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“How did I start that? I was told my whole life I’d be a Winchester one day.”

“You married Sammy.” Dean chimed in. “When you were four.”

You glanced over at Sam who tried to hide the slight pink beginning to tint his cheeks. “Four year olds can’t get married, Dean.” You smiled.

“Next time, don’t ask an officiant to do it.” John teased you.

“What!?”

“Bobby. He’s been marrying hunters as long as I’ve known him. You demanded it. Said that way, you could stay with Sammy, not go home. You were very disappointed when that didn't work. Your mom thought it was the cutest little thing. That’s when it really started.”

“Made Sammy’s whole life when you told him you were his wife.” Dean laughed. “When we went to town for food the next day, he bought you a little cheap ring from one of those machines. He bought like ten of them, trying to find the perfect one.”

“Seriously?” You looked at Sam.

Sam smiled, blushing again and looked down with a nod. “Deal?” He tried to change the subject.

“I don’t remember that..”

“Sammy never forgot it.” John smiled, and again you look at Sam.

You were sitting outside one night, on a cheap motel chair by an empty pool. Sam and John had been fighting again and you needed to get away. You sat quietly enjoying the cool air, though you had to admit, you should have brought a sweater.

“Hey.” Sam came and sat in the chair next to yours, facing you.

“Hey.” You continued to stare into the empty pool.

Sam licked his lips. “I’m leaving.” You looked over at him. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t stay anymore. I got into college.” You gave him a nod and looked back down. He opened his mouth to talk, but you spoke first.

“Why did you stay this long? Why stay and fight?”

“For you.”

“Me?” You turned to look at him again.

“You don’t see it, do you? It was always you. Even with your crush on Dean, all I saw was you.”

“I don’t-”

Sam chuckled. “You did. I’m pretty sure you still do. Everyone does.” He gave you a small smile. “Fact of life. Dean gets the girl.”

“Sam-”

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” He told you, sadness written all over his face. When you stayed quiet, unsure what to say, he nodded and stood, then started to walk away.

“Sam, wait.” You got up. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I need to.” He turned to you. “There’s more to life than hunting, motel rooms and credit cards with someone else’s name on them. This is never what I wanted.” He took off his sweater, and wrapped it around your shoulders. “I only stayed because I love you.”

“You-” You stared up into his eyes.

“I love you. I always loved you.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “You can come with me. I’ll find a way to make it work. I’ll give you a life you deserve.”

You teared up. “This is all I know, Sam..”

“No, it’s not. You’re so much more than this. You can finish school there. You can go to college if you want, you-”

“This is the life I always wanted.” You reminded him. “I always wanted to hunt with you and Dean, that's all I ever needed. Just you two, and the open road.. It's what got me through everything.”

Sam sighed. “I can’t stay. I won’t stay.”

“I understand..” your voice was quiet. Sad.

Leaning his head down, Sam kissed you. His lips pressed firmly to yours. “I’ll always love you.”

It was the last thing he said to you before you watched him walk away. 

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“But why would he—" Sam was cut off by his phone ringing. You watched his conversation with Jody, taking in the heartbreaking nuances of his expression. He thanked her and hung up. You were almost too scared to ask who had died. It seemed like everyone kept dying lately. You weren’t sure you could handle another death.

Dean had no such qualms and asked, “Who?”

“Eileen.”

And your heart broke for Sam. You hadn’t met Eileen. Somehow, you’d always been on another hunt when she came around. But you’d heard stories from the brothers and seen Sam’s face light up whenever her name was mentioned. Goddamn it, you thought he could finally have a bit of happiness in his life. Someone to call and just shoot the shit with when he wanted to talk to someone besides you and Dean. Someone that made him smile in ways that you and Dean couldn’t. He finally had someone besides you and Dean. And now she was fucking dead too.

“How?”

You weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer to that question, and you especially didn’t want Sam to be the one to answer. But you couldn’t move. “She was, uh, mauled by a wild animal in a wooded area that doesn’t have animals that do that. In South Carolina.”

