#spndivas

At eight-thirty on the dot, same time as always, she walked into San Jac and took a seat at one of the tall tables next to the window. Jensen set a glass tumbler on the smooth counter in front of him, went light on the ice and sour mix, heavy on the whiskey, then made way for the table.

“Y/N, sweetheart. Right on time, as usual,” he greeted, setting the glass in front of her.

She sipped at it and smiled. “Mmm, delicious as always. Thanks.”

Jensen returned her smile then headed back for the bar. He kept an eye on her as he usually did, pacing out her drinks but making sure she never had to ask for a refill. Y/N had been coming in to San Jack for as long as he could remember now, and was one of his favorite regulars. She never asked for much, never caused a stir, and never stayed later than midnight.

She also never got out of her chair. Jensen would catch her wishfully watching other patrons dancing to the music provided by the live band, but she never joined them. Though he often wondered why, it never occurred to him to actually ask her why she was always alone, always just watching.

Then, one night, she came in with a man. They sat at the bar, and Y/N introduced her date to Jensen. She ordered her usual, and her date ordered a local brew. Jensen kept an eye out as the couple chatted, all smiles and seeming to have a good time.

This must be it, he thought to himself. She’s finally going to get out on that dance floor tonight.

As often as Y/N glanced at the dance floor, though, she and her date never left their barstools. They went through a few rounds of drinks, but, as far as Jensen could tell, they never even mentioned dancing.

For a few nights after that, she didn’t come in to the bar; Jensen was starting to worry when she finally returned — this time on her own.

“Miss me?” she grinned as he set her whiskey sour on the tall table.

Jensen nodded and winked at her. “Of course I did. Everything all right?”

“Fine,” she replied, sipping at her drink. “Tried a couple new places with my date from the other night. Wasn’t too impressed. I like it here.”

“I like having you here,” Jensen smiled. “You’re here earlier tonight — you ate before coming to drink, right?”

Y/N laughed. “Yes, I promise. Didn’t come to drink on an empty stomach.”

“Good,” Jensen chuckled. He wiped down the table next to hers and then went back to the bar to attend to his other customers.

It was almost a comfort to have her back, sipping her whiskey sours, occasionally making conversation with him, and watching the dance floor — watching but never joining the crowd.

One rainy night, the bar was exceptionally slow. Jared, the bar’s owner, called and asked if Jensen thought that it would be better to just shut down and send everyone home for the night.

Jensen looked over at Y/N in her usual spot; she was twirling the stir stick around her drink, her chin rested on her hand. Her glances at the dance floor tonight were particularly longing, he thought.

“Why don’t we shut down the upper level, and I’ll let the band down here decide what they want to do? Me and one waitress should be enough to cover the people who are here.”

Jared trusted Jensen’s judgement, so he let his friend make the call. After a few minutes, Jensen asked the waitress to cover the bar while he went upstairs to make the announcement that they’d be shutting down the upper level of the place. The band downstairs decided to call it a night, but the acoustic act from upstairs stayed on to keep music playing on the main level.

With the few remaining customers satisfied for the time being, Jensen took the seat across from Y/N. She looked up at him, brow raised.

“Do I need to leave so you can go home?” she asked.

Jensen shook his head. “Nope. Just figured since things are slowing down, I’d figure out what it is that has you so down tonight.”

“Maybe it’s just the rain,” she sighed, leaning back in the chair.

“No, I don’t think so. C’mon. I’m the bartender — might as well be a shrink, right?”

That earned a hint of a smile. “Just life, Jay. That’s all.”

He raised his brow, urging her to elaborate.

“It’s just — I moved down here from my hometown a few years ago. Started coming into the bar because I didn’t know anyone. The bar was new, I think, and so was I. It was a comfort. I figured having a regular place to go would help me meet people while I got settled. Yeah, I met you, and I’ve met some people at work but … I don’t know. Still feels like something is missing. Or someone.”

Jensen thought for a moment. “Someone you left back home, maybe?”

“Definitely not,” Y/N snorted, catching his drift. “There was a guy there, but he was more part of the reason that I left. My life seemed so shattered when we fell apart, I had to start completely over.”

“You never got over it,” Jensen surmised. “Him, yes. Having someone, no.”

She sighed again. “You could be right.”

A new customer, wet and shivering from the rainstorm, approached the bar. Jensen stood from the chair and squeezed her hand. “Hang in there, Y/N. You’ll dance again.”

This time she laughed; not even a sad laugh or one that wasn’t whole-hearted. The laugh was genuine and cheerful, and warmed Jensen’s concerned heart.

After that, she started coming into San Jac with dates more often. Jensen never saw any of them more than once, but she never seemed upset again like she had on that rainy night.

“I’m trying,” Y/N told him. “It gets discouraging at time, but the guy’s out there. The one who’s gonna ask me to dance and be someone I can depend on and be my friend before anything.”

Not so much to ask for, Jensen thought to himself.

He did his part, serving drinks as requested and encouraging her when the guy spent the whole time on his phone or ignored those ever-present glances at the dance floor. He kept her laughing on the nights she came in alone, and even provided her company on the nights when the bar was slow.

It was one such night when Jared was able to come in and check on things, as he did every once in a while. There were three customers, including Y/N, and Jensen was the only employee there. Even the usual acoustic act had opted to go home for the night.

The two men stood behind the bar and chatted while the customers sipped at their drinks and listened to the jukebox play. Jared watched his friend glance at the woman sitting by the window one too many times for him not to say something.

“Tell me, Jack,” Jared said, “she the reason you don’t close on slow nights?”

Jensen looked in the direction of his friend’s pointed finger, but he didn’t need to — he was only playing dumb at this point. He shrugged and did whatever he could not to look Jared in the eye.

“No, of course not,” Jensen replied.

Jared snorted. “Yeah, that’s convincing.”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man. She’s just a regular. Been coming in here since you opened the place.”

Jared still wasn’t convinced, but he left it alone for the time being. They stayed open for another hour, and when they announced last call, Y/N was the last one to leave. Jensen introduced her to Jared, and the three of them chatted for a few more minutes before she made her way home. She turned at the door to wave at them, and the shine in Jensen’s eye told Jared everything he needed know about this woman who was “just a regular.”

Ten days — that’s how many she was gone after that night. Jensen knew because he counted. He had lost count, however, of how many times he watched the door of the bar when it opened. Each time, he hoped her smiling face would come through, but it was always someone else.

After all those days, he was prepared to track down her number. He didn’t know how he was missing someone so much that he had never seen outside of the bar and didn’t know much about, but here he was, wondering what had happened and why she stopped coming in. His yearning convinced him of one thing: if Y/N ever came back in to the bar, he’d get to know her better. Hell, maybe he’d even ask her out for dinner or something.

Just after eleven, a new customer came in and took a seat at the bar. Jensen had given up hope that Y/N would come in that night, so he was caught off guard when she greeted him cheerfully.

“Glad to see the place wasn’t falling apart without me.”

He recognized her voice immediately, and the shock wore off quickly; Jensen was simply glad to see her. He neglected to tell her that the place hadn’t fallen apart without her, but he nearly had. “Hey, stranger. Thought maybe you’d fallen off the face of the planet.”

“Nah. Just went home to see family.”

Jensen smiled; that was a reason he could deal with. He listened closely while she told him about her trip, which included many details about her friends, family, and hometown. He asked questions and even shared some stories about his own family. Before either of them realized it, the time for last call had come. Only a few other patrons remained, but they paid their tabs and left quickly. Y/N slid off the barstool and reached for the cash in her back pocket.

“Keep it,” Jensen said, pushing the bills back to her. “It’s on the house tonight — my welcome back to you.”

Y/N smiled as she shoved the cash back in her pocket. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait, Y/N,” Jensen called, coming around the bar to catch up with her. “Uh, if I can get the band to stay for another song or two — will you dance with me?”

The pink on her cheeks was almost as bright as the shine in her eyes. Her smile reached from ear to ear as she took his outstretched hand.

Wanting to ask more though a little voice in the back of your mind which sounds eerily like Sam’s telling you to drop it for now; he won’t talk just yet anyway. Just the fact that Dean had been walking down some street in the rain a few miles from a motel most likely the one they were staying at, and not far from your house is slightly odd. Especially given the fact that you haven’t seen each other in quite a few years; in fact it’s been four and a half years now since you retired from hunting, if you could call it that. Especially since Bobby’s death a loss that still weighs heavily on your heart. You and Garth that is till he took off as well; had become the go-to on Supernatural baddies. Swapping back and forth on who plays the FBI, Captains, and anyone else in higher authority when the hunters with their fake badges need help fooling local PD.

The silence getting to you, “Sure you don’t want me to take you back to your motel?”

“Your place,” is all he answered still wringing his hands that rest between those powerful thighs.

Thighs you hadn’t thought about, who were you fooling? Of course, you’d thought about them and so much more over the years of separation. Every once in a while when things got stressed, a case didn’t go how either of you wanted you’d find comfort in each other’s arms back then. On those lonely dark nights, you missed those times, missed him and his brooding ways. Hell, you even missed hunting from time to time as well.

Shaking your head those kinds of thoughts needed to stay out of your mind now wasn’t the time, “You gonna actually string more words together than that Winchester or do I stop the car and you get out?”  

“I failed him Y/N,” voice low, filled with a heavy guilt that broke your heart. “True is, I failed them all.”

You could guess who Dean’s talking about the only person, the reason he keeps fighting for a better world, the one person he’d die to protect… Sam. “What happened?”

Fear wrapped it’s self around your heart squeezing, praying that Sam wasn’t dead, that Castiel is okay and not burnt angel wings. Attention split between listening to Dean tell the story from when you last saw them. How Sam took on the trials to close the gates of hell. Of how the trials destroyed his body to the point of death; how he called out to Castiel first but got no answer then to the other fallen angels. Two appeared one by the name of the Ezekiel fought and killed the other unnamed angel. How Dean tricked Sam into letting Ezekiel into his body to heal him and now Sam was the lead in a weird version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Pulling into your drive, cutting the engine you turn to look at Dean whose head is bowed hands still twisting in his lap. “He’s okay now though right no lasting effects?”

“Other than the fact that he pretty much hated me for a while, yes he’s back to our loveable Sammy,” a low snort leaves his lips as he goes on to explain more.

Meeting their grandfather, finding the Men of letters Bunker, Abaddon, Cain, the Mark of Cain being branded onto his arm and The First blade; ends with him dying by Metatron’s hand. That makes you gasp and look at him like he’s grown a second head but you listen with rapt attention.

Of his partnership with Crowley, being a demon, “Butch and Sundown,” you make the comment with a half smirk for which you receive a glare from the man next to you.

He goes on to tell you all about being turned back, trying to get the mark off, killing Death and bringing God’s sister Amara back from prison the key, of course, is the mark. Chasing after and finding out that Chuck is really God and has been on earth for the longest time.

Dean’s fixing to explain the last year when you take a breath you move to open your door looking back at him, “And in all that time you never once thought to pick up a damn phone? Text me, send carrier pigeon anything or way to tell me your sorry ass is still alive,” demanding tone to your voice, anger flashing in your eyes.

“What’d you want me to do Y/N I couldn’t very well stop to give you a ring a ding on the phone for a quick fireside chat,” face flush as he glares right back at you. “Goes both ways sister you could’ve done the same thing.”

