#winchester reader

Sam looked up from his laptop at the rickety table, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter if it's three blocks or three miles, Nels. You know the drill. What are the rules?”

“Stay where there are people, keep my phone fully charged, don't talk to creepy guys, and if anything feels weird, use the code word,” Nelli recited in a flat, monotone voice, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can I go now? Feels like I’m in freaking jail.”

“Hey. Drop the attitude, kiddo,” Dean said, his voice instantly dropping into that firm, older-brother register that meant business. He stood up, towering over her, and deliberately reached out to messily ruffle the top of her hair, completely ruining the brushing she’d just spent ten minutes on.

“Dean! Stop it!” she snapped, batting his large hand away and taking a sharp step back, her temper flaring. “Seriously, you ruin everything!”

Dean didn't laugh this time. His green eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching slightly as he pointed his finger directly at her face. “Watch your mouth, Nels. I mean it. You've been snapping at us since we pulled into this town, and my patience is running on fumes. You want to go hang out like a regular kid? Fine. But you don't talk to me or Sam like we’re your punchlines. You got me?”

Nelli bit the inside of her cheek, her chest heaving with a mix of embarrassment and sudden, unexplained irritation that made her want to scream. “Yeah. Whatever. Got it.”

“Say it like you mean it,” Dean pressed, his voice stern but grounded.

“I got it, Dean,” she muttered, looking down at her sneakers.

“Alright,” Sam cut in gently, trying to defuse the tension before it blew up. He gave her a soft, encouraging smile. “Have fun. Be back by five, okay?”

Nelli didn't answer. She just snatched her keys off the nightstand, spun on her heel, and slammed the heavy motel door behind her, the glass rattling in its frame.

The diner had been fine, but by the time four o'clock rolled around, Nelli was exhausted. Sarah had been nice enough, but the constant effort of trying to act like a normal, carefree teenager when her entire life was lived out of a duffel bag felt draining. Her lower back was aching with a dull, heavy throb, and a strange, cramping pain was beginning to knot up her stomach.

She walked back to the motel, her feet dragging. She felt a sudden wave of guilt for snapping at Dean earlier; her mood had been entirely out of her control all day, swinging from furious to miserable for absolutely no reason.

She unlocked the door to Room 14, fully expecting to see Dean watching a wrestling fight on the tiny TV and Sam drowning in research.

“Hey,” Nelli called out, closing the door behind her. “I'm back.”

Silence greeted her. The motel room was completely empty.

Dean’s jacket was gone from the back of the chair, and Sam’s laptop was shut on the table. A small, familiar yellow sticky note was left on the wooden dresser in Sam’s neat handwriting: Had to run to the hardware store for salt and check a lead at the county records. Back in an hour. Lock the door.

Nelli groaned, tossing her jacket onto the bed. The cramping in her stomach suddenly spiked, a sharp, twisting ache that made her double over slightly. Wincing, she rushed into the bathroom, figuring the greasy diner fries were just messing with her stomach.

She pulled down her jeans, and the second she looked down, her entire world came to a sudden, terrifying halt.

Bright, dark crimson blood stained her underwear.

Nelli’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart instantly hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her mind raced through every horrible thing she’d ever heard about hunts, cursed objects, and internal injuries. Was she bleeding out? Did something curse her at the diner? Was she dying?

Panic, cold and absolute, washed over her. She scrambled for a handful of toilet paper, trying to wipe it away, but there was more. The sharp pain in her abdomen twisted again, and a sob tore out of her throat.

“What’s happening…” she whispered, her voice breaking into a high, frightened cry as she stared at the tiles. She was completely alone in a dingy bathroom, and the only person who had ever kept her safe from the terrors of the world wasn't there.

The heavy rattle of the Impala's engine pulling into the gravel lot outside cut through the quiet room, followed a moment later by the loud, familiar clatter of the motel door swinging open.

“Nels? You back?” Dean’s voice boomed through the space, carrying a paper bag that smelled strongly of greasy takeout and onions. “We brought burgers. Get your butt out here before Sam eats yours.”

Nelli was still sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, her knees pulled tight against her chest, her face buried in her denim jacket to muffle her crying. At the sound of his voice, a sharp wave of relief crashed over her, but the sheer panic kept her entirely paralyzed.

“De…” she tried to call out, but the word caught in her throat, coming out as a tiny, pathetic squeak. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice through the knot of terror. “Dean?”

She didn’t even know why she called him, she wasn’t going to let him in but just knowing that he was there, and she wasn’t alone, calmed her nerves.

In the main room, Dean froze mid-stride, his green eyes instantly darting toward the closed bathroom door. He’d spent fourteen years tracking the slightest shift in his sister's tone, and the fragile, shaky vibration in her voice right now set off every hunter instinct he had. He tossed the takeout bag onto the table, his posture instantly going rigid.