“I thought she was in Ireland,” you piped in. If she was in the states, you would have wanted to meet her. You would have driven hours just to meet the woman who put that spark back in Sam Winchester’s eyes.

And now you would never get the chance to thank her for bringing Sam that kind of happiness he’d been missing.

Sam shrugged, fighting back tears, and turned away to gather himself without you and his brother watching. You felt absolutely wrecked, just seeing the way Sam seemed to shrink, curl in on himself. His hand jerking over his hair, not knowing what to do with himself.

Eyes starting to water with grief for a great hunter’s death and your friend’s mourning, you turned to Dean. His eyes were trained on the floor for a moment before raising to yours. You jerked your head towards Sam, indicating that Dean should take the lead on this. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Sam.”

“Dean, that’s the second hunter death we’ve heard about in two weeks.”

“I know.”

Where was Sam going with this? You understood that he didn’t want to deal with Eileen’s death. At least, not with an audience. But he sure moved on really quickly from emotions to logic. Back to the case. Treating this like a case was probably how he was trying to keep his sanity.

And if that’s what he needed right now, then you would help him.

“But two doesn’t make a pattern,” you pointed out, furthering the discussion. Getting everyone back into the investigative frame of mind.

“Three would.”

“Meaning?” Dean prompted.

Sam paused for a second, seeming to gather the courage to say his next words. “Mom’s a hunter. And no one knows where she is.”

If Mary was dead, the odds that Sam would get through this were slim to none. Losing Eileen and his mother so close together? Sure, he was a Winchester and he had thick skin when it came to death. But Sam had to have a breaking point somewhere. You just hoped he never had to find it.

“We should get going.”

“Going where?” Dean asked you.

Treat this like any case. There was a victim. You had to find cause of death. “South Carolina. We have to, uh, we have to—”

“Cause of death,” Sam choked out, taking a few deep breaths. “And we should burn her body. Send her off the right way.”

Dean left the room first, jerking his head towards Sam. Apparently it was your turn to feel out how Sam was handling this. So as soon as the door shut behind Dean, you took a few steps towards Sam. “Sammy?”

His breathing picked up, pushing you to close the rest of the distance and pull him into your arms. “Hey there, Sam. You’re gonna… We’ll get you through this.”

He curled his large body around yours and allowed himself to be held. He allowed you to comfort him. There were no tears, but those would come. Late at night when he was alone, that’s when he would really break down.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.”

NEXT EPISODE (coming soon)

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"I know. But I have a feeling that you'll be thanking me when I tell you that I'll let you three choose amongst yourselves who gets to live, and who gets to die."

Dean was always so quick to witty comebacks, but it was Sam who was always so quick to sacrifice himself. And as I caught his eye, I knew that he was thinking the same thing I was.

The rational behind my next action didn't come to mind until after I'd already found the strength to stand up and hobble forward a few steps. I was a fraction of a second quicker than Sam, which I hoped gave my plea more weight.

"Me. Let the Winchesters live."

"Y/N," Sam gasped, not even able to stay on his feet. He fell to the floor, clutching his side.

And that's when I realized why I'd taken the bullet. It was because Sam was good and pure. It was because even with how much animosity was between me and Dean, I still knew that you don't mess with a good thing. And Sam and Dean had a good thing.

"This isn't up for discussion." The month-long hunt with the Winchesters had given me more bruises than I'd ever had in my life. They'd stitched me up every other day as we hunted down this hateful god. My body was sore and on fire and icy all at the same time.

"So quick to the punch," the god mused, slowly strolling towards me. The pain laced into every cell of my body spiked, and I fell to the ground, completely defenseless.

"Let them go," was all that I could manage to ask for. The time to beg for my own life was over.

"Y/N." This time it was Dean's soft voice that broke through the pain. He never spoke in that tone with me. Our conversations were always coated with sarcasm, sharp edges, and contempt.

Slowly, I turned my head and tried to look him straight in the eye. "Live to fight another day, Dean."

"Funny thing about death." This god's voice was really starting to get on my nerves. I was almost to the point where I wanted him to kill me just so I wouldn't have to listen to him anymore. "Turns enemies into friends, and friends into enemies."

