Dodging Cupid's Arrows
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester
Word Count: 2630
Prompt: Cupid's Got A Shotgun by Carrie Underwoods
Summary: An encounter with Cupid forces you to face your feelings for the Winchester Brothers.
Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, unresolved romantic tension, fear of emotional vulnerability, self-doubt, internal conflict, unrequited love, intense emotional introspection, defensive behavior, discussion of emotional scars, mentions of past relationship trauma, slow burn, protective behavior, Cupid intervention, romantic frustration.
The barās dim, sputtering light casts a weak glow overhead, barely illuminating the worn wooden tables and the scuffed floor beneath your boots. Shadows cling to the walls like old memories, and you sink deeper into your chair, swirling the last of your whiskey in the glass before taking a slow sip. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat, spreading a fleeting warmth through your chest, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging in your head. It never does.
Itās the same pattern every time, isnāt it? Men with honeyed words slip into your life, leaving behind promises as thin as smoke, promises they never intend to fulfill. Before you know it, you're left standing in the wreckage of something that wasnāt even real, just a mirage of what could have been. All those "almosts" stack up like bricks, weighing heavy on your heart, and even though youāve never had a real relationship, it feels like you've been left shattered more times than you can count.
The scars are there, even if no one else can see them. They linger in every moment a guy brushes you off, in the hollow smile you force when you know it's not real. You feel the sting in every glance that sizes you up like youāre a prize to be won rather than a person to know. So youāve built your walls, layering them high and thick until nothing, no one, can break through. Not even him.
Or them.
Sam and Dean Winchesterāthey didnāt just walk into your life. No, they crashed into it, two forces of nature that bulldozed right through your carefully constructed defenses, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in a way you swore youād never be again. At first, you tried to play it cool, act like they were just hunters, comrades in arms. But the months blurred together, and now you canāt even tell how long itās been. And that scares you because losing track means losing control and losing control means letting them in.
And letting them in? Thatās not an option.
Even now, you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their presence lingering in the air like a storm cloud ready to break. Samās by the pool table, his lean, tall frame moving with practiced ease as he lines up shot after shot. Thereās a calm to him, but itās the kind that keeps you on edge, like he could switch in an instant and suddenly be dangerous. Then thereās Dean, perched at the bar with a half-empty beer in hand, his eyes flicking between the room and you, constantly scanning for threats, always watching.Ā
Always watching you.
Theyāre protective. It should comfort you, but it drives you insane. Because the truth is, no matter how many monsters they face, no matter how many battles they fight, they canāt protect you from what matters most. They canāt protect you from yourself.
You think back to the last hunt, to the ridiculousness of it allāa damn Cupid, of all things. The little winged freak zeroed in on you from the moment you stepped into that abandoned church, those bright, beady eyes tracking you with unnerving precision. He wasnāt cute, not like the Valentine's Day cards would have you believe. No, this thing was more like a demented cherub, armed with arrows dipped in cosmic mischief, and he had you in his crosshairs. You could feel it in the airāthe tug, the weight, as though Cupid himself was hell-bent on forcing you to confront feelings youād buried so deep even you were beginning to forget they existed. Each arrow he loosed sent your heart racing, as if you could sense the emotional mess he was trying to weave. But you dodged them all, every last one, determined not to let some glorified matchmaker unravel everything youād worked so hard to lock away.
You're not stupid. You know precisely what the little bastard was aiming for. Itās not like youāve been blind to the way Samās gaze lingers on you when he thinks youāre not paying attention, soft and curious, like heās trying to piece you together. Or the way Deanās jaw tightens, a flicker of possessiveness in his green eyes, whenever some random guy at a bar edges too close, his whole demeanor shifting to silent warning. Youāve been dodging these unspoken glances for months now, sidestepping their care, their questions, like someone dancing around a minefield. Because you know that once you stop moving, itāll all explode in your face.
And youāve had enough explosions in your life.
But thereās only so much running you can do before the inevitable catches up.
āHey.ā
Deanās gravelly voice slices through the whirlwind of your thoughts, rough but steady, anchoring you as he slides into the seat beside you. His presence is a weight that presses into the air, solid, almost suffocating in its certainty. The chair creaks beneath him, but all you hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, thundering in your chest.