“Nels?” Dean walked over to the bathroom, stopping right outside the door, his hand hovering near the knob. “Hey. Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah,” she choked out, trying desperately to sound normal, but it ended up sounding high-pitched and completely breathless. “Just... give me a minute.”

Sam stepped up behind Dean, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked at the closed door. “Nelli? You're not sick, are you? Did something happen at the diner?”

“No! I'm fine!” she yelled back, her voice cracking under the stress. “Just go away!”

Dean’s jaw clenched. He didn't like the sound of this at all. If she’d been targeted by something supernatural, or if she was hurting, he needed to know now. He knocked firmly on the wood, his voice dropping into that low, no-nonsense, commanding tone he used when there was absolutely no room for arguments.

“Eleanor. Unlock the door and get out here right now. I'm counting to three.”

The use of her full name did it. The lock clicked, and the door swung open a mere couple of inches.

Dean didn't wait. He pushed the door the rest of the way, his eyes instantly scanning her for a hex mark, a wound, or an injury. But the second the space opened up, Nelli didn't say a word. She lunged forward, burying her face straight into the rough canvas of his shirt, her small hands clutching the fabric of his jacket with a terrifying, white-knuckled grip. She was shaking violently, her tears instantly soaking through his sleeve.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Dean’s sternness completely evaporated, replaced by a sudden, protective panic. He hooked his large arms securely around her shoulders, anchoring her against his chest as he looked around the tiny bathroom, trying to spot the threat. “Kiddo, look at me. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did someone touch you?”

Sam was hovering at the doorway, his face pale as he looked at how frantic she was. “Nels, talk to us. What happened?”

Nelli just buried her face deeper into the crook of Dean’s neck, her breath hitching in a ragged, miserable gasp. The shame and the sheer terror of what she’d seen were fighting for dominance in her chest.

“I'm... I'm bleeding, De,” she choked out, her voice a tiny, muffled whisper against his collarbone.

Dean went entirely rigid, his heart hitting his ribs like a sledgehammer. His hands automatically moved to check her sides, his voice sharp with terror. “Where? Where are you bleeding, Nels? Did you get cut? Did someone follow you?”

“No!” she sobbed, pulling back just enough to look at him, her face completely flushed and wet with tears. She looked incredibly young in that moment, her green eyes wide with a desperate, primitive fear. “In the... in the bathroom. On my clothes. There's blood, Dean. Lots of it. I don't know why, my stomach hurts so bad, and I think... I think I'm dying. I think something's wrong with me.”

Dean stared at her, his brain frantically trying to piece the clues together—the moodiness all morning, the dull back ache she’d mentioned, the sudden cramping, and now this.

Slowly, the frantic hunter panic in Dean's chest hit a sudden, screeching halt. A completely different kind of realization washed over his face, his expression freezing into a mix of utter bewilderment and profound, older-brother awkwardness. He cut a wide-eyed, slightly panicked look over his shoulder at Sam.

Sam’s jaw was slightly slack, his eyes widening as the pieces clicked for him, too. He took a cautious half-step back into the bedroom, rubbing the back of his neck, looking entirely out of his depth.

Dean looked back down at Nelli, who was still looking up at him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. He let out a long, slow breath, his large hand coming up to gently smooth back her messy hair, his voice dropping into a soft, grounding rumble.

“Hey. Look at me, rugrat. Look at my face,” Dean murmured, his touch incredibly tender. “You’re not dying. I promise you, you’re completely fine.”

"You're not dying, Nels. I swear to you," Dean repeated, his voice solid and completely steady, though inside, his brain was scrambling at a hundred miles an hour. He cleared his throat, trying to force down the massive wall of older-brother awkwardness currently choking him. “Look, it’s just... it’s a girl thing, alright? It means you’re growing up. It’s called a period.”

Nelli blinked up at him, her tear-stained face scrunching into a look of pure confusion and lingering horror. “A... a what? Dean, I'm bleeding! How is that normal?”

“It just is, kiddo,” Dean grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his face definitely heating up a little. He kept his arm securely wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her grounded. “It happens to every girl. It just means your body is doing what it’s supposed to do. You're completely healthy, Nels. I promise.”

From the doorway, Sam finally cleared his throat, his face a sympathetic shade of pink. “Yeah, Nels. Dean’s right. It’s completely normal. You’re okay.”

Nelli looked between the two of them, her breathing finally starting to slow down from the absolute panic, though her stomach still gave a nasty, painful twist. “So... I'm not sick?”

“Not even a little bit,” Dean murmured, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He pointed toward the shower. “Alright, here's what we're gonna do. You’re gonna go take a warm shower and get changed into some fresh clothes. Strip those off and put 'em in the sink, I'll handle the laundry part. Go on.”

