Posting random thoughts…

However, he hadn't expected to see silver hairs scattered here and there among his beard. It was way too soon for him to be called and seen as an old man. It was something he used to call John, Bobby. Anyone, really, older than him. It was affectionate in his own way. But now he has to be designated as a middle aged man ? Hell no.

What would you think ? The thought wasn’t meant to bloom but it did anyway and that got the older Winchester to sweat a little, lean forward the mirror and take a better look at the grey hair in his three days beard under the champagne light drowning the bathroom. You were younger than him, only a few years. You looked great in your thirties, letting your hair grow longer, finally taking care of your damaged curls - you never had time to properly treat them.

He was being self conscious about it, he knew that. Dean always made sure to look good, treat himself whenever he could. Even when it was some junk food bought on the road, sided with milkshakes or beer.

“ Dean ? ” Hearing your voice , he straightened and casually reached for the sink, opening the running water to splash some on his face. “ I thought you were tired.”

You padded into the room still wearing your clothes from today, a pair of jeans and a lavender baby-tee. The golden pendant you’re wearing glittered faintly under the light.

“ Yeah.” He turned off the water, emerald eyes lancing at you through the glass. You walk up behind him and circle your arms around him. You craved him just enough for you to tighten your embrace and nuzzle your cheek onto his back.

“ You good ?”

“ Always am.” He feels you leave his back for a few seconds then your chin dips in his shoulder blade.

“ We both know that’s not always the truth.” And you are right. Dean ? It was easy for him to act foolish when it came to his well-being. He would brush it away with a shrug, go back to whatever he was doing. It was like words left your lips only to disappear into thin air, as if they never existed. Here, he was quiet. Too quiet, too still. Something occupied his mind. You don’t want to press him yet you are desperate for him to talk to you.

He never wants you to shut down, to feel bad, to get hurt. When it’s his turn ? Oh, everyone acts as if he’s gonna die because the truth is that he actually risks his life. Lord knows he was lucky enough to be saved from rotting six feet under many times.

“ You remember about that time I told you I got old ? ”

A smile forms on your lips. One you can’t refrain. You remembered that story very well. It was a long time ago and you weren't in the picture yet. It was about a year after he died and came back from hell , you were told by Sam and Dean — as well — on a random night while the three of you stayed in the unique motel room you could afford.

“ Oh yeah. Why are you asking me if I remember it ? Got something you never told Sam ? Me ? ” You question.

“ No it’s—something else sweetheart. ” You don’t move or say anything for a few seconds. The silence stretches between you two until he finally talks again. “ I’m getting old. ”

“ Like…me , ” your chin leaves his shoulder blade. Your hands slid from his soft tummy to hold his arms between your limbs. “ Like everyone. ”

He says your name in a way that feels painful for him. “ No. I’m really getting old. ” Despite knowing you can’t see his face , he lowers his head. Your brows met atop your lids.

You decide to step from behind him and place yourself at his side. He turns his head in your direction, meets your eyes then quickly snaps them away. That’s when you finally see it too. A small silver hair surfacing right there on his cheek. “ Now what , those scare you ? ”

“ Yeah—fuck. If it wasn’t just that. ”

You tilt your head on the side. He stays quiet and that’s enough for you to acknowledge his silence.

“ You checked down there , too ? ”

“ No. Not yet. I don’t want to, though. ” He exhaled. “ I’m just thinking, I’m getting old and you might not—”

You interrupted him , knowing what was about to exit his pretty lips. “ I might not, what , hate it ? You know it ain’t gonna happen. Dean , I genuinely fucking love you. I wouldn’t mind anything about your looks. Even if you get a dad bod. ”

He frowns. The fuck is a dad bod ?

“ If so , I think that adds…a little extra. ”

“ What extra ? ” He looks at you while you decrease the distance between you , your hand hovered over his shoulder until it set on his bicep. The same you liked to be wrapped in and belonged to the man you loved whom you find ridiculously cute getting worked up over his first grey hair.

