looked incredible.

Then she leans in conspiratorially, glancing around like she’s sharing state secrets. “Placed an order for that pie you like. Should be here tomorrow.”

Dean grins. “Sweetheart, you sure you wanna keep your husband? Competition’s fierce… just sayin’.”

You glare at the mismatched floor tiles and make your way toward the fridge aisle, while Joanne giggles behind the counter. Again, who can blame her? 

Then they start talking in hushed tones, leaning in toward each other. You’re pretty sure they’re talking about you because of the way she keeps sneaking glances your way. You strain to hear while pretending to examine the products, but you’re too far away to catch a word. By the time you edge closer, the conversation cuts off, and Dean doesn’t even glance in your direction.

When you finally reach the till, Joanne leans in and whispers, “Darling, you gotta snatch that before it’s too late.”

She nods toward Dean, who’s hovering near the snack aisle. “I mean, look at him,” she adds, shaking her head with exaggerated approval. Your eyes follow hers, taking in everything from head to toe. “Seriously. If he looked at me the way he looks at you, I wouldn’t just stand there doing nothing.”

“The way he looks at me?” you echo, because apparently that’s the only sentence your brain can manage.

Joanne stares at you. “Sweetheart… are your eyes just for decoration?”

“What?" 

Before she can say anything else, Dean returns with a bag of chips and puts it down gently on the conveyor belt. “Got the ones you like,” he murmurs, not quite meeting your eyes.

Aww, he's so cute. 

You glance at Dean.

Then at the chips.

Then back at Joanne, who lifts her eyebrows in a ‘see what I mean?’ kind of way.

Okay.

Yeah.

You do have to snatch that before it’s too late.

—

The way he looks at you.

You’ve been chewing on that the whole ride back, trying to decode what the hell Joanne meant.

Sure, Dean glances at you, checks if you’re okay, keeps track of you the way he keeps track of Sam, Cas, his car, everything he cares about. That’s just… Dean. Nothing special about it.

Right?

“What were you and Joanne talkin’ about?” he asks suddenly, low and careful. His eyes flick over to you, then right back to the road. “What’d she say?”

He sounds almost… worried. 

“Uh, nothing,” you lie, light as possible. “She might have a crush on you, though.”

That gets a small smile out of him, soft and relieved. Then he glances again. “That's all she said?”

“Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder, eyes fixed ahead. “Just… wonderin’.”

You do not bring up her actual comments, because dying from embarrassment in this car is not on your bucket list. “What about you?” you ask, as casual as possible. “What were you two whispering about?”

“Uh… she, uh… has this niece she wanted me to meet.”

“Oh.” It falls out of you flat and tiny.

“Yeah,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “She thought I might be interested.”

“Really?”

“I’m not,” he says immediately, too immediately. “Interested, I mean. But Joanne kinda figured that out right away,” Dean finishes. “So it’s all good.”

The old lady wasn’t joking. Someone less insecure is going to snatch him up one of these days, and you’re going to regret all this waiting around doing nothing.

But the question is, how are you supposed to live in the bunker with him if you go all in on your feelings and he doesn’t feel the same? That’s just a recipe for disaster.

But then again… The way he looks at you. 

You make it your personal project to figure out just what the hell that means. 

Truthfully, it doesn't even take long to gather hints, one after the other. 

He does look at you, more than you’d realized. Not the teasing, smirking kind of glance he gives literally everyone else. Not even the playful, flirty looks. No, this is different. His eyes linger, soft, careful, like he’s making sure you’re okay, or memorizing something only he can see.

And maybe you’re reading too much into it. Maybe. But every time he flusters when you tease him, or he scratches the back of his neck when you hand him a simple compliment, your brain takes notes. You start keeping a mental tally, just to make sure you’re not imagining things.

You’re also pretty sure you’ve seen him blush around you a couple of times. Enough to make your heart skip.

Dean Winchester, master of casual charm and reckless confidence, gets… flustered. Around you. And it’s the smallest, most perfect kind of proof.

After weeks of quietly gathering evidence and comparing notes with Sam, Cas, and even Jack, your case feels airtight. And with it comes a little surge of courage.

And then, out of nowhere, you stumble onto the final piece.

The big one.

You weren’t even supposed to be in the bunker.

You were meant to be at Charlie’s for the weekend: movies, junk food, girl talk, a detox from the job, and the crises that come with it. But she comes down with a brutal flu and refuses to get you sick, so the whole plan gets pushed back.

You were going to text the boys and let them know you were still home, but you never got the chance. 

Because the second the front door slams, you hear Dean’s voice echo down the metal stairs: “That’s just stupid,” he grumbles. “I’m not doin’ that. I don’t even know if she likes me.”

You freeze mid-step.

Sam’s answer comes fast, like he’s run out of patience for the year. “Dean. Be serious. Are your eyes just for decoration?”

Sam and Joanne could be good friends, you think. They’re both full-time members of the Dean Appreciation Squad anyway.

Dean huffs loudly. “She lives here, Sam. What if you’re wrong? I don’t wanna make her uncomfortable.” His voice dips, softer, almost guilty. “God knows I probably already do.”

Your heart drops.

He actually thinks he might be making you uncomfortable.

Dean Winchester.

A man who apologizes when you bump into him.

A man who brings you your favorite snacks without a word.

A man who looks at you with care and devotion.

He thinks any of that is unwelcome.

You press back against the wall, breath catching in your throat, because the truth finally lands and it's undeniable. 

He likes you.

Really likes you.

And he’s holding himself back because he’s afraid his feelings might somehow upset you.

...Well.

You’re going to have to show him exactly how wrong he is.

—

You stroll into the garage one slow morning, no hunts, no plans – just a little time to make yourself feel… well, you. No flannel. No worn-out boots. Today, something that hugs your curves just right, a touch of makeup to bring out your best features. You even had time to make your hair cooperate.

Dean’s under the car, elbow-deep in something greasy, when you lean against the wall, arms crossed casually.

“Whatcha doin’, handsome?” you murmur, voice soft but teasing.

Metal clangs to the floor. “Son of a—” He scrambles out from under the car, rag in hand, eyes widening as they travel up and down you, and he almost freezes. “You… uh… you going out?”

“That depends,” you say, tilting your head. “Are you busy?”

“Huh? Me?” Dean stammers. “Why? You… you need a ride somewhere?”

"No, not really. Wanted to take you out.”

For a moment, he just blinks. The words don’t seem to register. “Take me out?”

“A date,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, though inside you’re practically combusting. 

“A date,” he repeats slowly. “You… and me?”

“Yeah. If you want to.”

A faint blush spreads across his cheeks, just enough to reveal his heart. "For real?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Do you want to?"

“God, yes,” he says, voice almost too fast. “I… uh… I’mma go change, real quick.”

Before you can even react, he’s already rushing to the garage door, as if he hesitates another second, you might change your mind. He pauses, hand on the handle, then spins back with a quick glance. “I don’t think I mentioned it, but you look... amazing. Just…” He shoots you an approving look, the kind that makes your chest tighten, before finally ducking out. 

—

Sam should really get out of the bunker more, maybe get an actual hobby that isn’t research or running laps before breakfast. Most importantly, he should probably spend less time around you and his brother before his last functioning brain cells decide to mutiny.

Actually… scratch that.

It might already be too late.

He did start looking at local classes: pottery, pilates, and even a book club. But he never registered for any of them. And now? Now he deeply regrets it.

Because the poor man walks into the kitchen, thinking only about making a smoothie, and instead walks into—

Yeah.

That.

There you are.

There Dean is.

And you’re kissing him like you’re both about to start something Sam definitely doesn’t want to picture.

Right in front of the blender.

And - oh no - your fingers slip beneath the waistband of Dean’s jeans, and his breath itches. And then he's all like, “Oh baby, if you keep this up, I’m gonna put you right on this counter and—”

Sam slams his ears shut and salutes the blender for its bravery. Then he bolts from the room, muttering something about bleach and possibly moving to another state.

The next day, the blender is quietly relocated to the war room, where it can recover from trauma in peace, and Sam doesn't venture back into the kitchen for at least two weeks. 

And you… Well, you’ll owe Sam a proper thank-you someday... Once he can glance at the two of you without immediately questioning every decision that has brought him here.

And, yeah… maybe a new blender wouldn’t hurt.

---

She chucked the clothes at him, "just go put them on you idiot." She retorted, unable to hide the amusement from her voice.

He laughed as the fabric hit him. "Yes ma'am. Although, I have a feeling Stefan's going to upstage me on the villain front tonight."

"I unfortunately think you're right." *yn* said, dropping back down onto the bed and fishing her phone out of her pocket.