"How poetic," I said drily. "If you keep talking, I'm going to bleed out before you get a chance to kill me yourself."

“We can’t have that, now can we?” He snapped his fingers—seriously, what was it with monsters and snapping their fingers—and the Winchesters both disappeared. “There. Your friends are safe and sound on a beach somewhere. It’s just you and I.”

I barely had the energy to lift my head and look up at the despicable being in front of me, much less try to think of a way out of this. So this was how my story ended. With me weak and unable to fight back.

At least I saved Sam and Dean. They would find a way to beat this god eventually.

But they would have to do it without me.

“Either kill me now, or I’ll kill myself just to rob you of that pleasure.” If it was going to end, I wanted it to end. I hated dragging things out.

He slowly advanced on me, his grin sharpening until it morphed into a hellish smile made from children’s nightmares. “So impatient, little one. Don’t worry. You won’t survive until tomorrow.”

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She was all charm and smooth as butter as she leaned against the police station’s front desk, eyeing the deputy who eyed her back in every place but her eyes. She got the information faster than they ever would have been able to, strutting past them with a wide smile and the parting words, “Better luck next time, boys.” He’d followed her out of the station and had been following her ever since. And he knew.

She was joining them for hunts, her sass and boldness adding a cutting edge that kept the brothers on their toes. She had a passion to put anything and everything above herself, clearly displayed in the risks she took that made his heart beat faster. When he voiced his concerns, she would only smile and place a hand on his face, briefly sweeping her lips across his cheek. “I know you’ve got my back,” she would say with a wink. And he knew.

She was kissing him with a desire that put all other sensations to shame. They tangled themselves in the covers as they rolled back and forth on the bed, taking turns at making the other's body catch fire. Sometimes they would be serious, sometimes they would be lighthearted with laughter, and every time they would just lie there in the aftermath and rest in the safety of each other’s arms. And he knew.

She was scared of the future, terrified of the small life that had sparked inside of her. But she had always been strong, and as the child grew she began to harvest a love that led her to hope for more. He hoped with her, and his own dreams that had been pushed aside long ago began to resurface. Their lives didn’t significantly change, at least not yet. But in the quiet moments that hunters rarely see, they would whisper plans for a brighter future. And he knew.

She was crying, her shoulders shaking as she hugged the blankets as tight as her arms would allow. He had found her hours ago in the bathroom, methodically wiping the blood from between her legs and where it had stained her thighs. He had sat her carefully down on the counter and gently finished removing the reminder of the deep loss they would mourn for months. He sat beside her on the bed now, wanting desperately to comfort her, but lost in the hopelessness. A small hand stretched out, searching for him, and he wrapped himself around her small frame, holding her in the sorrow. And he knew.

She was becoming her old self again, having finally rid herself of the darkness that had clung to both of them for far too long. They let themselves be happy and found joy in the small things. The hunting continued while a different dream was born from the ashes. New whispers filled the quiet of the night as they would lay side by side, their vision blanketed by stars. She knew there was more out there, and she helped him see it. And he knew.

She was so focused in her need to protect them that any thoughts of self-preservation had dissipated long ago. When the monster lunged, she didn’t hesitate. Her body became a shield, a wall of flesh that was brutally struck by teeth and claws. Her scream cut deep into his heart as he rushed to tear it off of her, firing silver bullets until the clip emptied. He gathered her in his arms and prayed that someone, anyone, would save her. And he knew.

She was fading fast, her eyelids fluttering open and closed as he whispered encouragement and love, trying to keep his voice strong for her. She was cradled against him, his arms trying to hold the wounds together. His shirt and jeans were soaked with her blood. And as he gently kissed her forehead, she smiled and whispered the three words that had become his source of everything. And he knew.

He knew she was his aspiration.

He knew she was his undoing.

He knew she was his deep desire.

He knew that she was his fortress.

He knew she was his future.

He knew she was his tether to sanity.

He knew she was his home.

And now he knew that she was lost to him.

And he knew that he was lost without her.