āAre you alright?ā Heās asking, but itās more than that. Itās the question beneath the question, the one youāve been dodging for longer than you can remember.
Your heart skips a beatāa betraying thud that echoes in the hollowness youāve tried to keep locked down. Youād never admit it, not even to yourself, but he makes it impossible to pretend. You glance at him, careful to keep your face neutral, masking the fluttering in your chest with a look youāve perfected over years of pretending. Itās almost second nature by nowāthe practiced nonchalance. But with Dean, itās always been different.
Thereās something in the way his green eyes bore into yours, piercing through the walls youāve built brick by brick, layer by layer. Itās as though he sees right past your armor, straight into that small, fragile part of you that still aches for something real. Something more. But you canāt let him see that. You wonāt. So you shove it down, hard, pushing that flicker of vulnerability back into the shadows as you lean casually into your chair. Your body language distant, closed off.
āYeah,ā you shrug, the lie slipping from your lips as easily as breathing. āJust tired. Long day.ā
Dean doesnāt move, doesnāt blink, just watches you with that familiar intensity, and you knowāyou knowāhe doesnāt believe a word youāre saying. Heās seen you fight, seen you bleed, seen you crawl out of the wreckage of hunts that shouldāve killed you. Heās seen you at your worst, and somehow, he still sticks around. He and Sam both do, and thatās the problem, isnāt it? Theyāve gotten too close, wedged themselves into your life in ways that make it impossible for you to keep pretending.
Pretending that you donāt care.
Pretending that the way Dean looks at you doesnāt unravel something deep inside.
From across the room, you feel Samās eyes on you. His quiet gaze tracks the shift in the atmosphere as he casually leans his pool cue against the table and makes his way over, long strides slow but purposeful. His expression is calm and unreadable, but you see the concern in the tightness of his jaw and the subtle way his brow furrows as he joins Dean at your side.
āYouāve been quiet,ā Sam says softly, folding his arms across his broad chest. Thereās no judgment in his tone, just that frustrating gentleness, the kind that makes you feel seen when youād rather stay hidden. āIs it⦠about earlier? With Cupid?ā
The mention of Cupid sends a sharp twist through your stomach. You swallow, forcing down the surge of emotions that threatens to rise, burying it beneath layers of practiced indifference. You wonāt let some stupid angel with a bow and arrow undo everything youāve worked so hard to keep locked away. You wonāt.
āIām fine,ā you snap, the words slipping out too fast, too harsh. The crack in your voice betrays you. āThat was nothing. Just another hunt.ā
Dean raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the weight of Samās stare, too, both of them pinning you with that all-too-familiar look. The one that says theyāre not buying your crap, the one that makes your pulse quicken, and your chest tighten. You hate that look because it leaves you nowhere to hide.
āBullshit.ā Deanās voice is low, steady, cutting through the silence with calm certainty. He takes a long sip from his beer, but his eyes never leave yours, and it feels like heās peeling back every layer youāve carefully put up to protect yourself. āYouāve been dodging that thing like it was the plague, and donāt think we didnāt notice.ā
You clench your hands into fists in your lap, frustration bubbling up like a rising tide. āLook,ā you say, your voice sharp, defensive. āI donāt need some magical arrow telling me how Iām supposed to feel. Iām fine the way I am.ā
Sam shifts beside Dean, his arms still crossed, but you see the way the muscle in his jaw tenses, the way his hazel eyes soften as they search yours. āItās not about what youāre supposed to feel,ā he murmurs, his voice quiet but firm. āItās about what you do feel.ā
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, itās all too much. The weight of their concern, the intensity of their gaze, the truth that theyāre trying to force you to admitāit presses down on you until you canāt breathe. You stand up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as you push it back. The sound is harsh, jarring in the quiet of the bar, but you barely notice.
āI donāt feel anything, okay?ā you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. āNot for you, not for him, not for anyone. And I wonāt let some winged freak tell me otherwise.ā
The tension in the air thickens, suffocating, hanging between the three of you like a storm cloud ready to break. Dean stands up slowly, his movements deliberate, his face carefully neutral, but thereās something in his eyesāsomething raw, something that cuts deeper than you want to admit. Hurt, maybe. Disappointment. You canāt think about it. You wonāt.