Still nothing.

Should she call? She didn't want to be clingy, but she also wanted to make sure that they'd gotten to the next town safely. It was stupid, she knew that. They were Winchesters. They could handle themselves.

Maybe a part of her just wanted to hear Dean's voice again.

"You ok?"

Damon's voice made her jump. His brow was furrowed as he studied her. She'd clearly been in her thoughts for far too long.

"Yeah I'm fine."

His frown deepened. His family ring caught the light as his lithe fingers made quick work of the buttons of his shirt.

"You sure?"

She sighed. "I just... I haven't heard from Sam and Dean. I guess I just- I don't know, I thought I would have heard something by now."

There must have been something in her expression that stopped Damon from replying with his usual snark.

"I'm sure they're fine." He said gently. "You know what men are like - hopeless."

"Yeah." She murmured as he slipped on his leather jacket. "I'm sure you're right."

His face softened - just for a second, before his smirk returned.

"Now, onto more important matters." He popped his collar and posed with a flourish. "How do I look?"

*yn* laughed, "villainy."

Damon pouted, "I was thinking more devilishly handsome, but I'll take it."

"That part's always implied." She winked before turning to head downstairs.

"Was that a compliment I just heard?"

"Don't get used to it." She called from halfway down the stairs.

She came to a halt, her expression souring at the sight of Stefan standing at the bottom of the steps.

"Why the long face brother?"

Stefan's gaze slid to Damon behind her.

"I don't know what's worse." Stefan said coolly. "The idea of spending all night with Klaus-" Stefan paused, his emotionless eyes fixing on *yn* again. "Or watching the two of you flirt and giggle like love-sick teenagers."

*yn* fought the blush threatening to appear on her cheeks. She wouldn't give Stefan the satisfaction of that. Couldn't.

She could feel Damon's eyes on the back of her head, but she resisted the urge to look at him.

"Well get happy little brother." Damon said, smoothly bypassing Stefan's jab. "We're going to negotiate a fake truce and I'm not going to have your attitude screwing it up."

Stefan simply rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his leather jacket as he sauntered to the front door.

Once he was gone, *yn* glanced at Damon. "Have you heard from Bonnie yet?"

"No, but she's got mumma witchy protecting her."

"I know, I just-" She cut herself off with a frustrated sigh.

"I know." Damon said softly, using that voice - the one she'd only ever heard him use with her.

"Nothing is going to happen." He looked at her seriously. "And Sam and Dean will call."

There it was again. The guilt. Gnawing at her ribs like a caged animal.

"I'm worried about you too."

"Ok well what if I promise to be on my best behaviour?" He spread his arms wide. "There now you've got one less person you have to worry about."

"It's not your behaviour I'm worried about."

Her gaze flickered outside.

"I'll keep him under control." Damon promised.

"Hey." He spoke, this time so quietly She jumped every so slightly as his fingers brushed her chin, gently guiding her face to look up at him.

"Everything will be fine."

She forced a smile onto her lips and nodded.

She didn't have the heart to tell him that she could feel it deep within her bones that it wouldn't be.

Something was going to go wrong, she just didn't know what yet.

"Niklaus, our guests have arrived."

Damon tried to ignore the prickle that crawled up his spine from being under Elijah's steady gaze, the faintest smirk playing on his lips, like he already knew how this night would unfold.

The Mikaelson home was bathed in low candlelight. The large oval dining table had been set with deliberate elegance - polished silverware, crystal glasses, bottles of expensive wine that no one would actually drink for the taste. Compelled waitresses framed the room, expressionless, waiting like compliant soldiers for their next orders.

Everything about it screamed control. Power. A reminder that this wasn’t a dinner, it was a message.

Damon froze at the entryway. Two seats were already occupied.

"Damon, Stefan." Klaus stood beside the table, the curve of his smile enough to make Damon's blood run cold.

"Elijah tells me you seek an audience. Very bold."

Damon's eyes darted to the table.

Sam and Dean stared back at him.

"Ah." Klaus followed his stare. "Yes, our other guests. I won't bother with introductions, I believe you've all have had time to get acquainted over the past few days."

Damon locked eyes with Dean briefly. There was a flicker of something behind his expression.

Relief, Damon realised.

Relief that *yn* wasn't with them.

"What are they doing here?" Damon asked, daring to glare at Elijah, who seemed suddenly intent at looking anywhere other than him.

This was not what they had discussed. This wasn't the plan.

"It's not by choice pal, believe me." Dean snapped.

"Oh I do apologise." Klaus said lightly, relishing in the chaos he had so carefully constructed. "I must have accidentally omitted that small detail. You see, I simply couldn't pass up on the opportunity to invite the Winchesters, make it a real party."

Dean and Sam were rigid in their seats, their fists curled at their sides. Damon knew that there was no way this was going to end well.

"Now." Klaus cleared his throat. "Let's discuss this agreement like civilised men shall we?"

"It's better to indulge him." Elijah remarked dryly as he took his seat.

"I didn't come here to eat Klaus." Stefan said flatly. "Or to play whatever game this is. In fact, I didn't want to come here at all. But, I was told I had to because you'd hear us out."

Klaus hummed in amusement, nodding to himself before looking back at Stefan.

"Well, we can sit and eat or... I can reach down all of your throats and pull out your insides." He smiled. "The choice is yours."

There was a sickly pause, hanging tauntingly in the air as Stefan stared him down.

Reluctantly, Damon and Stefan took their seats.

It was only then that Damon noticed it.

The table was set for seven.

*yn*'s stomach grumbled loudly as she pulled into a parking spot in front of the Mystic Grill.

She had told herself that she was going to go to Elena's and make dinner with whatever scraps they had left in the cupboard, but the temptation of a burger and fries on the house courtesy of Matt was too great a temptation to pass up.

She checked her reflection in her mirror and winced. She looked like she needed about 40 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

The slam of her car door was swallowed up by the noise spilling out from the Grill - music and the laughter of locals bleeding into the night. She was just about to merge into the chaos when a glint of black caught her eye.

She stilled.

The Impala was parked only a few cars down from her beat-up excuse for a vehicle, polished to perfection like always. It stuck out like a sore thumb in a town like Mystic Falls, drawling lingering glances from passers by.

Dean and Sam were no where to be seen.

Her throat dried.

They'd left yesterday. Or at least, they'd told her that they had.

She tried to suppress the panic rising up into her lungs. There could be an innocent explanation. They could have decided to be stupid and stake out Damon and Stefan. They could have had car problems. They could be inside the Grill right now while she was spiralling outside.

That was what she told herself as she hurried inside.

Deep down though, she knew something wasn't right.

The boys wouldn't linger like this. Dean wouldn't leave the Impala sitting out on a busy road like this for hours.

Her hope evaporated quickly. One scan of the room determined that neither of them were there.

"Matty!" She called out when she spotted a flash of blonde hair behind the bar.

Matt turned at the sound of his name, concern creasing his brow. "Hey. You alright?"

"Um-" She tried her best to maintain her composure. "You know my friends I was with last night?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen them today?"

"Ah no but I only started my shift like an hour ago." He studied her more closely then. "Why? Something wrong?"

She hesitated. "If it's not a hassle, could you maybe check the security cameras? See if they were here at all today?"

Something that felt like relief but wasn't quite there washed over her when he nodded without hesitation.

"Yeah sure." He slung a dish rag over his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

She drummed her fingers impatiently against the chipped wood of the bar, her nerves fraying with every passing second. What was only minutes felt like hours, stretching on for eternity.

When Matt finally reappeared, his expression told her everything.

Her stomach dropped.

"What is it?"

"They were here." He said carefully. "This morning."

There was more, like always. She could see it written all over his face.

"And?"

"They weren't alone." A breath caught in her throat. "Klaus came and sat at their table."

Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

"I couldn't hear what they were saying obviously. But after a few minutes they all left together."

She inhaled sharply, trying to stop her heart from bursting out of her ribcage. She couldn't panic. Panic got you killed. Her dad had drilled that into her from the time she was old enough to hold a weapon.

She had to think this through logically. Focus on the facts, not the emotions.

What would Klaus have done with them? And why?

The answer - at least part of it - hit her.

"*yn*?" Matt's voice broke through her thoughts. "Is everything ok?"

She blinked, looking up at him.

"Should I call Elena or-?"

"No no don't do that." *yn* said quickly, shaking her head. "I think I know where they are."

He frowned. "You're not thinking of going after them alone are you?"

She looked at him properly then.

Her brow creased just enough, lashes feathering against her skin as she shook her head firmly.