“I did and every fucking phone number I tried didn’t work and when Garth went MIA and couldn’t find him I had no one to call. When I needed someone to lean on I had no one,” hurt colored your tone as you get out quickly, running through the rain to your front door, opening and stepping in.

The loud clap of thunder masked Dean following you and the slam of your car door. You hadn’t expected him to be almost right behind you nor that he would catch the door you’re ready to slam in his face.

“Listen I didn’t come here to pick a fight.”

Whirling around to face him, “Then why in the hell did you? Barreling back into my life like some tornado after being gone with no word, letter, or text not a damned thing for so long.”

“Cool your heels Dorothy I promise not to drop a house on your cute ass,” a smirk appearing on his face that’s wiped away by the look on yours. “Honestly I don’t know why I called you or why I decided to go Singin’ in the rain, but I did it and I’m here now. So you got any dry clothes and pie?”

Shaking your head, “Think your cute huh?”

“I’m adorable sweetheart you know that.”

Snorts turning to head back to your room, catching that he’s gonna follow, “Stay,” hands out in the age-old sign of stop. “I’d tell ya to sit but I don’t want your mange all over my couch.”

“Haha, you so funny Y/N… not,” Dean retorts but stays in the same spot pulling his soaked flannel off carefully letting it fall with a wet slap to the floor.

Meanwhile, you’re searching through the spare closet for something that would fit Dean. Not having a boyfriend to steal clothes from in a while had put a hamper on the selection but you managed to find a pair of jeans and t-shirt that’ll fit him fairly well. Unless of course he’s gained weight/muscle since the last time you’d seen him naked. Shaking those thoughts from your mind once again, he wasn’t here for that and you didn’t need him back in your life complicating matters.

Returning to the living room you have to pause seeing him standing there in almost all his glory, boxers still on much to your chagrin, to hand him the clothes then head towards the kitchen hell bent on keeping your distance for now anyway.

Back to the entryway of the kitchen getting the Keurig ready to make a cup of coffee, you don’t realize that Dean has finished changing and come to lean against the door frame, bare feet crossed as he watches you work. Something familiar yet foreign about how you flit from one place to the next; getting mugs ready, selecting the right brew, cream, and sugar. A jolt of surprise rocks through him when you remember exactly how he takes his coffee.

“Old habit or from memory?” stepping into the room wincing when you jump dropping the spoon from your hand to place it over your heart.

Turning to glare at him, “Announce yourself next time Winchester I could’ve blown your head off.”

“Not likely I’d been standing there for a good five minutes and you didn’t notice,” he returned with that infernal smirk on his full lips that you want to smack right off that handsome face. “You slippin’ darlin’ better start practicing again or you’ll lose it.”

Grabbing up the paring knife you’d used earlier without blinking you turn and throw it dead aim at the spot Dean once stood. In fact, the very spot his head occupied. With a raised brow, “Still take it with cream and sugar right?” nothing being said about the knife.

Looking between the knife and you he nods, “Can I use your washer?

“Through there,” pointing to the doorway by the refrigerator. “Don’t overuse the soap and make sure all your shits out of the pockets for cryin’ out loud,” you call going to the fridge and pulling out the last bit of pecan pie.    

By the time he’s got the washer going you’ve set out a slice of pie and coffee each at the small two-person table by the window. Rain still lashing against the blinds covered pane combined with the howling wind you're thankful for this nice cozy house and coffee.

Stepping back into the kitchen Dean pauses seeing the little setup, “Expecting company? Should I guess who’s coming to dinner?”  

“Haha,” you parroted back at him from earlier. “Sit your ass down and eat, it’s not much but I know you’ll eat it.”

“What man in his right mind would pass up pie with a beautiful woman,” he commented taking the opposite seat as you suggested.

Another snort leaves your lips wondering how he could say something like that? When you were standing in your small kitchen dressed in ratty jeans, boots, t-shirt, which now that you think about it you’d stole from Dean years ago as it’s a Led Zeppelin band shirt, and grey flannel, hair up in a messy bun.  

“Yeah, you need your eyes checked Dean,” taking the other seat and sipping your coffee slowly watching him devour his piece of pie and starts go eat yours. “If you value that hand I would keep it on your side of the table and away from my pie.”

Grinning, “Still got that same spunk in ya sweetheart.”

“Not much has changed about me Dean except I don’t hunt anymore; I answer phones especially after Bobby,” swirling the tine’s of your fork in the gooey filling of your pie not bothering to look up at Dean right then.

You’ve never told the eldest Winchester why you stopped hunting not that he asked. Most likely `thinking it’s because of some guy. How close to that assumption he’d be. But not only that you were tired of losing, tired of watching good people die in a never-ending war.

“You still with me,” snapping his fingers in your face that you smack away when they get too close, “Guess so.”

Fixing him with narrowed eyes, “Why did you really call Dean? It’s been what three years since we last saw each other and now you just come back into my life. Why?”

“Figured we’d come full circle eventually,” taking another sip of his coffee Dean stares down into the creamy brew trying to gather his thoughts. “Amara gave me back the one thing I’ve always wanted.”

“What a brain?” comes the snarky comment before you can stop it only glancing up when he doesn’t respond. “Couldn’t help it’s hard habit to break, picking on you at every turn.”

“We did spend a lot of time together after all in and out of bed,” you swore a ghost of a smile flittered over his lips but it’s gone, making you think you were seeing things. “And no it wasn’t a brain. It’s Mary, my mom.”

For a good long while, you gape at him unsure if he’s pulling your leg or telling you the truth. You never had the pleasure of meeting Mary, having only met the brothers a little after their father was killed. “I… I don’t know what to say, Dean. Congrats seem weird and at the same time I know it has to be odd having her back.”

“It’s…” he tries to gather his thoughts to voice what he’s been feeling. Always so easy to you, to talk about anything that’d been bothering him even the heavy stuff, Dean would always go to you till you weren’t there anymore. “Complicated Y/N that’s for sure. For the first little bit it was unreal, then she left to figure things out and it’s dad all over again. I couldn’t wrap my head around it for the longest.”

Reaching across the table for the first time since picking him up to take his hand, “You will get through this Dean, you and Sam always seem to come out on top.”

Fixing to say something to rebuff your words, when the front door comes banging open, “Mama, mama,” a little boy’s voice calls as a blur of sandy brown hair, Captain America shirt and more energy than a supernova he came running in, jumping into your arms.

“Mama,” hugging you tightly around the neck resting his little head on your shoulder; you look to Dean who’s staring at the boy with a closed off expression. But his downcast eyes on the table and the way he’s sitting straight up tells you he’s both uncomfortable and maybe even a bit curious.

“Bobby where’s Grandma Jean?”

Huffing a little and wet in places Grandma Jean steps in the kitchen doorway looking first to you then Dean with a small frown on her lips. “Little stinker couldn’t wait to get in here to see you.”

Combing your fingers through his hair, “Thank you for watching him while I worked this evening Jean it means a lot to me.”

“Nonsense girl he’s a joy to have around and brighten my otherwise horrible days,” she motions with her head to Dean. “Want me to take him upstairs for a bath?”

“Please,” patting Bobby’s back. Who pulls away to look at you, “Go with Grandma Jean for a bath buddy mama has a visitor right now.”

Turning to Dean, piercing him with those molten whiskey green eyes, the same ones that stare back at him in the mirror every time. “Who that?”

“Baby this is Dean an old friend of mine,” looking towards Dean. “This is Bobby my son.”

Swallowing harshly Dean extends his hand towards the boy who stares at him almost calculating in his perusal of Dean. “Hey young man nice to meet you I’m Dean.”

Looking back at you; which you nod that it’s okay before accepting his hand towards Dean, “I’m four and three quarters,” he states matter of fact shaking Dean’s hand then returning his gaze to you. “Can he play with me, mama?”

“Not right now baby, go wash up first. Have you eaten?” he nods with a little pout on his lips. “If you’re good for Grandma Jean we’ll have a candy apple at the fall festival this weekend.”

His eyes light up with a quick nod and a smile that could light the whole world. “Okay mama,” kissing your cheek before heading towards Jean who scoops him up into her arms.

“You need anything holler I’ve got my 22 with me,” she states firmly sending a glare to the back of Dean’s head.

When we're alone again you stand from the table gathering the dirty dishes unsure how to approach the subject; no the elephant that just left the room.

“So were you seeing other people back then?”

Slamming the plate down thankful it’s not glass, “Of all the fucking questions you could ask and that’s what you chose Dean?” shaking with anger you keep your back to him because if you turn you know something will be flying at his head.

“What am I supposed to think Y/N?

“How about the fact that he’s your son dip shit or the fact that you didn’t bother answering, getting back to me, hell even speaking to me after the last time we made love,” shaking your head turning to stare at him while yelling. Watching his head bowed in shame, “You choose to leave Dean, to walk out of my life and not look back. I tried to get in contact with you so many times.”

“I’m so…” his words are cut short when a glass comes flying at his head shattering on impact with the wall as he ducked at the right time.

“You don’t get to say that, you don’t get to apologize for something you could’ve fixed. You get to walk out of this house and not come back because we don’t need you now and never will,” even as you say those bitter words that burn your tongue, you know there a lie. You’ve always needed him more so now than before. Yet the prideful part of you won’t let you say that nor will it let you break in front of him.

Running a hand through his hair tugging making the strands stand up, “Just keep safe…”

“This house is warded against all super…”

Shaking his head, “I know you can handle that but humans they are trickier than any vampire or demon ever will be.”

“What are you talking about Dean?”

“Just protect yourself and,” he swallows hard glancing towards the kitchen door, “Bobby. I don’t want anything to happen to either of you especially now.”

Gapping at him arms crossed a glare on your face, “You don’t get to make that call Dean it’s out of your hands and frankly, right now I’d like you to leave.”  

Giving you one last look not sure if he’d ever see you or little Bobby again he wants to memorize each feature. “I truly am sorry for not being around if I could do things differently I would. But that’s not my fate,” eyes closed at that thought he turns to go. “Be safe Y/N,” whispering, “You have my heart always have.”

Watching him go tears start to stream down your cheeks unchecked as you lean back against the counter a slump to your shoulders that jump when the door slams shut. To keep yourself busy and gather your feelings before going up to see Bobby, you grab the broom and dustpan to pick up the broken glass. That ironically matches your heart.

Outside in the drizzling rain Dean pulls a frame from his jacket to look it over one more time. The photo depicting you and Bobby at the playground smiling having a good time; it’ll be the only thing he’ll have of the two of you. Putting it back he pulls out his cell phone next finding the number and swiping to dial.

“Find her?”

“Yes and no, come pick me up; corner of Birch and Smith.”

“What’d mean Dean?”

Yesterday.

Her hands hug her coffee mug, now mostly empty, her paint-chipped nails anxiously tapping against the porcelain cup as she shifts her gaze from the looking out the window, to the door, and back again. Straightening her sweater and smoothing the pleats of her skirt, she takes a deep breath through her nose and exhales slowly through her mouth, counting backwards from ten the way her therapist told her to.

Her therapist also advised against multiple cups of coffee, but here she was, on her third cup of the day. She wouldn’t have been so tempted to accept the refill if she hadn’t been so early, but nerves got the best of her. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours the night before, tossing and turning most of the night.