āYāknow,ā Dean says quietly, taking a step toward you, his voice low and steady, āyou keep saying that, but you donāt believe it. Not really.ā Heās close now, too close, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves, and it makes your pulse spike. āYouāre just scared.ā
Your heart slams against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. Fear coils tightly around your chest, but not the fear of them. No, itās the fear of what theyāre asking you to do. To let them in. To trust them. To stop running.
And running is all you know how to do.
āIām not scared,ā you whisper, but the words feel weak and empty, even to you.
Deanās lips twitch into a small, humorless smile, his eyes softening just a fraction as he watches you. āYeah, you are,ā he says, his voice gentler now but no less intense. āAnd thatās okay. But maybe itās time you stopped running from it.ā
Sam steps closer, his presence steady and calm, grounding you in a way that you donāt want to admit you need. His voice is soft, full of quiet understanding, but thereās an unshakable strength beneath it. āYou donāt have to do this alone, yāknow,ā he says. āWeāre here. We always have been.ā
The words sink into you, settling deep into the cracks of your carefully guarded heart, and something inside you shifts. Just a little. Itās terrifying, the idea of trusting them, of letting yourself hope, but thereās also something achingly beautiful about it. About the possibility that maybe, for once, you donāt have to be the one to leave first. That maybe, you donāt have to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.
But still, the fearāthe bone-deep, soul-crushing fear of opening up, of letting someone in only to be left behind againāis overwhelming and paralyzing.
āI canāt,ā you breathe, your voice barely a whisper now, trembling under the weight of the truth youāre too afraid to admit. āI canāt risk it.ā
Deanās hand reaches out slowly, cautiously, like he knows one wrong move could send you running. But he doesnāt stop. His fingers, calloused from years of hunting, gently find yours, and instead of just holding your wrist, he entwines his fingers with yours, locking them together with a quiet but unspoken promise. The touch is soft yet firm, his thumb grazing the back of your hand in slow, soothing strokes, as if heās trying to reassure you with every heartbeat. The warmth of his skin against yours sends a shiver up your spine, igniting something deep inside you, something youāve kept buried for so long you almost forgot it was there.
You feel the weight of his presence settle over you like a blanket, heavy with meaning, but thereās nothing suffocating about it. Itās grounding, steadyāsafe. And yet, that safety terrifies you because itās the kind youāve convinced yourself you donāt deserve. But Dean, he isnāt giving you a choice. Not this time.
His other hand comes up slowly, his movements deliberate and gentle, as if heās afraid you might bolt at any second. His palm cups your cheek, warm and rough, but his touch is tender, almost reverent. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you didnāt realize had fallen. The simple motion cracks something inside you, and for a moment, it feels like the walls youāve built so carefully over the years are crumbling under the weight of his touch.
"Maybe youāre not the only one taking a risk here," Dean murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper. His words hang between you, heavy and raw, filled with all the things heās never said but has always felt. His eyes search yours, and in them, you see itāthe longing, the fear, the desperate hope that youāll stay, that youāll finally let them in. That youāll choose them.
You feel your breath catch in your throat as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, anchoring you to the moment. His thumb continues its slow, tender sweep across your cheek, and the tenderness in his gaze is enough to break your heart. This man, this infuriating, stubborn, protective man, who has fought demons and monsters and everything in between, is standing here with his heart wide open, asking you to stop running. Asking you to be with him and his brother in a way that terrifies you more than any hunt ever could.
For the first time, you feel the weight of whatās at stakeānot just for you, but for him, for Sam. This isnāt just about you being afraid of getting hurt. Itās about them too, about the risk theyāre taking by loving you, by wanting you to be a part of their lives. And it hits you with such force that you almost canāt breathe. They arenāt asking for your walls to come downātheyāre asking to stand beside them. To hold you through the fear, through the pain, through whatever comes next.
You stare up at Dean, his hand still cradling your face like youāre something precious, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonderāreally wonderāif maybe, just maybe, youāre not the only one with something to lose.
Because you can feel it nowāthe risk theyāre taking, the way theyāre holding their breath, waiting for your answer, waiting for you to finally say yes. And in that moment, you realize that theyāve already decided. Theyāve already chosen you.
Itās your turn to choose them.
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