It was almost too easy - how quickly the mask slid into place. How naturally she could soften her expression into something earnest, control her tone, in order to manipulate.

It scared her sometimes.

"Of course not, that would be suicide." She said matter-of-factly.

Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to Matt, the self-sacrificing gene ran deep in the Kitson bloodline.

The clink of polished silverware against fine china ricocheted off the high ceilings.

Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the waitresses, their movements mechanical, dresses identical in tacky gold.

Who were they? Where did they come from? Did they have a family? What was Klaus going to do with them after tonight? That last question stuck to his insides like tar.

The Salvatores didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, happily letting them pour wine into their glasses without as much as a sideward glance.

Sam glanced over to see Dean shovelling food into his mouth like his life depended on it. It appeared he didn’t seem that concerned either.

Sam kicked his shin under the table.

“What?” Dean muffled around a mouthful of food. “I haven’t eaten all god damn day.”

Sam rolled his eyes, stabbing angrily at his steak with his fork.

“Speaking of," Klaus purred, "Stefan, you haven’t touched your food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Come on," Damon said lightly, though his eyes narrowed as he glared at his brother. "I thought we agreed to leave the grumpy Stefan at home.”

Stefan shot him a glare before begrudgingly picking up his cutlery.

“See? Isn’t this fun? The six of us dining together like old friends.”

“Thrilling.” Dean remarked dryly.

“I think it would be more fun if you told us why we’re here.” Sam interjected.

Klaus smirked into his glass, shrugging casually. “Hunters and vampires dining together. Don't you find it fascinating? Our worlds colliding."

His eyes flickered between Damon and Dean, lingering. Calculating.

“And even more fascinating when they collide over the same woman.”

Dean bristled instantly, his food suddenly forgotten. “Watch it.”

“Careful Klaus.” Damon’s face hardened ever so slightly, his eyes sharpening into something dangerous.

Elijah looked between them, throwing his hands up in confusion, unable to hide his amusement. “What have I missed?”

“Oh so much brother.” Klaus chuckled, gesturing between the two with his fork.

“Seems our dear *yn* has captured the hearts of our two friends here.”

“Ah." Elijah took a measured sip of his wine as he tried to hide his laughter. "Understandable, she is exceptionally lovely.”

“I think it’s best if we put *yn* in the do not discuss pile.” Damon’s grip on his wine glass was so tight Sam thought it might shatter.

“Seems there is something we can agree on.” Dean grumbled, giving Damon a once over before returning to his food.

“So-“ Elijah cleared his throat in an attempt to change the course of conversation. “Speaking of lovely women, where is Elena tonight?”

Damon winced. Stefan's jaw clenched.

Klaus laughed at Elijah’s bewildered face.

“Trouble in paradise brother.”

“I think Elena is another topic best left off the table tonight.” Damon said.

“What’s happened, I haven’t been gone that long have I?” Elijah asked, glancing between Klaus and Stefan.

Stefan looked down, a tight, humourless smile tugging at his lips.

“One more word about Elena and this dinner is over.” He spoke his words slowly, like he was trying to ensure they sunk in.

"I might leave conversation to you, Niklaus. It seems I can't put a foot right."

Klaus simply put his pointer finger to his lips, barely holding back laughter.

The warm night air fizzled on her skin as she made her way through the woods.

The warm glow spilling from the towering windows of Klaus' house acted as a beacon, guiding her forward.

Cicadas chirped, the sound filling the otherwise suffocating quiet as she crouched low, clinging to the shadows like moss to stone.

She was close now, close enough to see the cream coloured curtains fluttering gently in the night breeze.

This was reckless. Borderline idiotic. She didn't have a plan. Her thoughts were scattered, unfocused, driven by a single need - to know whether Sam and Dean were inside. Whether they were alive.

She hadn’t given herself time to think past that. She could go and get back up, but who? Caroline? Bonnie? They were strong, but not enough to stop Klaus.

A sharp snap of a twig echoed beneath her boot.

She winced, freezing instantly. Klaus’ hybrids were no doubt crawling all over the place, the last thing she needed was a hungry hybrid finding her out here alone.

Another twig snapped.

Her blood ran cold.

She hadn't moved

Slowly, she turned around.

Blank eyes met hers.

Her breath caught.

“He’s been waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry it’s just-“ Klaus laughed, unable to help himself. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before tossing it onto the table.

“The fact that she’s managed to break the irresistible allure of the Petrova doppleganger... it's quite remarkable really." His eyes lingered on Stefan.

"Well - partially broken it at least. But who knows? Perhaps soon there'll be a four way race for *yn*'s heart."

"Niklaus-" Elijah began, sensing that the tension hanging thick in the air was on the verge of snapping.

"Or five." Klaus grinned as he observed his brother.

"Brother-"

Klaus raised a finger to silence him as his phone buzzed. Elijah begrudgingly complied, watching the way his brother's eyes lit up as he read something on the screen before him.

"If you'll excuse me gentlemen." Klaus rose abruptly. "I have to go collect something I've been waiting on."

Dean's stomach twisted at the sick elation evident in Klaus' tone. He looked over at the empty place sitting. It felt like he was waiting for the blood soaked penny to drop.

He locked eyes with Damon. Judging by the look on his face, Damon felt it too.

A throat cleared.

"My apologies. Seems our last guest's invitation got...lost in the mail."

And just like that, Damon and Dean's worst fears materialised.

*yn* stood in the archway.

Her expression was carefully neutral, but she knew that the frantic pounding of her heart betrayed her. Klaus' grip was firm at the base of her neck - a silent reminder that all it would take was a slight pinch of his grip to snap her neck like it was nothing.

"Don't worry love, I made sure to set a place for you. I had a feeling you'd show up regardless."

Relief washed over her at the sight of Sam and Dean, but it was quickly smothered by the insurmountable fear that they'd found themselves in a lion's den with no way out.

Her eyes found Dean's.

For half a second, the world narrowed - sharp green eyes scanning her face, as if he needed to confirm she was real. Safe. Unhurt.

Then both he and Damon moved at the same time.

"Ah ah ah." Klaus' voice hardened. "Stay in your seats gentlemen. I'd hate to accidentally squeeze too tightly and pop her head off. Trust me, it's happened before."

"Let go of her."

"Get your hands off her."

Their words overlapped, Dean and Damon's voices blending together. Their necks snapped to glare at each other.

"I've got this one, bloodsucker."

Damon's eyes narrowed. "Brave words, considering I could snap your neck like a twig."

The air crackled - sharp and volatile tension snapping tight between them.

Klaus' cheshire grin widened, like he'd just been handed a gift.

"Oh, this is so much better than I anticipated."

Elijah's voice sliced through the air. "Enough."

His eyes briefly flickered to *yn*, the slightest touch of concern slipping through before he refocused on Klaus.

"Niklaus, I thought we were here to discuss business." His tone was clipped just enough to reveal that he had no idea what his brother had been planning.

Somehow, that made it worse.

"We are." Klaus gestured to the open seat. "Now that our last guest has arrived, we can begin."

*yn* knew that she had no choice other than to take her place at the table.

"Very well, let's discuss the terms of this proposal."

She grabbed the glass of wine in front of her and drunk deeply. Something told her she was going to need it to get through this.

Damon's eyes darted to her momentarily before they shifted to Klaus.

"Well, it's very simple. Klaus gets his coffin back, in exchange he and the original extended family leave Mystic Falls forever. We all live happily ever after, no grudges."

The room smelled faintly of candle wax and old wood, but it did nothing to ease the tension that coiled like a snake around the table.

"The deal sounds fair, brother." Elijah finally spoke.

Klaus let out an amused huff. "I don't think you understand. Elena's doppleganger blood ensures that I always have more hybrids to fight those that oppose me." He leant forward in his seat. "I will never leave her behind."

*yn* locked eyes with Dean who not so subtly mouthed 'what the fuck' to her across the table.

"Besides, given the new information that has come to light-" His eyes fixed on *yn*. "I have other reasons not to leave Mystic Falls empty handed."

"What are you talking about Klaus?"

"Well-" He grasped his chalice as he rose from the table. "As we all now know, *yn* here is a hunter."

All eyes turned on her.

"And not just any hunter at that - no, no - a Kitson no less." He came to a stop near the fireplace, leaning his arm against the lip of it.

"It was a shame to hear about your father. A spirit they say?" Klaus tisked. "I have to say, seems unlikely."

*yn* visibly flinched. "What the fuck do you know about my dad?"

He strolled behind her chair, like a cat toying with his food.

"Well you see, Kitson's have been in the hunting business for a very long time, centuries in fact. They've been very helpful over the years, Luke was particularly skilled at exorcisms."