Ten months is a long time to go without thinking about someone. She’s never been able to do that, but kudos to the people who have.  Is it foolish to linger on something that ended almost a year before? Most definitely, but it’s not like she can just forget about what happened. He was a huge part of her life. To discard all those memories would be losing a part of the person he helped her become.

Pushing up the the sleeve of her sweater past her wrist, she glances down at her watch. Seven minutes past ten.

Is he coming? Had he changed his mind?

To be honest, if he had decided not to come, she won’t blame him. She would’ve been hesitant, too, if if one of her exes had asked to see her again.

“And Dean, the one you dated before this. You loved him, correct?”

She opens her mouth to correct her therapist because obviously she hadn’t loved him or she wouldn’t have left, but the words don’t come. Her mouth just hangs open, and she realizes, with a twist of the winch around her heart, that she’d been wrong about herself all along.

“Huh.” She doesn’t quite know how she feels about it now, but in almost cynical way, she finds it kind of funny. She’d been mistaking love for so many smaller emotions for so long, and the one time she actually gets it right, it’s well after the relationship is already over.

The memory threatens to put a gloom on her otherwise hopeful mood, so she straightens her posture, pushes stray strands of hair back behind her ear before glancing again at the watch on her wrist. Figuring she would at least wait another half-hour, she pulls her book from her purse and opens up to the place where she left off.

She found the fairy-tale much simpler and more forgiving and than the real world. As they say, everyone does love a good happy ending. She just hoped her own story could have a fraction of that same happiness, though perhaps with less dragons to slay.

Four pages later, the bell above the door chimes.

She glances up, having been so immersed in her ink and paper world she’d forgotten there was a much larger universe outside of it. As if by magic, her eyes are drawn to the man who’d just come in, her breath catching in a barely audible gasp in her throat. She sets her book down slowly, not even paying much attention to where she places it.

Her table is closer to the wall at the back of the diner, so it takes his eyes a minute to find her. The green of them nearly stops her heart the instant they do. He crosses the room in a few strides, and she reads a similar apprehension on his face as her own.

To combat some of the winter chill, he’s grown a beard, a burgundy knit beanie pulled down over the tops of his ears, and he’s wearing the same mossy green coat she remembers wearing a few times around the apartment. It had smelled so much like him, almost feeling like a hug whenever he wasn’t home.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle, as rugged as she remembers, and warm like tomato soup as he slides into the booth seat across from her.

“Hey yourself.” So much of him is the same, yet now that he’s up close, she can see many of the finer differences. His eyes are different, not in color, but in intensity — stronger, yet distant, like he’s keeping his emotions behind a concrete wall. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping well, either. Maybe thinking about today kept him up late, too.

Her hair has fallen back in front of her face again, bangs too long to be bangs but too short to stay behind her ears. She pushes the hair back out of the way with a single swipe of her hand. “I guess this is kind of awkward, huh?”

“A little,” he says, though his smile is kind.

“Should we start off with the basics?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I’ve never really done this before, met up with an ex, so…”

Her heartbeat thumps loud and fast. “Is it bad that I asked?”

“No, not really,” Dean says. She’s relieved. “It wasn’t really weird or anything, just…strange?”

“That would be a synonym of weird,” she says and can’t help but laugh. It’s not hard to force herself to relax at this point. She’s always been comfortable with Dean, but he was right about this being strange. There’s an urge to let things fall back into old habits, but she knows that she’d quickly fall into the realm of becoming too comfortable if she let things go too far. They aren’t together anymore. She has an inkling that it’s going to be hard to remember that the longer they’re together.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, ignoring the heavy pounding in her chest. She’d read somewhere that acting confident in an otherwise uncomfortable situation could help alleviate some of her anxiety. Sort of a ‘fake it til you make it’ mentality. Her smiles is twice as cool as the nervous teenager she feels like she is on the inside. “So, how has life been treating you, Dean Winchester?”

“Well…” He purses his lips, searching for the right words. “Life’s been treating me…pretty okay, I guess. The shop’s been keeping me pretty busy since you wrote that article about the benefits of supporting local small businesses, so thanks for that. Again.”

“Of course,” Her smile is polite, if not kind.

“But mostly, it’s just been back and forth between home and work,” Dean says. “Bobby…You remember Bobby right?” Y/n grins, remembering the man fondly. It had taken her two weeks to break through his gruff exterior. She finally broke down and bought him an expensive bottle of whiskey. He’d warmed up to her pretty quickly after that. “Well, he hired a couple more people to help run the place and to keep me from working on the weekends as much as possible. Gives him the chance to relax more, too.” Dean leans in close, resting his elbows on the table. “You know, he’s talked about retiring?”

“Well, he’s worked there, what, thirty years?”

“Close to it, yeah.”

“Then he should retire.”

“That’s what I told him,” Dean says. “But I also bet he’d be so bored from sitting around all day that he’d be back at the shop within a month.” His rumbling laugh sends shivers down her spine. He’s exactly the way she remembers. She’s not sure what she expected, but the familiarity of him hits her like a punch to the gut.

She laughs, too, but it’s too distracted to be genuine. “That’s probably true. Poor guy.”

Dean smile remains on his face as he relaxes, small crow’s feet crinkling warmly around his eyes. “So, how’s life treating you these days, Y/n? Same old chaos or has it mellowed out some?” His arms stretch out to rest casually on the top of his booth. “You’re still working for that online newspaper, right?”

The waitress comes by then, taking Dean’s order — a black coffee and a piece of their best pie.

“Yeah, I’m still working there,” Y/n says as the waitress walks away. “It’s been the same old kind of thing, you know, either running around like a madwoman trying to finish an article or throwing crumpled up pieces of paper at the trashcan because I can’t think of what to write about.”

“That sounds stressful.”

“It is,” she says with a sigh, propping her elbow up on the table so she can rest the side of her cheek on the palm of her hand. “Which is part of why I’ve started looking for a different job. I could use a little quiet right now.”

The waitress come back with Dean’s coffee and the slice of pie, setting both down in front of him. Y/n can’t help but smiles when she sees it’s a slice of apple pie, the kind she made for him on Father’s Day.

She sits up straight in her seat as Dean picks up his fork. “How is she?” She bites her lip, fingers knotting together with genuine concern. If anything hurt as badly as ending her relationship with him, it was knowing she’d inadvertently ended her relationship with his daughter as well.

“She’s…good,” Dean replies slowly. “She started the first grade a few months ago at a new school, so that’s been a little rough.”

“Understandably,” she adds. She’s done her fair share of moving around to know what that’s like.

“But she seems to be making some new friends, so I’m happy.” He takes a bite of the pie. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head, unable to hold back a low moan.

There had been a reason she’d chosen this diner. One of her friends at the paper had reviewed it a few months ago and said this diner’s pie was some of the best in the state.

She laughs lightly at Dean’s dramatics, pleased he’d liked it so much. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing okay.”

Dean nods, swallowing. A somber looks crosses his face and he stares down at his plate. “She misses you,” he says, looking up as if to gauge her reaction.

Her heart clenches in her chest. Without much thought, she places her hand over his, brushing her thumb back and forth across his knuckles in a gesture meant for comfort as she says, “I miss her, too.” Dean gives a stiff nod, his jaw locking in discomfort as he struggles to look away from her hand, and she realizes she’d overstepped a boundary. She pulls her hand away and returns it to her lap where it form into a tight fist, so tight her nails dig half-moons into her palm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why’d I do that?

The rest of their time together is brief and skirted. Though they’re getting along just fine for the most part, she can tell Dean’s holding back, not quite laughing the way he used to or smiling as brightly as she remembers. She doesn’t blame him in the slightest, feeling she’s guilty of the doing the same thing.

Ten Months Ago.

He stands behind her as she cooks, distracting her by trailing kisses down the side of her neck as he wraps his arm around her middle, holding her close to him.  “Marry me,” he whispers as he plants a kiss right below her earlobe.

She’d gotten so caught up in what he was doing that she nearly drops the spatula. “What?”

“Marry me.”

She starts to laugh uneasily. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why is that ridiculous?”

She gives him a dubious look. “Um, because we’ve only been together four months?”

He purses his lips, contemplating it for a second, then shrugs. “So what? I don’t see any problem with that.”

Wriggling out of his grasp, she turns around to face him. “So, I haven’t even met your dad yet.”

As expected, Dean stiffens.

“See? What I’d tell you?”  She turns her back to him, returning to her cooking, completely dismissing him.

“That’s not…” Dean huffs, scowling. Digging into the pack pocket of his jeans, he pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

“Calling my dad to see if he wants to have dinner tomorrow night.”

“What? Dean, no!”

“You wanted to meet him,” Dean says, “so I’m letting you meet him. What’s the big deal?” With a frustrated huff, she rips the phone from his hands. “Hey!”

“Dean, I’m not marrying you,” she says stubbornly.

“Why not? Do you not want to?”

“No, I…” The decision is too difficult, too complex for a simple yes or no answer.  She shakes her head helplessly, groaning in frustration as she drops her face into her hands. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice slightly muffled, though not enough to where Dean can’t understand her. “It’s just,” She lifts her head, crossing her arms. “It’s too early for me to think that far into the future. A lot could happen between now and then.”

“Too early to think about our future?” Dean’s eyes narrow. “I have a daughter, Y/n, the one thing I constantly have think about is my future. I need to know that she’s going to be okay, that if something were to happen to me, someone would be here to take care of her. If you’re not willing to think about a future for us, if you can’t even see one, then what’s the point?”

Her eyes widen in shock as the weight of his worlds settle. Moisture stings in her nose, making her eyes glisten.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, actually. I do. I don't date to fool around, Y/n. I do it because I want to marry someone. I’m ready for marriage. Clearly, you’re not, which means I love you in a completely different way than you love me, if you even love me at all.” It’s a low jab, but the resentment and bitterness has been building up for some time.

Y/n’s bottom lip trembles without a sound. She hasn’t said the words yet, fearing their relationship would just end as badly as her previous relationships if she does, like it was some curse of irony or misfortune. He’s said them a number of times, and he’s always said he was okay with her not saying it back, that actions spoke louder than words, but clearly that was a lie.

Dean turns away from her, facing the kitchen table where the two dozen roses he bought for her last week have wilted in their glass vase.

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. We can pack up your things in the morning after I take MJ to school.”

Y/n instantly pales. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

Dean looks back at her. “I’ll tell her,” he decides, knowing it would best best if she heard it from him.

Y/n nods, sniffling, and quickly wipes her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t want to stay ‘til morning,” she says quietly.

Dean presses his mouth in a thin line. “You want help packing your stuff?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’d rather just do it myself.”

When MJ is dropped off after soccer practice later that evening, there’s one less car in the driveway.

Now.

Drinking when you’re at an emotional low is not something she recommends. She hadn’t realized she’d been keeping her feelings locked up until she’d already downed half a bottle of wine.

She should have guessed though, that seeing Dean again after all this time wasn’t something she would just walk away from unscathed. Wounds she’d thought healed have opened like a floodgate, and before long she’s sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, coasting down the road at about forty-five. She has no destination in mind, just relies on the hum of the road beneath her tires and the autonomy of the drive to calm her down. It starts to rain, a dull pat-pat that soothes her tortured soul like a strings in a symphony.