Nelli nodded miserably, sniffling as she stepped back into the bathroom.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Dean spun around and glared at Sam, his eyes wide with a silent, frantic panic. “Sam. Supplies. Now.”

“On it,” Sam said, already reaching for his jacket and the car keys.

“Don't go to a store, man, she’s in there right now,” Dean whispered urgently, gesturing to the door. “Go to the front desk. Hit up the vending machines or ask the manager’s wife. Just get whatever they have.”

Sam didn't need to be told twice. He turned on his heel and sprinted out the motel door, his long legs eating up the pavement as he dashed toward the main office.

Dean let out a long, heavy breath, leaning his back against the wall next to the bathroom door. He could hear the shower water start to rumble against the old pipes, punctuated by Nelli’s occasional, quiet hiccups. He hated this for her. He hated that she had to go through regular, scary teenager milestones in a dingy, drafty motel room with two brothers who knew way more about silver bullets than feminine hygiene.

Less than five minutes later, the motel door burst open again. Sam rushed in, slightly out of breath, holding a small plastic grocery bag tightly in his hand. “Got 'em,” Sam whispered, handing the bag over. “The lady at the desk gave me a handful of stuff from her own stash.”

“Good. Nice work, Sasquatch,” Dean muttered, taking the bag. He knocked gently on the bathroom wood. “Hey, Nels. Open up a crack.”

The door opened just enough for Nelli to peek her wet face out, a towel wrapped tightly around her frame. Dean awkwardly thrust the plastic bag into her hands, looking absolutely anywhere but at her. “Here. Sam got this from the front desk. There’s... pads and stuff in there. You figure out how to use 'em, or you need Sam to look up a manual on his computer?”

“Dean!” Sam hissed from the kitchen area, his face turning bright red.

A tiny, breathless watery giggle finally broke through Nelli’s misery. “I know how to do it, idiot. I can figure it out…” she mumbled the last part under her breath.

“Yeah, well, don't scare me like that again,” Dean grumbled, though a massive wave of relief washed over him at the sound of her laugh. “Get dressed.”

When Nelli finally walked back out into the main bedroom, she looked entirely exhausted. She was swallowed up in her oversized gray sweatpants and one of Dean's old, soft flannels, her hair damp and clinging to her neck. The cramping in her lower abdomen was still a dull, heavy throb, making her drag her feet.

Dean was already sitting on the edge of his bed, having cleared off his shotgun parts. He held up a thick, warm mug of hot chocolate Sam had made using the kitchenette microwave. “C'mere, rugrat.”

Nelli didn't hesitate. She crawled straight onto the mattress, curling her legs up tightly against her chest and burying her face right back into the crook of Dean’s neck, the heavy mug clutched between her small hands. The hot ceramic felt good against her shivering fingers.

Dean wrapped his large, calloused arms around her, securely anchoring her against his chest. He began to rock her back and forth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, his large hand coming up to gently, rhythmically stroke through her damp hair.

A stray, exhausted tear slipped down Nelli’s cheek, her voice muffled against his flannel shirt. “My stomach hurts, De.”

“I know, kiddo. I know,” Dean whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, soothing rumble that always acted like a security blanket for her. He pressed a long, tender kiss to the top of her damp head, his touch incredibly careful. “S'alright. The hot cocoa will help. There’s no need to cry anymore, Nels. Me and Sam, we got you. We’re right here.”

Beside the bed, Sam silently dragged a chair over, setting down a bottle of ibuprofen and a fresh bottle of water on the nightstand, giving her a soft, encouraging smile.

Nelli closed her eyes, her breathing finally leveling out into a calm, steady rhythm as she melted into the solid, unyielding heat of her older brother’s arms, the scary world outside fading away into the quiet safety of the room.

A/N: I absolutely loved writing this!!! I actually need more requests like this, with teenage Nelli, cause they’re fun to write

You learned two very important things growing up with Sam and Dean Winchester.

One: if you didn’t move fast, you got left behind.

Two: if you did move fast, you could cause problems.

Today, you chose chaos.

The bunker was unusually calm—no alarms blaring, no salt lines being redrawn, no demon blood debates echoing through the halls. Sam was buried in a lore book at the war table, Dean was in the kitchen arguing with the coffee maker like it had personally wronged him, and Castiel stood nearby, staring at the microwave as if it were a hostile entity.

Which made it the perfect time.

You quietly lifted your phone.

Click.

Sam didn’t notice at first. He was hunched over, glasses slipping down his nose, hair doing that annoying floppy thing that made people trust him instantly. You leaned slightly to the side, framing the shot perfectly.

Click.

Sam finally looked up. “Are you taking pictures of me?”

You smiled sweetly. “No.”

Click.

“That was definitely a picture.”