"You're lying." *yn* spat.

Klaus laughed, "Oh but I'm not."

"Luke would never help someone like you." Dean said, voice tight, his eyes simmering with barely bridled rage.

Klaus rolled his eyes and sank back into his chair. "Well obviously none of them knew I was a vampire."

He gestured to Dean and Sam with the hand holding his wine glass, the dark liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"I realised early on that befriending hunters was the easiest way to see what they knew about our kind. None of them ever managed to figure out that some of us can walk in the sun.

*yn*'s knuckles were turning white under the table as she glared at him. "Why on earth would you need our help?"

"I need someone to deal with nuisances like spirits whenever they inevitably crop up." He drunk from his glass, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Who better than a Kitson?"

"And demons?"

She saw something flicker behind his mask then, so brief that she almost missed it.

She latched onto it, leaning forward in her chair.

"You're afraid of them, aren't you?"

His face hardened. "I don't fear anything. But when you're dealing with things that are thousands of years old, it's foolish not to... exercise caution."

"Ever meet one with yellow eyes?"

Klaus' gaze snapped to Sam. This time, he couldn't even hide it. Fear, raw and unspoken, rolling off him for a few moments before he tempered his expression.

"So John's still on his obsessive quest I see."

And just like that, he regained his control on the room, tightening his grip.

Both the Winchester's tensed.

Sam was the first to relent and take the bait. "How do you know our dad?"

"He's another hunter I like to keep tabs on. Not as friendly as Luke unfortunately, he's always been obsessive. All the more reason to avoid the Winchester's like the plague, you're all a beacon for chaos."

He glanced between the two sets of brothers. "I guess that's something you all have in common."

"And the Mikaelson's are a beacon for droning on and being dramatic." *yn* cut in, her patience wearing thin enough to loosen her tongue. "Are you ever going to get to the point?"

Klaus' eyes flared dangerously at her insolence, then twisted into something much more terrifying - a smirk.

"You know-“ He motioned nonchalantly to the waitress for a refill. “I first met John when Luke and him were sniffing around for the Ripper of Monterey."

*yn*'s stomach plummeted.

His smirk widened at the look on her face.

She knew then that this was her punishment.

“Say boys-“ He leant back, “what would you say if I told you that the Ripper of Monterey himself is in this room right now?”

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. “You’re the ripper?” Sam blinked in disbelief.

Klaus cackled. “Heavens no, even I’m not that bloodthirsty.” His eyes locked onto their next target.

“No offence of course, Stefan.”

His words hung dangerously in the air.

“You.” Dean' stared at him in disbelief's stare zeroed in. “You’re the Ripper of Monterey?”

Stefan, for the first time that evening, seemed to understand that it was wiser for him to keep his mouth shut, but the slight inclination of his head was all Dean needed to see red.

He looked across the table at *yn*. She had shrunk into herself ever so slightly, her head tilted down as she chewed on the flesh of the inside of her left cheek.

She could feel Damon’s eyes burning into the side of her head.

“Did you know?”

Her eyes met Dean's reluctantly. She knew that he already knew the answer.

“Did you know he was the ripper?” He repeated, his voice inching higher as he spoke.

Klaus looked like he’d just hit the jackpot.

“I think we’re all getting off course here.” Damon interjected, concern invading his calm features as he studied her.

“Agreed." Elijah said. "Brother, do you have a counter offer?”

Klaus was clearly unhappy that his brother had decided to ruin his fun. He paused, like he was deciding whether or not to protest the interruption of his game.

“Fine.” He relented. “My offer is simple. I leave Mystic Falls, but I take Elena and *yn* with me. Elena to ensure my never ending supply of hybrids and *yn* to keep meddling monsters at bay.”

“You've got a better chance of hell freezing over then that happening.” Dean snapped.

Damon’s chair scraped against the wooden floor as he leant back. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Why me?” *yn*’s challenged. “There’s plenty of hunters out there who'd help for the right price.”

Klaus shrugged. "Well as far as hunter pedigrees go, a Kitson is about as good as you can get.” He grinned. “And I always want the best."

He rose from his seat once more. “Alright, let’s say I do leave *yn* and Elena here, how long until one of you turns one of them into a vampire?”

He gestured at Dean and Sam with his glass. “Or *yn* runs off with you knuckleheads and gets killed on some hunting expedition or in your obsessive quest to avenge your mother?” He smirked at the sight of the enraged faces on the men before him.

“The worst thing for Elena and *yn*, are brothers like you.”

Klaus' words hung in the air like an executioners axe.

Damon's eyes darted down to his lap.

“I think I’m going to get some air.” Damon muttered, throwing his napkin on the table as he pushed his chair away with a loud scrape.

“I’ll handle this.” Elijah jumped in quickly.

*yn* watched the two leave without another word as she tried to slow her hammering heart to avoid arousing Klaus’ suspicion. She could spot that look on Damon's face from a mile away. Bonnie and her mother must be close to cracking the coffin.

Klaus watched them go intently before fixing his eyes on Stefan. "What do you say, Stefan?"

One flick of his fingers and a waitress obediently appeared beside his chair. *yn* watched as he made his way behind her. He lazily pushed her hair out of the way, exposing her neck to the warm light of the room.

"Care for an after dinner drink?"

*yn* looked away at the sight of his fangs protruding from his gums. The slick sound of them sinking into flesh followed. Dean and Sam's horror was palpable.

Dean was glancing at one of the butter knives on the table. His fingers twitched towards it.

She made one small sharp shake of her head when they locked eyes, desperately pleading with him to stay put.

By some mercy, Stefan rose from his seat.

"Well, I guess the only reason you agreed to this evening Klaus is to drive a wedge between me and my brother - and to torture these three for your own amusement."

His eyes flitted to her and for a split second she saw the old Stefan - the one who sacrificed himself for others, the one with his humanity in tact - staring back. He'd done this intentionally to spare the girl and by proxy, them.

Klaus shoved the girl away, leaving her to numbly make her way back to the outskirts of the room, blood leaking down the right side of her neck.

Crimson dripped down the side of Klaus' mouth. He guided it back into his mouth with his thumb, savouring it for a moment.

"Oh no, you're doing that well enough on your own Stefan."

"What do you say Klaus?"

*yn* felt relief course through her at the sight of Damon crossing the threshold of the entryway, with Elijah not too far behind.

"Time for you to put something on the table." Damon's eyes glimmered. "We made our offer. Now you counter."

Klaus let out an amused huff as he pressed a napkin to the side of his mouth.

"What I can offer - is Elena and *yn*'s future happiness. See what they really need is to be rid of you lot." He gestured vaguely to the other end of the room.

"*yn* is also sitting right here." She interjected.

"Quiet dear, the adults are talking now." The look that Klaus shot her could have turned her to stone.

"Elena needs to fall in love with a human. *yn* needs to be rid of vampires and hunters that are constantly putting her life at risk."

"And what? Instead you'll drag *yn* around the country protecting you from things that go bump in the night?" Damon snarled, "I think not."

"Only when an enemy inevitably crops up or I need some...advice." Klaus countered.

"After you hand me back the coffin I'll ensure their safety for the rest of their natural lives. You know it's what's best for them."

There was a pause as Stefan and Klaus eyeballed eachother. *yn* felt Klaus behind her as Stefan mirrored his steps across the table.

"Nice try Klaus, but no deal."

The energy in the room shifted, growing dangerously dark, as Klaus' arrogant smirk faltered.

"I'm growing tired of this."

Before anyone could react, he grasped *yn*'s shirt, yanking her up onto her feet like she weighed nothing.

Sam and Dean were on their feet in an instant.

"I wouldn't take another step." His voice had dropped lower than *yn* had ever heard it, any trace of humour gone.

*yn* flinched as he fisted her hair, exposing her neck. His nose bumped along her neck as he inhaled sharply.

"The vervain is practically dripping off you." He purred against her skin. "But I've always wanted to know what you taste like."

A pointed fang glided over her pulse.

Then, blinding but familiar pain seared through her.

"Stop!" She could hear shouts and loud thumps across the room, her eyes screwed shut as she tried to push through the agony.

She let out a gasp as the pain suddenly stopped. Warm liquid gushed down her neck, dripping down into the crevice between her breasts, seeping into the fabric of her shirt.

"I thought you wanted her alive for your stupid fucking deal?" Dean was trying his best to act calm, but panic was flooding his face as he tried to stop himself from sprinting towards them.

"It's not my first choice, but I'll take a Winchester if I have to."

Klaus' grip on her hair tightened, keeping her wounded neck exposed.

"Now bring me my coffin before I drain her dry."