“ I dunno…the DILF kind of extra. ”

He huffs , amused by your attempt at flirtation. “ I’m not even a dad , sweetheart. ”

“ Not yet. ” Your chirped , standing on your toes to leave a kiss on his cheek. He smirks and turns fully to catch your hips and bring you against him.

“ That sounds like a threat. Should I be scared ? ”

“ Maybe. ”

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the first time you handed me a plate at that cabin, i said i wasn’t hungry. you stared at me. it wasn’t even a long stare. locs pulled up because it was too damn hot, loose shirt hanging off one shoulder, tattoos showing where the fabric shifted, piercings catching the last bit of sun through the trees. you had barbecue sauce on your thumb and the calm face of somebody who had already decided how this was going to go.

“dean,” you said.

“what?”

“eat.”

and so i ate. obviously.

that summer was supposed to be a break between hunts. kind of. not a vacation, because apparently we don’t get those without a corpse showing up, but close enough. a cabin near the woods, a little lake thirty minutes out, one road in, one road out, and enough trees to make sam start using words like “peaceful.” i gave it two days before something tried to crawl through a window.

i was wrong. it took three.

before that, though, there was you. quiet at first. not shy exactly. more like you were conserving energy, like you knew most people weren’t worth the full version of you right away. you stayed to yourself, baggy clothes, long nails, locs, ink and metal and soft eyes that noticed too much. people gravitated toward you anyway. couldn’t help it. you had that pull. steady. like if somebody stood near you long enough, they’d get fed, checked on, teased, and probably told to go to sleep.

mama bear, whether you wanted the title or not.

then you got comfortable. that’s when i was screwed. because once you trusted us, the quiet cracked open into something goofy and warm and sharp around the edges. you teased like it was cardio. little comments under your breath. looks over the top of your slushie. calling me “old man” because i complained about some music sam picked, then acting innocent when i reminded you everybody got a turn.

“everybody gets a turn,” you said.

“yeah, and my turn is the only one with taste.”

“your turn has back pain.”

sam laughed so hard he nearly dropped the map. i should’ve been annoyed. i was, maybe. for about half a second. then you smiled at me like you knew you’d landed the hit, and there went my whole plan to stay normal.

you were careful with everyone but careless with yourself in that specific way caretakers get. you’d make sure there were snacks in the car, water bottles in the cooler, something decent on the grill, a plate set aside for sam when he forgot to stop researching. you’d ask if i slept. ask if i ate. if my shoulder still hurt from the last hunt. then you’d stand in direct sunlight for five seconds too long and look offended by the concept of heat, as if the sun had personally betrayed you.

“shade,” i’d say.

“i’m fine.”

“you’re glaring at the sky.”

you avoided direct sunlight like a vampire. loose clothes only, because the heat was brutal, white tees and baggy shorts, anything that didn’t stick. and still, you looked like you. completely. tattoos, piercings, locs, that whole comfortable style that made it real clear you weren’t dressing for anybody’s approval. i liked that. liked how much of yourself you carried on purpose.

i noticed the tiny stuff, even when i pretended not to.

how you pinned your locs up before cooking. how you’d test the meat with this serious little frown, then smack my hand away when i tried to steal a bite too early. how your nails clicked against the slushie lid when you were thinking. how you got quiet when overwhelmed, but if i made the right stupid joke, your whole face would break open.

that laugh, tee... yeah. that got me in trouble.

the road-trip detour was your fault, by the way. i don’t care what you say. we were supposed to go into town for supplies. that was it. gas, groceries, maybe some ice. instead, you spotted a handmade sign for a roadside barbecue competition and looked at me like the universe had just handed us a mission.

“no,” i said.

“dean.”

“we have food at the cabin.”

“we have ingredients. this is culture.” i turned the car around. sam said nothing from the backseat, which was his way of being smug.

the place was ridiculous. folding tables, smoke everywhere, some guy selling weird local t-shirts with a raccoon holding a spatula on the front. you bought one immediately because of course. i told you it was ugly. you told me ugly shirts had rights. then you stole the first bite off my plate and gave this thoughtful little nod like you were reviewing fine dining.

“needs more heat,” you said.

“you say that about everything.”