Dean leaned around the corner, mug in hand. “What’s going on?”

You turned and snapped a photo mid-sip—his face twisted in betrayal as the coffee was clearly too hot.

“Son of a—” Dean hissed, lowering the mug. “Did you just—”

Click.

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned, realizing the danger far too late. “She’s doing that thing.”

Dean pointed at you. “No. No, absolutely not. Delete them.”

You backed away slowly, still snapping photos. “You can’t stop what’s already been immortalized.”

Castiel turned his head toward you. “What are you doing?”

You beamed. “Documenting.”

Click.

Cas blinked. The photo caught him mid-blink, mouth slightly open, trench coat somehow sitting wrong in a way that defied physics.

He frowned. “Why did you capture my image?”

Dean snorted. “Because she’s a menace.”

“It’s called a selfie culture,” you said, walking closer to Cas. “Here—stand still.”

“I am always standing still.”

Click.

Sam stood abruptly. “Okay, new rule. No pictures without consent.”

You immediately spun and took one of him standing, hands braced on the table, looking like a disappointed librarian.

“Wow,” Dean said. “That one’s going on your tombstone.”

Sam glared. “I hate all of you.”

Castiel stepped closer, studying your phone with intense focus. “These images are… unflattering.”

“That’s the point,” you said cheerfully.

Cas tilted his head. “Why would one intentionally preserve an unflattering representation of an ally?”

Dean shrugged. “Trust me, buddy. She’s been doing this since she was twelve.”

You grinned at Cas. “It’s love.”

Cas considered this. “So… this is a human bonding ritual?”

“Yes,” you and Dean said at the same time.

Sam sighed. “No.”

Cas nodded slowly, as if committing this to memory. “I see.”

You moved on, catching Dean slouched in his chair, Sam rubbing his temples, even a blurry shot of Jack peeking around a corner looking vaguely guilty.

Then, without warning—

Click.

You froze.

Castiel was holding his own phone.

“When did you get a phone?” Dean demanded.

“Yesterday,” Cas said calmly. “I did not understand its purpose until now.”

He held the phone up.

Click.

Dean’s mouth was open mid-complaint. Sam was half-blink, half-sigh. You were grinning like an idiot.

Cas looked at the screen, then at you. “Did I do it correctly?”

You burst out laughing. “Perfectly.”

Dean groaned. “Great. Now there’s two of you.”

Cas nodded, satisfied. “I will continue this custom. For bonding.”

He raised the phone again.

Click.

Sam dropped back into his chair. “We’re never surviving this.”

You slung an arm around Cas’s sleeve. “Welcome to the family.”

Cas looked down at the photo again—at the messy, unguarded moment frozen in time.

“I believe,” he said thoughtfully, “that I like this tradition.”

Dean squinted. “I don’t.”

"Gabriel? As in— the friggin' archangel? That's who you've been goin' on about all this time?" Dean threw his hands up as he paced the room, stopping in his tracks to give you a look. "Seriously? Him?"

Sam was pointedly staying out of the conversation, sitting on one of the motel twin beds and presumably doing some research on his laptop, only glancing up every few seconds, perhaps to make sure Dean didn't explode.

"Okay, okay, I know you don't exactly like him, De, but— c'mon, he's not so bad." You and Gabriel had been spending quite a bit of time together lately, for no reason in particular except for the fact he kept popping in whenever your brothers went out on hunts and refused to let you come (much to your dismay). At first, you'd been reluctant, after all the guy had put your brothers through some… rather questionable situations, but he turned out to be sweet. Like, stupid sweet.

"'Not so bad'" Dean pitched his voice up to a mocking tone, "The dude freakin' ganked me. Hundreds of times. Not that I personally remember, but still."

Well. He wasn't wrong. "Well— uh, he's helped us out, hasn't he?" Maybe 'helped' was a bit of an exaggeration, but whatever. You needed Dean to understand that Gabriel wasn't as much of a dick as he seemed to believe.

"Helped. Sure. Because puttin' us through a bunch of TV shows was just what we needed while we're trying to stop the devil from icing the entire frickin' planet—"

He had a point, but to be fair, you'd already spoken to Gabriel about that. And he had been trying to teach Sam and Dean a valuable lesson, in his own rather special way. You just needed him to be a little less creative when it came to getting things through your brothers' thick skulls (although, you often had to resort to unusual methods in that area too.)

"He's sweet, Dean." You sighed exasperatedly, "I know nothin' I say is going to make you like him, but he's nice. And he's trying to help, he just.. doesn't always go about it the right way."

Dean gave you a look, his brows furrowed into a tight crease just above his nose bridge. "What, are you in love with the guy? Cause' your damn mistaken if you think m'letting my little sister date an archangel. That'd be like me givin' your hand in marriage to Lucifer."