Damon's eyes locked with hers - something raw and unspoken flashing between them.

He held his hand up in surrender, in prayer.

"I'll get it ok."

"Go with him brother, keep him honest." She could hear Klaus' smirk as he spoke.

An unreadable look crossed Elijah's features as he dared a glance at her before staring back at his brother. He followed after Damon without a word.

All she could hope was that he would keep his word.

"I can't wait to kill you, you son of a bitch." Dean growled.

"You? Kill me? That's cute."

Klaus looked down at her, studying her as if she was a puzzle. The fire-lit room caused his face to be shaded in flecks of amber and charcoal.

"I must say, you are far more interesting than I anticipated." He mused. "Honestly the fact you've got a vampire and a hunter lusting after your attention is the least interesting thing about you."

"Go rot, Klaus."

He chuckled, his fangs sliding out of his gums once more. "Maybe after I get another taste."

*yn* squeezed her eyes shut as she braced herself for another bout of pain. But it never came.

Klaus' hands tensed on her body.

"Elijah. What are you still doing here?" Klaus was unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

She opened her eyes to see Elijah and Damon making their way back into the living room, a waitress in tow with a covered plate cloche balanced delicately on her hand.

"Well where are your manners brother? We forgot dessert." Elijah whipped the cloth off - revealing two white oak ash daggers.

"What have you done?"

"Firstly, let the girl go."

Klaus released his grip on her, sensing he was about to have much bigger problems on his hands.

She stepped forward as he moved away, her knees nearly giving way under her at the loss of blood.

Dean was at her side in an instant, his movements frantic as he kept her upright. He cradled her head in his hands, studying every inch of her body.

"You okay?"

She nodded, breathless.

She looked behind him to see Damon studying her, his jaw locked.

She watched as he took a step toward her, rolling up his sleeve to expose his wrist. She subtly shook her head, her eyes widening a fraction in alarm.

Dean could handle a lot, but seeing her drink Damon's blood would most definitely push him over the edge.

"I'm fine." She reassured him, eyes locking with his over Dean's shoulder.

Dean turned, his brow furrowing at Damon's exposed wrist, then jerked his eyes back to her - noting the panic in her eyes.

Thankfully, he decided now was not the time, instead he pulled her close, instinctively putting his body between her and Klaus.

Once Elijah deemed her safe, he locked his attention back to his brother with deadly precision. "Secondly, what have you done? You see brother, I no longer trust your vulgar promises. We're doing this on my terms now."

*yn* wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders as he pulled her even tighter against him.

Damon's eyes never left her.

She flinched when Kol appeared.

She began to back Dean away with her so they were pressed against the wall.

The originals seemed to just keep coming, first Finn and then Rebekah.

Through the pain of her throbbing neck and the fear overwhelming her, there was a glimpse of satisfaction at the sight of the siblings taking turns plunging a dagger into Klaus' flesh.

Kol came up behind Klaus, locking his hands behind his back, leaving him completely defenceless.

Rebekah stalked towards him. Her gaze shifted to *yn*, then ghosted over Sam and Dean. Lingering.

"You're free to go." Elijah's voice seemed to remind Rebekah of her mission, her head tilting as she prepared to strike, much akin to an adder.

They knew it wasn't an offer, but an order. And they didn't have to be told twice.

Dean helped her off the wall, Sam behind them as they followed after Stefan and Damon, desperate to escape the confinements of the mansion.

A wicked smile spread across Elijah's lips.

"This is family business."

The tepid water of her bathroom sink washed over her still trembling hands, adrenaline still thrumming under her skin.

She huffed in frustration when they refused to steady. With a sharp twist of her wrist, she shut off the tap. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes before dragging her fingers through her hair, exhaling a shaky breath.

Her haggard reflection stared back at her in the mirror - exhausted eyes too bright with everything she hadn't processed yet.

The ride back into town had been almost as painful as being bitten. An oppressive, awkward silence had filled every inch of the cramped car. *yn* wedged in the back between Dean and Sam, both of them determinedly staring anywhere other than at her.

Damon, meanwhile, had kept trying to catch her eye in the rearview mirror - particularly when she had suggested that Dean and Sam stay one more night at her place before getting on the road.

The window in her bedroom creaked. The breeze picked up, finding its way into the bathroom to press against her warm skin.

She sensed it - felt him. Like the world had tilted a fraction off its axis, pulling subtly out of alignment in a way only he ever managed.

He was sprawled out on her bed, Buffy plonked on his chest, a lazy smile on his face.

“Cute pjs.”

Despite everything, the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude not to knock?”

His eyes never left her figure as she crossed the room and crawled onto the bed beside him, collapsing into the mattress with a groan.

“Since when has Damon Salvatore cared about being rude?"

She cracked one eye open to look at him incredulously.

"Since when did Damon Salvatore refer to himself in the third person?"

Her gaze dropped to his boots digging into the checkered pattern of her duvet. Her brow creased ever so slightly as her eyes lingered.

He rolled his eyes but kicked them off without a word.

Sitting up, he plucked Buffy off his chest and turned the pink plush horse over in his hands.

"I never pictured you as the fluffy toy type."

*yn* frowned and snatched Buffy out of his hand, hugging her defensively.

"I'll have you know that Buffy isn't just a fluffy toy."

His lips curved. "Your toy horse is named Buffy?"

"I loved that show growing up." She protested, lifting her chin as she cuddled the plush underneath it.

"Ah so that's why you dig me so much, you were a Spike girl weren't you?" He wriggled his brows playfully.

"More of an Angel girl actually."

He smirked. "Still a vampire. You've got a type."

He let out a chuckle as she half heartedly threw a pillow at his head.

The room settled into a comfortable silence. *yn* stared up at the ceiling, thoughts drifting in slow, heavy circles. Damon watched the steady rise and fall of Buffy on her chest.

"Are you ok?"

The back of her head slid against the pillow as she turned. "Peachy."

Damon frowned. Now that he was closer, he could see the dark circles carved out under her eyes - and just beneath them, the faint fang marks on the side of her neck. He had to force himself to avert his gaze to quell the murderous rage threatening to claw its way to the surface.

"You're a terrible liar."

She tried, and failed, to make her smile stick.

"I'm just..." She exhaled. "There's a lot to process. So much of what I thought I knew-" She hesitated, blinking back tears as her eyes found his. "I guess you're probably feeling the same way about me."

"A little." He admitted quietly. "Hard to care about that stuff when you could have died though." He studied her face, as if reassuring himself she was really there.

“But I didn’t.” She reminded him gently.

His knuckles brushed against her right cheek.

“But you didn’t.” He echoed softly.

Her heart pounded as he brushed a thumb against her knuckles - grounding, gentle.

“I don’t know what I would ever do if-“ He cut himself off, the thought of it too much to even verbalise.

His eyes dropped to her lips before he could stop them.

Her breath hitched. This time she knew she wasn’t imagining things.

He was close enough that his cologne and the scent of him was invading her senses, clouding her judgment.

“Damon…”

The way she breathed his name nearly made him come undone.

A floorboard creaked outside her bedroom door.

*yn* stiffened, clutching Buffy to her chest as she sat upright, eyes fixed on the doorway.

She felt the faintest of movement beside her.

When she turned back, she found herself alone - the slight stir of the curtains the only evidence that Damon had ever even been here.

She exhaled a shaky breath as she stood. Each step grounded her just a little bit more, reminding her that what just happened wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

The hallway light filtered through the small crack in the doorway, illuminating her in a pale yellow glow.

Dean stood in the hallway, halfway between her bedroom and the spare room - like he’d debated fleeing but decided against it last minute. He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. He looked sheepish, or as sheepish as Dean Winchester could be.

“Sorry I uh- I thought I heard voices.” He gestured vaguely into her bedroom. “Just wanted to make sure you were… you know.”

She offered him a small, tired smile.

“I’m fine.”

They both knew he didn’t believe her. Still, for her sake he simply nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Ok.”

There was a pause before Dean turned to go back to his room.

“Dean-“ His name blurted out before she could stop it.

He looked back at her.

“Would you have ever told me?”

Her throat dried up. “I-“ She wanted to answer, she really did. But no words were managing to crawl up her throat and off her tongue.

“I don’t know.” Was all she managed to pathetically offer up.

Disappointment flickered across his face before he masked it with a nod, more to himself than to her.

His gaze dropped down, catching on something.

“I can’t believe you still have that thing.”

She followed his gaze to Buffy still tucked under her arm.

“That thing has a name and it’s-“

“-Buffy.” He finished for her.

A smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes appeared on his lips when he noted the flare of surprise on her face.

“I remember.”