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“Of course not. My little girl graduated top of her class at MIT and I’ve never been prouder.”

Suddenly you realized what was happening. “It’s mom, isn’t it? I miss her too, daddy. I wish she was here.”

“I’m sure she’s looking down at you, just as proud as I am.”

It took all that you had in you to bite your lip and swallow the familiar argument. He’d lost hope a long time ago that his wife was still alive. But you knew that she wasn’t dead. You could feel it. Your mom was alive.

But it was your graduation day and you didn’t want to fight.

So you changed the subject. “Since you’re so proud of me, does that mean you’ll buy me that car I’ve wanted?”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think I remember seeing a brand new Maserati with a big bow on it sitting in front of your apartment.”

“Seriously? You really bought me the Maserati?”

“Brand spanking new, too. Top of the line for my honey bear.”

You threw your arms around your father’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He laughed as you kissed his cheek and started dragging him to the parking lot. The only thing that had gotten you through the last five weeks of your college career was the picture of your dream car taped above your desk.

And the promise of that car waiting for you was enough to distract you from the sense of dread that was apparent in every line of your father’s face. The test drive you took your new car on with your father in the passenger seat ensured that you could thoroughly enjoy those few hours with him.

That car was a distraction. You had no idea that your father had a countdown until he was no longer a free man.

Because three months after he gave you that car, fourteen people were dead and your father was in handcuffs.

*****

*****

“Braxton. You’re—you’re here.” You quickly looked around the room, taking stock of everyone After a moment, you realized how stupid that was. Shifters could look like anyone. His family could be anywhere.

“And I come in peace,” he assured you, holding his hands up.

“I don’t believe you.”

Dean was probably going to be here any minute. Did you want him to take down Braxton or not? After that last few hours, you weren’t thinking too quickly, so you just needed more time. Slowly, you started moving off to the side. Braxton followed as you headed toward a pillar that would hide you from direct sight of the door.

“Can’t say I blame you.”

“The last time I saw you, you were leaving me to die.” Unless it wasn’t actually him. “Well, someone who looked like you, anyhow.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, but apparently the Winchesters told you part of it.”

You glanced at the door, just as Dean walked in. “How did you know—“

“You told me.”

Since meeting the Winchesters, you hadn’t spoken to any Covington at all. In fact, the only person you had told was—

“You son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, having spotted Braxton. He raced over and reached into his jacket for, what you assumed to be a silver weapon, but you intercepted him, keeping a hand on his arm to still his movements as you stared at Braxton and tried to wrap your mind around what was happening.

“You’re t9? No, that can’t be.” You shook your head and turned your back on him, trusting Dean to keep an eye on Braxton while you thought through everything.

You started chatting with t9 over a year before you met Braxton. Hell, sometimes you chatted with t9 while Braxton was doing work on his own laptop in the same room as you. And you even kept an eye on his screen and he never once had a chat window open.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Dean growled.

“Shut up, Dean,” you snapped, still annoyed with him about the werewolf/mom thing. Then you turned back to Braxton. Or maybe it was a shifter as Braxton. Whatever was happening, you needed more information. “Start talking, Brax.”

“Maybe we should sit down?”

“Then you’ll tell me everything? No games?” Somehow you doubted that.

“You have some explaining to do too,” he pointed out. Braxton waited until you nodded before heading toward a booth.

Dean grabbed your arm before you could follow. “What the hell is going on? He tried to kill you. He’s engaged to a shifter that looks like you. Why are you going to listen to him?”

“Because I need information. And I’m not sure if it was actually Braxton who left me on the mountain or a shifter who looked like him.”

“And what if this is a shifter too? Besides, if Braxton is a shifter, then the Braxton you started dating probably isn’t even really Braxton.”

“Silver hurts, right? I always wear this silver necklace that my dad gave to me. Braxton has taken it off a few times and it didn’t burn him. Besides, I have another way to tell if this is my Braxton or a shifter Braxton,” you lied.

Without waiting for Dean’s argument, you walked toward the booth that Braxton had claimed and slid into the other side, leaving room for Dean. It was time to walk the tightrope of playing games with a Covington. Only this time, you had the problem of an overprotective Winchester by your side.