You grimaced at the thought of that. "First of all, you don't get to decide who I date. I'm an adult." you paused, "and second, Gabriel is nothing like that son of a bitch."

Dean let out a whistle and raised his hands up in mock surrender, taking a step back. "Okay, okay. Either way, you didn't deny bein' in love with him."

Sam didn't glance up from his laptop, but he did murmur, "Dean, c'mon. Leave her alone."

Dean waved him off, "So are you?"

You flushed a little. If you were being honest, you supposed you didn't really know. What you did know was that you'd had more fun hanging out with Gabriel the past few months than you'd had in a long time— maybe even ever. You did know that whenever he made his stupid, flirty jokes towards you, you could feel your stomach go all fluttery. So were you in love with him? Maybe.

"I don't— I don't know, maybe," you murmured, cheeks burning, your gaze burning a hole into the cheap, musty motel carpet. "Doesn't matter."

"I dunno, sweetheart, I think it matters." That was definitely not Dean's voice. Dean turned so quickly, cursing when he noticed that the angel had been standing in the room unnoticed for God knows how long.

You instantly felt your face flush even more. If it was possible to die from sheer embarrassment, you already had one foot in the grave. You didn't know how long Gabriel had been standing in the corner, didn't know how much he had heard— but clearly, he'd heard the most incriminating part; you admitting that you were maybe, sort of, a little bit in love with him.

"Jesus, Gabriel, you can't just… pop in whenever you feel like it," you glanced up at him, saw that cocky smirk, and— nope— you dropped your gaze right back to the ugly carpet.

"Yeah, Gabriel," Dean's voice shifted to a more teasing tone when it got to Gabriel's name. You figured he was probably still mocking you. Dick.

"Such a warm welcome," Gabriel deadpanned, and you caught Sam roll his eyes. Gabriel gestured at you, "You usually don't mind when I pop in at random."

"Okay, well," you trailed off, "I was havin' an important conversation."

"Oh, yes, I heard," you glanced up and he was grinning smugly, in a way that made you want to simultaneously kiss and punch it off of him.

"How much did you hear?" you mumbled, digging into the floor with your heel. You wanted to disappear right now. If you could fly like Gabriel, you'd already be halfway across the globe by now.

"Only like, all of it," Gabriel shrugged and chuckled confidently. You wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole and die. Preferably as soon as possible, or even yesterday. Before you even had time to process your thoughts on the situation, Gabriel tapped two fingers to your shoulder and all of the sudden you were flying, stomach twisting with waves of nausea.

You landed in an arguably much nicer hotel room. You couldn't figure out exactly where you were, not that the location was the most pressing issue to you at the moment, rather the fact that Gabriel now knew you had feelings for him.

Head spinning, you grumbled, "Gabriel, what was that for—?"

"Wanted to talk to you, sorry m'lady," he gave a cheesy little bow and oh, you loved him. No doubt about it anymore. No 'maybes' there.

"Shut up," you murmured, "You- weren't supposed to hear any of that, y'know? Eavesdropping is rude in human culture."

"Well, good thing i'm not a human then, dollface." He shot you a flashy smirk.

"Don't call me that." You gave him a look, and he nodded immediately.

"Yes ma'am," he winked, and you rolled your eyes despite the way it sent butterflies swarming in your gut. "So, a little birdy told me you're maybe in love with me?"

"Oh, shut up with that 'a little birdy' crap," you swatted his shoulder, "Just say you were eavesdropping, because you have no manners, and you overheard me saying that i'm definitely in love with you."

"Definitely? I've been promoted?" You could've sworn there was a pink tint to Gabriel's cheeks, and if that didn't make the butterflies go even crazier, you didn't know what would.

"Yes, definitely, idiot. I'm in love with you," you murmured under your breath, not looking at him. "Not exactly how I wanted you to find out."

Gabriel placed two fingers under your chin and gently tilted your head up to make you look at him. "I didn't quite hear you the first time there, mind saying that again?" there was a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, and that put you at ease a little.

"I love you, Gabriel." You muttered, and you watched his eyes noticeably soften the moment the words left your mouth.

"Well, gee, don't flatter me," he was blushing quite obviously, and his hand was fully cupping your jaw now. "I do too, though."

Just to be annoying, you tilted your head in mock confusion. "You do… what?"

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "I love you." your heart melted the moment you heard him say that. He leaned in, and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you; and he did, but on the tip of your nose rather than your lips, which felt infinitely more romantic to you. Such a human gesture from an archangel, your archangel. Oh, you definitely liked the sound of that.

"My brothers are going to kill you," your forehead was pressed gently against Gabriel's. He let out a loud chuckle.

"Wont be their easiest task. And it would be worth it, anyway. I should be safe for now though," he smirked, "After all, Sam knew I was 'eavesdropping' as you call it."