She takes back roads through unfamiliar neighborhoods, choosing turns at whim, and it’s not until she turns onto the last street that she realizes she’d unknowingly been leading herself to an actual destination. She eases to a stop in front of his house, peering out through the rain-streaked car window at the house that glowed softly in the yellow light of the streetlamp out front. There’s a few lights on inside. Pulling up the sleeves of her jacket, she sees that it’s almost midnight, yet Dean appears to still be awake.

The rain has eased up to a light mist by the time she gets out of her car, her breath condensing in a white smoke as it hits the air.

This is her swallowing her pride, her regret, and the feeling that ten months ago she didn’t understand. This is her taking her future by the hand and running with it. Love was once a fleeting thing to her, a mystery, a curse. Now, it’s as simple as breathing.

At his front door, she takes a moment to gather herself and raises her fist to his door, knocking hard four times. Then she shoves her hands back inside the pockets of her jacket, stands back, and waits, counting to ten as she holds her breath, then exhales.

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“Sam,” she said just loud enough for me to hear. “If you want your brother in one piece you need to get him away from Clairese now.”

I jerked back to stare into her deep blue eyes. “How do you know who…”

That’s not important,” she cut me off taking a seat across from me.  “I’m a friend and that woman is one of the few with true power in here and if you don’t get Dean away from her it’s going to get ugly.  Meet me at my motel room.”

She downed the rest of her beer and got up.  She put one hand on my chest for balance as she leaned forward and kissed me.  I felt my brain short circuit for a second before she drew away with a wink.

“See you soon, handsome,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

Watching her walk away made it a little difficult to pull myself together but I managed.  As I headed to where Dean was flirting with the dark haired woman I tried to figure out where I knew her from but drew a blank.  I tapped his shoulder.  “Hey, time to go man.  We’ve got that meeting in the morning.”

Dean continued to stare into the woman’s eyes like he didn’t hear me.  I waited a few more minutes before I grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him around.  If I hadn’t been watching the woman I would have missed the brief red flare in her eyes.  The blonde had been right, she had power and it was demon born.  I had to get Dean out of there now.  

“Time to go, man,” I said to Dean, but mostly for her. “Boss will kill you if you miss another meeting.”

He looked at me blankly, like he didn’t know who I was and I felt the first stirring of fear.  A red nail tipped finger caressed his cheek drawing his attention back to the dark haired woman.  He turned back towards her with a goofy look on his face that I’d never seen before and she smiled at him. “Go with your friend, Dean, I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.  I’ll meet you here tomorrow night.”

Dean nodded and walked away.  I followed, catching up to him before the door and picking the keys to Baby out of his jacket pocket.  I wrangled him into the passenger seat wondering how I was going to find the blonde woman.  Dean’s eyes were blurry now, like he had been drinking for hours when I knew he hadn’t had anything.  His eye suddenly focused on the pocket of my shirt.  

“Ish that why yer in a hurry, Sammy,” he slurred. “Ya got some girls number?”

I pulled a napkin from the bar out of the pocket that had a name and room number written on it.  I thanked God that she was staying at the same place we were as I drove off into the night hoping that it wasn’t too late.

I had to kick the door of her room, my hands were full trying to hold Dean up.  I heard a little scuffling on the other side of the door before it opened a crack.  The eye that peeked out went wide then the door swung fully open.

“Put him over there,” she ordered.  I noted that she tucked a Smith & Wesson into the waistband of the jeans she had changed into as I set Dean down.  I turned towards her standing up to my full height.

“Give me one good reason to trust you,” I said in my deadliest voice.

I’ll give her points, if she was intimidated by me it didn’t show.  She looked me dead in the eye and growled at me, “Because if you don’t he’ll be dead in a month.  Get the hell out of my way, Chewbacca, and let me help him.”

I stared her down, unwilling to give an inch where Dean’s safety was concerned.  I didn’t think she was going to back down but finally she sighed, “Fine. My magical name is Illyana and I swear on that and all I hold sacred that I won’t hurt either you or your brother.”

I stood aside and let her go to Dean.  I dropped into the chair by the window watching as she looked into his eyes, then lay one hand over his heart.  With a muttered curse she headed for the room’s tiny kitchen and began grabbing things out of a small trunk that sat on the counter.  As she threw things into a small brass bowl I looked around the room.  The only difference between the room Dean and I shared and hers was the sigils painted everywhere.  Some I recognised as protective runes but most were entirely new to me.  I lost track of what she was doing as I studied them, committing them to memory to look up later.

“SAM,” her voice was irritated. “I need you to hold him up so I can get him to drink this.”

I held Dean in a sitting position as she poured the mixture into him, holding his nose to make sure he swallowed it.  After that all we could do was wait for it to take effect.  She watched me with an impish smile on her face as I tried to figure out why she was helping us.

“I’ll explain everything once he’s awake,” she twitched her chin towards Dean. “I hate going over my story more than once.”

I glanced around the room again. “So what are those and what did you use to paint them on the walls?”

“Protective runs and spell breakers,” her voice turned serious. “I make an all natural, holy water based paint that’s mixed with salt. It washes off easily that way.”

My respect for her went up another notch. “Innovative.  But why?’

Dean chose that moment to groan and we both turned our attention to him.  “What the hell hit me?”

“Sam, there’s a bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet and bottled water in the fridge,” Illyana said.  

I found both and handed them to Dean.  “You got hexed, dude.”

“What? No, the last thing I remember was that brunette at the bar-,” Dean started.

“You just had to flirt with one of the few witches there with real power didn’t you, Winchester,” Illyana overrode him.  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?  Or are you just a special kind of stupid?”

We both stared as she ranted at Dean.  It was like watching a painting run in the rain as her hair went from blonde to (Y/H/C), her eyes from blue to (Y/E/C) and her features subtly rearranged themselves into…

“Y/N,” I could only stare at her.

“What the fuck,” Dean rasped out.  “How the hell do you know a witch, Sammy?”

I turned to find he had his Colt, pointing it with still shaky hands at Y/N.  I wanted to grab it from him but didn’t want to startle him into firing.  Y/N solved the problem with a muttered word and a flick of her wrist.  The gun wrenched itself out of Dean’s hands and flew across the room to settle on the table behind her.  His eyes went wide as he stared at his empty hands.  I looked back at her and recognized the look on her face from the one case I’d worked with her years ago and cringed.  Y/N was about to let loose and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Six months I’ve been working this case,” she ranted starting to pace. “Three of them just to get into the damn coven.  Then you two stumble into the biggest gathering of the year and almost screw the whole thing up!”

I tried to placate her. “Y/N, we didn’t-”

“I’m not anywhere near done yet,” she snapped at me.  “Ninety-nine percent of those women are pissed fluff-bunnies who’ve just discovered that the universe is not a friendly place and your idiot brother has to walk up to the one other person in that room with real power and start flirting with her. Did you guys do any research before you showed up?”

Of course I had, but I wasn’t going to interrupt her again.  Dean, on the other hand, decided that now was a good time to recover.  “Look, sweetheart, I don’t know who you are or how Sam knows you but we did our research.”

I winced as Y/N turned to him. “Really, Sherlock?  Then you should have known that every guy that Clairese has dated in the last year and a half has been dead within a month.  She likes bad boys for her weekends away, stays with them for about a month and then they tend to die under mysterious circumstances. And you were next on her list.”

Dean got up and stalked towards her, steadier on his feet than I thought he’d be, while I backed away knowing that the shit was about to hit the fan when he opened his mouth again.  I gave one last try to stop the explosion. “Look, guys, we’re-”

“Shut up, Sam,” they said at the same time without even looking at me.

I shut up and let the sparks fly.

“I had it all under control,” Dean was growling at her.

Y/N scoffed, “Sure you did. That’s why Sam had to practically carry you in here.  This is my case, Winchester.  I won’t say no to help, I’m not stupid, but I’m in charge. I know more about this woman than you and I can protect both of you from her.”

Dean shook his head. “Nope, I ain’t takin’ orders from you.”

“Because I’m a woman,”  her face was getting angrier than I would have thought possible.  For a second I thought she was going to punch him, then her face turned thoughtful. “No that’s not it.  That doesn’t bother you.”

Dean took a step back and I took a step forward.  I don’t know what either of us was expecting but it certainly wasn’t for Y/N to burst into laughter.  I felt some of the anxiety drain out of me as we watched her collapse onto the bed holding her stomach. The longer she laughed the more relaxed I got, while Dean just looked confused. Finally she took a deep breath and seemed to get herself under control, although when she looked up her eyes were sparkling.

“I do not believe you, Dean Winchester,” she chuckled.  “Your best friend is an angel, you’ve worked with the King of Hell and his mother, with vampires and Goddess knows what else and taking orders from a witch is where you draw the line?  You are just fucking unbelievable.  Especially when I just saved your ass.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor.  I had to admire Y/N for calling him out, even though I knew from experience she could probably kick his ass.  He finally looked at her.

“I don’t know you,”  he said voice low and a little angry. “How am I supposed to trust you?”

“Sam trusts me, isn’t that enough,”  she replied seriously.

Dean looked at me for the first time since they’d started.  I nodded, I’d trusted her with my life before and didn’t see any reason to change my mind.  His shoulders relaxed and he looked her in the eye.  “Yeah, that’s enough.”

Y/N pulled a couple of amulets out of her bag and returned to the tiny kitchen to put protective spells on them.  While she was doing that Dean demanded an explanation of how I knew her.  Y/N answered for me.

“Garth lied to him,” she called cheerfully.

I smiled at her, I’d forgotten how much she liked to tease.  “Like you didn’t keep up the act.”

She laughed as she continued to mix herbs for her spell, Dean smiled at the sound.  She had that kind of laugh that made you want to laugh along with her.  I watched him out of the corner of my eye as Y/N and I told him about the one time we’d worked together and that we’d kept in touch since then.  We both avoided mentioning that he’d been a demon at the time and that had been the case where I dislocated my elbow.  By the time she’d finished the amulets Dean had relaxed enough to tease her back.  I watched them watching each other and hid a smile.  I could see they were attracted even if they wouldn’t admit it yet.

So when Y/N offered to ward our room to “protect us” I didn’t get a chance to agree before Dean said yes.  As we approached mine and Dean’s room the door was ajar, not a lot but we all noticed.  Guns came out as Dean moved into point, Y/N moving between he and I like we’d been working together for years.  He caught her eye and pointed with his chin to the hinge side of the door while signaling me to the other side.  I almost argued with him about putting himself in the most danger but decided it wasn’t worth alerting anyone who might still be in the room.  When we were set he kicked the door open and charged through with us right behind him, and stopped dead at the sight of the room.

Our room had been tossed, literally. Every bag and drawer had been opened and ransacked without any care, our weapons were strewn all over the room along with our clothes.  Y/N looked around as she put her gun away.

“I guess it’s a little late to ward your room,” she observed drily.  “Good thing I’ve got a double.”

Dean glared at her as I went to check the bathroom. “Winchesters don’t run.”

“In this case, “ Y/N sighed. “You’re an idiot.  I’ll bet breakfast tomorrow that there’s something personal missing from both of you.”