“because people fear seasoning.”

i nearly proposed on the spot. joking. mostly...

the impala broke down on the way back, which ruined the mood for about five minutes. then you rolled up your sleeves like you were going to personally fight the engine. sam started searching for instructions. i popped the hood. you leaned in beside me, confident as hell for someone who, and i say this with love, didn’t know what she was looking at.

“i can fix it,” you said.

“can you?”

“probably not. but i have hands.”

“cute attitude.”

you tried anyway. handed me tools, read things off sam’s phone, got grease on your fingers, and refused to step back even when i told you i had it. the sun was starting to drop, all orange through the trees, and you were standing beside my car in that stupid raccoon shirt, mouth set stubborn, sweat at your temple, still trying to help even when you didn’t know how.

i said something sharp. not because you deserved it. because i was hot, frustrated, and too aware of how close you were. you went quiet. i hated that immediately. “tee...”

“no, it’s fine.”

“it’s not.”

“you do this,” you snapped, and there was the argument. the one waiting under all the teasing. “you let me take care of everybody until suddenly i’m too close, and then you act like i’m in the way.”

that shut me up because you were right. you were right, and you were standing there with grease on your hand and hurt in your eyes, and i realized i had spent half the summer letting you feed me, laugh with me, ride beside me, sleep near me, touch my arm, tease me, know me—then pretending it didn’t mean anything because wanting you meant having something to lose.

i’m real good at fear when it looks like anger.

you turned like you were going to walk away. i caught your wrist. gentle. just enough to stop you if you wanted to be stopped. “don’t leave before i say it wrong.”

your mouth twisted. “that’s not reassuring.”

“yeah, well, i’m working with what i got.”

you should’ve laughed. you almost did. i saw it. but your eyes stayed too serious, and for once, i didn’t hide behind the joke. i told you i liked you. then i told you that like was a stupid word for it, because i liked burgers and good music and air conditioning that worked. what i felt for you was worse. bigger. inconvenient as hell. i told you i noticed everything. the way you took care of people and acted like it didn’t cost you anything. the way you looked after me even when i made it hard. the way your teasing got softer when you were worried. the way i started waiting for your laugh before i knew i was doing it.

you stared at me like you didn’t trust the words yet. fair. so i kissed you beside the impala, with the hood still up and the engine half-cold and sunset burning through the trees. not smooth. not planned. just my hand at your waist, your fingers gripping my shirt, both of us still a little mad and too honest to go back. you kissed me like you had been saving up every joke, every look, every almost-touch and decided to spend them all at once. when you pulled back, you were breathing hard.

“you’re annoying,” you said.

“yeah.”

“and dramatic.”

“look who’s talking.”

then you kissed me again, just to shut me up.

after that, the cabin felt different. you still bullied everybody into eating. still avoided the sun. still kept snacks in the car and made sure sam took breaks and called me out when i got mean instead of honest. but now you let me do things for you too. let me take over the grill when you got tired. let me bring you a slushie without pretending it was casual. let me tug you into the shade with my hands on your hips and kiss that smug look off your face.

the confession came later, because apparently i needed to make a bigger mess. last night at the cabin. fire low. sam asleep inside. you and me on the porch, your shoulder against mine, that weird local t-shirt hanging over the railing to dry. you were quiet in a way i knew by then meant you were feeling too much and trying to decide whether to make it a joke. so i got there first...

i told you i loved you.

badly, probably. too rough, too quick, voice all messed up. i told you i didn’t know what happened after summer, but i knew i didn’t want to put you in the rearview and act like that was noble. i told you staying scared me, and leaving you scared me worse.

you looked at me for a long second. then you said, “you are so bad at being casual.”

i laughed because i was about two seconds from losing my mind. you took my face in both hands and kissed me until i stopped laughing.

so yeah, tee. summer ended dramatically. figures. but it didn’t end with goodbye. it ended with you packing snacks for the road, wearing my flannel over your loose white shirt, your locs still damp from the shower, your t-shirt folded in the backseat, and me realizing i’d stopped thinking of the impala as full when it was just me and sam.

now it’s only full when you’re in it too.