"I'll chew him out for that later," you murmured, "right now, I don't really care."

Part 10 - Bait & Switch

Dean grits his teeth and tightens his grip on the steering wheel as he watches another mile marker pass. He is not enjoying Sammy’s game of Q & A to pass the time. Not one bit. These questions he’s answering honestly so that he can prove to you that he’s not ashamed that he loves you. He can’t be, he needs you too much.

But Sam is enjoying Dean’s openness a little too much. Especially since he’s looking at situations and past happenings in a whole new light.

“So-” Sam clicks his tongue, ready to fire his next question. “A few months back when she snuck out of Bobby’s and went to the bar. What was that really about?”

Dean sighs to himself. This got old fast. Why is honesty so tiring? “She was baiting me.” He starts, keeping his eyes on the road. “She knew I’d come and get her. So she had some guy all over her, hoping that I’d snap- which I didn’t for the record…or at least not the way she wanted. I told her no, but that just made her more determined.”

“Uh huh. Then the next day she pretended to be interested in Jack as her plan B?” The younger man questions.

“No.” Dean points at his brother with his index finger briefly taking his eyes off the road. “You made that assumption. She was pretending to use him as her wingman that day. She baited me again, wanted me to think she was out picking up guys in town. Then when she snuck back to the bunker she was using him to get at me.”

Sam raises his eyebrow curiously. “Did it work?”

Dean chuckles sarcastically, remembering that day. The day you were practically begging him to spank you. He had you bent over the couch and everything… He shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You know if you keep going. You’re going to ask a question you may not want to hear the answer to.”

“Did it work or not?” Sam repeats, ignoring his brother’s warning.

“She was so close. I mean she was really asking for it that day, but no.” He scoffs. “You interrupted anything from happening.”

“I asked (Y/N) that day how does a Winchester win a war against another Winchester.” Cas smirks from the backseat where he’s been idly listening.

Dean glares at the angel in the rearview mirror while pointing at him angrily. “Not a fucking word out of you. You kissed my sister you asshat!”

“Correction, she kissed me.” The angel huffs dryly, crossing his arms over his chest like a sullen child.

“I said not a peep!”

Sam rolls his eyes at the exchange but returns to his line of questioning. He’s a researcher by trade so he’s simply trying to ‘research’ the situation so that he can understand it better. “Anyway. So, then what happened to finally make you change your mind?”

“Crowley.” Dean growls. Because that’s also where they are headed now. To Crowley’s main location of operating when he’s topside. “That night she ran off with Crowley for hours. I was up all night thinking, and I realized she was never going to be able to let go of what happened. She had already given into her feelings for me. When she woke up the next day I gave into my feelings for her.”

For a few miles Dean is thankful for the silence. Sam just sits there in the passenger seat, thinking in quiet contemplation. Taking in all the new information he’s been given. But the silence ends far sooner than Dean would have liked.

“I have to admit.” Sam hums, turning to face his brother. “These past few months you two were happier than I’d ever seen both of you.”

Dean just shrugs. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, unsure how to respond to that. He feels torn between two siblings right now. He knows he was happier than he’d ever been because he finally allowed himself to be. Let himself have what he had dreamed of for years. But on the other hand, his other sibling doesn’t understand that love. He thinks it's wrong.

“That night we were going to the auction, trying to round up cursed objects, why were you so mad if you had already ‘given in’ at that point.”

Dean bites on his bottom lip as he recalls that night. He was already agitated and you were making it worse by teasing him in the mirror. “That Sammy, would be one of those questions you don’t want the answer to.”

Sam opens his mouth, but stops himself. Like he’s really thinking about it before responding. He goes back and forth about it in his head for a few beats. “No, I think I want to know.”

“Remember what happened to the curious cat?” Dean quips, only to get a bitch face in return. “Okay fine you asked for it. We have this long running joke about how you are the master of cock blocking. It had been two weeks at that point. So I was already in a mood. She thought it would be funny to tease me from the back seat by using the mirror. Then you inevitably caught us, and cock blocked us, again.”

Sam’s face skews at that admission. “You guys were messing around while I was right here in the car?” He huffs. “I guess I never realized or knew she had this conniving, deviant side to her.”

Sam holds his hands up like he’s surrendering. “Wow, okay Dean.”

“You bite your tongue!” Dean snaps. “She is beautiful and perfect in every way, just the way she is. And don’t you dare tell her otherwise!”

“Me likey.” You giggle as you spin around in a circle attempting to dance and refill your drink at the same time. You have no idea what kind of liquor this is, but it's getting you good and drunk. The flowy red dress you have on whirls around with you. After taking another gulp from your glass you resume dancing to the rhythm of the music that’s playing.