Memories of a roadside circus invaded her mind. The smell of popcorn, the twinkle of fairy lights hung low, the happy screams of children. An hour of pretending like she was a normal kid.

Then, a bright pink pony, slightly misshapen from being shoved alongside a dozen others, pressed into her arms by a young Dean Winchester, who’d spent half an hour and all of his pocket money winning it for her.

They shared the memory in silence, their eyes never leaving each other.

“Night *yn*.”

She wanted to call out to him, beg him to sit and listen to her try and explain herself. Wanted to do anything other than sit with the uncomfortable reality that a part of her was feeling disappointed that he wasn’t fighting for her to come with them or fighting to stay and help with Klaus.

Instead she simply mumbled a resigned “goodnight” as she watched him disappear into the spare room.

She numbly walked back into her room, stopping when her gaze snagged on the picture lying atop her dresser.

Her feet carried her before her brain caught up. She padded softly back out into the hallway, her eyes never leaving the slightly faded image clasped in her still tremoring hand.

She placed it on the wooden floor, granting herself one more chance to commit it to memory. The six faces permanently frozen in time stared back at her. Her family. Her unconventional, messy, toxic family - the family she'd give anything to have just one more day with.

She slid the photo under the door.

She exhaled a shaky breath, wiping away the stray tears that had managed to escape down her cheeks as she crawled back into bed.

Her heart was still pounding as she stared up at the dark ceiling. Eventually, exhaustion won and sleep managed to get her in its grasp.

By the time she woke the next morning, Sam and Dean were gone.

next chapter - coming soon

Series Masterlist

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

The tagging was lowkey stuffing with my post, so I've done my tags in the comments. Please let me know if I've forgotten you or if you would like to be tagged! (the tag list is quite chaotic)

You couldn't help but shove your face into the blanket away from Dean, especially since the shiver spreading throughout your body would absolutely give away the heat burning at your cheeks.

All you could manage was a quiet, "Whatever" as you flopped backwards onto the bed, tucking your feet into the blanket. "Are you almost done? I'd like to sleep through this heat-less night as fast as possible.".

"Quit your whining, I'll be over there in a second." He rolls his eyes, starting to assemble every piece he pulled from his duffel bag back together, and you-

your eyes had shot a wide look at him, lifting a brow, "You'll be over here?".

"Yeahhh? You think I'm gonna let you freeze willingly?" He scoffs playfully, shooting a grin.

The deep pit in your stomach began opening up. Sometimes you'd wish it would just swallow you whole, to ignore that small fire that burned for him since the day you both met.

God how much easier it would be to just crawl into a ball, than admit you had the hots for the 'notorious Dean Winchester'. You could vomit just remembering how many times you'd heard him make a woman scream out his name.

"You alright?" He calls out again, pulling you from your thoughts-

"I'm alright, just shocked you don't want your stretching room" You smirk, lightly. You didn't want to give him the wrong impression, even if it was tempting. Though getting rejected sounded worse.

Dean nods, shoving the last few things back inside his duffel before swiftly pulling his flannel off, then the black t-shirt over his head, stepping towards the bed.

You tried to tell your brain no, to shut off and not let your eyes wander far but it was too late. You counted each scar that made a trail across his chest, every muscle of his abdomen defined, growing closer in view as he slid in next to you. His hands unraveling the blanket from around your body, revealing your sweater and sweatpants in all their glory. "Damn, and you're still cold?".

"You're on thin ice Winchester, quite literally." You scowl, instantly rubbing at your arms.

Dean whips the blanket out across the bed, settling down onto the mattress, "I gathered that, now let me make up for it.". His voice shakes slightly as he lifts the blanket with his arm, "Come on Sweetheart,- baby's heater will be waiting for you in the morning. I promise.".

You wished he'd stop calling you that, it would make it easier to slide in next to him in this almost below freezing weather, and nestle into his warmth. That the heat from his body pressing into your back was survival, nothing more and you could just notch this whole spontaneous offer to circumstance.

His fingers slowly curve around your waist, pulling closed any sort of gap between you- aside from the thick layer of thermal, and denim. "Better?".

It was much better, even if the last thing you were going to do was admit that to him.

"A little. Thank you…"

"Anytime, just gotta ask." Dean slides his arm under your pillow, finding room to let your head fall back into the crook of his shoulder.

You weren't sure when it happened but somewhere between Dean's soft breaths easing your worried mind, and how safe you felt when every goose bump on your skin softened- sleep finally wooed you into its grasp.

It had been a few days since the small incident. Dean had turned on his baby's heater before you'd even opened your eyes, and if that wasn't enough- when you did open your eyes…he had two coffee's in hand ready to go like a fucking maniac. He didn't even have to try, and you were falling further into his trap.

"So what did you guys end up finding in Montana anyway?" Sam peaked his head up from the book of lore he'd been reading since you, and Dean had made it back to Bobby's.

"A couple of disappearances , simple salt and burn- though my girl here pissed it off enough to fry the heater." Dean lowly chuckles, giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow.

my girl? his girl?

"hey! it was about to pounce on your ass, best I could do was draw it's attention away." It comes out more like a pout in the state of confusion, with Dean's sickly sweet pet names.

"see?" Dean shrugs, rotating around the corner to the fridge. You watched as his fingers wrapped around the thin flutes, pulling them close to his chest before turning on his heels- mouthing 'beer?".

'badly.' You mouth back, finding each other half way before he handed you the beer, his fingers trailing yours as you palmed the cold glass.

It was when your hands finally ceased touching, did your eyes flick up to find his, and if you didn't already feel crazy. You swore he had never looked at you like that before, just that slightest glimmer till he curves around you- finishing his at home beer run.

Dean felt nuts. He had since the night at the motel, and how hard he had to fight himself to not press too hard into your back, or else he'd be copped out…- not that it was his intention, but he swore that his dick had a mind of its own. That night it was all about you.

It was always about you.

Who was he kidding, but he couldn't imagine crossing that very fine line you had set the day you'd met. 'I never get close to anyone' type of woman. It asserted in his brain, and causing him to resist the urge to chase like he so badly wanted to, figuring it was easier to just shut the hell up and be friends. Friends was good.

It was safer this way.

A few beers later eased the thoughts that had been rolling through his mind, watching as you cross one bare leg over the other. Dean kept trying to listen, to keep up with you listening to Sam babble on about some lore on cursed objects.

Yet here you were, but now instead of sweats- you had on just a pair of his plaid boxers,and his Metallica tee for the night while your clothes were in the wash.

He'd let you before, and he knew Sam wouldn't raise concern to the fact that you were the only one he wanted to share with willingly. Road food, clothes, music, etc…though to be fair, both of your playlist were pretty much identical, just with a few of your modern submissions in the mix. He'd never admit it out loud, in fear Sam would beg for him to let him put on whatever crap he'd found at Stanford.

With you it was easy, not in some twisted way but one where he could just breath. He didn't have to act, didn't have to be the one in charge all the time- you made sure of it. On the other end of every command from you, was exactly where he wanted to be.

'Fuck, nope. Don't even go there Dean."

"Okay…" He fakes a yawn as he rises to his feet, stretching his arms out to the ceiling, then settling them at his sides. "I'm gonna hit the sack".

a small bit of silence passed before you leaned your body forward. "so soon?" Your brows furrowing at him.

"mhm, gonna leave you two, to it" he dips his chin, walking towards the front door.

He closes his eyes for a moment as he hears your feet shuffle behind him on the wood floor.

"The guest bedroom is upstairs, Dean.". You crossed your arms, stopping a few feet away from him. Your eyes set on his hand wrapped around the door knob. You were very good at cornering him, not that he was complaining but he needed out of your sight fast, or else he was sure things were going to become awkward just as such.

"Yeah, well, Bobby keeps offering it to you. Take it, I'll take my backseat." Dean curves a smile, before opening the front door, swiftly escaping down the porch stairs.

"Dean!" you called out.

'Fuck.' You were gonna follow him tonight. 'That's new, that was so fucking new. Shit.'.

He flipped around, nearly knocking you over as you fell face first into his chest. His hands instinctively falling at your waist, pulling you in, trying to balance you from falling into the wet ground- "whoa, easy tiger. human heater remember? I'll be okay.".

"That's not what I'm concerned about" you tilt your head, "are you okay? you're acting off.".

"yeah… YEah."

He cursed at the way his voice cracked. One because of the way you shook your head in disbelief at him afterwards, and two- he's way too fucking old to be lying to you about his feelings.

"yeah right,. now spill" you pulled from his grasp, crossing your arms over again.

Dean bit at his lips, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat "Come on, it's cold-" he paused, nodding his chin towards the porch, "You should be getting warm in there.".