“Remember that time we went on vacation in Bali and I convinced you to get high with me?” You asked Braxton. “You said you had never gotten high in your life and I said it was about time?”

“Of course I remember,” he replied, eyebrows creasing in confusion.

“What did we talk about?”

“Y/N, I don’t see how—“

“Shut up, Dean.” You were so close to kicking him out of the booth. You had to focus all of your attention on figuring out what was going on with Braxton that you couldn’t worry about appeasing him.

Braxton looked between you and Dean for a moment before answering your question. “I think… I think we talked about starting a business. Making giant inflatable squirrel floaties for pool parties or something stupid like that.”

“He’s not a shifter,” you falsely confirmed. Truth was, you had absolutely no idea. You just needed Braxton to think that you trusted him enough.

“A shifter could have known that,” Dean said at the same time Braxton said, “Memories aren’t safe.”

Well, at least they were both in agreement about one thing. So now it was time to concoct an explanation that would satisfy both of them.

“That one is. Dean, remember when I told you about the memory thing my dad did to me? Well, I spent a few months with another scientist two or three years ago. She was super interested in memories and a few other things that my dad had been, so we spent a while trying to recreate that serum, but we only came up with a diluted version that would protect your mind for a few hours. I mixed some of that in with the stuff Braxton and I took.” Locking eyes with Braxton, you directed the next sentence at him. “That memory is ours and only ours.”

A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, and you mirrored the same expression on your own face.

“What is going on?” Dean asked slowly, calculatedly looking first at you then at Braxton.

That wasn’t a question you were going to answer in present company. “You tell me, Braxton. I know your family are shapeshifters. And apparently you’re t9. What else do I need to know?”

“I don’t know where to start…”

“How about the beginning?” Dean suggested abrasively.

“It’s not that simple,” you muttered to him. “There are at least four beginnings.”

Both men waited for your explanation. Dean, to clear up the confusion. And Braxton to see what you knew. “There’s the beginning where we met in that club. Or the one where we met online, if you really are t9. Or the one where my dad was framed for a crime he didn’t commit, but I’m sure your family had something to do with, or the one where your family hired my dad a few times for shady stuff.”

Braxton leaned forward. “Where do you want me to start?”

You were itching to know about how Braxton was t9, but you didn’t know how long you had. And your father had to be your number one priority. “You’ll tell me the whole truth?”

“As I know it.”

“Start with the massacre.”

Part 13 of Avenging Angel

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Dean strolled over and gave you a kiss, lingering a little longer than he had in the past week. “You sure you don’t wanna come?”

Offering a small smile, you pretended to get more comfy on the bed. “You two go have some family time. That last hunt drained me. I could use some alone time.”

Satisfied with your explanation, Dean leaned over and kissed you again before straightening out and heading to the door, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “C’mon, Sammy. Let’s go get you laid.”

“See you in a few hours,” Dean promised, looking right at you. There was something in his eyes… something you couldn’t place. Could he feel it too? The end for you two was coming.

As soon as the door closed between you and the Winchesters, the knots in your chest pulled tighter and you had to take deep breaths so that you wouldn’t cry. You could do that after you and Dean were officially over.

Grabbing some clothes and heading to the shower, you thought back to the last time you’d broken up with someone. It was five years ago and the worst experience you’d ever gone through. Just thinking about what it would feel like when you and Dean finally called it quits was a million times worse.

*****

It was cliché, sure, but there are some reasons clichés become clichés. Drinking away your breakup seemed like a grand plan. Every ounce of alcohol that burned its way down your throat was a comfort, in some strange way.

”Hey there,” an attractive, growly voice said next to you. By this point, you were so drunk that all of your hateful thoughts toward your ex and men in general were gone, so you turned to this newcomer. Through your blurry vision, you could tell that he was hot. At the moment, that was all that mattered.

“Hey yourself.” Real original. Had you been more sober, you would have realized that you couldn’t flirt to save your life. You and David had been together for three years; about two and a half years longer than you should have been with him. All of your picking-up-guys skills had gone down the drain along with your dreams.