When a demon tries entering the room you do a dance slide to the side and block the doorway. “His majesty isn't taking any visitors this evening.” You hiccup.

The demon known as Gerald who is inhabiting the body of an old man rolls his black eyes at you. “My lord.” He calls over you to get Crowley’s attention.

“Are you deaf or dumb Gerald? Because I clearly heard what (Y/N) told you.” Crowley huffs from his seat where he’s been watching you dance around the room as he sips on his own drink. He's still coming down from his ‘feelings’ high.

“Shoo, shoo.” You wave Gerald off. “Take your wet blanket somewhere else.”

“My lord.” Gerald starts again, and completely ignores you. “You ordered me to tell you when they arrived.”

“Damn.” Crowley sighs, acknowledging what the demon said, and waves him away. “Darling, I’m afraid the real wet blankets have arrived to ruin our good time.”

You immediately stop dancing, but your head is still spinning. From both the booze, and knowing your brothers have arrived.Thanks to Cas as his big mouth you knew they were coming for you. But why? To go back home and pretend like everything is normal? No, not happening.

Your bare feet pad across the floor until you find the high heels you kicked off earlier. “Well let’s give them a good show then.” You say with a devious smile, prepared to do what you do best. Piss off Dean.

Crowley outstretches his arms, beckoning you to him. Your heels click with each step until you reach the King of Hell and climb into his lap. It's a miracle in itself with how drunk you are that you didn't fall flat on your face.

He moves your body so that you’re sitting sideways in his lap. As the booze really kicks in your head starts to feel heavy so you lay your head against his shoulder.

Moments later the sound of heavy footsteps echoes through the hallway. They get louder and louder until they come to a screeching halt in the entryway. “Hello boys.” Crowley coos. “Looking for your wayward Winchester?”

Dean is instantly seeing red. Not just because you have on a bright red dress either. That's also too tight and revealing. But because you’re curled up in the King of Hell’s lap and the filthy demon has his hands all over you.

“Is this another one of those occasions where she’s baiting you?” Sam mutters.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m killing Crowley either way.” Dean growls.

“Oh no you’re not!” You growl back, lifting your head up enough to make eye contact with the man that broke your heart. “You don’t own me Dean. I can do whatever I want with this!” You hiss, gesturing to your body.

Internally you have emotions flying in all different directions. You feel silly, like that girl in the rom coms you make fun of that tells the boy not to chase after her but in reality that’s all she really wants. And as badly as Dean hurt you, you can’t help how good it feels to see him right now. But that doesn’t lessen your hurt or anger any. Drunk, angry, and confused is not a good combination for you right now.

Crowley smirks as his hand finds the slit in your dress and slides up your bare thigh until it disappears inside your dress. “Tell me Dean, how did you ever have the willpower to resist this beauty? She has me chomping at the bit.”

Dean’s eyes flicker back and forth. Torn between cutting Crowley’s hands off, and reigning in his emotions to try and reason with you. “Listen sweetheart, I know I hurt you, but can we go somewhere… Anywhere away from Crowley to talk?”

“Why? So you can spare Sammy the details of how disgusting we are?!” You spit angrily, but your voice cracks near the end from all the hurt you’re feeling.

“I always knew you were a moron Dean.” Crowley quips. “But this is downright stupidity. Poor innocent Samantha couldn’t bear to know brother and sister were tickle fighting? So you throw her aside. I’ll happily keep her then.” He grins like a cheshire cat as his fingers skate along the top of your exposed cleavage.

“Crowley!” Dean hisses.”I will torture you in ways you never imagined, so help me, if you don’t keep your fucking trap shut and hands to yourself!”

“Cock tease.”

“Go away Dean. I’m fine. I don’t need saving.” You say with a tired yawn like you’re bored of him. Then you notice Cas for the first time. Your devious grin returns as you sling your arm around Crowley’s shoulder. “You know, a demon and angel sandwich is sounding really hot right now.”

“Well you know me darling, I'll try anything twice.”

“(Y/N)” Dean grits like it's taking everything in him to not explode. “Stop with the immature games, and let's talk.”

“That’s rich coming from the emotionally constipated asshat!” You growl.

Sam pushes Cas into the background as if to keep the sandwich option off the table. Then he moves to stand beside Dean for a side chat. “This isn’t working, maybe I should try.”

Dean shakes his head remembering what Jack said to him just yesterday. ‘Nobody knows her better than you.’ And Jack’s right about that. Nobody knows you better than him. He knows the reason you are doing these off the wall, classically impulsive Winchester, knee jerk reactions. The same reason you do anything brash.

Because you want Dean’s attention, because you want Dean. This is the only way you can get him to listen when he’s too stubborn. You’re too much like him. That’s why you’re perfect for each other. Who else is going to put up with the two of you?