“You’re on,” Dean stuck out his hand and Y/N shook it.

It took almost an hour to pick everything up even with the three of us working on it.  Someone had done a good job of making a mess.  In the end, Y/N won the bet; my hairbrush and Dean’s toothbrush were both missing.  She put her foot down and almost dragged us back to her room, saying that it was probably the only safe place in town for us.  With our stuff missing neither of us even thought of arguing with her.  

Y/N had been at a coven meeting for over three hours and Dean was wearing a hole in the carpet.  While it was amusing to watch him pace, I was getting worried too. When we heard her car pull up I grabbed the nearest book and Dean flopped down on the bed with the TV remote.  She let herself into the room with a sigh before she dropped face first on the other bed.  

Dean looked at me and I just shrugged.  He moved over to the other bed and reached for her shoulder.  Just before he touched it, she spoke, her voice muffled by the comforter, “Don’t, Dean. Not right now.”

His hand hovered over her for a minute before he drew it back, “You okay, kiddo?”

Y/N rolled over and let her glamour fade with a sigh, “Just tired.  Being able to let go of that spell around you guys just reminds me of how tiring it is to keep it up and undetectable.”

She sat up and rubbed her temples. “Clairese has something big going down, but she’s not telling what it is.  Whatever it is, it’s going down tomorrow at the gathering, and that worries me.”

Dean handed her a bottle of water.  “I thought you said none of the others had any power?”

Y/N paused long enough to take a long drink from the bottle.  “She’s the only one besides me with real power.”

I tried, I really did, but couldn’t contain my curiosity. “What’s the difference?”

Her eyes closed and she looked like she was thinking hard, searching for the words she needed.  They opened when Dean set a plate of food on her lap, she smiled her thanks and started eating, still looking thoughtful.  When she finished, she shot me an apologetic look before she spoke again.

“Almost all humans have the inborn gift to use magic,” she started softly.  “Most never use it, some have the ability forced on them like Sam did and others are like me who make a choice to use that power to help people.  And then there are those like Clairese who can sense the power but not use it without making a deal with demons.  I think she’s feeding the souls of her vics to them to keep out of hell.”

I looked at Dean. “Like Gunner.”

Y/N looked up with hope in her eyes. “You’ve run into this before?  How do we stop her?”

Dean scratched his chin. “Just once.  The only way to stop her is to keep her from delivering the souls she’s promised to whatever demon she’s dealing with.”

We sat there for a few minutes before Dean looked up with a smirk, “I’ve got an idea.”

        Dean and I waited in the bathroom as Y/N let Clairese into the motel room.  We had both argued against her being what amounted to bait but in the end it was the only plan we had.  Dean had called Clairese and asked her to meet up with him.  Y/N had quickly washed off her sigils and painted on a new batch in salt and holy water so that they would be invisible until she activated them.   When Clairese showed up, Y/N offered her a drink.  The ice bucket was in the sink near the bathroom door and over the clink of ice going into a glass I heard her whisper, “Sorry, guys, but this is my fight.”

When she activated the sigils the door glowed.  I felt my heart drop into my stomach as Dean tried the door that wouldn’t open.  We both threw our shoulders against yelling for her to open it up.  I don’t think she could hear us, but we could hear what was going on out there.  Flashes of light in every color, shouted words in Latin, Celtic and a couple of languages I could identify and a lot of swearing on Y/N’s part.  It seemed to go on forever but couldn’t have actually been more than ten minutes. Then the glow on the door faded.

Dean had the door open and was out before I could even move. By the time I got out he was over by Y/N checking on her.  Clairese was on the floor by the door, her head hanging at an angle that told me without even checking that she was dead.  Dean was holding Y/N in his arms, there was blood on her lip and running down her face from a cut on her forehead.  I knelt down by her side and took her hand.  Her eyes opened far too slowly for my comfort.

“Clairese,” she asked.

“Dead,” I replied.

Dean cut her off before she could say more. “You’re going to be all right, we’ll get you to  the hospital-”

Her free hand on his chest stopped him. “Was always going to end this way.  Thought I’d be alone, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Her eyes closed, hand dropping from his chest.  Her fingers curled briefly around mine as her breathing stopped.  

The night had already fallen, you were supposed to be asleep, but how could you? Your mind was whirling and your eyes refused to shut. You wonder if you can keep doing this, if you should. The answer is clear, but you're such a stubborn and in love that you refused to accept it. You have to figure this out, your closest friends and your family say this to you every day. But how will you break up with Sam Winchester when all he has done to you is bringing joy to your life? Well, there's a million reasons why you shouldn't be with him and the most important and dark one is that he's your professor. You're doing Law, it'd always been your dream to become a lawyer. It still is, but now it seems to be so distant.

You remember your first day at college. The first class you had was with him and obviously you didn't know him. Thinking you were going to pay more attention, you'd sat on the first row of chairs. When he made his way to his desk, putting his bag on it, you'd lost yourself in him. He presented himself, his voice was guttural and very attractive. You remember when he locked his shinning hazel eyes with yours with a smirk playing on his lips, you blushed and smiled sheepishly. You'd went through a whole week like that, extended glances and touches when he checked your notebook or walked beside, smirking lips, shy smiles. Until he demanded that you must stay after class 'cause he needed to talk to you.

He had a predator look in his eyes. You kept distance from him for your sake, the sexual tension had installed itself in the quiet classroom. You'd asked him to stop with his flirty little comments and his eye thing. You claimed that it was wrong, but you also claimed him. He'd pressed his lips to yours and his rough hands ran all over your body. In that moment you knew you were lost. All along it was a fever, a cold sweat hot-headed believer.

For your whole life, you’d had terrible relationships. You had always gave too much for the ones you love, though you only got pain in return. But not with Sam. He's different. He had shown you what love means and feels like and what’s to be wanted. When you two made love for the first time, you were self-conscious. You didn't know if you should do something like that. Something so wrong. ‘But the moment he kissed me, I threw my hands in the air and said show me something’ you remember. He said if you dare, come a little closer.

You’ve got your mind made up. You need to talk to him and make things clear. There’re many people who know about your relationship and they can report you to the college council. If that happen, Sam’s career will be doomed and so your student life. That's why you both need to clear this up.

With clammy hands, you searched for his number and as soon as you found it you dialed his phone. “Sam? Hey.” You spoke quietly, your breath shaky.

“Y/N, hey!” He sounds happy to hear your voice. “How you doing?” He asked after a brief pause, this time his voice wasn’t so warm.

“I’ve missed you, babe.” You said softly. “I'm doing okay, actually.” You breathed out. “We need to talk.” You spoke as a matter-of-fact. “It's bad, Sam. We need to sort things out.”

Sighing, he spoke. “I know, babe, I know.” You closed your eyes, imagining what he's doing now, twisting his pen with his legs on the table. “But we’re going to be okay. We’ll figure this out. I promise.” He said. “I'm on my way. I love you.” He spoke softly. You hang up the phone after saying you love him.

You try to occupy yourself while he's on the road. The house is clean, there's nothing you can do. Anxiety eating you alive, you can feel it. You try to think about what you're going to tell him, biting your lip, you can't point what to say. You heard a knock on the door. Sam knows he can enter any time, you gave him the key. Your heart was beating faster as you approached the doorknob, your hands clammy.

“Hey, you!” Sam pecked your cheek. He placed his keys on the table as you closed the door. "Are you  really sure you want to talk now? It's 2 a.m. Y/N. You have class tomorrow." He let out a yawn. The bags under his eyes appearing as he came into light, his shoulders were hanging loose. Tiredness written all over him "I know we need, but..." He insisted.

"No, Sam." You growled. "It has always been like this. Round and around and around we go." Opening your arms and letting them fall next your body, you bursted. "You always insist to talk later, but we can't keep letting this for later."

He crossed his arms, creasing his brows. "What are you so afraid of, Y/N? Are you afraid that I might leave you?" Sam's lips quivered as he says the most painful sentence you could ever hear. "Now, tell me now, tell me now you know."

Biting your bottom lip, trying to contain your tears. "I know it's wrong, Sam, but I can't go on with my life without you." You shrugged, your e/c eyes glassy. "No matter how many times people say that we shouldn't be together, that I'm a slut for 'fucking' my teacher." You stepped closer. Your voice rose an octave. "What the hell, Sam? What we do isn't fuck. We could never do that, because we love each other."

Sam rested his calloused, big hands on your face, caressing your cheek. "Don’t you think I know that?" He whispered. “My brother, who’s my best friend, says that it’s wrong, that no matter how much we try things are going to get between us and wreck us.” His voice rose a bit, making you flinch. He sighed as he felt it, cursing himself for scares you. “And I can’t let myself believe him.” Sam brushed his lips to yours and for a moment you gave in, kissing him deeply. Sam’s soft lips moving against yours, his tongue caressing your bottom lip.

You pulled way breathless. His hands still cupping your cheek, your eyes still closed. “Sam?” You called, hearing him mumble to you to continue. “I’m not really sure how to feel about it. Something in the way you move makes me feel like I can’t live without you.” Your shining eyes stare right back into his hazel yet numb ones. You can’t point what is going through Sam’s mind, he’s so unreadable. “It takes me all the way. I want you to stay.” You sighed. “I need you to stay.”

Silence remains between you, your heart breaking at every passing second. Sam cleared his throat, making his way to the couch, sitting and patting beside him for you to seat. “Y/N, do you think we can do this?” You could hear the pain in his voice. “If somebody reports us or if the anybody of the board find out, we’d be more than screwed.” He patted your thigh, refusing to look you in the eye. “It’s not much of a life you’re living, Y/N. It’s your academical life and reputation. It would be over, and so would be my career.” You felt your heart break after his painful words. How can he be so cold about this? His face doesn’t even show any kind of emotion, neither sadness. What happened to him? “We’re doomed since the moment we said hello. We just can see it.” Said Sam. His cold voice echoing through your ears, hurting you so bad.

You can’t believe what you’ve just heard. “How could you?” You blurted out, standing on your feet. You glanced up to the ceiling, trying to stop your eyes from swam in tears. “You think you can just throw this into my face like that? That you can say that we’re not made to thrive?” You pleaded. “You have my heart, Sam. My heart!” Your voice rising an octave. “Just so you know it’s not just something you take, it’s given. And I trusted you my heart; I gave it to you without thinking twice, recklessly. And you do this? You tear it to shreds?” Tears are now falling freely down your rosy cheeks. Sam runs his hands through his brown hair in temptation of hiding his quivering lips and his welled hazel eyes. He stood up, looking in your eyes, reluctantly. “Now, tell me now, you know.” You pleaded once again.

“What, Y/N? Tell you what?” He asked repeatedly, his voice a little louder than before. Sam knows where this whole argue is leading to and he also knows what he came here to do it, he just needs strength to. “I’ve already said everything that I must and wanted to say. So you tell me what do you wanna hear?” A muscle in his jaw twitched as he snapped. Startled, you looked down and squeezed your eyes closed, trying to fight back the tears.