This new man offered to buy you a drink, and who were you to turn down free alcohol? He had introduced himself, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember his name. He remembered yours, though. Throughout the night, he constantly used it, but not in a way that was trying to manipulate you into liking him enough to take him home. No. This was the kind of man who used your name because it seemed that he just liked saying it. His tongue would wrap around the sounds, making your simple name into a caress.

When the bartender announced last call, you took this stranger home. No one had made you feel this way since… well since ever. Not even David had paid this much attention to you when you were in the flirting stage of your relationship.

Once you were inside your apartment, you were pushed back against your door by his strong hands and his lips found your neck. You were so glad you’d sobered up in the last few hours because this stranger sure knew what he was doing. You would want to remember every second, every touch, every sound of this night.

Then you caught sight of a picture of you and David on your dresser and your body stiffened as if struck by lightning. The stranger pulled away, concerned that he had done something wrong. As soon as the dam broke and you started sobbing in his arms, half naked, you expected him to run for the hills. But this man surprised you by carrying you over to your bed and climbing in so you were on your sides, facing each other. His fingers were careful, touch soft, as he brushed the hair from your face and wiped your tears away. You spilled everything to him and he listened. You could tell he was actually listening. He wasn’t just pretending.

So you embarrassed yourself by oversharing everything about your failed relationship. After you’d exhausted the subject of David, this man tactfully and skillfully redirected the conversation to other subjects. For hours, you just talked about everything and nothing. The sun was coming up when he pulled you into his body and sleep overtook you. When you woke up, he was gone. Nothing more than a whisper of a dream.

*****

Dean pulled up to the bar and killed the engine. His mind was still back in the hotel room with you as he clapped Sam on the shoulder and grinned. “Let’s go find you a woman.”

After a few drinks, Sam turned to Dean and seemed to be tuned into his thoughts. “What’s up with you and Y/N? And don’t say it’s none of my business. I live with you two, man.”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean felt that hole in his chest even through the alcohol. “Between all the shit with the demons and angels, we just don’t have time to… talk.”

“Talk, huh?” Sam teased, though he knew that Dean actually did like talking to you. Hell, he talked to you more than he ever had to Sam when you first started hunting with them. Even before you two started dating, Dean loved just talking to you about anything.

Dragging a hand down his face, Dean fixed his eyes on a stain on the bar counter. He remembered that first night you met. Even then he’d known you were something special.

Sam leaned forward. “What are you doing here, dude? We have the night off, for once. Go to your girl. I won’t go back to the motel until sometime tomorrow because no matter what you and Y/N say, I do not need a wingman.”

Spending time alone with you could clear the air… Dean considered that for a moment. Or, as was more likely, it could be the end of everything good between you two. He didn’t want that, so he chickened out. “She said she wanted some alone time—“

“Get out of here, Dean. Go show her that alone time with you is even better.”

“I dunno, man. What if—“

“Dean. You need to go to Y/N,” Sam commanded. “For the last few weeks, I haven’t said anything. I thought you guys could work whatever the hell is going on on your own. But every night we go to a bar and every night you don’t even glance at any of the women who keep trying to take you home because you’re worried over Y/N. I’m sick of you pouting. Go fix things with Y/N.”

Dean scowled and started to protest Sam pushing him around, but his younger brother just stood up and left before Dean could get another word out. As soon as Sam was across the room, leaning against the wall next to some chick, Dean deflated a little. Sam was right.

Back at the hotel, Dean took a few deep breaths before unlocking the door and walking in quietly in case you were asleep.

“Y/N? It’s just me,” Dean whispered, just in case you weren’t. He remembered all too well the first time he’d snuck into your room and was met by the barrel of your gun.

“Dean?” You asked, voice soft and timid. “What are you doing back?”

The lights were all off, but Dean didn’t feel like turning any of them on. Instead, he softly padded over to the bed and sat on the edge. “I just wasn’t feeling the bar tonight.”