He's going to have to man up, prove to you he loves you while also sticking up to Sam for the same reason.

“Alright, enough games.” Dean huffs stomping forward. He grabs your wrist and yanks you off the demon’s lap. You start to squeal out a protest, but he pulls you flush against him. Your hands land flat on his firm chest. His free hand goes to the back of your neck and pulls your face to his. Before you can register what’s happening his lips are on yours.

Warm and soft.

That’s the only thought you have going on in your mind in this moment. His lips are warm and soft, melting away your rigid exterior. Making you completely forget whatever it was that you were mad about.

Your body melts into his. One hand slides up his chest and around his neck, and into his hair. The other hand cups his scruffy cheek.

His tongue licks along the seam of your lips begging for entrance. You part them and moan when his tongue enters your mouth and starts exploring. Heat begins to pool in your belly as his hand releases your wrist and slides down your frame. Traveling down until he’s got a handful of your ass that he’s squeezing.

Someone obnoxiously clearing their throat tries interrupting the moment. Sam, of course.

“Hush Samantha.” Crowley grunts. “It was just getting good.”

Needing to take a breath you break the kiss, but just barely. You stay as close to Dean as possible. “Why did you bring the cock blocker with you?” You rasp out.

Dean snorts out a laugh. “I told him about that. About everything, really.”

“You what?” You gape, leaning your head back a little so that you can see his green eyes to make sure he’s not feeding you a line.

“Ya.” He nods. “I told him our cock blocker joke. I told him everything to show you that I love you and that I’m sorry.”

You turn, looking over your shoulder at your other brother. Sam at least doesn’t look disgusted. That’s a start you suppose. You silently question him by raising your eyebrow. He shrugs his shoulders, looking sheepish. “I’m working through it in my head to understand. Dean, really opened up a lot about everything. So, just come home and we’ll work it out, okay?”

Turning your head back to Dean you see his eyes already on you, looking hopeful. Pleading even. “Please baby. You can kick my ass all the way home if you want. Just come home, please. I need you.”

The way he says I need you makes your body shutter and ache with want. Because he means it. You need him too and you know it. You’re still a little drunk and likely too easily forgiving, but he’s saying and doing all the right things. You blink your eyes innocently “Will you ride in the back seat with me?”

Dean smirks, keeping his eyes on you as he digs around in his pocket. Without breaking eye contact he tosses the keys to Sam. “You’re driving Sammy.” Then he leans into you, pressing his lips to your neck, letting out a low growl. “I missed my naughty girl.”

“I’ve been so bad.” You whimper, clutching onto his flannel shirt as he nips at your skin.

“You cock blocking moose!” Crowley growls.

“Alright guys!” Sam chirps. “Let’s get on the road…”

Dean’s lips are hot on your skin. Kissing all along your neck and collar bone. His hands on your bare thighs under your dress as he bucks his hips, rutting against you. “Fuck baby I missed you.”

“I love you Dean!” You moan with your fingers combing through his hair and thrust your breasts into his face. His lips detach from your neck and proceed to suck marks atop your cleavage.

“I love you too baby.” He groans. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

You rip his shirt open and grind down against his hard length moaning obscenely.

But when some of the buttons fly to the front of the Impala and smack Sam upside the face he swerves. “Come on guys. Keep your pants on till we get home.” He whines with pink cheeks. Blushing about the scene behind him he’s trying to ignore.

“I think it’s beautiful.” Cas hums from his spot in the passenger seat, shamelessly watching you and Dean make out.

“Whatever, stop staring.” Sam scolds.

“No really, their love is beautiful.” Cas smiles.

“Dean please.” You whimper, with your hands roaming his chest. Your breasts bounce as you roll your hips against him looking for friction. Not caring who is watching at this point. All you care about is you have Dean and you want to feel all of him.

“Hold on baby I got you.” Dean coos seemingly feeling the same. “Sammy, you may want to pull over.”

“What?” Sam balks. “No, there's nowhere to stop. Keep your damn pants on for a few more miles.”

“Hey Sam?” The angel questions.

“Ugh! What Cas?”

“My vessel seems to be reacting strangely. What do I do?”

Sam looks over to see what Cas is talking about only to immediately regret that decision. The angel’s slacks are tight as his erection strains to stand at full attention. “Oh come on!” He groans as he slams on the brakes and finally pulls the car over.

He hops out immediately. But when Cas doesn’t follow he goes around to the passenger door and signals for him to get out.

The hunter laughs sarcastically. “I’m willing to be understanding so that they can be happy. But we are definitely talking about boundaries when we get home.”

“What’s wrong Sam?” The clueless angel asks as he exits the Impala.

I was picturing Cas and the pizza man episode when I wrote that last little part. 🤣🤣

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Here's a link to my AO3 post.