"Dean…" You ground your self, giving him that look he knew all too well. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me, did i do something? was it sam?".

"No no, it's not that," he sighs, trying to look anywhere but that damned gorgeous face- "I just-"

It was the moment he stopped, and those damn green eyes trailed up your body; you knew you were so screwed, and so was he .

"I can't get you off my mind, ever." He darks his tongue against the plush of his lips, before biting at his bottom one. "I mean, I gotta have a real problem for wanting the one woman who could eat me up and spit me out-… and I'd thank her".

You felt the flame flicker hotter beneath your chest, looking between his lips and his now openly wandering eyes. "you'd thank me?".

"yeah, honestly-" He steps forward, his hands lifting the hem of your shirt slightly as he slipped them around your waist, indenting the tips of his fingers into your plush skin "i wanna thank your parents for their genetics, but also I mean that wit- the way you can make me laugh just by being you. i'm in deep sweetheart. I can't deny that. You're drop dead gorgeous, and if looks could kill…".

"Dean- you don't mean that."

You couldn't believe that, as much as you wanted to just say fuck it, and settle into this picture perfect bubble;

-he was dean, 'shoot first, ask questions later Dean'.

Instead of letting you push him away, "Now you wait-", he moves one of his hands, delicately pinching your chin between his index and thumb, leaning you forward a mere inch from his lips,"Say you don't feel the same, and I'll stop."

His gruff words continued again, lower.

"We go back to normal…act like nothing happened.".

You notice as his chest rose and fell in deep breaths, eyes trailing down the curvature of your face, seeming to be memorizing each detail of your bone structure as if it was the last time he'd see it this close.

It was a mixture of the way his hands eased on your waist, waiting patiently for your response that every thought of never crossing that line…the one where someone falls in love, that one where the other has to be aware of that the job could cost them something neither agrees to. Life. Love was the line.

if he was certain, then hell, so were you.

You leaned up on the tips of your feet, just enough that when your lips melted into his- so did his hold. Hands instantly moving, one rounding to your waist and upper back pulling you flat against his chest. You let yourself wrap your arms around to the back of his neck, earning small smile perk against your lips.

"I don't want you to stop, ever Winchester" You admit breathless against his lips, leaning back an inch to find his gaze. "But Dean, we should keep this private, until whatever case Bobby just got a call on is gonna disrupt some very needed adjusting time-to this, …us?".

He swallows thickly, nodding a kind curve of his lips. "Yeah, totally." He bites his lips innocently, "What's the case?".

"Something about your dad's storage unit, one in New York- it got broken into. I caught it on the way out." You admit, looking between his eyes.

"Dammit" he grunts, kissing your lips a last time that night as he scoops you off your now wet slippers up to the porch. Setting you down carefully. "Promise me you're not gonna back out?".

"I would never, as long as you promise to sleep on one of the two couches" You smirk.

"Promise"

"Then I do too.".

It looked like the three of you would be going to Black Rock, New York tomorrow with no choice but flipping the damn unit upside down trying to find out what those poor bastards stole or didn't. Dealers choice at that point, you guessed.

Though it wasn't that, that kept you up staring at the ceiling of the guest bedroom. It was the way you could still feel his lips on your own, tracing the pad of your middle finger across the plush skin.

How every nerve ending was still lit in the places where his hands once touched, he was so warm and inviting. The smell of whiskey, and amber intoxicating your senses in swirl of sin.

You plunged your finger past your lips, suckling it wet thinking of how his fingers dug into your skin- his breath hot against your own. You let off with a quiet pop, sliding your hand down your stomach past the hem of the boxers.

A small crack, causes you to pause, listening for a few silent moments. The house was probably settling, or one of the boys were tossing and turning as usual. Yeah. That's what it sounded like.

When you to continue, the same sound rutted again- causing you to slip the hand out from the boxers, throwing the blanket off your body. The floor beneath greeting your feet cold, and unforgiving. Maybe this was karma for letting your mind go that direction, picturing his fingers-

'ugh! get a grip.' you whisper to yourself, cracking the door open to find Dean switching off the far hall light.

"Hey" Dean seems to have each creaky slat memorized by heart as he makes his way down towards you. "Can't sleep either?".

"Hell no, with you making all that noise" you tease, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"To be fair, it was that stupid air fresher Bobby has stowed on the bookshelf" He leads you back into the guest bedroom, closing the door light with his foot behind him. "What's your excuse other than that, huh?".

You froze.

Did he know? Was god punishing you for thinking those thoughts so soon?

No it was Dean, you wouldn't be surprised if was into something like that. Right? Fuck.

"beer not sitting it well?" His eyes widen from their lazy rest.

"no, just-" you cursed yourself for the next part that escaped your lips, before you even being able to catch them. "I was thinking about you…"

"what about me, hm?" He smirks, throwing his brows up curiously as he backs you up to the edge of the bed.

"How I wanted to feel you again" you kiss his lips, bracing for rejection yet instead he hoisted you onto his hips before laying your back flat against the mattress. His body radiating over you, steadying himself with each arm at separate sides of your body.

"I've been missing your warmth for days." He gently tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, releasing it as he moves one hand to cup your jaw. Instead of returning to your lips, his lips find their place on the nape of your neck trailing wet opened mouth kisses up your skin till his breath lies next to your ear.

"That's the real reason I couldn't sleep, too busy think about how badly I just wanted to throw you in the backseat n' just-"

You hadn't noticed when but his hand that had been holding space for his assault on your neck; now sat dangerously close to where you wanted that hand the most- second to what you craved tenting his navy sweatpants.

"and just what?" you whisper lowly, earning a few well earned groans as you dragged your lips across the fresh stubble along his jaw just as his hand dipped below the hem the elastic of your boxers. Finally feeling the two thick pads of his finger slide through the slick.

>>

- -DINGbingDINGbingDINGbingDING- -

You slammed your hand down on the pin between the two bells, bringing the disastrous sound to an end. This was going to be a long case, especially if it concerned something of John's- Dean didn't play when it came to his father. So even thinking of touching Dean this case, was going to be a huge- nope, nada, none. The hard part would be setting ground rules with him in the car before Sam joined the ride to make three of you.

Both your feelings hidden, specifically with the small stash of weed he kept hidden in the glove box behind the wall of cassettes.

From the front seat, Sam was slumped against the window. His lips were parted slightly, and he was knocked out cold. Y/N blinked at him, equally as exhausted.

Dean stumbled out the door on stiff legs. "Yeah, I know. He's about as useless as a giraffe on NyQuil right now." When Y/N touched pavement, he leaned back, and hit the lock. Click.

“There,” he said, satisfied. “No one’s kidnapping my baby brother tonight.”

Y/N snorted. “You really think someone’s gonna see him and think, ‘Yeah, I’ll steal the unconscious sasquatch in flannel’?”

He shrugged. "People are weird. Let's go."

The parking lot was empty except for the Impala and a busted semi that looked like it hadn’t moved in a decade. Y/N sprinted to Dean's side and hooked her arm through his.

The diner itself was just as sallow. A jukebox murmured something twangy and unrecognizable. "Sit wherever you'd like," a lone waitress waved from behind the counter.

They slid into a booth, both of them blinking at the sullied lights. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “I'm fried."

“I think my spine fused to the seats," Y/N offered through a yawn.

He appraised her. "You're fine. The sleepless look is hot."

She gave him a tired smile. When the waitress arrived, she took their orders of double cheeseburgers, large fries, chocolate milkshakes, and Dean's side of, "Whatever will keep us from driving into oncoming traffic."

When the food arrived, the fries were golden and hot, served in a plastic basket lined with wax paper. The pair ate in companionable silence until Dean leaned back, pleased. “I forgot how nice it is just sitting with you. No monsters, no hex bags, no blood.”

Y/N glanced up from her shake. His eyes were tired but clear, watching her like she was the only thing still moving in their dusty little corner of the world.

“You’re kind of it for me,” he admitted. “You keep me steady.” Dean reached across the table and slid his hand over hers, fingers warm and grounding. “Miles don’t drag as much. It’s less of a grind, don't you think?”

Suddenly embarrassed, he chomped on a fry to deflect attention and choked. He waved frantically at the waitress, calling for a large Coke. The woman patted his back while he chugged, not wanting to lose her only customer that night.

Crisis averted, Y/N leaned her chin against the palm of her hand, endeared. "I feel the same way, you know."

Dean's eyes crinked lovingly. A soft cough sounded. He reached for her hand a second time and planted a brief kiss to her knuckles. He didn’t say anything else, and he didn’t have to.