“I wanna hear what you feel about this whole thing, Sam! Or are you forgetting the reason why we are having this argue? Do we stay together and fight whatever it has to be fought, or do we leave?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, almost pleading but yet trying to sooth him. “You wanna know what I want to hear from you?” You cupped his face with your eyes locked into his hazel ones. He nodded, closing his eyes allowing himself feel your grip on him like it was the last time. “I want to hear you say ‘I’m not really sure how to feel about it, Y/N, something in the way you move makes me feel like I can’t live without you and it takes me all the way.’” You half smiled at him, his eyes opening slowly. You took a deep breath before speak again. “I’m almost sure that if I close my eyes I can hear those words slipping through your mouth. I want you to stay, Sam.” You whispered, your forehead touching his.

Sam pulled away from your grip, turning his back on you. Sam thinks that if he can makes you hate him, it will be easy for both of you to move on. He needs to try it, as long as it hurts him doing it and seeing you hurt, he needs to. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say that to you.” Your eyes went wide, disbelief crossed your face. “I’m not the one you want to be with. I was needy and you were there. When I feel broken, I know you’re there and that’s the reason I hold on. ‘Cause I need this hole gone. But you are replaceable.” He gritted his teeth. Your hand flew to his face, slapping him hard. His hand rose to his now swollen red cheek.

Tears streamed down your face, you kept trying your best to not to let outa sob. “I don’t believe you. You’re trying to make me hate you but I ain’t buying it.” You pointed your finger to him. A cocky smile planted on his lips. “Say whatever you want, but don’t lie to me.” Your lips drew back in a snarl. “You said you’re broken, huh?” You sassed. “Funny you’re the broken one but I’m the only one who needed saving. 'Cause when you never see the light, it's hard to know which one of us is caving." You beamed.

You couldn't believe in what was in front of you. It wasn't your Sam, it couldn't be. Sam is sweet, he's caring, kind, he's selfless and he's warm. Unlike this Sam that's in front of you. He may think hurting you and even making you hate him might make it easier for you, but it won't. You can't hate him because you know he's not like that.

"I've already made up my mind and I'm staying, Sam, no matter what." Your tears have gone drought, you lift up your head and remained strong. "But you need to make your own decision. You can either stay and be the love of my life; or you can walk out that door ending things for good. And just know that I'm not buying your crap, though." You said matter-of-factly, shrugging as you tried to make your bottom lip from quivering. "Trust me, I want you to stay." You sobbed. "Please, stay." Tears rolled down your soft cheeks as you whispered.

Sam glanced down the floor, his eyes flooded with tears. With a deep breath, Sam cupped your cheeks, your hands holding his large ones in place, his lips brushing yours slightly. Sam crashed his soft lips into your tremble ones. Your mouths moving together in perfect sync like it always did. You felt salty tears making their way between your lips. Breathlessly you both pulled out. His thumb caressing your flushed wet cheek. He closed his eyes, kissing your forehead.

"Please Sam, don't." You begged one more time.

"I'm sorry, Y/N" Sam walked past you, the keys he'd left on the center table now on his hands, making his way to the door. Slamming it shut.

Sam stood outside your house, leaned into the wooden door. His heart breaking even more as he heard your sobs. Tears were running down his face. He knew he did what had to be done, but yet it tore him apart. As the door closed your heart shattered into millions of pieces. You fell down in your knees, your hand covering your mouth to stop you from sobbing out loud, as the other one was placed into aching heavy chest. The man you love had just left you and boy did that hurt as hell. You felt the tears burned everything they touched, destroying you.

God knows you wish he had stayed, you needed him to, but he couldn't. No matter how much you loved each other, you weren't supposed to end up together. Call it universe, Gods, nature, destiny or whatever it didn't want you to be united and no matter how hard you fought, you were both damage enough to stay together.

You were soulmates but you weren't each other's meant to be. Never were and perhaps you never will.

“So, I think I found a case.” Sam begins, joining Dean and yourself at the library’s first table, easing himself down into a vacant chair beside you. “Four men and one woman have had their hearts ripped out of their chests.”

“Werewolf?” Dean asks, looking up from his own laptop.

“Sounds like it.” You lean over, scanning through the article he has up.

“Uh, Sam?”

“Humm?” You tap at the bottom of the article.

“You read all this article?”

“No, just saw the headline and first paragraph.”

“You should have read it all. You’re really losing your touch, Sam. And you didn’t start with ‘So, get this’.” Sam gave you patented Sam Winchester bitch face while Dean chuckled. “One death was outside the club in full view of three witnesses, the other in her locked apartment - alone. This guy died in his car. Dude number three left the club to pick up his brother at work and his brother watched as he fell to the ground, leaning against his car, cigarette still in hand. And the last guy, one Kent Chandler, dropped dead at a liquor store. So, not sure that a werewolf could do that.”

“Witch?” Sam offers, pulling the laptop back in front of him, scanning through the full article. “Well shit. It’s got to be magic related.”

“We know how I feel about witches.” Dean murmurs, taking a long drink from his coffee before closing his laptop. “Well, get the witch killing bullets and the box of gloves and meet in the garage in thirty.”

“Gloves?” Sam asks, looking sideways at you, brow furrowed.

“Witches are nasty, man. Just grab the gloves.” You chuckle at Dean’s words then rise, heading for your room, hearing Sam faintly say “Shit, how’d I miss that?”

—

Luckily, the case was just a short four hour and some change drive from the Bunker, and you all got into town a little before one pm. After a quick stop at a motel to change - you refused to change in a truck stop bathroom, just outright refused - it was straight into Fed mode, which revealed that the hearts had exploded out of their chests. You may or may not have smirked at Sam after that fact was revealed.

And after thanking the very rude coroner, who smelled of tobacco and too much Axe body spray, you all exited the hospital, Sam and Dean exchanging those damn mind-melding looks they always shared.

“What?” You huffed, pausing at the Impala with your fingers brushing the chrome handle, looking from Dean beside you to Sam across the hood.

“Seems familiar.” Sam answered, bracing his elbows on the hood.

“That was Famine. When the couple ate each other.”

“The couple what?”

“Famine made them hungry for love.” Dean explained. “It was all-consuming, thus, ya know, they consumed.” A look of revulsion crossed your face.

“That’s disgusting and very disturbing.”

“Oh yeah.” Dean agreed, clicking his tongue afterward. “What about a borrower witch?”

“None of the corpses have been reanimated. And if it was a borrower witch, why destroy the hearts?”

“Were-pire?”

“Again, why destroy the hearts?” Dear Lord, this could go on forever.

“Let’s just start at the club. That’s the common link they all shared, well the only one I could find.” You suddenly have both their attention, Dean pursing his lips as he gave you an appreciative nod.

“Good job, darlin’.”

“Darlin’.”& You tease, watching Dean’s mouth open and close before you open the door and slip into the backseat. Sam’s soft chuckle fills the car for a split second before the Impala’s loud rumble drowns it out.

—

The manager, Trixie, informs Dean that yes, all the victims did visit the club before their untimely deaths. But that she’s been cooperative with the local police and she’d be more than happy to help with whatever he may need. Of course, she would. If it involved being on her back.

You roll your eyes and wander over to the bartender who is prepping for tonight’s opening behind the bar, leaving Sam with his brother.

“Hello. I’m Agent Tyler. Just wanted to see if you’d seen anything suspicious leading up to any or all the deaths? Maybe you noticed something about the gentleman who died just outside?”

“Well, Agent, sexy first name, by the way, it’s like I told the -”

“Are you really going to make me go back and read every single statement instead of just telling me?” His chuckle is deep, amused.

“Naw, I’ll tell you. Wouldn’t want you to spend all night reading those statements instead of talkin’ to little old me. I’d like to know your first name though, get a bit friendly.”

“Uh-huh. You tell me yours first.”

“Gregor.”

“If your last name is Clegane, then I’m obliged to tell your brother where you are.” His laughter gets the attention of Dean, Sam, and Trixie, all of whom frown at you two.

“Oh, we’re in trouble now.”

“Pretty par for the course for me. I’m Y/N.”

“Pretty. Real pretty.”

“Thank you. Now, Gregor, anything you can remember? Nothing is too small.”

“Well the guy who died outside, he had - I don’t know - a half dozen shots of tequila before he did the open mic slash karaoke thing we have Wednesday through Saturday. Sunday through Tuesday nights we have a house band. He was celebrating being single again, he did mention that before he sang. A couple women approached him, and he got their numbers before he went outside to take a phone call. One of the waitresses, Darcy, was outside having a smoke. Didn’t see anything, since she was by the side door of the bar, but said she heard something squelch loud then screaming. Might wanna talk to her. She comes in about seven.” You nod, making bulletins about each fact Gregor had given. “And you should give me your card,” He flashes an easy, flirty smile. “In case I remember anything else.”

“Did all the victims do karaoke?” You ask, pulling out one of the fake FBI cards from your inner jacket pocket, holding it out to Gregor.

“Not that I can remember - just him.” He takes the card, flashing another smile before winking and tucking your card into his breast pocket.

Turning to head back to the boys, you nearly run smack into Dean.

“Whoa. Personal bubble.”

“We don’t have personal bubbles.” But he isn’t looking at you, and shooting a look over your shoulder you don’t see anything. Sam is sporting an amused look when you look to him for clarification. Whatever.

“When I’m all covered in goo and various substances you suddenly have a personal bubble. And I think I got a new lead. Or at least a way to draw whoever it is out.”

“Y/N.” You turn to find Gregor’s returned and is leaning on the bar top. “Trixie keeps the sign-up sheets for a couple weeks. Might be helpful.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mountain.”

“Anytime, Agent.”

“If you’re done.” Dean growls, his hand on the small of your back pushing you forward quickly.

“Who knew the reason those pretty eyes of yours were green was ‘cause they’re filled with jealousy.”

“I. Am. Not. Jealous.”

“Sure.” Sam agrees, sarcasm evident in his tone.

“And I’m Aphrodite.” You reply snidely, sidestepping his pushy self and heading back over to where Trixie stood.

“Hi. Dean here wanted to know if we could have copies of the sign-up sheets for the past couple weeks? He’s very thorough.”

“Oh, I bet he is. Give me two shakes and I’ll be right out with them.” Of course, she doesn’t respond to you, but to Dean, flashing overly white teeth as she saunters out of the main bar area.

“Now who’s jealous?” Dean breathes against your ear, sending shivers down your spine and an errant giggle from your lips.

“Stop that!” You hiss. “Now isn’t the time for your flirting. Or breathing on my ear when you know that makes me laugh!” You elbow him gently. “And I’m not jealous, Dean. Just shocked at your lack of standards.” He’s got that smug smile plastered on when Trixie returns and you don’t bother to stay, turning on your heel with Sam close behind.

—

As luck would have it, just the man, Eric Root, sang that night.

But the local police were on it. They’d investigated their personal lives pretty damn well and each one of the victims had just broken up with their significant other.

And said significant others all sang the night before or the night of each respective death.

“Ha!” You shout triumphantly, pushing your notepad over to Sam who sat across from you. “It’s a witch. The witch is offing the people who hurt the singers.” Dean rises from where he was sitting against the headboard, looking over Sam’s shoulder at your notes. He makes a noncommittal noise as Sam begins typing away. “What? It makes sense! Each of the hurt parties sang a sad or powerful song and then the person that broke up with them suddenly has their heart expelled from their chest. We need to go tonight and sing. It’ll draw the witch out and we gank it.”

“Uh, we don’t sing.” You roll your eyes, standing as you smile down at Sam.