“What about Sam?” There was something in your voice that he hadn’t caught before, but it made his breath hitch. You sounded… fragile.

Shucking off his jacket and taking off his shoes, Dean sat on the bed with the headboard at his back and legs stretched out in front of him. Finally, he could take the darkness no longer and he turned on the lamp by the bed. “Sam’s doing just fine without me. What’s wro—Y/N, have you been crying?”

He reached over to wipe the moisture off your cheek, but you turned away from him and quickly jerked your hand across your face. “No. I’m just tired.”

“Y/N—“

“I’m fine, Dean.”

He could leave it at that. Let you think he believed you. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Before he could think about his actions, he was sliding across the bed to take you into his arms. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

He felt the moment you gave in. You seemed to sag against him. “What’s wrong with us, Dean? What happened?”

Dean wanted to have the answers. He wanted to know how to fix this. But he couldn’t. Instead, he held your head against his chest and smoothed his hand over your hair, staring at the wall on the other side of the wall. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“How did we get here? This were going great then…”

“Are you saying things can’t get good again?” Dean asked, twisting down to look at you. “You think we should just give up on us? Because I’d have to disagree.”

Your eyes caught his. “I’ve never known you to give up on anything.”

Tenderly, Dean brushed his fingers down the side of your face, so lightly that it was almost as if he wasn’t even touching you. He didn’t want to lose you. There was a sudden determination in him that he wanted you around. He didn’t know where it came from, but he wanted, no… he needed you in his life.

“You know,” Dean started, voice scratching with emotion. “Ever since I met you, since that first night, I haven’t wanted anything more than I want you.”

“You mean when I punched you in the face?”

Wait…

“That’s not the first—you don’t remember?” Your confusedly blank expression spelled out so many things for Dean. “Of course you don’t remember. You were so drunk and that idiotic asshole just broke up with you,” he muttered.

He saw you trying to put the pieces together as clearly as he saw the wall you put up suddenly to guard yourself from whatever was coming next. “What are you talking about?”

“You really don’t remember? We met before you punched me on that hunt. That bar in Mesquite…” He trailed off, wanting to know just how much you could remember.

“That was you? I took you home and… and I started bawling like a baby before we even got your pants off.” Your cheeks flooded with embarrassment and you turned away from him, but Dean wasn’t having any of that. He tucked his finger under your chin and pulled your face back to his.

“Hey, sweetheart. We got my pants off eventually,” Dean tried to lighten the mood, drawing a chuckle out of you. A tear escaped your lashes and Dean leaned forward to kiss it away. That whisper of a kiss seemed to drain all of your tension away, so Dean continued feathering his lips down your cheek, stopping just shy of your mouth. “You know, I couldn’t bring myself to kiss you that night.”

“We were halfway naked, Dean,” you pointed out, clearly remembering everything except him.

“But I never kissed your lips,” he countered. “I couldn’t figure out why, but I think I got it now.”

He pulled back and looked at every harsh line that the dim hotel lamp formed on your face. “Even as plastered and sad as you were, I still knew you were something else. I knew you were special, and somehow I knew that if I kissed you, I wouldn’t ever want to stop. And I was right.”

“Then why did you stay?”

“I liked talking to you,” Dean said simply.

The way you were looking at him entranced Dean. Nothing could make him take his eyes off of you, and your expression mirrored his. When you spoke, the fragility of your voice was gone, but your words were still soft. “We haven’t done much of that lately.”

“It’s not too late.”

A tentatively hopeful smile curved onto your face and you laid your hand against Dean’s cheek and kissed him gently. He followed you as you pulled back, drawing the kiss out. “Anything but hunting.”

“Deal,” Dean agreed, sliding down under the covers and turning on his side to face you. You did the same, draping an arm over Dean’s waist. With heads close on the same pillow, you and he talked until your eyelids were too heavy to stay open anymore.

Dean reached back and turned off the lamp before pulling your body into him and dropping a kiss into your hair. A soft sigh escaped your lips and you unconsciously curled closer to Dean. This might still be rocky, and it wasn’t going to be easy to get through this, but in that moment, everything was perfect.

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