Dean and Y/N continued eating in that worn booth of that nowhere town in Nebraska. They knew these were the moments that mattered. They sipped at their shakes, finally grateful for the long stretch of road that brought them together time and time again.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Supernatural has ruined me. I desperately want to take a road trip around desolate Americana. Forget logistics.

➤ General | @the-chaotic-cow @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @adaydreamaway @stitchintimefan @andthevillainshallrises @justyourlocalwhore @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @leigh70 @cookiemumster1

As you had left his room right before lunch, you saw his brother and waved. “Bye, Dean!” You chuckled, making your way to your own motel room.

You stripped out of your clothes and hopped in the shower, wanting to be on the road soon. There were a few options for you, so you thought about where you felt like heading while you washed your hair.

Sitting on the bed, you leaned against the headboard and logged onto your account. It had been a couple days since you’d had the chance to talk to him, so you were hoping that he was on. Your face lit up when you saw that he was in fact logged on.

Theinastus- There you are!! Where were you last night? I had to listen to my brother fuck some chick. Kanestinia- Why didn’t you put on your headphones? lol Theinastus- They were in his room. And you didn’t tell me where you were. Where were you? Have you been cheating on WoW with another game? Lol Kanestinia- I went out to a bar, hung out with some pretty cool people, and went home with a guy. So no. I was no cheating on WoW. I was having a grand ol’ time. ;)

Dean stared at the screen. He had no right to be jealous! You weren’t his girlfriend, but he hated the thought of you sleeping with some random guy. Taking a deep breath, he tried to make sure he didn’t come off like some douche.

Theinastus- I hope he at least pleased my lady. I would hate to have to hunt him down for disappointing you. Kanestinia- Oh. I’m very pleased alright. He was one hell of a way to break a dry spell! Lol. How about you? Boulder City had some hot women. Please tell me you snatched one up ;) Theinastus- Actually, I didn’t. After my brother left with what’s her name, I came back to the room hoping to see you.

You sighed, shaking your head.

Kanestinia- Don’t forget to live your life because of some girl behind the computer screen. Theinastus- You’re not just some girl.

Staring at his words, your heart sped up, crossing your fingers that he didn’t mean what you thought he did.

Theinastus- I love you.

He ran his hand through his hair, his leg shaking. Did she feel the same? Would she blow him off? Did he just ruin this? Dean suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Groaning, his head went back. “Fuck.” He sighed.

Kanestinia- You don’t know me. We flirt, yeah, but you don’t really know anything about me. It’s safer that way. Just… Live your life, okay? Don’t let our flirting ruin it. Maybe in a different life, it would have been very different, but this is our life. I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll be on tomorrow night. Just, please think about what I said.

Tearing up, you shut your laptop without properly logging off. It wasn’t fair. You broke your own heart as you were typing those words! You loved him, a lot, and that’s why you had to do that. That’s why you had to say that. Wiping your cheek, you set your laptop off to the side and forced yourself to breathe.

The heavy clanking of chains and the dampness of the basement hit you like cold water in the morning. Confusedly trying to get some focus of events, you shook your head, almost instantly calling out an irritated lurch somewhere behind you. The gears were slowly banging one against one in your brain, not ready to acknowledge the worst of it. Though it was clear in the back of your mind that it was Dean. You could have sworn you were about to meet his disappointed gaze, or worse, a silver bullet to the forehead.

The man grabbed your chin sharply, not even trying to control the force with which he squeezed the soft skin that once held you so sweetly against him. "Don't look away, the least you can do is look at me." Dean leaned in slightly, gritting his teeth almost to the point of grinding. "After all the shit you pulled on me. How long did you think you'd be a doormat?" He cut himself short, pulling away and crossing his arms over his chest as a low rumble came from you.

The noise intensified behind you, and within minutes Dean Winchester was standing in front of you. His green eyes darkened, like he saw some bastard he should take his life, but damn it was ironic. You pressed your lips together, unable to even look at him.

A tiny signal of how much pain he was holding you in. To his inner turmoil, Winchester let go, he would blame himself again and again later, but not now. "Just let me explain..." Your parched lips cracked as you tried in vain to moisten them with saliva. Winchester, squinted his eyes, unable to hide the way his inner demons were eating away at him.

He couldn't get his mind around how disgusting you were. The little snake he held close, the bloodsucker in the same bed as him. It was utter nonsense, but it was true. And the worst part was that he loved you, even now, through the prism of hatred, he loved you.

The man paced the damp floor, which creaked treacherously beneath him, sagging wetly. "Try explaining." The chilling tone cut into you like a knife to the heart, but with the stipulation that it had been spun a few times. Under that invisible vise, the only thing you could do was stare meekly at the floor, swaggering your words.

"I wanted to say earlier...But i was enjoying the moment too much, you know? All your love, your affection, your smile, those damn teases.... Everything was available to me, like I'd won the damn lottery." You didn't dare look at him, just squirmed.

Dean stopped, looking at you, pursing his lips. A weak excuse, you knew full well he was smashing heads with the likes of you every damn day, yet you still lived off of fortune. Either you were a goddamn lunatic or crazy in love. He almost suppressed a smirk, running those words through his head.

But the moment of weakness didn't last long, he would remember again the moments where you almost got caught. The perpetual night walks, the drops of blood caked on your clothes, the odd behavior, after all. But Dean was just a brainless puppy in love for turning a blind eye so easily. Now all he wanted to do was bang his head against the wall a few times to beat the crap out of himself and the idea that you deserved forgiveness.

Still circling beside you, he hissed in your ear, warm breath stated with dry speech. "That's a weak excuse. If you'd lost control and gnawed on a neighborhood, right? A city? You're dangerous as hell." The man touched your neck, nuzzling it in a light touch, averting his gaze. Now the gears were already working in his brain. It was as if some contradiction was showing its ugly head every time he spat those caustic words at you, every time he wanted to take your head off. God damn him.

Still clutching your neck, his eyes followed yours, those damn eyes full of fear and despair, those damn eyes in which he was drowning and still is. Those lips, now pressed almost to white, used to kiss him supplely. Your hair, the familiar tuft of hair that rippled against his skin. And it was now that it overwhelmed him, as if he were looking through an old family album.

But that's the thing about scrapbooks, they hold those memories that can only be remembered, not realized. You're a monster, you killed innocent people, manipulated them. Torn in a cycle of doubt, he didn't notice how damn hard he squeezed your throat, of course it wouldn't kill you, but noticeable discomfort it might bring.

"Shit shit shit shit, I-" As if coming out of a trance, he recoiled, looking at your face, you almost on the verge of tears. The irony was eerily funny, because he too felt a lump somewhere in the middle of his throat.

"Just tell me, what the hell? Why are you torturing me?" He pressed his lips together, running his fingers through his hair. "You know damn well I can't kill you, but you look at me like I'm the ultimate evil of all." Muttering quietly, Dean took a few deep breaths, looking at you slightly blurred.

Shit. He can't just take your life, not after you pulled him out of a shit hole, not after you helped him rebuild Sammy, not after you gave him a goddamn house. He found a piece of himself. He'd already lost one, his father, and he wasn't ready to lose one by his own stupid oversight.

In fact, you'll handle everything together, won't you? Dean knelt down in front of you, his hands convulsively squeezing your cheeks, on which tears had long since flowed. The man pressed his forehead against yours, his voice shaking like he was in forty-degree cold. "I'm sorry, i'm sorry i'm a fool." He looked at you. "No, you're not.... Anyone in your shoes would have done the same." You muttered, meeting his gaze.

"I'm in my place right now and i'm being an idiot for letting myself love you." Bitter longing mixed with the heaviness of his voice as calloused fingers drew faint circles on your cheeks. "Hey... don't cry." Winchester leaned toward you, absorbing the regret in your eyes.

"That's right, you're a complete idiot for not shooting me in the head." Trembling, your hand tentatively reaches for his hair, groping the area. But here you are: he suppliantly reaches for you, unable to look at you anymore. It's as if all his hateful feeling has been washed away by the speech water, as if you were never a blood-singing brat and he never dreamed of killing you.

It's like everything's back to normal. He's beside you, you're stroking his hair, and he's tucking his lips into your shoulder. It's all so familiar, so warm. So much so that it could have been a happy dream, but no. We're in a harsh reality where every parasite will get to every innocent.

Just by that, you receive a crushing blow to the heart, his revolver filled with silver bullets poking into your soft chest. He doesn't even try to hold back the tears that are traitorously pouring out of him, the only thing he can do is scream as he stares at your now breathless body. Dean could have sworn there was a phrase frozen on your lips that cut his heart worse than any knife. "I love you."