“I can.”

“No.” Dean’s voice is firm, like a father telling a child they can’t have more ice cream.

“Fuck you.”

“If you insist.” He smirks and reaches forward to wrap an arm around your waist.

“Dean Fucking Winchester, if you don’t remove your damn hands I will kick your ass into next week. Being your normal, flirty asshole self is difficult enough to handle without you telling me what I can and can’t-do!” You shove his arms off you, then shove him backward with a glare before grabbing your purse and phone from the table and storming out the door.

—

She’d returned nearly an hour later, refusing to look at Dean as she grabbed a change of clothes from her duffle and locking herself in the bathroom.

“Dude, you should apologize.”

“What for?”

“Come on, Dean. You know why. You love her.” Dean scoffs, finishing his beer. “You’ve been flirting with her since we met her. And she has yet to succumb to anything you’ve thrown at her. She’s not like the other girls you pick up at the bar or diner or wherever, Dean. Y/N flirts with you to deflect. She likes you, you idiot. But you gotta stop handling her with kid gloves. The last couple cases you’ve been more overbearing than usual. Especially with her. She’s been hunting since she was 22. Y/N is more than capable. I know you don’t want her to get hurt - neither do I - but you can’t…”

“I know!” Dean snaps, tossing the empty bottle across the room into the trash can. He runs his hands through his hair, giving it a few sharp tugs. “The last couple cases - man, I don’t want to be like Dad was with you, but I can’t fucking help it. When we were hunting those ghouls in Boise and they sliced her arm, so close to her artery, I panicked. What if she’d died, Sam? Who is going to hang their underwear all over the bathroom? Who’s gonna be up at 2 in the morning, a cold cup of tea on the table because she fell asleep before finishing it again? Who else is going to out-lore you? All those thoughts just rushed forward - and they haven’t left, Sam.”

“Dean, we have all had close calls. You and I have died more than our fair share. We’ll keep her safe, just like we always do. But, you gotta tell her, Dean. And we have to let her do this for this case.”

The door swung open, revealing Y/N - her hair was tousled, lips painted a dark pink and jeans hugging every curve while a dark gray top clung to her breasts, scooped down to give a good view.

“I’ll see you at the club.” She muttered, walking to her purse beside her duffle, searching through it for her ID and a couple twenties. When she turned around, Sam was standing in front of the door. “Come on Sam, not you too.”

“No, princess, we’re all going together.” Dean answered, shrugging on his jacket before heading towards the door, handing Sam his before shooting you that cocky smile, but his eyes weren’t the same. “If you play your cards right, I’ll bring you home with me.” Y/N took the olive branch, reaching out to give Dean’s upper arm a firm squeeze.

“I think you mean if you play your cards right, Winchester.” Sam rolled his eyes but flashed a tight smile as you brushed past them and settled into the Impala. But the tense atmosphere was still there, lingering on the edges.

—

“So, I’ve narrowed it down to these two women.” You hand the pictures to Sam, leaning on the back of the seat. “They both were there, doing karaoke, every night that someone died. I double checked the lists. These two, Marcia and Ashley, are consistently there.” You take a deep breath before huffing it out. “You know, I kinda wish there was a witch-detector spell. Make the job a whole lot easier.”

Sam huffs out his agreement before handling the pictures to Dean. Dean looks them over then nods, pushing them across the seat back to Sam.

“You say the word, Y/N, and we corner the witch and gank her. Got it? Don’t -”

“Put myself in unnecessary danger. I know Dean. You’ve been playing that particular record for the last month and a half. I’m always careful.” You reach out, squeezing his left shoulder, feeling him relax minutely under your fingertips. You withdraw your hand, easing back against the seat and smirking. “Maybe you’ve just gotten sweet on me, Dean Winchester.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

Those five words shoved the knife in deep. And that stupid, patronizing nickname he called waitresses and a few snippy monsters. The name he had never called you before.

This… This ache now flared up inside you.

It was worse, so much worse than all the flirty banter, all the touching, fuck - everything else.

Sweetheart.

You were happy when the car pulled up outside the club, throwing open the door and escaping from the Winchesters and those five stupid words that were rattling around in your head.

—

You made your way to the bar, desperately needing a shot of anything to slow down the whirling of thoughts in your head. You should have known better than to have feelings for Dean “I Don’t Know How to Keep it in My Pants” Winchester. Maybe you should leave once you returned to the Bunker…

You’d figure that out after the case. No one else would die on your watch.

A quick call to Trixie while you’d been out cooling down had placed you in the middle of tonight’s roster so you’d have time to locate the potential witch, sing to draw her out, and then hopefully seclude and gank her murdering ass.

“Another Lady Mormont? Or would it be Lady Brienne?” You chuckle as Gregor pours you another, winking.

“I would like to think I’m a nice mix of both, but more of a Brienne.”

“Well, I shall be back shortly. My lady.” He nods, grinning widely before heading off to your left to help some other customers.

You phone dings and you tug it from your back pocket.

+  Sam: We have eyes on both the women.  +

You throw back the shot, fighting the cough that manifests as it burns down your throat.

Trixie chooses to appear before you can type out a response to Sam, so damn cheerful and perky as she clutched her clipboard. Jesus.

“So, we have a couple people who need a later slot, so you’ll be up next.” She peers at the clipboard, missing the wide-eyed stare you give. “Well, not next-next. After this lady finishes, there is a gentleman who is singing and then it’ll be you!” You nod at her, giving her your most convincing smile - hopefully - then turn back to the bar and order a plain water as you hear the last chords of Faith Hill’s ‘The Way You Love Me’ ring out. Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit!

You hadn’t sung publicly since you were in your high school choir and the nerves (and alcohol) were making your stomach flutter, twirl, and knot. You left what was left of your water at the bar, edging closer to the stage since the gentleman was already half-way through his odd rendition of Styx’s ‘Come Sail Away’.

The song you’d chosen, it’d been playing in your head for the last few weeks. You’d hit shuffle on your iPod right after Dean had snapped at you after the ghoul case. And really, no other song had seemed so perfect a fit.

“Give a warm welcome to a karaoke virgin, Y/N Tyler!” You swallowed hard, taking the offered microphone and standing mid-stage, chose a spot just above the crowd to focus and worked on channeling your inner-Cher. With a nod to the woman manning the soundboard, you inhale deeply, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet as the song began.

You’re struttin’ into town like you’re slingin’ a gun

Just a small-town dude with a big city attitude

Honey are you lookin’ for some trouble tonight

Well alright

You think you’re so bad, drive the women folk wild

Shoot ‘em all down with the flash of your pearly smile

Honey but you met your match tonight

Oh, that’s right

You think you’ll knock me off my feet

'Til I’m flat on the floor

'Til my heart is cryin’ Indian and I’m begin’ for more

So, come on baby

Come on baby

Come on baby show me what that loaded gun is for

If you can give it

I can take it

'Cause if this heart is gone break it’s going to take a lot to break it

I know tonight

Somebody’s gone win the fight

So, if you’re so tough

Come on and prove it

Your heart is down for the count and you know you’re gonna lose it

Tonight, you’re gonna go down in flames

Just like Jesse James

Dean moved away from his place leaning against the back wall, keeping an eye on Ashley temporarily forgotten as he stared at you like he’d never seen you before. He’s spellbound as you run your hands through your messy hair, this fire suddenly lighting up your eyes before they close momentarily as you sing, opening them as you shoot the crowd one of those sexy innocent smiles he was always hoping you’d direct at him.

You’re an outlaw lover and I’m after your hide

Well you ain’t so strong, won’t be long 'til your hands are tied

Tonight, I’m gonna take you in

Dead or Alive

That’s right

You break the laws of love in the name of desire

Take ten steps back

'Cause I’m ready baby

Aim and fire

Baby, there’s nowhere you going to run tonight

Ooh That’s right

Well you’ve had your way with love but it’s the end of the day

Now a team of wild horses couldn’t drag your heart away

So, come on baby

Come on baby

Come on baby you know there ain’t nothing left to say

If you can give it

I can take it

'Cause if this heart is gonna break it’s gonna take a lot to break it

I know tonight

Somebody’s gonna win the fight

So, if you’re so tough

Come on and prove it

Your heart is down for the count and you know you’re gonna lose it

Tonight, you’re gonna go down in flames

Just like Jesse James

+  Sam to Dean: Holy shit. Did you know she could sing like that?!  +

+  Sam to Dean: You are so beyond screwed. I kinda hope she eats you alive after this.  +

You think you’ll knock me off my feet

'til I’m flat on the floor

'Til my heart is cry in’ Indian and I’m begin’ for more

So, come on baby

Come on baby

Come on baby

Come on

If you can give it

I can take it

'Cause if this heart is gonna break it’s gonna take a lot to break it

I know tonight

Somebody’s gonna win the fight

So, if you’re so tough

Come on and prove it

Your heart is down for the count and you know you’re gonna lose it

Tonight, you’re gonna go down in flames

Just like Jesse James

Tonight, you’re gonna go down in flames

Just like Jesse James

Tonight, you’re gonna go down in flames

Just like Jesse James

I’m gonna shoot ya down Jesse James

The bar loses its collective shit.

There are hoot and hollers, shouts of “You OWNED that!” and a couple “Cher would be proud, honey!” along with lots of loud applause ringing out around you. You fight the heat rising in your cheeks, raising a hand in recognition and scurrying off the stage as fast as you can manage without looking too desperate.

All the nerves make you beeline for the restroom, stopped every couple feet from the stage by people who are congratulating you on an amazing, heartfelt performance. You nod and thank them for their kind words, hurrying to relieve your bladder.

When you exit the stall, Marcia is leaning against the sink closest to the door. A quick glance confirms the fact that she’s locked the door. Well so much for sneaking up on the witch…

You wash your hands calmly, taking the paper towel she offers as her mouth stretched into a wide, Cheshire grin.

“You were pretty damn good up there, Agent.” She taps a sunflower yellow nail against her chin thoughtfully. “Or should I say, Hunter?” You clench your jaw but say nothing, waiting and trying to formulate a plan. Other than one of the Winchesters were gonna get their ass handed to them for this little slip-up. “The others, they sang with the same emotion and depth you did. They were underappreciated. Not unlike myself. My coven didn’t appreciate the power I brought to the table. My mother didn’t think I was smart enough to run the family business. And my dear husband, well he didn’t love me how I should be loved. How you should be loved. The one with green eyes, the one who was flirting with the female bartender, oh, and the waitress when you all went to lunch. And let’s not forget the second guy’s ex - he doesn’t love you. Not how you want - or deserve. I simply want to remedy that.” She chuckles, pushing away from the sink and moving to block the exit.

“Y/N, you know I’m not the bad guy. He fucks every woman who will let him - and let’s face it - with those good looks, not many women are saying no. And every hookup, every smirk, smile and flirty line, they just end up as tiny wounds in your heart. I want him to feel that. To understand the ache you feel. That’s why I already left him a little present.”

“You can’t make people love you. You can’t make someone pay for something that happens a million times a day all over the world. Heartache happens. It’s what makes us human - that vulnerability, that need to be loved - and I will not let you hurt another person simply because you believe yourself to be in the right!” You’re moving forward before the last word tumbles from your lips, quickly chanting out a basic protection spell as you pull the gun and silencer from your back and put a single witch-killing bullet into her heart.

+  Y/N to Sam: Witch ganked. Paging Cas to get rid of the body. Meet me by Baby.  +

Cas answers your prayer quicker than usual, disappearing with her body less than a handful of seconds after you’d explained the situation. You exit the bathroom in a damn near sprint, rushing out into the chilly night air. Thank God, you’d shoved a pair of gloves into your front pocket!

Sam and Dean are leaning against the Impala as you yank the too-big gloves on, planting yourself firmly before Dean, hands sliding into his right inner jacket pocket.

“Y/N - what are you…” You don’t bother to answer Dean, moving to the outside pockets before sweeping your hands over his ass, your brow furrowed as he clears his throat. “What couldn’t wait to get your hands on me, Y/N??”

“Oh yes, Dean. Hexed dudes are so hot. Take me now.” Each word is dripping with sarcasm, rolling your eyes as your hands slip into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Really, Y/N? Like the hex bag is gonna be in there?” Sam gives a sharp whistle and you stop, looking up at the hex bag he’s dangling from the edge of his pocket knife.

“You ass! I thought you were in danger!”

“That why you gave my ass a firm squeeze when you were sifting through my empty pockets?” You want to punch him, you really do; a) because you didn’t think to squeeze that fine ass when you were rummaging through his pockets and b) you thought he was in danger and they both knew he wasn’t. You take a calming breath, tugging off the gloves and tossing them at Sam’s face.

“Well, I suppose you were right, Dean. Your jeans are pretty tight, but ya know, better safe than sorry.” You move around Sam and Dean, both standing there gaping at you. They knew your temper, how to rile you up. And normally you tended to take the bait. But after the whirlwind of emotion you’d been through today, in particular, you didn’t have it in you to play. Sliding into the back seat you wait for a few seconds before rolling the back window down. “We headed out to burn that thing or are you gonna stand there?”

—

The ride to the motel is quiet.

Sam makes quick work of burning the hex bag in the metal ice bucket, Cas popping in about twenty minutes later to hear the full details of the case. You excuse yourself to the bathroom, rinsing off the makeup and grittiness in the shower, and you let yourself cry a little too.

While the witch had been a crazed romance hating bitch, she’d been right. He’d never love you how you wanted. But you were also right - you couldn’t make Dean love you. And really, you wouldn’t want that. Dean had mentioned (once you had come to his room one night with your laptop open to a Supernatural fan site you had stumbled on) that Becky had given Sam a love spell, convinced him to marry her. That wasn’t what you wanted at all.

You blow dry your hair just to buy more time in case your eyes are still puffy. Exiting the bathroom, you’re more than a little surprised to see your packed duffle and purse on the bed closest to the door. Sam and Cas are missing, Dean leaning against the little partition wall by the door.

“I wasn’t sure if you needed anything for the drive home.”

“Just my headphones.” You reply, pulling them from your purse’s side pocket and tucking them into your sweatpants pocket before reaching for your bags.

“I got it.” Dean moves forward, hand out to take them from you.

“I already have them, Dean. Just please open the door. Is the trunk open?”

“Yeah, it’s open.” He leaves enough room for you to pass by, enough to be polite at least and slams the door shut behind him. You set your bags into the trunk, ignoring his little outburst. Sam raised a quizzical eyebrow as you settle into the back seat with Cas, giving him a cheery hello and thank you before shrugging at Sam. You pop in your headphones and stare out the window, about to let Josh Groban lull your too tired mind to sleep when the door is suddenly wrenched open, Dean’s big hands reaching inside to grab you. Letting out a startled squeak, you instinctively push his hands away, but he’s got a hell of a grip on your forearm. He pushes you a lot more gently that you thought he would up against the car, his lips brushing gently against your own.

You jerk away like you’ve been burned.

“What the fuck?!” You shout, Sam and Cas shooting out of the car. “Huh? First, you’ve been pissy flirty with me since that ghoul attack now you haul me out of the car and kiss me?!” Shoving at his chest, you search his face. Those candy apple green eyes bore into your own, the rest of his face melting from worried to contemplative to relaxed.

“I- I can’t lose you. I care about you. Maybe a little too much. That ghoul attack, it - it fucked me up. I just kept thinking, what if you died? There isn’t going to be any more damn underwear hanging all over the bathroom. No more getting up 2 in the morning to find you passed out in the library with a cold cup of tea on the table. No more never-ending movie quotes - half of them from movies I’ve never even seen.” His fingers brush through your hair, tucking it behind your ear like you usually tend to. “Who else was gonna shed everywhere? I mean, you shed worse than Sam. Who else is gonna make me those tiny pies and snap at me when I eat most of them? Which, I stand by this, they are equal to one whole pie.”

“You shouldn’t be eating a whole pie either, Dean!” The fingers that just tucked the hair behind your ear move to brush over your cheek, a smile stretched across his face.

“You were right. I am sweet on you. Have been since day one. Didn’t succumb to any of my lines, any of my dazzling smiles or nicknames. Hell, the first couple times we hunted, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. And, well, I like a challenge.” Dean flashed an easy but knowing smile, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Whoa there.” You hear Sam chuckle behind you. “So, you think you get to be a dick to me for the last month but now I’m just going to fall into your arms? This isn’t a chick flick, even though I know you love them.”

“I don’t -”

“I’m not finished.” Dean straightened up at your sharp tone. You fisted your hands around the edges of his jacket, keeping him from pulling too far away. “I care about you too. And Sam. And Cas. I’ve been hunting since I was 22 and I’m pretty good at it.”

“I didn’t say -” You give him a pointed look, watching him close his mouth and huff.

“I don’t need you to protect me, but I do appreciate it when you guys have my back. We’ve all had close calls. I nearly bled out six years ago hunting a murderous Shedu. We’re hunters, Dean. My life isn’t guaranteed. But if you pull your head out of your ass, I will continue to leave my underwear hanging out to dry in the bathroom. And shed all over the clothes and you won’t complain because I’m the one doing the damn laundry.” You raise up a little on your feet, using your grip on Dean for balance. “I’ll consider making you pie once you’ve apologized to me properly. And you will never call me sweetheart ever again. Oh, and dial the overprotectiveness down a couple notches. If you let Claire hunt, you should -” Dean cut off the rest of your sentence with his lips. His arm moved as you two pulled away, those nice, big hands gripping the back of your thighs, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him as he lifted you up. “You think I’m just going to sleep with you now?!”

“We’ll see you in the morning!” Dean calls out happily, shifting so his arm was firmly under your ass so he could use his right hand to open the motel door. Dean is about to kick the door shut when you hear Sam holler for you, catching the door before it closed. He holds up your purse, dropping it onto the table before rushing from the room with the Impala keys clutched firmly in his hand. Dean drops you onto the bed, watching you bounce with a grin then moving to lock the door.

“Now that we’re all alone, I believe I need to apologize.” Dean begins, shrugging out of his jacket and flannel. You swallow, nodding as you watch him. He reaches behind him, grabbing hold of the dark gray material and pulling it over his head, revealing a wealth of freckled and scarred skin. His hands move down to his belt, smirking as he watches your eyes take him in. “Or maybe I’ll just do like you sang. Just go down in flames, since you already have me crying Indian and begging for more.”

“So, a team of wild horses couldn’t drag your heart away, Jesse James?”

“Nope, I met my match.”

“Does that mean I won the fight?” You ask as he crawls over you, cupping his stupidly handsome face.

“Yeah, princess, you won.”

You remember your mom putting your hair up and putting some of her pink lipstick on, which you always loved with all of your heart. "There's nothing wrong with loving who you are cause he made you perfect, baby girl." She whispered in your ear, "So hold your head up girl and you'll go far, Listen to me when I say" That made you smile and every time you felt down from then on, you always remembered what she said to you that day and it never failed to make you stronger than ever.

When she died a few years after that day, when you had just turned 18, and a werewolf had killed her during a hunt, you was devastated and that upset and anger turned into drinking and sleeping around with both men and women since you had no other family. You heard people call you a slut and that you was going to hell especially since you was bisexual, you found out what it was called when you was about 15 and it had finally put a name to what you had been feeling for as long as you could remember, but you didn’t care as in your eyes it wasn’t a sin and you was born this way, no one could change that.

The drinking and the sleeping around, well mainly the drinking is how you met the famous or infamous, depending on who you talked to, Sam and Dean Winchester. Sam had found you in a ditch outside a bar and had carried you back to his motel room as he couldn’t just leave you there by yourself.

When you woke up the morning after with a banging headache and found out where you were, you was really shocked and angry but after Sam brought you some breakfast and helped you once you explained what happened, that anger slowly started to go into something else and before you knew it, you was going on a first date with him.

You knew you had to explain to him that you was bi, but you was scared he would be disgusted and run off as all your life, apart from your mom, you was told you was a freak and selfish even by people in the LGBT community, which kind of upset you the most. However, during the date, you was the one who was most surprised when Sam told you that he was bisexual so of cause you had to tell him you was as well. ‘What a coincidence’ You thought to yourself while smiling widely and chuckling.

The date went brilliantly and a couple of years later, you had moved into the bunker and you had completely fallen in love with him. Over the two years, you had both spent time just sitting on a bench and checking both men and women out who passed by, which made you laugh and made you happy as it brought you both closer together and it was something you couldn’t do with anyone else.

One day, about three years after you and Sam got together, you was just browsing on your laptop when you had come across an ad for a pride which wasn’t far from where the bunker was and it was in a couple days time. You knew you had to convince Sam, Dean and also Cas to come with you as you had always wanted to go to pride since your mom told you about it when you was little. Thankfully, they all said yes and a couple of days later, Dean parked up and you all stepped out with your flags and you managed to convince Dean to wear booty shorts and face paint to make the colours of the LGBT flag, which was amazing and of cause you had to snap a picture of him wearing them.

However, across the road you saw that there was some people holding banners and signs saying that gay people were going to hell and you got really angry. Sam asked you to hold back and that they were not worth it but you knew you couldn’t so you managed to get through to a shop and buy a bluetooth speaker.

“HEY THIS SONG IS FOR YOU GUYS!” You shouted to the homophobic bastards as you stepped on one of the massive floats in the middle of the parade and someone gave you a microphone before you started singing your favourite song, which reminded you of your mother, Born this Way by Lady Gaga. You got everyone involved in the pride singing loud enough to drown out the noises of the people across the road and you smiled widely as you got to your favourite part of the song as it got to you on a personal level.

No matter gay, straight, or bi,  Lesbian, transgendered life, I'm on the right track baby, I was born to survive. No matter black, white or beige Chola or orient made, I'm on the right track baby, I was born to be brave.

Once you finished the song, everyone was cheering and clapping loudly and you saw Sam jump onto the float and kiss you deeply in front of everyone before getting on one knee and proposing which made everyone cheer even more louder, completely drowning out the noise of those homophobic idiots. Of cause you said yes and you are sure you saw your mom smiling in the crowd. That is when you knew she was proud of you and it made you remember what she told you all those years ago.

Usual tags and people who I think may be interested in this: @heavenslildevil @lightthischickup @ackleholic96 @tattooedluci @kittenofdoomage @impala-dreamer @love-deansgirl97 @luciisthebest @sams-little-toy